🪩 Kiss All The Time 🪩

harry:

Home?

you:

just parked

harry:

Text me when you’re inside.

you:

i always do

harry:

Keep doing it.

you:

you worry too much

harry:

I love you too much. Hurry up.

harry:

You awake?

you:

yeah. nightmare?

harry:

Yeah.

you:

do you want me to come over

harry:

Yes please.

you:

wow you didn’t even pretend to hesitate

harry:

I’m done pretending I’m okay without you.

you:

give me fifteen minutes

harry:

Drive safe. I'll tell the guys at the gate to expect you.

you:

are you hurt?

harry:

No, why?

you:

doing the laundry and there's blood on your shirt

harry:

It's not mine.

you:

thats not comforting

you:

what do you want for dinner

harry:

You.

you:

harry.

harry:

Pasta. How about dessert?

you:

why is your driver outside my building

harry:

He’s there for you.

you:

i didn’t ask for that

harry:

I know.

you:

harry

harry:

Baby, I’m busy today. But you’re still my responsibility.

you:

i’m not a fragile item

harry:

No. You’re my entire heart. And I don’t let that walk around unprotected.

you:

did you board yet?

harry:

Not yet.

Yyou:

i miss you already

harry:

I’m still in the same city as you.

you:

and i'm still missing you

harry:

Cute.

you:

don’t “cute” me

harry:

Can’t help it. You get like this when I leave.

you:

i do not

harry:

You do. And I like it. Means you want me.

marco:

Boss just left early.

theo:

Emergency?

luca:

Nah. His girl said she had a bad day.

luca:

Boss hasn’t yelled once today.

marco:

She’s in the building.

luca:

Oh. Right.

ash:

She didn’t like the car you sent.

harry:

Why.

ash:

Said it looked scary.

harry:

Get her the blue one.

luca:

She talked to the bartender for a while.

harry:

And?

luca:

He was flirting.

harry:

Past tense?

luca:

She told me to get home safe.

marco:

Yeah. She does that.

theo:

Makes you forget what we do for a living.

ash:

Miss, the car is outside.

you:

thanks ash! also i told you to not call me "miss"

ash:

Unfortunately, I value my life.

mitch:

Found her.

harry:

Where.

mitch:

She was in the back of the store. Phone on silent. Shopping.

harry:

Tell her to call me. Now.

luca:

She told him no.

marco:

And he listened??

luca:

Immediately. Like a trained dog.

ash:

Don’t say that about him.

luca:

He’s literally waiting outside her door holding her purse.

theo:

…Wow.

theo:

She asked me if Harry’s eaten today.

luca:

See? She’s the real one in charge.

theo:

She said he gets grumpy when he forgets.

marco:

He’s grumpy anyway.

harry:

Wrong group message, boys.

marco has left the group chat.

harry:

If she asks, I got caught up.

theo:

You got shot.

harry:

I got caught up.

theo:

Understood.

luca:

She’s going to kill us.

harry:

She won’t.

marco:

She definitely will.

-

you:

why isn’t harry answering

marco:

He’s in a meeting, ma’am.

you:

it’s 1am

marco:

International meeting.

you:

marco

marco:

Yes ma’am

you:

are you lying to me

marco:

No ma’am.

-

you:

i know something happened.

ash:

Nothing happened.

you:

ash. i’m not stupid tell me now, or i start making phone calls and you know who i’m calling first

ash:

Please don’t call his mother.

harry:

Did you move the gun from the kitchen drawer?

you:

yes

harry:

Why?

you:

because it scared me when i was looking for the pizza cutter

harry:

Fair. It's under the sink now.

you:

why would that be better

harry:

Theo said your ex boyfriend has been liking your social media posts. Tell me why.

you:

because he has thumbs?

harry:

Not for long.

you:

i burned the cupcakes :(

harry:

It’s okay baby. I’ve burned down worse.

tag list:

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@happy-for-hazza @saratpwk @rrysavenue @bndnrry @lntrrys 

@muralaid @cherriesncupcakes @chloehayyy @cloudyapplezsblog @bshsysusuauaha 

@hontpwk @sunflowervol2007 @thewineranout @marzzfly @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite 

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“I’ve got a change of dress in the bag.” Y/N knew better than to go without a change of clothes in this new era of her wanting to feed herself. Disastrous mess was inevitable with a baby and any sort of food. “It’s important for her development for her to figure it out. She’s having fun!”

“I know she is, my heart.” Harry murmured, looking to the ruined sundress. It was a cute outfit, pink heart dress paired with the pink crochet hat over her little curly pigtails, but he knew as soon as her eating was over she was going to get fussy about being sticky and messy.

Harry hated the feeling in most cases too, so he could relate.

“Besides, your mum is going to have at least three new outfits when we get over there after.” Y/N turned to her baby with a big smile. “Isn’t that right, darling? Nana loves to spoil you, hm? All those cute little dresses she gets you, multiple daily outfit changes are the only way we’ll get through the all.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, picking his fork back up. “You’ve got a point. She sent me a photo of a miniature shirt with ducklings on it yesterday, so I’m going to bet on there being at least 4 outfits. That’s just what she’s sent me so far.” His mum had an obsession with buying her granddaughter outfits and he loved it. There was only a short period of time to do it as she grew and if he thought about how fast it was happening he would cry, so he pushed that side.

“Silly Nana. Your wardrobe is already exploding.” Y/N laughed, taking a sip of her mimosa, sans the alcohol. When Harry tried to tell her once that it was just orange juice, she’d simply flipped him off.

She squealed, hitting her little fist on the plastic tray and sent a bit of strawberry onto the main table and Harry’s arm, seemingly agreeing with her mum.

“I do love it, though. It’s fun to play dress up with her. I’m afraid next time we leave her with her she’ll come back with the entire Baby Gap, but I fear our child has your affinity for clothing. It’s like a minefield in our closet, she takes after you.” Harry teased his wife because their own closet was a mess of Y/N’s rotation of aesthetics.

“Like mummy, like baby.” She preened, lifting her glass to her lips. “And Daddy won’t complain if he wants more babies, will he? No, he won’t.” She reached out to tickle their daughter’s little foot, which had somehow lost its sock. “And he’s been talking about more babies since you were born, so I think he’s going to reconsider.”

“I’m not complaining!” He clarified, blinking rapidly. “M’not!” The man wanted more babies, and he knew what was good for him.

For three seconds, the room is quiet again. Then the phone rings a second time and Harry makes a noise into the pillow. Beside him, you stir, half buried beneath the duvet, one of his t-shirts twisted around your body from sleep. The bedroom is dark, Amsterdam is quiet below, or as quiet as a city can be with canals and late-night taxis and a hotel full of people living in different time zones.

Harry grabs the phone again and this time, he answers without looking. “Unless someone is on fire,” he says, voice rough with sleep, “this is illegal.”

Jeff’s voice comes through fast enough to wake him by force. “Did you delete your Instagram?”

Harry’s eyes remain closed and there is a long pause as he processes Jeff's question. “What?”

“Your Instagram. Did you delete it?”

Harry opens one eye into the darkness, then shuts it again because the night is still too early to exist in. “Why would I delete my Instagram at three in the morning?”

“I don’t know, Harry, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Course I didn’t delete it.”

You shift beside him. “Who’s that?”

Harry rubs a hand over his face. “Jeff. Having some sort of spiritual crisis.”

Jeff doesn't appreciate the summary. “Are you with y/n?”

Harry goes still for half a second, confusion making it through the fog of sleep now. “What?”

“Is she with you?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Where else would she be?”

“Wake her up.”

Harry blinks at the ceiling and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “No.”

“Harry.”

“She’s asleep.”

“This is urgent.”

Harry pushes himself up onto one elbow, his hair messy, eyes narrowed at nothing. “Jeff, why are you calling at three in the morning asking if I deleted Instagram and demanding my sleeping girlfriend?”

You turn onto your back, blinking slowly up at him with the expression of someone trying to work out whether the dream has become very boring or real life has become very strange.

Jeff exhales sharply. “Your account is gone.”

Harry processes, nothing in his face changes at first. “What d’you mean gone?”

“I mean unavailable. Gone. Not loading. Fans are already losing it. HSHQ’s DMs are full, X is moving like someone announced the end of the world, and I’ve had three people personally text me asking if you’re retiring again.”

Harry sits up properly now, duvet slipping to his waist. “Where would it go?”

There is a brief silence on the other end before Jeff sighs. “Harry, please.”

“I’m asking, Jeffrey.”

“It obviously didn’t just wander off. It’s either deleted, suspended, hacked, or there’s some massive platform issue. I need y/n.”

Harry looks down at you. You squint back up at him. “Why does Jeff need me?”

He lowers the phone slightly. “Did you delete my Instagram?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why would I delete your Instagram?”

“That’s also what I said.”

Jeff’s voice rises from the phone. “Can you hand it to her, please?”

Harry passes you the phone while still looking completely bewildered. You take it with one hand and reach for your work phone with the other, already more awake than you want to be. “Hi, Jeff,” you say, voice thick with sleep. “What’s happening?”

“Harry’s account looks like it’s gone. I can’t access it publicly, the team can’t see it, and fans are already acting like it’s a hostage situation.”

You sit up so quickly the duvet falls from your shoulder. “What do you mean gone?”

Harry points at the phone with faint satisfaction, as if to say, ‘See? Reasonable question.’

You unlock your work phone, thumb moving fast despite the hour. Instagram opens to the last account you used earlier, the tour account, where notifications are already piling in. You switch to Harry’s profile and the app stalls. You try again: nothing. Then a message appears and your whole body goes still. “Jeff,” you say carefully, “it says the account has been suspended.”

Harry turns his head towards you now. Jeff says something under his breath that is not fit for a professional call and Harry reaches over and taps your knee. “Put him on speaker.”

You do, setting his phone on the duvet between you both. The bedroom has gone from sleepy and warm to suddenly too bright, even though no one has turned on anything except your screen. “How could it be suspended?” Harry asks.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Jeff says. “Did you get any warnings? Any emails? Anything from Meta?”

You're already checking. Work email, backup email, security notifications, account status. Nothing useful. Nothing that explains why an account with over forty-five million followers and fourteen years of posts has suddenly vanished from the public internet. “Last time I was on it, everything was normal,” you say. “I checked comments for moderation flags, answered one message from a photographer, and logged out. No warnings, no violations, no restriction notice.”

“Could it have been hacked?” Jeff asks.

“I don’t know yet. It doesn’t look like a standard login issue. It’s not asking for identity verification. It’s just locked behind a suspension screen.” Your fingers move faster. “I’ll check the connected email, backup codes, security activity—”

“Do you need the Meta contact?”

“Yes.”

“I have a direct partner support number from the last time we had an issue with another client's account. I’ll text it to you now.”

Harry looks at you, but you're staring at the phone, posture rigid, eyes scanning every line as if you can force the answer to appear by reading quickly enough.

Jeff’s voice lowers a fraction. “Can you get it back?”

You inhale, then answer as professionally as you can. “I’ll do everything I can. I need to speak to them first and figure out why it happened.”

“Okay. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“I will.”

The call ends, and for exactly one second, neither of you moves. Then you throw the duvet off and climb out of bed. Harry watches you cross the room in his shirt and nothing else, hair messy from sleep, work phone in one hand, personal phone in the other, moving with the sharp, focused panic of someone whose brain has decided the building is on fire even if the flames are digital. “It has to be a bug,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Or an automated enforcement mistake. Or someone mass-reported the account, but that shouldn’t take down a verified profile like that, not without— unless something triggered the integrity system. But we didn’t post anything risky. We didn’t even use copyrighted audio outside platform tools. Did I click something? No, I didn’t. Did I schedule something wrong?”

You don't hear him. “What if the archive is affected?” you continue, tapping through emails. “The old posts, the early tour photos, the album announcements, all the One Direction-era things still on the grid— God, if the profile is gone, people are going to think—”

Harry’s eyes follow you as you pace past the foot of the bed. Left. Right. Left again. He looks like he is watching a tennis match he never agreed to attend.

“Love.”

“Love.”

Now your head snaps towards him. Harry is sitting in bed, duvet low around his waist, hair sticking up on one side, looking far calmer than the situation deserves. “You're aware,” he says gently, “that it’s just an Instagram profile?”

You stare at him, the silence that follows is severe. Harry lifts both hands slightly. “I’m not saying it doesn’t matter.”

“It has over forty-five million followers.”

“I know.”

“It has fourteen years of your public life on it.”

“I know.”

“It matters to your fans. It matters to the tour. It matters to the team. It matters to your whole digital presence, Harry.”

“I know, baby.”

“And you’re saying it’s just an Instagram profile?”

“I’m saying no one’s going to die because it’s suspended for a bit.”

“You don’t know that.”

You look at him as if he has just suggested solving the issue by tossing the phone into the canal. He climbs out of bed and reaches for a shirt from the chair and pulls it on, then walks over to you slowly. “I know it’s important,” he says, voice quieter now. “To them. To you. To the team. To me, too, in its own way. But it’s not the end of the world. We’ll get it back.”

“No. But I know you.”

You look away, jaw set. That is when he sees it properly, not just stress, guilt. You're already halfway to blaming yourself for something that likely has nothing to do with you. He can read it in the way your shoulders are held, in the way you keep refreshing screens as though some mistake of yours is hiding between the lines, in the way you don't let yourself blink long enough to breathe. “Hey,” he says, but you keep looking at your phone. Harry reaches for it, but gently, giving you time to resist if you want, you don't. He lowers both your hands between you and steps closer. “Come here.”

“I need to—”

“You need to breathe first.”

“I can breathe while calling Meta.”

“You’re not breathing, you’re speed-running a breakdown in the middle of the night.”

Despite yourself, a tiny sound almost becomes a laugh, but the stress crushes it before it fully arrives. Harry pulls you into his chest, no big speech at first, no solution. Just his arms around you, one hand warm between your shoulder blades, the other resting at the back of your head. He holds you with the kind of calm certainty that doesn't ask you to stop caring, only to stop carrying it alone. You resist for about two seconds, then you fold into him. Your face presses against the soft cotton of his shirt, his skin is still warm from sleep, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The room is dark and quiet around you, your phones still alive with notifications, but for a moment, the whole disaster shrinks to the size of his arms. “We’ll get it back,” he murmurs.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise we’ll handle it.”

You close your eyes, and that helps, Harry always helps. Not because he makes problems vanish, but because he makes them feel less like they are standing over you with sharp teeth. He is the place your panic goes when it needs somewhere softer to land. Then your phone buzzes, you pull back at once. “Jeff sent the number.”

Harry lets you go, though his hands stay on your arms for one more second. “Go call them. I’ll order coffee.”

“At three in the morning?”

“You clearly aren’t going back to sleep.”

“I might not be able to drink coffee. My hands are already shaking.”

“Then I’ll order fruit too. For emotional balance.”

You glance down at yourself. “I’m in your shirt.”

“Meta won’t know.”

“I’m going outside.”

“Take a blanket.”

You grab a blanket from the end of the bed, wrap it around your shoulders, and head towards the rooftop terrace with your work phone already dialling. Harry watches you go through the sliding glass doors, the city air catching the hem of his shirt around your thighs. Then he rubs both hands over his face, exhales, and calls room service. And because it is a luxury hotel, because Harry is Harry, and because the night staff has apparently seen stranger things than a half-asleep pop star ordering two coffees and a fruit platter at 3:17 in the morning, the tray arrives quickly. Harry takes it at the door, murmurs a grateful thank you, leaves a generous tip, and carries everything out onto the terrace.

The rooftop still holds some memory of the night you spent outside recently, the same outdoor bed sits beneath the pale curtains, now untouched. The lounge area nearby is cooler, washed in the dark blue of the hour before morning begins considering itself. Beyond the terrace edge, Amsterdam is a spread of rooftops, narrow streets, still canals, and scattered windows glowing like private little planets while you're pacing barefoot across the terrace, blanket around your shoulders, phone pressed to your ear.

Harry sits on the arm of the lounge sofa and listens. You pause, jaw working as you absorb whatever the person on the other end says. “No, there was no notice in the account centre. No email, no prior warning. We have full records of our recent posts and login activity. Nothing violates policy from our side.” Another pause. “Yes, I can send the account ID, the associated email, and screenshots of the suspension message. I can also confirm identity through the partner portal if you trigger the request.”

Harry sets the tray on the low lounge table. Black coffee for him, oat cappuccino for you, a plate of fruit arranged beautifully enough that he briefly wonders whether someone in the kitchen thought this was a romantic gesture rather than a crisis snack. You don't notice any of it anyway. “I understand that,” you're saying, voice controlled but tight. “But this is a verified celebrity account with active tour obligations and a major public audience. We need to know if this is an enforcement action, an account integrity issue, or a platform-side error.”

You stop walking. “Okay,” you say slowly. “So you don’t know why it was triggered yet?”

Harry takes a sip of coffee and watches you pace, he knows this version of you too. Sharp, competent, on fire. The person who can solve three problems before most people realise there is one. The person who remembers tiny details, keeps documents organised, knows exactly when to push and when to stay polite. He loves that about you, always has. But underneath the professionalism, he can still see your panic trying to claw its way through.

Harry’s gaze lifts as you listen, lips pressed together.

You hang up, and for half a second, you stand very still. Then you say one single word, “Fuck.”

“And there’s no option to reactivate manually at this stage?” Another pause. “Right. Yes. Please escalate it to account integrity. Mark it urgent. The account is tied to an ongoing international tour and there is significant public confusion already. You can reach me on this number at any time.” You listen for a few more seconds, then nod even though the man on the phone cannot see you. “Thank you. I’ll wait for your call.”

Harry rises immediately. Before you can refresh anything else, he walks over, takes the phone from your hand, and places it on the lounge table. You look offended. “I need that.”

“In a minute.”

“Harry—”

“What did they say?”

You drag both hands over your face, the blanket slipping slightly off one shoulder. “They don’t know what triggered it. The person I spoke to thinks it might be an automated false positive or an issue in their integrity system, but they can’t reactivate it from partner support because the account is locked behind an internal review state. They’ve escalated it to the account integrity team.”

Harry blinks in confusion. “So… computer said no?”

You glare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh breaks out of you. Small and exhausted and annoyed as you nod once. “Basically.”

“There we are. I understand now.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It is not.”

“It will be later.”

“Maybe in five years.”

You say nothing. He presses his cheek lightly to the top of your head. “I know you’re trying to find the exact second where you ruined everything, but you didn’t.”

He steps close again and wraps you back into his arms. This time, you go without arguing, forehead against his chest, hands curled loosely at his sides. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I’m responsible for it.”

“You’re responsible for managing it. Not for Meta’s computer having a tantrum.”

“But if there was something I missed—”

“There wasn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you don’t miss things.”

You let out a breath, but it trembles with leftover adrenaline. Harry’s hand moves slowly over your back. “You’re doing a brilliant job. With the accounts, with the tour, with all of it. This doesn’t change that.”

“It feels awful.”

“I know.”

“Your fans are going to think everything’s been deleted.”

“And then it’ll come back, and they can all make dramatic posts about surviving the great Instagram disappearance of 2026.”

You laugh into his shirt. “They would.”

“They absolutely would. There’ll be edits.”

“Probably.”

He smiles against your hair. “See? Content.”

You pull back enough to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re freezing.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re barefoot on a roof in a t-shirt at almost four am.”

“And a blanket.”

“A heroic blanket.”

He leads you to the lounge sofa and sits you down with gentle insistence. Then he takes the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and adds it over the one already around your shoulders, tucking it around you with the kind of serious concentration he usually reserves for stage cues. “There,” he says. “Crisis burrito.”

You look down at yourself. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look adorable.”

“I’m in a social media emergency.”

“Very adorable emergency.”

He sits beside you and hands you the oat cappuccino and you accept it with both hands, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. “You ordered my favourite coffee.”

“Of course I did.”

“And fruit.”

“Mhm.”

You look at the plate. “That is a lot of fruit.”

“You pace fast. I assumed you’d need fuel.”

You take a sip of the cappuccino, and it's warm and familiar and exactly sweet enough and the first proper breath you take all night comes after it. Harry notices but doesn't comment on it. He only sits beside you, one arm along the back of the sofa, close enough that his thigh rests against yours. For a few minutes, neither of you speaks much. You eat fruit because he keeps nudging the plate towards you, and because stress is less convincing when paired with strawberries. He feeds you a piece of watermelon from a little fork, and when juice threatens to drip onto the blanket, you lean forward too quickly and nearly bump your forehead against his chin.

Harry laughs softly. “Careful.”

“You attacked me with fruit.”

“I offered hydration.”

“You lunged.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re a known lunger.”

He grins mischievously. “Am I?”

“With fruit, apparently.”

The lightness helps. Not enough to erase the problem, but enough for you to sit still.

After a while, you sink into his side with your coffee in hand. “I can’t believe this is happening now.”

“I noticed.”

“No, I mean now. When you’re finally back on tour and the account is alive again. Before I took over, it was basically a museum with occasional album promotion.”

Harry looks amused. “A museum?”

“A beautiful, very inactive museum.”

“I was on a break.”

“You were allergic to posting.”

“I value privacy.”

“You value purposely forgetting you have social media.”

“That too.”

You sigh, staring out at the city. “I just wanted everything to run properly. Not perfectly, but properly. Clean posts, good timing, fan engagement, a better balance of behind-the-scenes things without making it feel forced. And then the main account disappears in the middle of the night.”

Harry’s expression turns warm as he watches you and it's there again, that aching admiration he never quite knows what to do with. Your ambition, your care, the way you treat his work as if it matters because you know it matters to him, and because it matters to people who love him. He understands that kind of perfectionism, he has lived inside it for years. But he also knows what it does when nobody interrupts it. “Not everything goes to plan,” he says gently.

You look down at your coffee. “I know.”

“And it’s horrible.”

“I know that too.”

“But you’re still doing an amazing job.”

“You’re biased.”

“Very.”

“Harry.”

“I am biased,” he admits. “I’m biased because I love you. But I’m also right. The team trusts you. Jeff wouldn’t have called in a panic and asked for you if he didn’t think you were the person to handle it.”

That makes you pause and Harry continues, voice low in the quiet. “You’ve made the accounts feel human again. You’ve found a way to let people in without making me feel like I’m being watched every second. That’s not easy. And even if you were terrible at it — which you’re not — it wouldn’t change who you are to me.”

Your eyes lift to his, he holds your gaze steadily. “You’re not valuable because you’re useful,” he says. “You know that, right?”

You stare at him for a second, then you start laughing, partly because of the carrier pigeons and partly because if you don't laugh, you might cry. “Jeff in a cabin?”

The question lands softer than it should. You try to answer quickly, then realise you can't quite manage it. Harry’s hand finds yours under the blanket. “I love how good you are at your job. I love watching you work. I love when you get that little focused face and start saying words like ‘engagement strategy’ as if it’s normal breakfast conversation.” You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “But I don’t love you because you keep things running,” he says. “I love you because you’re you. If Instagram vanished forever tonight, and Jeff moved to a cabin to recover, and the fans had to communicate through carrier pigeons, I’d still be sitting here with you at four in the morning thinking I’m the luckiest person alive.”

“Flannel shirt. Very dramatic beard.”

“Fans would train the pigeons in three days.”

“Probably faster.”

You lean into him more fully, and Harry kisses the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For the pigeons?”

“For knowing how to calm me down.”

“Learned from the best.”

You smile against his shoulder. “That’s my line.”

“You can have it back tomorrow.”

The rooftop falls quiet around you, your phone stays on the table, screen dark for once. You resist the urge to check it every ten seconds, mostly because Harry is holding your hand and you don't want to let go. The sky above Amsterdam is unusually clear, the city lights make the stars faint, but not invisible. A few scatter over the dark like small pinpricks, stubborn against the glow below. Harry tilts his head back. “Look.”

You follow his gaze and for a while, there is nothing but the quiet sky. Then, suddenly, a line of light slips across it. Fast, silver, gone almost before your mind has time to name it. A shooting star. You both fall silent. It's childish, maybe, the way both of you instinctively close your eyes for a second. Neither of you says it aloud, neither of you needs to, some habits survive adulthood because they are small enough to keep. Make a wish.

Harry’s hand tightens around yours, in his mind, the wish isn't loud or detailed. It doesn't arrive with wedding bells or a calendar date or a house already chosen, it comes as a feeling. You in the morning. You on quiet rooftops. You laughing in kitchens. A smaller hand in his one day, maybe, with your smile and his eyes. A life built from ordinary days with you at the centre of them.

Beside him, your wish takes almost the same shape. Harry, years from now. Still reaching for you in his sleep. Still leaving socks in criminal locations. Still singing under his breath while making coffee. A home that isn’t dependent on a city. A future that has room for both of your work, both of your dreams, and maybe one day, if life is kind, a child who learns early that love can be safe and silly and steady.

You open your eyes at the same time and Harry looks at you. “What did you wish for?”

You smile. “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Then it won’t come true.”

He hums. “Thought so.”

“You tell me yours?”

“Can’t. Very serious wish rules.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Traditionalist.”

You look at him for a second longer, and there is a flicker of recognition between you. Not certainty, maybe, not words either, but something close enough to make your smile soften. Harry sees it too, but he doesn't ask again. Instead, he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles, slow and warm.

Suddenly the phone rings and you both jump slightly. Then you lunge for it so quickly Harry nearly loses his coffee. “It’s them,” you say, already answering. “Hi, this is y/n.”

Harry watches your face as you listen, he can tell within ten seconds that the news is better. Your shoulders drop first, then your eyes widen, then your free hand presses to your forehead as you nod quickly. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. So it was platform-side?” You listen. “A mistaken enforcement lock triggered by an automated review? Right. And the account integrity team is reversing it now?”

Harry mouths, “Computer said sorry?”

You hang up, and for one second, you stare at the phone. Then you collapse back against the sofa cushions with the deepest, most dramatic exhale of your life. “They’re bringing it back.”

You swat at his knee without looking at him. “Yes,” you say into the phone. “I’ll monitor access from our side. Within the hour? Perfect. Thank you. No, really, thank you. Please send the confirmation to my email as well.” A pause. “Thanks. Bye.”

Harry smiles. “Told you.”

You point at him. “Don't be smug.”

“I’m not smug, I’m right.”

“They said it was an automated error on their side. The account got caught in an internal review state by mistake, and their engineers are reversing it. I should be able to log back in within the hour.”

“Good.”

“Good?” You stare at him. “That’s it?”

“What else should I say?”

“I don’t know. Something more emotional.”

Harry sets his coffee down and turns towards you. “I’m very relieved that my beautiful, inactive museum will live to ignore posting trends another day.”

You laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you are terrifyingly good in a crisis.”

“I was pacing.”

“Professionally.”

“I swore at the phone.”

“Also professionally.”

You shake your head, but the relief is so enormous now that everything feels funny. The panic, the pacing, the coffee, his calm face when he said no one would die from a suspended Instagram account. You glance at him. “It really doesn’t matter to you that much, does it?”

“What?”

“Your profile. I mean, I know you’re glad it’s coming back, but you were so calm. It goes back to 2012. There are posts from One Direction, your first solo years, everything. Doesn’t it feel… huge to almost lose that?”

He leans back, thinking about it properly. “It’s nice to have,” he says after a moment. “I’m glad it’s not gone. I know what it means to people, and I know there are memories there. But I don’t think those memories live in the app for me.”

You're quiet for a moment, then you nod. “I understand that.”

You look at him, he shrugs, sleepy and sincere. “The important bits are elsewhere. They’re in people I still talk to. In my mum’s photo albums. In songs. In strange little videos saved on old phones. In fans I meet out in the streets who tell me about a show from 13 years ago like it was yesterday. In rooms I remember because of how they felt.” His fingers move absently over yours. “The internet keeps a version of things,” he says. “And that version matters. But it’s not the whole thing. My life isn’t in there. It’s here.” He looks around the terrace, then at you. “It’s this. You. Coffee at stupid o’clock. Shows. Friends. Family. Real faces. Real life. That’s the bit I care about most.”

“But I’m glad you saved the museum.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Maybe I’ll post a picture of a pigeon to celebrate.”

“You won’t.”

“I thought you wanted me active.”

“Not like that.”

He laughs, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder again. The eastern edge of the sky has started to pale. It happens gradually, then all at once. The black-blue of night softens into the light blue of a sunny day, and the rooftops around you begin to separate from their shadows. Somewhere below, the earliest sounds of morning appear: a delivery truck, a bicycle rolling over stone, the city stretching before the day officially starts. Harry kisses your temple. “Want to go back to bed?”

You look towards the brightening horizon. “Not yet.”

He smiles before you even finish the sentence. “Sunrise?”

“Sunrise.”

“We’re going to be exhausted later.”

“You can nap.”

“So can you.”

“I have to make sure your Instagram comes back.”

“And then nap.”

You lift your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re very bossy at sunrise.”

“I care for you, at all hours.”

“That’s true.”

“No returns.”

You laugh softly, remembering the rooftop promise from a few nights before, or maybe every night before that just in different words. “No returns,” you agree.

Harry settles deeper into the sofa and pulls the blanket tighter around both of you. Your phone rests on the table beside the fruit plate, waiting to buzz again. His coffee has gone lukewarm, your cappuccino is almost finished. The panic has drained away, leaving behind only tired relief and the strange intimacy of having survived a tiny digital apocalypse before dawn.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” he growls, his hands already tugging at my dress, pulling it up to my waist. I gasp, my fingers fumbling with his belt. I’m desperate to feel him, all of him.

“Harry, we shouldn’t-“ I start, but my words are cut off as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hardness presses against my core, and I can’t help but grind against him.

“We should,” he insists, carrying me to the kitchen, “We must.”

He sets me down on the counter, knocking over a vase of flowers in his haste. They crash to the floor, but we don’t stop.

He yanks my panties aside, his fingers finding me wet and ready. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, “You’re so fucking ready for me.” I moan, my head falling back as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, his thumb circling my clit.

“Harry, please,” I beg, my hands clawing at his back, “I need you inside me, now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he unzips his pants completely. He frees his cock and pushes into me, filing me completely. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, as he begins to move.

“Oh god, Harry,” I pant, my legs wrapping tighter around him, “You feel so good.”

He grunts, his hips slapping against mine. “You feel fucking amazing, Y/N.” His hands grip my hips, pulling me onto him.

I can hear the clock ticking, the minutes passing too quickly. I can’t focus on anything but Harry. His body moving against mine, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me. I’m close, so close, and I can tell he is too.

“Come with me, Y/N,” he demands, “Come on my cock, now.”

His words send me over the edge. I cry out, waves of pleasure crash over me. Harry follows, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with his hot release. He groans, his hands gripping my hips so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, his forehead resting against mine, “That was incredible.”

I not, my body still trembling. “It was,” I agree, “But we should clean up. They’ll be back any minute.”

He helps me down from the counter, his hands steadying me as I find my footing. We quickly adjust our clothes, trying to look presentable. We turn to face each other, and can’t help but laugh. We both know we look anything but innocent.

“Here,” he says, grabbing a dishtowel and wetting it under the faucet. He reaches between my legs, gently wiping away the evidence of our encounter. Gasp at the contact, my body is still so sensitive.

“Harry,” I warn, my voice barely a whisper, “we don’t have time for-“

“Shh,” he interrupts, his finger pressing against my lips, “I just want to take care of you. Let me do this, please.”

I nod, my eyes locked with his as he cleans me, his touch gentle, reverent. When he's finished, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead, his arms wrapping around me in a tight hug.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice barely audible.

He smiles, "Anytime, Y/N. Anytime."

Just then, we hear the sound of keys in the lock, our friends returning. We quickly pull apart, trying to look casual, trying to look like we haven't just been fucking on the kitchen counter. But as our friends walk in, their eyes narrowing as they take in our disheveled appearance, we can't help but smile, our secret hanging in the air between us.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like and comment if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

Not uncomfortable because you dislike it. Uncomfortable because you do. And will never admit that.

“You always smell nice,” he says casually.

You keep your eyes on the wire in your hands. “Battery pack’s loose.”

“That wasn’t related to what I said.”

You took a deep breath as your eyes shut instinctively for just a moment.

“I know.”

“Hm.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and if you lowered your gaze you knew you’d be staring right at a deep dimple and a cheeky twitch of his chin.

You clip the pack onto the back of his pants, fingers brushing the warm fabric of his shirt and leaving just as quick as they got there.

“All set,” you call, slapping your palms to your sides lightly as you back further away from his body.

And then he’s looking at you. In that way he always does before he goes on stage. A rudely passionate look of teasing that will leave you dizzy for the next 2 hours. He knows it, too. It’s why he does it.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer you for a minute. Just stares at you a bit longer. Over your jaw. The curve of your neck, exposed by your loose pony. All with a grin of his own deepening and his eyes squinting just a tinge.

And then he snaps back into casualness like nothing was on his mind at all.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, standing from his chair, “see you after the show.”

You nod.

“See you.”

He turns toward the door, shoulders brushing past one of the stylists waiting near the hallway, and for a second you think that’s it. Because it usually is.

You fix what you need to fix. You set him up. You say goodbye. And then he’s on stage and you have a brief intermission of peace before he’s back in front of you at the end of the night.

But then he glances back.

Just briefly, but enough for your stomach to tighten in that stupid familiar way that you worry will someday get you fired.

The hallway outside the green room still buzzes with movement and things you half understand. Stage managers calling cues, security talking into headsets, other crew members rushing past with last minute equipment. Harry looks entirely unbothered by any of it. Calm, even, like he has all the time in the world.

Your mouth moves before your brain catches up.

“Good luck.”

The words slip out softer than you intended. More personal, too. Less like a colleague hoping for the best and more like someone who cares too much about the other. Immediately, you regret them.

Because Harry stops dead in the doorway. And then slowly turns back toward you like if he's worried that it was someone else who said it. The grin spreading across his face is instant.

God.

That unbearably smug expression that only gets worse the second he realizes he’s gotten something genuine out of you. Then his smile widens even further, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks and eyes crinkling kindly.

“Thanks, y/n.”

Far too satisfied with himself.

A laugh slips quietly out of him as he starts backing into the hallway again, still looking directly at you with that same sly expression stretched across his face. Like he’s just won something.

Someone calls his name farther down the corridor.

So he finally tears his eyes off you, spinning around smoothly and continuing toward stage with an annoyingly confident bounce in his step.

Entirely too pleased with himself over two stupid words.

And even worse? You’re smiling a little before you can stop yourself.

It is endearing—his crush. It’s also incredibly obvious. The last few months of your life have been filled with flirts and teases and smirks that have your heart on the brink of exploding right there in your chest.

Champagne problems, right?

But it really was starting to become a problem. You were a professional. Apart of this industry for longer than you can count. And you were not about to start things up with your boss and destroy the reputation you’ve built for yourself for years. No matter how sexy his gaze got or how desperate his words became.

So you spend the entirety of his show in his open dressing room backstage, lounging upon a green velvet chair and scrolling mindlessly through your screen. You were grateful you had the night off tonight apart from backstage aid.

Baking recipes. Funny clips of animals. A new way to wear your hair. Skin care brands random people are trying to sell you.

Anything to get your mind off of him.

But it’s hard when his voice is echoing around the arena simultaneously. Whining through the microphone and screaming melodies that flow through him as if there’s no effort needed at all.

It was a sick routine you’ve been stuck in. Every show. Set him up, do your duties, listen to him against your will backstage or in the audio booth if that was your assignment, and then dissemble him before he goes home. You’ve been stuck with him every minute of all your days for the entire tour. Which would usually be great news; if he wasn’t nagging at you for a drop of attention too.

But you would stay professional. Calm. You knew you would.

So when the show ended and you both ended up back in his green room, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself to exercise your best rejection tactics.

The show leaves him glowing every time. Not literally, obviously, but close enough. So extra preparation was more than necessary. Especially considering there were about 6 other colleagues back here awaiting for his arrival as well.

By the time Harry pushes through the green room door, the adrenaline is still clinging to him—cheeks pink from exertion, curls damp at the edges, chest rising heavier beneath the half unbuttoned shirt clung lightly to his skin. The roar of the crowd still echoes faintly through the arena halls outside while people trail in after him offering congratulations, water bottles, notes about tomorrow’s schedule.

And somehow, within five seconds of entering the room, his eyes find you.

Of course they do. And you’re not totally sure if you want to die right there or enjoy it with a smile.

You’re crouched near the coffee table reorganizing equipment cases from the stage reset, pretending not to notice.

“You stayed,” he says immediately.

You don’t look up from the tangled wire in your hands. “I work here.”

“Mhm.” You can hear the grin in his voice already. “Still very professional as always.”

You ignore that completely.

Harry drops onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, legs spread comfortably while someone hands him a towel. He thanks them absently, attention never really leaving you.

“You work in the sound booth tonight?”

“Had the night off. Was just back here tonight.”

“Mm. Maybe that’s why it smells so nice back here.”

You finally glance up briefly. “Need something?”

His mouth twitches. There’s always this look he gets when you refuse to react properly to him. Half amused, half fascinated. Like he genuinely cannot understand how you keep resisting him after months of this.

“Need?” he repeats lazily. “No. Like hearing your voice, though.”

You bite down your smile as hard as you can. Fighting to stay within the boundaries of a work place and not further alarm your other colleagues around you.

You go back to untangling the cable immediately. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious.”

“Thought you were exhausted.” You dead pan, looking over at him sprawled on the couch from your position on the floor.

“I was. Then you spoke to me.”

A nearby stylist snorts quietly before pretending not to listen. Your jaw tightens slightly.

Because that’s another thing Harry loves. Saying things in front of other people just to watch you try to stay composed. It was fucked up. And it was constant. Like, all the time.

You stand, carrying the equipment case toward the table near him. The second you step close enough, Harry tilts his head back against the couch cushion to look up at you.

Way too pretty after a two hour show.

Honestly rude.

It was all post-show warmth and lazy satisfaction. Sweat still clung faintly to his skin beneath the dim lights of the green room, curls damp and pushed messily away from his forehead where he’d run his hands through them a dozen times already. His cheeks were flushed pink from the stage heat, lips slightly parted while he caught his breath, and those marbled green eyes stayed fixed on you with a softness that felt entirely too intimate for a room still full of people.

And then he smiled. Slow at first. Sleepy almost. Until the corner of his mouth pulled higher and that deep dimple pressed into his cheek.

“You’re staring.”

And shit, you were.

You snap your gaze away quickly and trot across the room to gather the box for his in-ears with a shake of your head. “Wasn’t.”

“Was.”

You look back at him sharply, “Wasn’t.”

“Was too,” and his smile tells you all you need to know. This is fun for him. A game of sorts.

You just huff, opening the box in front of him and silently gesturing for him to put his monitors inside so you can, you know, get the fuck out of here.

He complies. Placing his in-ears in the box gently and staring up at you with a cocked grin while he does it. You kept your gaze down. Focused on the box and the work in front of you.

Once the box is closed and back on the audio cart, you grab your purse and take out your pony tail.

And also try to ignore the burning gaze that’s been following your every move while you do so.

“Alright, I’m heading out for the n—”

“I like your hair down like that. Looks nice.”

You stare at him like he cannot be serious right now.

“Thank you,” you say, clearing your throat and gripping tighter against the strap of your purse. “I’m heading out for the night.”

He grins. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” you nod, pattering out of the room as quick as you can.

“Goodnight.”

-

“Good morning!”

Someone was in a fantastic mood this morning.

You, were not.

“Morning,” you mumble, wobbling past him as you rub your eyes carelessly.

The venue halls were painfully bright at eight in the morning. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off concrete floors, cases rolled loudly through corridors, and somewhere nearby someone was already doing mic checks loud enough to make your headache worse.

You were exhausted.

Not normal tired. Not fixable with coffee tired. Bone deep, eyes burning, don’t talk to me tired.

The kind that sat heavily behind your ribs after months on tour and too little sleep and too many late nights spent tearing down equipment after shows.

You threw your headset crooked over your hair while you leaned against one of the equipment tables at monitor world, staring blankly into the cup of coffee in your hands like it was useless. It kind of was.

And he was already trotting back behind you to continue to bother you.

Harry leaned against the edge of the table across from you, completely uninvited and entirely too comfortable there. His eyes moved slowly over your face, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and your obvious irritation with visible amusement.

“You look tired.”

You look back up at him plainly.

“Insightful.”

“You sleep at all?”

“A little.”

“Mhm.” His grin deepened knowingly. “You’re doing that thing where you answer questions like you hate me.”

“I do hate you right now.”

He could’ve laughed at your face right there.

“No, you don’t.”

You took another sip of coffee just to avoid responding. Harry stared at you over the rim of his own cup. Completely entertained, like this was his morning news and he needed to tune in.

“Y/n, the sound booth needs you in 5.”

You wince, shutting your eyes briefly before calling out an okay and shrugging off your purse.

“Bye y/n,” Harry smiles, tilting his head playfully like your exhaustion is only here for his entertainment.

“Bye Harry.”

You barely saw him for the rest of the day after that.

Every time you turned around, someone needed something. A frequency issue during rehearsals, a missing pack during load in, comms crackling endlessly in your ear while production schedules shifted by the minute.

By the afternoon, you were too busy to think about him much at all, which was probably a good thing considering the smile he’d walked away wearing that morning.

The show passed in a blur from the booth. You stood behind the glowing soundboards with your headset pressed tighter against one ear while the arena shook around you, lights flashing across thousands of screaming fans.

From back there, Harry looked different. Bigger somehow. Untouchable. All confidence and movement and effortless charm under the stage lights. Still, more than once, your stomach tightened when you caught his gaze flick briefly toward the booth like he was checking for you without meaning to.

Now the show was over, and you stood backstage in the green room with tired shoulders and aching feet while crew members rushed around tearing equipment down around you. The adrenaline of the concert had faded, leaving only exhaustion behind.

You leaned against the wall quietly, absentmindedly twisting your headset cord around your fingers while waiting for the post show chaos to settle.

Voices echoed down the hallway before the door even opened. You recognized Harry’s immediately, warm and animated in that post show way he always got, still riding the adrenaline high from stage.

But there was another voice with him this time.

A woman’s laugh floated down the corridor a second later, light and airy. Your stomach tightened instinctively before you could stop it. You didn’t want it to. But it happened.

Then the green room door swung open.

Harry walked in first, still glowing from the show, hair damp around his forehead and sleeves shoved messily to his elbows. Beside him was a brunette woman you vaguely recognized from the VIP tent earlier, pretty in an effortless kind of way, light eyes bright as she looked up at him while he talked.

And she was laughing. Like, a lot. At everything.

Harry said something you didn’t even catch properly while shrugging off his jacket, and she laughed immediately, hand brushing his arm like he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

You looked back down at the audio sheet in your hands before your expression could betray you.

Absolutely ridiculous.

People laughed at Harry constantly. He was charming. Funny. Famous. None of this was unusual. You’d fallen victim to it more times than you’d like to mention too. It really wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, especially working so close to him.

Still, every time her laugh floated across the room again, your eyes flicked over before you could stop them.

And every single time, Harry caught you doing it.

Of course he did.

You could feel it almost instantly, the subtle shift in his attention whenever your gaze landed on them together. Like he became hyperaware of you the second you started pretending not to look.

Annoying.

You crouched beside the audio cart near the wall, reorganizing cables that were already organized just to keep your hands busy. It was sad, but you were this close to breaking something and you’d rather it be equipment instead of someone’s face.

Across the room, the brunette laughed again at something mildly amusing at best.

No offense to Harry.

Your eyes rolled automatically before you could stop them. And when you glanced up, Harry was already looking at you. His mouth twitched instantly, like he’d officially decided everything you were feeling now. His assumptions have been proven correct.

“Y/n,” Harry called casually from the couch area, too close to the mystery women for comfort.

Your response came flat without looking up. “What?”

“Did you switch comm packs after the encore?”

A stupid question.

“Mhm.”

“That one’s mine or Glen’s?”

“Yours.”

It came out colder than you meant it to, but it was honestly a stupid question and you were growing more and more irritated with every passing second.

You heard the tiny pause afterward, like Harry was reveling in this moment and couldn’t believe it was real.

“Thanks,” he said slowly, amusement already slipping into his voice.

You only hummed in response.

The brunette looked between the two of you curiously before turning back toward Harry when he said something quietly to her.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, she laughed again.

Good God.

Your jaw tightened slightly without meaning too, stuck between the frustration of these fucking wires layered between the echoing laughs of a spunky brunette.

“You alright over there?” Harry asked after a minute.

You clipped another cable into place. “Fine.”

“You seem grumpy.” He called, the second time he’s said the word today.

“I’m tired.”

“Mhm.” That sound alone irritated you.

You glanced up briefly to find him leaning back against the couch cushions now, one arm stretched along the back while he watched you with obvious interest. Like he was enjoying this. Actually enjoying it.

“Could you grab us two waters?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked at him once, like you couldn’t beleive this was a real question. Then looked toward the fully stocked fridge less than six feet from where he sat.

“There are plenty of other people here,” you said evenly. “I’m busy.”

Silence.

The brunette shifted awkwardly beside him while Harry stared at you for half a second. And then, a grin spread slowly across his face. Deep dimples. Bright eyes. Entirely too entertained.

Your stomach dropped immediately.

Because he knew.

“Oh my God,” he murmured softly, almost to himself.

You narrowed your eyes instantly, standing straight up against the cart now with your hands leveling you, “What?”

But Harry was already standing and looking much too pleased with himself.

“I’ll get them myself,” he said lightly to the brunette before starting across the room.

Toward you.

You immediately looked back down at the cables in your hands like they suddenly required your full concentration. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t stop until he was directly beside the audio cart. Close enough that you could smell the lingering mix of cologne and stage sweat still clinging to him after the show.

“You’re jealous,” he said quietly.

You scoffed immediately, “I’m not.”

“Y/n.” His voice was warm with amusement. “You practically rolled your eyes to the back of your skull every time she laughed.”

You dropped what you were working on and pulled closer to his face, “She laughed at things that weren’t funny.”

Harry bit back a grin.

“There she is.”

“Harry, what?” You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. Not ever, really. And you had shit to take care of.

“You got mean.”

“I’m usually mean to you?”

“No,” His eyes dragged slowly over your face, “Usually you’re pretending not to like me. Tonight you looked like you wanted to kill somebody.”

Heat crawled violently up your neck before you could stop it, his words genuinely shocking you past your normal point of surprise. He was always bold with you. But this was honest. Too honest.

“I do not care who you bring backstage.”

You barely even believed yourself when those words fell out of you.

“Mhm.”

“I don’t.”

“You told me to get my own water,” he continues to whisper, trying to hide the conversation from the women on the couch. Who, by the way, has clearly been growing more antsy for his return with every passing second.

“There was a fridge right there,” you say like it’s an obvious reason for your denial.

“You’ve gotten me water before.”

You opened your mouth immediately, then stopped. Harry’s grin widened in triumph.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” he laughed softly.

You don’t know why you started to feel genuinely angry, but you did. Maybe it was the way he was speaking, almost patronizing, like he had you all figured out before you had the chance to yourself.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he was starting to pull the truth out of you which you’ve been so desperately avoiding.

“You are so full of yourself,” you said, and it came out more honest than you intended. Harsh, even.

“And you,” he said, stepping just slightly closer, “are jealous. And too fucking scared to ever admit it.”

Like your comment before didn’t phase him at all.

You just stare at him with heavy breaths, your face and neck heating up before you could stop them. You were furious over his attitude. His confidence. The way he spoke like he was the smartest person in the room and the way he was looking at you like he knew you’d fold soon.

“Enjoy your night. I hope your dick enjoys her as much as your head enjoys this bullshit.”

Way too mean. Absolutely past the point of professional boundaries.

You knew it the second you said it, and so did he. His face was genuinely shocked, like you’ve officially surprised him for the first time in his life. He didn’t seem angry, necessarily. Just…you don’t even know. Just shocked.

And silent.

You shoved through the backstage hallway doors before he could say another word to you.

The sound room was blissfully empty when you stormed inside, the muffled crowds from the arena now distant through thick walls while rows of glowing consoles blinked quietly in the dark.

Good. Because if another person looked at you right now, you might actually lose your mind.

You dropped a headset onto the table harder than necessary and immediately started yanking cords loose from the side rack with sharp, irritated movements. Stupid. This whole thing was so unbelievably stupid.

Your chest still burned from the look on his face back there, smug and amused while that girl sat beside him laughing at every breath he took. Like he enjoyed watching you unravel. Like this had all just been a game to him for months.

A cable slipped from your hands and smacked loudly against the table, echoing throughout the empty area.

“Careful,” Harry’s voice came from the doorway. “Those are expensive.”

You froze for a moment, breath hitched at his sudden presence, and then continued packing without turning around.

“Go away.”

The door shut behind him, closing the two of you inside of the empty room much too late in the night.

“No.”

Your jaw tightened, already frustrated at his quick denial as if your words were a suggestion. They weren’t. You heard his footsteps approach slowly across the room while you wrapped another cord aggressively around your hand.

“Seriously,” you snapped, “I’m working.”

“You’re furious.”

“I’m not furious.”

Harry laughed once under his breath. Wrong move. You spun around immediately.

“Do you seriously think this is funny?”

His expression shifted slightly at the volume in your voice, but he still looked more frustrated than apologetic now. Green eyes sharp beneath messy curls, chest still rising faintly from the remains of the show adrenaline.

There was no smiles anymore. From either of you. It was clear how frustrated you both were as you stood a small distance apart, breaths heavy and eyes low like you two were trying to figure out how to speak without screaming in each other's faces.

“I think,” he said carefully, “you’re finally reacting honestly for once.”

You stared at him in disbelief, as if he knew you at all.

“Honestly?” you repeated. “You bring some random girl backstage and spend the whole night looking at me like it’s the most entertain—”

“She wasn’t random.”

“I don’t care who she was.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I care that you’re sick in the head.”

Harry blinked at the one. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Your voice echoed sharply off the walls now. “You spend months messing with me and flirting with me and pushing me constantly, and then you parade another woman around in front of me like you’re trying to prove how easy this is for you.”

His eyebrows pulled together instantly, taking a step forward until there were only a couple of inches between you both.

The crease between his brows was loud. The flush on his cheeks was freshening, and the sharp glare of his eyes was the most telling of it all.

“Easy?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you think this is?”

“I think you like attention.”

Harry scoffed sharply, taking another step closer. “You think I’ve spent months chasing after someone who acts like she hates me because it’s easy?”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“No,” he snapped back immediately, “I flirt with you.”

Silence cracked heavily between you. Your pulse pounded hard enough to hurt.

Harry dragged a hand through his curls roughly, frustration officially overtaking the amusement he’d been carrying all night.

“You know what your problem is?” he started, “You never admit anything. Ever.”

You laughed harshly, closing up another box and tossing it to the side, “Because there’s nothing to admit.”

“Bullshit.”

“Harry—”

“You feel something and immediately bury it under this professional act because God forbid anyone knows you actually care about something.”

Your stomach twisted angrily.

“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me because you sing songs and smile at people for a living.”

That wasn’t fair. You didn’t even really mean it.

But his jaw tightened anyway, swallowing the words and pushing back up with whatever felt right in his chest.

“And you don’t get to act like I’m manipulating you just because you’re too stubborn to admit this thing between us has been happening for months.”

You folded your arms tighter across your chest like that could somehow hold you together.

“There is no thing.”

Harry actually stared at you for a second like he couldn’t believe you’d said it. Then he laughed once. Not amused. It was more in disbelief. Because there was really no way you could genuinely beleive that.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re just fucking cruel.”

That landed worse than the line before. You saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted, dragging across your face with so much anger that you had to swallow to keep yourself grounded.

“Cruel?” he repeated quieter.

“Yes.” Your throat felt tight now, anger bleeding messily into something worse. “You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

Harry stepped impossibly closer again. “That girl was someone my mum wanted me to meet after the show.”

You paused, tilting your head as you catch your breath from frustration.

“What?”

“She’s a family friend’s daughter,” he said sharply, “And it had absolutely nothing to do with showing off for you.”

You looked away immediately, embarrassment and anger tangling together violently in your chest in a more obvious way than you would’ve liked.

Harry noticed.

“See?” he said, “You jumped straight to assuming I was trying to hurt you.”

“You were enjoying it,” you say, rolling you eyes as his point had no relevance to you.

“Because you were jealous.”

“I was not jealous.”

“You were glaring at her like she was, like, offending you.”

“She was laughing too hard.”

A completely incredulous laugh escaped him, “Oh my God.”

“Don’t ‘oh my God’ me.”

“How do you seriously not see that you were jealous? Just admit something for once in your fucking life!”

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“You were!”

“I am not jealous of every girl you drag backstage! Just leave me alone!”

The second the words left your mouth, the room went dead silent. Harry stared at you. Your own breathing sounded too loud suddenly. Because that last part had been a mistake.

His eyes flicked slowly over your face, something shifting there.

“You mean that?”

You take a breath, settling into yourself for a moment as your hands come to rub against your temples. It was late. You were both over tired. This whole thing was just a big fucking mess that you were deep into now to get out of.

Oh, and you both were half sure the entire crew was listening outside of the door.

But that was a problem for tomorrow.

“No,” you start, “I don’t mean that. But you don’t get to stand there and act like this is all my fault.”

“I’m not saying it is.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m exhausted!”

His voice cracked louder through the room than your yelling somehow.

“I flirt with you every day. I look for you every day. I walk into rooms looking for you first every day and you act like I’m insane for noticing you feel it too.”

Your chest tightened painfully, knowing in the back of your mind that he was right.

“And then tonight,” he continued, eyes locked on yours, “you looked at me like I’d betrayed you. You can’t do that. Not after pushing me to the floor like dog shit for months.”

You swallowed hard.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Which only made you angrier.

“You don’t get to make me feel crazy for this,” you shot back.

“I’m not making you feel anything.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me!” The words ripped out louder than intended.

Harry went still at the burst, breaths racing quicker while he sat on what was next. What he should say. What he should do. If this was ruined for good and you’d be on the next flight home.

The silence afterward felt massive.

“It’s not fair, Harry,” you continue, “You don’t get to do this to me.”

Your voice was shaking now, words spilling faster the longer he stayed silent.

“You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the one making this complicated when you’ve been doing this to me for months.”

Harry didn’t say anything, and it made your chest tighten harder.

“Every day it’s something,” you went on, pacing now, unable to stay still under the weight of it. “You flirt with me, you push me, you look at me like I’m the only person in the room and then you just expect me to function like it doesn’t affect me?”

Still nothing. Your frustration snapped sharper.

“You think I don’t notice it? You think I don’t feel it?” You shot another time, voice rising again. “Because I do. I feel it every single time you look at me like that and I hate that I do. And I have a life I’m trying to protect. I built something for myself here. I worked too hard to be taken seriously to just—throw it away because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He swallowed thick at the last line, listening to your words helplessly and sinking in thoughts he can’t say. “And the worst part is I don’t even get a break from it. I have to choose. Every day. Between being good at my job and feeling whatever this is when I’m around you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his again, glossy with frustration now.

“Between my career and my happiness,” you said quieter, but more honest than anything you’d said all night. “And you just stand there like it’s nothing when it’s not nothing for me! It’s impossible and it’s—”

Harry crossed the space between you in a single step and crashed his mouth into yours, hands coming up to either side of your face, holding you there so quickly you didn’t even have time to react.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t kiss back. Just froze completely against him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat while everything in your brain tried to catch up.

But neither of you pulled away.

And then, slowly, when it finally registered, your hands slid up to the back of his head and your lips found their way against his. You pulled him in even closer than he already was, squeezing your hands against him like you jus couldn’t get close enough.

The breath you both released at the same time broke whatever line was left between arguing and something deeper.

The kiss shifted, still urgent, still overwhelming, but no longer just interruption. It turned into something heavier, driven by months of tension finally collapsing into contact neither of you had managed to stop.

“Harry—”

“Sh,” he shut you up through smashing lips before you could even finish the thought, “just let me kiss you for a bit.”

So you did.

It didn’t take much convincing, considering his tongue was minty and warm and his nose was nudging up into your face exactly how you dreamed it might. He was strong and confident and, in the least weird way, skilled. It was like he’d already learned exactly how you want it and rolled it out of him with no effort at all.

“Just tell me to stop,” he mutters through kiss, “just tell me.”

You just nod, quick and aggressive as he pulls you in even closer and inhales you like he needs you to breathe. Your heart was slamming and your mind was dizzy, fogged in the forbidden mesh of the two of you and the stupidity behind it all.

Because really, one crack of the door and you’d be fired on the spot. It was the most insane thing for you to ever do, especially after screaming in his face for all to hear from the hallway.

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. You wanted him. You needed him. You wanted him to handle you and treat you like he’d been dreaming of—whatever that may be.

And as his tongue slid across the insides of your mouth for the thousandth time, you let your mind drift into what he might do. What he’s been begging to do. You knew he had to have something shoved up deep in sleeves, something he’d been putting off until this moment and thought of more times than he should.

His hands came tugging up at your top before you could slip too deep into that thought. The pass of the fabric through your faces broke the suction to each other for only a moment before he was crashing back down onto you, a kiss laced in so much hunger that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

And once your chest was covered in nothing but the flimsy cotton of your black bra, his hands couldn’t land. He was everywhere. Up your ribs, across your tummy, pressed into the open curve of your lower back.

The pass over your clothed breasts was long. Like he was mapping out exactly how they sat without actually breaking the kiss to look at them.

And you were only thinking one thing—just take off the bra and fucking touch me.

As if reading your mind, his hands slipped underneath the top of the cup and grasped at your smooth skin tenderly, cupping around your full breasts until his thumb found the perk of your nipples and his palm found its place underneath the curve.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “so soft.”

It was mostly to himself, like he was marking the exact moment out loud to remember forever.

Now you really were jealous.

Your hands worked desperately at his damp button up, undoing every last one like a ravenous animal until it wore him more as a jacket of sorts instead of a shirt.

You let your eyes fall.

Of course you’ve seen him shirtless before. But this was different. This was vulnerable—the flap of his butterfly on his chest, mixed in nerves and anticipation and the feeling of something new yet forbidden. The subtle sheen of his sweat bouncing off of his pecs, still not fully recovered from his show.

Then there was the hair. Littered across his chest and more importantly, trailing thick down to a screaming bulge below.

You groaned before you could stop yourself, and his smirk was deep in response before pulling you tight to his lips again.

“Harry,” you start breathlessly, still in between sloppy kisses, “I have to go soon. I have to catch the last train.”

He shakes his head immediately, “I’ll drive you back.”

You consider telling him the truth. The humiliating truth. The truth that will probably turn that growing hard on down into a sad softie that’ll never come back up.

“No really,” you murmur again, kissing him harder, “I really do have to go soon.”

He backed up this time, hands placed somewhere between your waist and your shoulders lazily.

“Why? We can stop.”

You shake your head immediately, “No, I…I don’t want to stop. I just want us to…um…hurry?”

“Y/n…” he nagged with a smile, teasing you already, “don’t break your honesty streak now.”

You shake your head, “it’s embarassing.”

“Just say it.”

You roll your eyes, sucking in a deep breath and thinking of the vaguest way to say it.

“Fine,” you huff, “my mom calls me every night at exactly 12AM. Okay?”

His eyebrow cocks upward, “that’s not embarassing.”

“Right, so, let’s just keep going?” You clear your throat, nodding a placing your hands back behind his neck as if to prepare for another kiss.

He’s still staring at you with a small smirk that you hate.

“Not so fast,” he teases, “Something in me says you’re keeping out a very important detai—”

You unclasp your bra in the middle of his sentence, letting your tits fall loose in a desperate attempt to cut off his train of thought right there.

And it works, for a second.

His eyes fall, his words come to an abrupt halt, and his mouth goes dry in a state of total holy fucking shit this can’t be real life.

“That’s not fair, y/n,” he says, but he’s still looking down at your chest, “not at all.”

You just grin, looking down at him as he gawks at the sight in front of him and lets his hands drift upwards to cup them once again. This time it was different. This time he was looking at what he had in his palms. And they were even better than how he’d dreamed of them, perky and pink and so full.

And then he’s grabbing you by your ribs, hands wide and rough, lifting you until you’re sat on top of the counter behind you, covered with equipment that was far too expensive for this behavior. But neither of you really seemed to notice, let alone care.

His lips locked around nipples before you had the time to process the shift, sucking and nagging and groping the untouched one with his other hand.

But then he was back on subject.

God damn it.

“Tell me,” he cooed, still latched to your breasts, “tell me what you’re hiding.”

You sighed at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin, naked and exposed and more vulnerable than you’ve been in awhile. More time than you’d like to admit.

“Can’t.”

He stopped his kissing and looked back up at you.

“Y/n.”

You huff, rolling your eyes and sinking into the cabinet behind you. “My dog. My mom FaceTimes me every night at 12AM so I can talk to my dog before bed. Okay?”

He pushed his lips tight together through his smile, fighting to keep it in as to not embarrass you even further. But his crinkled eyes were telling and the raise of his brows said even more.

“Oh, well that’s adorable.”

You drop your head into your hands, searching for an escape from this moment forever.

“Harryyy.”

“Ok, listen,” he lets out a loose laugh now, bringing his hands up to your cheeks until your face reveals itself again. “It’s not embarrassing. You’re cute. I’ll get you home by 12.”

You peaked your eye open a bit and let your face sink into his palms. “Yeah?”

He nods, face pulling closer to yours again already, “promise.”

And then he was back on you, splitting your lips open softly and letting his tongue fall onto yours as if it was the most natural thing to ever happen.

Suddenly you understand why this has felt impossible to ignore for so long, because kissing him feels terrifyingly right. Soft in a way you never expected from someone who spends all day teasing you, but underneath it there’s still that same intensity he always looks at you with—as he’s been holding himself back for months and finally doesn’t have to anymore.

You can feel it in the way he pulls you closer. In the way his thumbs brush once beneath your ears. In the way he kisses you like this means something. Like it’s exactly what he needed.

Exactly what both of you needed.

He’s drifting his mouth back down to your chest as slips his fingers in your waist band, and suddenly everything feels very real. Harry Styles. Famous. Like, ridiculously famous. In the middle of his tour. In an empty sound room backstage. And, more importantly, your boss.

His hands feel your nerves before your mouth could vocalize them.

“Relax,” he coos, lips resting against your bare chest, “it’s just me.”

You take a breath, shutting your eyes and desperately searching for a place of peace.

It’s Harry. Harry who’s been yearning for you for months. This isn’t a one night stand. This isn’t an unintimate fuck after the adrenaline of a show. It’s raw, it’s real. It’s just Harry.

So this time, when his fingers tug harder on your pants and your full body starts to reveal itself, you don’t feel so suffocated.

He had your pants and thong pooled down to your ankles quicker than you expected, leaving you in nothing but your skin as you stayed perched atop the cool counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered to no one, dropping slowly to his knees as his palms rested atop your knees.

You were bare in front of him, legs half spread and core dripping onto the surface beneath you. You figured it had to leave a mark. His eyes turned inward as they locked onto where he needed most, what he’s been clawing at desperately for months, right in from of him and oh so beautiful.

His hands pushed your knees further apart slowly, revealing more of yourself to him until it was all on display. And right when you started to relax, his hands left your legs and fell to in between your thighs instead.

“Shit,” he breathed, fingers coming to toy with your folds, “so pretty. Fucking perfect.”

His finger tips pressed against either side of your wet hole, and slowly spread apart from each other until you were wide and gaping in front of him. Your breath hitched somewhere deep in your chest and your mind stilled, watching his eyes as he inspected what was before him closely.

“So tight,” he hummed, spreading you open even further, “beautiful, you know that?”

You just gulped, letting a hand fall on top of his head to play with his curls mindlessly. Anything to give you something to do.

His fingers drifted higher up to your clit now, pinching at either side of the swelling bud before spreading that apart too. The ball of your sensitivity came pushing outward at the movement, throbbing in front of him while you dripped helplessly just below.

And then, with eyes glossed up towards your gaze, he stuck his tongue out, skinny and pointed, before pressing the tip onto your overly exposed clit.

Your eyes shut before you could stop them, chest panting and brows turning inward. It was the most sensitive you’ve felt in awhile, so worked up from the arguing and the teasing and the kiss that was forever too short.

“Mm,” he hummed, circling once around your clit and watching for your reaction, “tastes so good. So sweet.”

You groaned, tugging at the hair on his scalp and letting your head roll back until stopped by the wood behind you.

His lips came to suck harsh against your swollen clit, suckling at your arousal and rolling the bead in his mouth as his palms came to grasp around your hips. He was nestled into you like he needed you to breathe, groaning against the taste and pulling closer to you.

His tongue flattened as it pressed against your dripping hole, lapping up your arousal and whispering at the sweet taste on his tongue. You were wet and so fucking pink in front of him, drenched in desperation and the need for something more than just his warm tongue against you.

“Harry,” you whine, “feel so good, but—”

“I know,” he cuts through you, already knowing just what you need instead, “me too. Just give me a couple more minutes, wanna remember this.”

And who were you to deny that?

So you let him feast at you for another five or so minutes, lapping you up and swallowing you with every new drip. It was his heaven. It was what he’d been fucking his fist to for the last couple of months, the thought of you on his tongue and mixed with the melodic sounds of your moans.

“Please, Harry,” you groan, fingers tightening against every strand of his hair and thighs clamping absentmindedly around his skull.

“Hm? What do you need?”

You roll your eyes again, “Harry.”

He detached from your swollen pussy, face wet in your juice as he rose back up to level with your face. His hands land on your bare open thighs, head tilted as he catches his breath in front of you.

“Y/n,” he repeats, challenging you, “tell me what you need.”

You tug your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes glassing up at him as your chest juts outward.

“You,” you breathe, “want you to fuck me, Harry.”

His eyes fall shut as if instinct.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head dropping for a moment, “wish I could’ve fucking recorded that. Listen to it forever.”

And then his lips are back on yours, harsh this time, splitting you open as his hands gripped tight against the meat of your outer thighs.

It happened quicker than you expected—his hands working his zipper, his lips turning sloppy as he breathed heavier inside of your open mouth. And at the sound of his button popping open and his zip hitting the base, your skin chilled at the noise, adrenaline rolling through you as a fuzz rolled down your spine.

His pants shoved down to his mid thigh, boxers following suit, and before you knew it, there it was. Your boss's cock. Thick and dripping in between your open thighs.

He was…big. Bigger than you’d ever been with before, for sure. He was swollen and girthy and just crying with a slow salty drip of precum. For a second you thought, maybe a big dick comes with being a world famous sex symbol.

And in a moment of total honesty, eyes locked on his erection, “I’m kind of nervous.”

He just grins, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, before shaking his head and kissing you another time. “Don’t be. Just me.”

It settles something in you. Your smile comes beaming right as your chest softens, nodding softly at him as you try your hardest to regulate your breathing and calm the warmth on your face.

You know, to act like you weren’t about to get fucked in the sound closet while a staff of a hundred was waiting for you both.

By your boss.

And global phenomenon.

Oh, and there was a cute brunette waiting for his return in the next room.

But you’d rather focus on the less life ending matters right now.

His hand comes to hold the base of his dick, taking a step closer to your open legs as he held you propped atop the counter still. Your head was racing, eyes flicking back and forth between the nearing head of his cock and his face like you were trying to actually decide if the two were here at the same time.

And just before pressing in, breathlessly, “you’re sure?”

You nod immediately. “I’m sure. Please.”

He pushed into so slow that it ached, stretching your tight hole gently as he filled you up inch by inch. He was…a lot. Pulling you apart without even trying to and sinking in deeper than what’s ever been reached before.

Once he bottomed out and his tip was kissing some place deep in your tummy, you both let out a simultaneous “Fuck.”

His forehead dropped against yours in a sweaty mess, pulling out of you until his tip reached your folds before pushing back in with a force stronger than the one before. More certain. Like he couldn’t be more sure now. And you couldn’t either.

To say it was heavenly wasn’t even doing it justice. He was filling you up just as you liked, big and profound and pumping in and out of you with careful precision. Knocking into that spongy spot inside of you that had your vision blurry and tear ducts jamming.

“Harry,” you moan out, desperately trying to keep your voice down, “it feel so good, you feel so good.”

His thrusts deepen, “yeah? Like that?”

“Mmm,” you weren’t totally aware of any noise you were making, your mind just sort of rolled out whatever it was feeling and expressed itself in sudden waves.

He felt it. The organic nature of it all. The way you clamped around him desperately and grabbed at the skin on his back like it’d somehow be able to keep you grounded through this.

But then it got rougher. Quicker. Sharp in your belly as he slammed into you over and over and over again.

“Ah!” Your head tossed back, “fuck, shit, it’s so good, Harry, so big.”

It only spurred him on faster.

“Like my cock?” He was pumping into you so fast that your back was smacking loud agaisnt the unstable cabinets, “how big is it. Tell me how good this dick is.”

Your walls tightened again around him at his filthy ask, finger nails scratching into his skin until inflamed and bleeding at the touch.

“So big, mmm,” your whine draws through the closed space, “so good inside of me, so deep, fuck!”

He fucked you like this for awhile, stealing quick kisses from you from time to time and pulling you as close to him as you could get.

And then he scooped you up and off of the counter effortlessly, cock still buried deep inside of you, before placing your back down flat on a lower standing table in the center of the room. Covered in expensive electronics and hazardous wires that neither of you knew the importance of. Or cared.

When he started fucking into you again, it was different. You were flat against the surface, legs locked around his waist and hair sprawled around you like a halo you just grew within the last half hour. Which, you honestly felt like you did.

But his tip was deeper this time, with the new position, and crawled up into your tummy until the skin of your lower stomach was tenting in the pressure of his cock. Thrusting up into it until it pulled upwards and created a pretty indent of his shape.

You’ve never experienced a thing like it.

He grabbed a hand and placed it over the space, brows sewing together and a whimper slipping out at the feeling of his cock showing through you. It was a fantasy come true.

Your tits flowed with his rhythm, bouncing up and down, flattened like pancakes, with every thrust. Your moans followed it too, a high pitched huff falling loose every time he slammed into with that same persistence.

“God, Harry,” your hands grab onto nothing, “don’t stop, please, gonna cum soon—”

And then his phone rang. Loud, in the back pocket of his half-off pants that hung right around his knees.

Just when you thought he would stop, pull out and answer the phone, or even silence it and continue to fuck you, he didn’t. He kept his thrusts steady, reached into his pocket, and fucking answered.

“Yeah?” He called through the line, half breathless as he slammed his hips into you beneath him.

You’d never held your voice so hard in your fucking life.

There was random mumbling through the other end, a deep voice, rambling about something you couldn’t quite decipher. His head tilted backwards as he listened, the grip on his phone a little lose as he shut his eyes in pure bliss.

“That’s fine,” he starts again, “I’ll take care of it.”

All while sliding his tip out of you and pressing himself back in fully until your arousal wettened his pubic hairs. And it continued like this until your stomach was bubbling and your face was hot and scrunched into itself.

“Mm, gonna cum,” you whisper, still trying to keep yourself hidden from wherever the hell was on the phone with him for this long.

Harry just smirked, phone still pressed up against his ear, as he quickened his strokes into you again. His free thumb came to rest atop your clit, rubbing slow circles onto the sensitive bud until you throat was strained in a sad attempt to keep every noise in.

“No, not home yet,” he spoke again, “taking care of a couple things.”

He fucked you harder. Faster. As if he was challenging you to see who could keep their composure best.

But you’d already lost. You knew you had. Your legs were vibrating violently around his waist, pulsing with every new swipe at your clit and every new slam of his hips.

And the second you finally reached your orgasm, a long, drawn out moan escaped up your chest before you got the chance to silence it.

His hand smacked hard over your mouth with so much force that you shut up immediately.

But he wasn’t upset. He didn’t even look phased. He was still grinning at you, in awe of your fucked state as he pounded himself in and out of you and shut you the hell up with his wide palm.

You came hard. Stuck in the trance he’s set you in and fading into the light as he rides you through it. Your limbs were numbing, your skin stuck between a mix of hot and cold and not quite landing on just one.

He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment as the other man spoke to nothing. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Feel good?”

You hum lazily, eyes shut as a small smile crawls up to your face absentmindedly. It’d been awhile since you felt this fucked. Just laying there limp and useless and half awake.

Regardless, he wasn’t stopping.

“Mhm,” he said, back on the phone, a little too suspicious of a noise for an average discussion. “Ok. Mhm. Bye.”

“Who was tha—”

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good y/n,” he cut you off, letting his phone hang loose in his grip now as his eyes meld shut in reflex.

It was the furthest thing from calm anymore. He was slamming into you relentlessly until your tits smacked into themselves and your throat strained in purple veins and reddened skin.

“Oh my god,” you groan, cupping your own breast with a squeeze, “shit!”

“Yeah, let everyone hear you,” he spits, “just fucking scream, tell them how good your getting it.”

And you did.

There was no taming whatever was begging to come out of you. You were loud and rambling and just crying whatever filth came to mind without giving yourself a minute to process a thought.

“Shit, can’t fucking believe you,” his head dropped into itself, “gonna remember this, best pussy I’ve ever had y/n.”

You hum, loud, as you let your neck push out and your head rolls back harder onto some sort of sound board that definitely has a couple switches knocked off. His eyes were locked to the movement on your chest—the way your tits shook and belly shook and tented up with his tip.

You’re not really sure what made you think of it. Maybe the way he was staring, maybe the way he told you he wanted to remember, or maybe the way his phone was still hanging lose in his thick fingers from the call.

But you nudged your head towards his phone before you got a chance to think twice about it.

He looked down at where you gestured.

Then back at you.

Back to the phone.

And another time back at you.

Then, shakily, “…yeah?”

You nod through a bitten grin, pinching your nipples between your fingers as if to ask for that to be the focus.

Like any man who’s alive and breathing, the idea only sat with him for about a half a second before his phone was back out and the camera was faced down at you.

And then he was fucking you again, harder this time, so riled up from the devious act in the first place, as he slammed into you until his balls smacked against the bottom of your ass.

Your tits slapped into each other through the camera, clapping against themselves in the most erotic way he’d ever seen. You could see it on his face. The way his lips fell apart through broken groans and his eyes were so zoned into one place that you figured he’d forgotten about everything else surrounding.

“Harry,” you breathe out, “so good. Gonna make yourself cum to this later? Watch yourself fuck me where you shouldn’t?”

He brought his free hand to the small of your waist, gripping tight before using the grip to tug you down onto him harder. His cock was pressing so hard up into your belly that you thought it’d be bruised, so worked out from his thick cock in a way you’ve never gotten it before.

“Fuck, yes, fucking yes,” he groaned, gripping you tighter without trying, “M’so close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my tits, Harry?” You call, dramatized for his video and paired with an extra shake of your rolling breaths on top of you.

With that, he pulled out of you quick as his fist came to wrap around his length, pumping in sloppy motions with a twisted face and held breaths. His salty cum painted itself onto your tits beautifully, dripping down your smooth skin and coating itself over the peak of your nipples like it belonged there.

His head fell lazy as his breaths lengthened, grounding himself slowly through small touches and deep inhales. The video had stopped, now fallen to the edge of the table you laid on still.

“Fuck,” and then he was looking back up at you with a crooked smile, “did we just fuck?”

And, like usual, your eyes rolled as a grin curved up your mouth, “yeah. Now don’t torment me.”

He pulled out of you slowly, taking his time to not further stress your body before tugging his pants loosely back up to his waist.

“Y/n,” he starts again, grabbing a rag from the counter, “do you know you and I just had sex? You? And I? Y/n and Harry?”

“What part of don’t torment me do you not understand, hm?” You tease, sitting up on your elbows as he begins to wipe up your chest and whatever spilled to your stomach.

“But you’re cute when I torment you,” he shrugs, smirking down at you as he tosses the now dirty rag to the side.

“I don’t think I like you very much.”

His teeth show through his dimpled grin now, arms locked on the table by either side of your hips as he brings himself closer to your face.

And with a sweet kiss and a press to your forehead—

“I like you very much.”

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Today though, tour actually takes over again, night four, another show day ahead. But not quite yet. For now, there is only morning sun over the canals, the sound of bicycles passing over cobblestones, and Harry walking beside you with his sunglasses on, one hand loosely wrapped around yours. It's still early enough for the city to feel gentle. Busy, yes, but not frantic. Cafés are filling slowly, tables being wiped down, pastries arranged behind glass, tiny vases with tulips placed on outdoor tables as if the whole city believes breakfast needs decoration.

“We could just keep walking and call it breakfast,” Harry says after the third café you pass is deemed too full.

You glance over. “That’s not how breakfast works.”

“It could be. Very European. A thoughtful stroll.”

“You need actual food before soundcheck.”

“I had a mint.”

“A mint is not breakfast, Harry.”

“It’s refreshing.”

“It’s toothpaste-adjacent.”

He laughs, squeezing your hand gently. “Fine. Actual food. Somewhere small, though.”

You know what he means without him needing to explain. Harry loves people, and he is generous with fans when he can be, but food is one of the few things he tries to keep sacred. He doesn’t want to be photographed mid-bite or approached while you are trying to have a quiet conversation over coffee. More than that, he knows you still become shy when fans recognise you beside him, even when they are kind. So he keeps his head lowered a little as you turn down a quieter street, away from the bigger brunch spots with queues outside.

The café you eventually find is tucked between a flower shop and a narrow bookshop, its windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. There are a few tables near the front, but most of them are occupied by locals reading newspapers or tourists planning their day over maps and croissants. In the back corner, half-hidden by a tall plant and a low wooden partition, there is a small table for two. Harry spots it at the same time you do. “That one,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Very stealthy.”

“I’m basically invisible.”

“You are wearing sunglasses indoors.”

“Exactly. Disguise.”

“Excellent work.”

He grins and follows you to the corner table, sliding into the seat across from you. The moment you sit, the whole morning settles into something easy. Outside, a cyclist rings a bell at someone crossing too slowly. Inside, coffee machines hiss, cups clink softly, and an old song plays from speakers somewhere near the counter. Harry takes off his sunglasses and folds them neatly beside his phone and you just watch him for a second.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“That’s my line.”

“I’m just happy.”

The answer makes his expression soften immediately. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yesterday helped.”

“Spa Harry is a superior Harry.”

“Breakfast-in-bed Harry is also quite good.”

“He’s a bit of a thief, though.”

“You stole all my strawberries.”

“I told you, they tasted better that way.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He leans back, pleased. “So I’ve been told.”

Before you can answer, the waitress arrives. She is young, probably in her early twenties, with a notepad in one hand and the unmistakable expression of someone trying very hard to appear calm while absolutely not feeling calm at all. Her eyes go straight to Harry. Only Harry. “Good morning,” she says, voice bright and sugary. “Welcome. It’s really, really lovely to have you here.”

The way she says you makes it clear she is not talking to the table. Harry notices it immediately and his eyes flick to you for half a second before he smiles politely at her. “Morning. Thank you.”

The waitress blushes immediately, then hurries to hand him a menu with both hands, as if presenting a gift. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Harry says.

She gives you yours after that, but it is more of a transfer than a welcome. A quick glance, a thin smile, and then her attention snaps back to Harry as if pulled by a magnet. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks him. “Coffee? Tea? Fresh juice? Anything you like.”

Harry sits with that for a second, not long enough to be rude, just long enough for you to see the tiny shift in his face, the polite disbelief behind his eyes. Then he turns to you, deliberately, giving you his full attention. “D’you want your usual, love? Or something different today?”

The waitress looks between you both and you clear your throat lightly, amused about the situation. “Usual sounds good.”

“Oat cappuccino?”

“Please.”

Harry looks back at the waitress. “A black coffee for me, and an oat cappuccino for her, please.”

The waitress writes it down while still looking at him. “Of course.”

She leaves with a smile aimed entirely at Harry. You lift an eyebrow the second she is gone and Harry watches her for one more beat, then turns back to you. “That was weird.”

“She knows who you are.”

“That doesn’t explain why she looked at you like you were a coat on the wrong chair.”

You laugh softly. “Maybe she’s having a rough morning.”

Harry gives you a look. “You’re very generous.”

“I try.”

“She didn’t even say hello to you.”

“She handed me a menu.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

You hide a smile behind the menu. “Pick your breakfast, protective man.”

“I am picking while also judging.”

“You multitask beautifully, my love.”

He opens his menu with a small huff, but you can still feel him watching you over the top of it every few seconds, checking if you are actually okay. You are. Mostly, you find the whole thing a little absurd, and absurd is much easier to handle than hurtful. After a few minutes, you settle on a breakfast bowl with porridge, fruit, nuts, and honey. Harry, who had been considering eggs, changes his mind twice, then announces he might need “something clean” before show day, which makes you snort because the man ate half a basket of hotel fries at midnight after night three. Your coffees arrive almost immediately, and so does the waitress. She places Harry’s black coffee down with care, almost reverence. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

Then she sets your cappuccino down so quickly that a little foam trembles over the rim and lands on the saucer and Harry’s jaw shifts visibly. You reach for a napkin before he can say anything while the waitress turns back to him with her brightest smile. “Have you decided what you’d like for breakfast?”

Harry doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks at you. “We have,” he says. “What would you like, love?”

You keep your voice friendly when you turn to the waitress. “I’ll have the porridge bowl, please. With fruit and honey.”

The waitress barely angles her body towards you as her pen pauses against the notepad. “Of course,” she says, then adds under her breath, not quite quietly enough, “Very mainstream. Could probably use some carbs, but…”

Harry freezes, you see it happen in real time. The tiny delay, the way his eyes move from the waitress, to you, back to the waitress again. He looks genuinely stunned, as if she has just done something so socially outrageous that his brain needs a second to accept it. You shake your head slightly. Not here, not now, not worth it. Harry reads the gesture, but he's not happy about it. Then the waitress turns to him again, all sweetness restored. “And for you?”

Harry closes his menu. “I’ll have the same.”

The waitress brightens. “The porridge bowl?”

“Yes.”

“With fruit and honey?”

“Exactly the same.”

There is a particular kind of satisfaction in the way he says it. Calm, polite, very pointed. You press your lips together to keep from smiling and the waitress either misses the point completely or chooses to. “Of course. Great choice.”

When she leaves again, Harry stares after her in sheer disbelief.

“You ordered porridge out of spite,” you say.

“I ordered porridge out of loyalty.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“I’m a noble man.”

“You wanted eggs.”

“I can want eggs and still stand for justice.”

You laugh into your cappuccino, after wiping the saucer with your napkin. “Careful, or I’ll put that on a t-shirt.”

“Please don’t. Fans’ll start asking what happened at breakfast.”

“They probably already know.”

Harry groans. “Bet someone’s gonna have photographed us through a tulip arrangement.”

“Very Dutch scandal.”

He finally looks away from the waitress and back at you, his expression softening. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be fine.”

“I know, but I am.”

He studies you like he is trying to decide whether to believe that, and because you don't want the morning to become about a rude waitress, you tilt your head. “Have you decided on the surprise song for tonight?”

That gets him and his eyes brighten a little. “Think I might do Paint by Numbers.”

Your smile is immediate. “Really?”

“Yeah. Piano version.”

“Oh, they’re going to love that.”

“You think?”

“I know. They love that song.”

“You love that song.”

“I have excellent taste.”

He leans forward, forearms on the table. “You absolutely do. Dating me proves it.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

His grin is quick, dimpled, and entirely too pleased with itself. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I might write a song about it.”

“As long as it’s not called Mainstream Porridge Bowl.”

Harry laughs loudly enough that the woman at the table near the window glances over with a smile.

For a while, the mood returns to what it was supposed to be: light and easy. You talk about the show, about which photos from the show before are safe to post without causing a complete internet collapse again. Harry makes fun of you for using the phrase “posting strategy”, and you remind him that his entire digital presence would be a ghost town without you. Then the waitress comes back with the food. She places Harry’s bowl down first, carefully centred, spoon set beside it with a little flourish. “Here you are.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, but his eyes are already on her hand as she turns towards your side of the table. She must notice the look he gives her, because this time she sets your bowl down gently. Almost comically gently, and Harry nods once. “Thank you.”

The waitress blushes again, her confidence returning the second his politeness lands on her. She smiles at him, leaning just slightly closer than necessary. “If there’s anything else you want,” she says, voice low and sweet, “anything at all, just let me know. I’d be very happy to take care of you.”

The silence that follows is tiny, but sharp. Harry stares at her, you lift your eyebrows, and the waitress just gives you a quick look then — dismissive, almost a little triumphant — before turning on her heel and walking away. For three full seconds, Harry doesn't move a muscle. You pick up your spoon. “Well,” you say after your first bite, “at least the food knows how to behave.”

Harry blinks, then looks at you. You take another spoonful. “It’s actually really good.”

He still looks caught between offence and disbelief. “Did she just—”

“Yes.”

“In front of you?”

“Yes.”

“While serving us breakfast?”

“Apparently breakfast comes with extras.”

Harry glances back towards the counter, then starts eating mostly because you are eating and because, despite everything, the porridge is good.

A few minutes pass with only the soft clink of spoons against bowls. Then he sets his spoon down. “How are you this calm?”

You look up. “She’s a fan.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, love, it really isn’t.”

You take a sip of your cappuccino and choose your words carefully, not because you are upset, but because this is one of those conversations that deserves more than a shrug. “You always say you try to treat fans with kindness,” you say. “Even when they’re awkward, or too excited, or they cross a line a little because they don’t know what to do with the moment.”

“This wasn't a little.”

“I know.”

“And you're not required to tolerate someone being rude to you because they like me.”

“I know that too.”

His expression eases slightly, but the irritation is still there. Not for himself, that's the part that makes you love him more. Harry is used to people flirting, used to being looked at, touched emotionally by strangers who feel like they know him. He handles it with more patience than most people would. But watching someone dismiss you beside him? That's harder for him to swallow.

“I just don’t want to spend energy on her,” you say. “She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her. We’ll probably never see her again after today. If I let her ruin my mood, she goes on with her day anyway, and I’m the one carrying it around.”

Harry listens, silent now.

“I’ve had to learn that,” you continue. “Not perfectly. I still get bothered by things. But sometimes protecting my peace means deciding that not every rude person deserves access to my feelings. Some people are just passing through. They can be unpleasant, and I can still leave them at the table when I walk away.”

He looks at you with such focused tenderness that you almost have to look back down at your breakfast.

“That makes sense,” he says after a moment.

“You do it too.”

“I try to.”

“You do. I've seen it.”

He gives a small shrug. “Had to learn. If I let every article, every comment, every nasty little post, every weird interaction get inside my head, I’d never see anything good again. And there’s too much good.” His eyes move over your face. “There’s you. There’s mornings like this. There are shows where people sing back so loud I can’t hear myself think. I don’t want the ugly bits to be louder than all that.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I know.” He reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against yours. “I’m proud of you for that. For knowing where to put things down.”

You smile. “You make me sound very wise.”

“You are.”

“I ordered porridge.”

“Wise people eat porridge.”

“You only ate it out of loyalty.”

“Still counts.”

The conversation leaves something warm between you, a serious note tucked into an otherwise ridiculous breakfast. By the time the bowls are empty and the coffees are finished, both of you are relaxed again, the waitress reduced to more of a story than a problem. Harry asks for the bill when she passes close enough to notice. She arrives quickly, naturally directing herself to him. “Did you enjoy everything?”

“The food was good,” Harry says, polite but less warm than before.

“I’m glad.” She smiles as if the sentence is a private gift. “Can I get you anything else before you go?”

“No, thank you. Just the bill.”

“Of course.”

She brings the card machine, and Harry pays while you look out of the window at a man trying to convince his dog to walk in the opposite direction. The dog is winning. When the receipt prints, the waitress tears it off. Then, with a smile so bold it almost becomes impressive, she places a folded piece of paper beside Harry’s hand. “In case you ever want something not on the menu,” she says.

You stare at the paper. Harry stares at the paper. The waitress gives him one last smile and walks away. For a second, neither of you speaks. Then Harry unfolds it.

Emily♡

A phone number underneath.

His face is so immediately confused, horrified, and offended that you cannot help it, you snort. Not a delicate laugh, not subtle, a proper, surprised little burst that you try and fail to catch behind your hand. The waitress — Emily, apparently — glances back and shoots you a glare and that only makes it worse. Harry looks at you, then at the paper, then back at you. “Are you laughing at my harassment?”

“I’m laughing at your face.”

“My face is reacting appropriately.”

“It’s a very good face.”

“She gave me her number in front of you.”

“Yes, I was here.”

“I’m aware you were here. That’s the concerning bit.”

You stand, still laughing quietly as you gather your things. Harry leaves the paper exactly where it is, flat on the table beside the empty bowls and the receipt.

“You’re not taking Emily with you?” you ask.

Harry gives you a look. “Don’t.”

“She offered things off-menu.”

“I’m walking away now.”

“Very strong boundaries.”

“Proud of me?”

“Extremely.”

He places a hand lightly at your back as you leave the café, not possessive, just present. The moment you step outside, the cool Amsterdam air feels wonderful after the warmth inside and Harry exhales dramatically. “That was the strangest breakfast I’ve ever had.”

You slip your hand into his. “It was very educational.”

“About what?”

“Customer service. Porridge. Human confidence.”

“Human audacity.”

“That too.”

He shakes his head, but now he is laughing as well. The whole thing is already becoming funny in the way bizarre situations do once you are no longer sitting inside them. You walk back towards the canal, taking the quieter route back to the hotel. Harry keeps your hand in his, thumb moving absently over your knuckles. “You didn’t even get jealous,” he says after a few minutes.

You glance over. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed.”

“You wanted me to throw a spoon?”

“No,” he says, though he's smiling. “Maybe not a spoon.”

“A napkin?”

“Subtle and elegant.”

You laugh. “I don’t really do jealousy.”

Harry looks at you, curious now. “How d’you mean?”

You think for a moment, watching sunlight catch on the water beside you. “I mean, I don’t see the point of it,” you say. “Jealousy doesn’t make anyone love you more. It doesn’t keep anyone faithful. It doesn’t stop someone from leaving if they want to leave. It only makes you feel terrible while you imagine things you can’t control.”

Harry’s smile fades into attention. You continue, calm and matter-of-fact. “I know you’re with me because you want to be. If one day you didn’t want that anymore, jealousy wouldn’t save me from it. Trying to own someone doesn’t make them stay. It just turns love into fear, and I don’t want to love you from fear.”

He is quiet for a few steps. You look at him then, softening. “Obviously, if you left me for a waitress named Emily after one bowl of porridge, I would be devastated.”

Harry makes a noise of protest. “That is never happening.”

“I know.”

“Not even for off-menu items.”

“Good to know.”

“I don’t want Emily. I want you.”

You smile. “That’s why I’m not jealous.”

He lets out a breath, half laugh, half wonder. “You’re much more evolved than I am.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m saying it. I’d be jealous.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows lift. “You know?”

“Harry, you once side-eyed a bartender in Rome for calling me darling.”

“He lingered on the darling.”

“He was seventy.”

“Experienced flirt.”

You laugh so hard you have to slow down. Harry grins, pleased with himself, but then his voice turns softer. “I do understand what you mean, though. I agree with it. In theory. I’m just not sure I’m always that… serene.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“No?”

“No. You just have to be honest with yourself when it happens. Jealousy is human. I don’t think feeling it makes you bad. I just don’t want it driving the car.”

Harry considers that, then nods slowly. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“I have my moments.”

“You have many.” He lifts your joined hands and kisses your knuckles as you walk. “I adore you, you know that?”

“I had a suspicion.”

“Good. Would hate for it to be subtle.”

“You dedicated a song to me in front of an arena two days ago. Subtle left the building.”

“Fair point.”

The hotel comes into view at the end of the street, and with it, the return of show day. Schedules, soundcheck, emails, clothes, stage lights, the whole bright machine waiting to begin again. But the morning stays light around you now. Harry looks sideways at you. “So, no jealousy at all?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. Maybe I was jealous of one thing.”

He perks up immediately. “What?”

“The way she centered your bowl perfectly and left mine fighting for its life.”

Harry throws his head back laughing and you smile, tightening your hand around his. “I expect loyalty porridge forever now.”

“You’ll have it.”

“And no off-menu adventures.”

“Only with you.”

“Careful, Styles. That sounded almost smooth.”

“Almost?”

“You’re improving.”

He pulls you a little closer as you walk, still laughing under his breath. “Best review I’ve had all week.”

You lean into his side, and together you keep walking through Amsterdam, back to the hotel, back to the show ahead, both of you lighter than when you left the café and perfectly content to leave Emily, her number, and her extremely questionable customer service behind with the empty bowls.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

Dropping her carry-on by the credenza, she walks towards her bedroom, feeling the weight of the last three time zones pulling at her shoulders. She doesn't bother with the lights as she walks into the living room, as it is dimly lit by the faint rays of moonlight filtering inside through the curtains. Her uniform is stiff and it smells like the perfume in the cabin air and food. She peels it off layer by layer and lets the silk scarf, the blazer, and the skirt pool onto the bedroom floor with a thud. She finds her boyfriend, Harry, asleep on the bed. From the drawer, she finds a t-shirt that she has stolen from him and slides into the bed, the sheets cool against her skin. The sudden drop in tension makes her limbs feel heavy, and she groans in relief, feeling her body sinking into the plush bed. Harry shifts beside her and his arm snakes out from the warmth of the duvet to find her waist, pulling her towards him until she's snug and cuddled to his side, her head nestled into his neck and his arms around her. He’s barely awake and his voice is raspy.

"Welcome home, baby," he murmurs, kissing her temple before his breathing evens out again. He doesn’t ask about the flight or the turbulence or anything. He knows the drill by now. He knows that she needs to rest well. So with a kiss, he lets them both fade into the depths of sleep, tangled together in their little bubble.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

When she wakes up the next day, she could see the room bright even with the curtains — late afternoon. She brushes her teeth and freshens up before walking into the kitchen, where she finds that Harry is already up. He is humming a song, while adding chocolate chips into a bowl of batter and mixing them together. She pads into the kitchen in his t-shirt. Her hair is a mess and she looks like a grumpy cat. Standing over the stove, he doesn’t even look surprised that she has managed to sleep through the better part of the day. He hugs her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Afternoon, sleepyhead," he says, letting her go. He offers her a dimpled smile as he hands her a mug of coffee and gestures to the bowl of batter sitting on the counter. "I had my breakfast hours ago, but I figured you might want a proper start to your day."

It was a tradition that they had developed over the months — a waffle breakfast whenever she comes home after a long flight.

He pours the batter onto the hot iron, the kitchen soon filling with the scent of chocolate. Y/N leans against the counter, letting the steam from her mug clear the fog from her tired brain. She hops onto the kitchen counter as he hands her a plate and adds a dollop of whipped cream and fresh fruits on the side. It’s an anchor, this breakfast in the middle of the afternoon. After the dishes are cleared, he grabs his coat and hers, nudging her toward the door. The air outside smells of damp earth, there is a cool breeze going around. He takes her hand and they start walking, keeping a slow pace through the neighborhood.

"We need the light," he says, keeping his eyes on the path ahead, watching the way she blinks against the sun. "Just a bit of fresh air to convince your brain that it’s time to be awake, yeah?”

She follows his lead, walking with her hand intertwined with his. It used to be hard at first, resetting her internal clock, but with him by her side, it feels less like a struggle and more like a gentle return to earth. By the time they loop back toward the house, she notices the laundry basket by the door and her uniform from the night before clean and folded. She realises with a grateful smile that he’s already taken care of the fallout of her travel. It has left her with nothing to do but exist in the present moment, waiting for the evening to settle in.

Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. Feedback is very much appreciated. If you wanna be tagged, please let me know. And if you have any requests, feel free to send them in!

Love, E ❤️

. .

There was a light on in the room. Her eyes were closed but she could see the light filtering through the skin on her eyelids. It felt like someone was crushing her skull. Her breathing was steady, her body was still and calm but her head was about to explode. The ache she felt began to travel from the front where her sinuses were toward her ears and onto the top of her skull. A throbbing ache that turned into a stabbing shock made her gasp.

She cracked her eyes open, but it was too bright to keep them that way, so she closed them again to the safety of the shadows behind her eyelids and moved her neck with a small groan.

There was the noise of a slow beep, some shuffling, a deep voice speaking in urgency, another beep. Scraping metal against a hard floor.

“She made a sound and she turned her head! Look!”

There were at least two people near her but to open her eyes and find out who and why and where and what… no—that was too much. It hurt to even think about opening her eyes.

She felt cold fingers on her jaw and then another set of fingers covered in latex on her face. Her left eye was suddenly being pried open and she tried to protest by turning her head but the set of cold fingers at her jaw were keeping her still until she gave in and stayed still. A flash of light bore into her retinas and then the other eye was being pried open. She grunted and turned her neck only to be met with a tighter grip on her jaw.

“Y/n? Can you hear me? I’m Doctor Mendez.”

She grunted again and the moment her face was released she moaned and opened her mouth but her throat was hollow and dry. So dry she couldn’t even swallow.

Her bed was being adjusted under her and her body was lifted upward until something hard was being poked into her mouth and she felt cool liquid hydrate her sandy tongue.

Some of the liquid poured down her throat and it gave her relief and she could feel her heart beating under her ribs again.

“There you are. Y/n…” A warm hand surrounded hers and the voice was familiar and felt just as vital as the water that was dripped into her mouth. She licked her lips, her saliva glands finally beginning to stimulate and wet her mouth.

Forcing her eyes open again toward the voice of the man who was holding her hand she spoke. “Harry?”

The sound that came out of her mouth was a croak and it went flat before she could finish speaking the last syllable, but his smile and his response, “Yes, it’s me. I’m here,” had her attempting a smile in return.

She was poked and prodded and police came to visit and ask her questions. She told them what she could of the man who’d tried to attack her.

She learned that she rammed her car into a light pole, causing her face to hit her steering wheel but the delayed reaction of the airbag is what caused her the most damage, ironically. She had severe head trauma that caused her to lose consciousness, and she’d been in a coma for almost two full days.

Harry arrived to find the car where she’d crashed it, two tires slashed, and all of her things gone from her car. Stolen. She was untouched, still in the driver’s side seat, bleeding and unconscious. Harry called an ambulance and she was whisked away to the hospital. She’d been lucky that she at least had the chance to call Harry because she was in her car and bleeding for nearly two hours. No one saw the accident or even her car. Or if they did they never called the police or tried to help.

He woke up to find a missed call and voicemail. Normally in the middle of the night, he’d ignore an unknown call and wait until the morning but something had him sitting up in his big bed and pulling the phone to his ear to hear a frantic message from Y/n.

He checked the time of the call and it had been nearly two hours before he got the message. He was worried as he pulled his clothes on and called her back, running to his car. He had to google where the mobile home park was, it wasn’t an area he was familiar with. But he saw her car before he even realized he was so close.

He called 911 as he hopped out of his Mercedes and jogged toward her. An ambulance, police, and tow truck all arrived, and Harry was beside himself. He answered questions but he had little information to give as he let one cop listen to the voicemail from her but that was all Harry could provide.

And she hadn’t gotten a good look at the man. He was slim, it was dark. He had shaggy hair and his sunken eyes were shadows under the artificial light from the lamppost. He was wearing a brown canvas jacket and his nose was slightly crooked. His teeth were bad. Probably on drugs. That was all she could say.

Her car was totaled. Insurance expired. Everything she had brought with her to Las Vegas was gone. Her cell phone was nowhere to be found. And now, without health insurance coverage she was being urged to leave the hospital and recuperate elsewhere.

“Normally we’d want you to stay for a little longer but your vitals are really good and you weren’t out for so long that your muscles can’t move. Do you have a comfortable place to go to recover for a couple of weeks?” The doctor was doing his best. Most of the decisions were out of his hands. The longer she stayed in the hospital the faster her bills would pile up. At close to $3,000 a night, she simply wouldn’t be able to afford to stay another day.

“No. Not really. I was… um… well,” she looked toward Harry and then back to the doctor. She hated this part. Hated telling people she was living in her car, “living out of my car temporarily.” She felt her tears start to fall. Not only was it embarrassing to be homeless, she really just didn’t have any place to go.

“She can stay with me. I’m a friend and I have a comfortable room for her,” Harry said matter-of-factly as he kept his eyes on Y/n.

Y/n closed her eyes. She didn’t want handouts. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want this. But what choice did she have? Harry had been nothing but kind to her from the start. She felt like maybe he was her guardian angel, a godsend.

Dr. Mendez gave them instructions for caring for her wounds and waiting for one more day before she got her stitches wet as well as a sheet of paper with a list of things she could do to help make her recovery easier.

When she signed out and was given a hospital robe to wear to leave the facility (her clothes were cut off her body in the ambulance so she literally had nothing) Harry held her close as he walked her to his car. She was in more pain than she thought she’d be. It turned out that having Harry help her walk was actually necessary.

She was lucky her injuries weren’t worse. Yes, she had a bad deep cut on her head that required stitches and she had a concussion to deal with but the rest was mostly just bruises and scrapes that were already healing. Her body ached but the doctor assured her that would go away with time.

Harry’s car was nice. A Mercedes of some sort. Four doors. Black inside and out. Leather seats which were very comfortable.

“This is a nice car, Harry,” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She felt a bit like a burden to the handsome man. She was thankful he was helping her but she knew it must be from pity at this point. She saw her face in the bathroom mirror before she left the hospital. She did not look cute. Her hair was frizzy and crumpled and dirty. Her face was busted and bruised and swollen. She smelled strange.

Harry chuckled, “Thanks. I like it.”

She noticed that he didn’t take a chance to look at her the entire drive. Even if she started to speak. He kept his eyes on the road. He was grossed out by the way she looked and he couldn’t even place his eyes on her she was sure of it.

“Look… thank you, first of all. You’re a lifesaver. Literally probably. I owe you big time,” she looked toward him as she spoke softly, “And, I will begin to look for a more suitable place to go. I don’t want to be in your hair for too long. I may just go back home and recover there ya know? Because you really don’t need–”

“No. My condo is big and there’s plenty of space. I insist you stay for as long as you need. As long as you want,” he finally turned his head to glance at her and she saw it in his eyes, the pity, the revulsion.

“Harry, I know you’re just being nice. I really–”

“Y/n… stop. The last thing you need to think about right now is where you’re going to recover. You’re staying at my place and I want you there. I can take care of you.”

He kept his eyes forward as he spoke. He sounded so sure of himself but Y/n still had her doubts. He was being nice. He’d get tired of her soon.

Harry pulled into a drive in the front of a high-rise tower with a sign over the entry that read Three Turnberry, and parked in front of the building, “Stay right there,” he looked at her quickly and then got out of the car. She watched Harry walk toward the front and whistle then wave his hand. A man dressed in a suit came out to him and nodded before rounding the car.

Harry opened the passenger side door and helped Y/n out. He wrapped an arm around the middle of her back and they walked into the building.

Y/n looked back toward his car as it was being driven off by the man in the suit, “Uh… where’s he taking your car?”

Harry smiled down at her gently as he pulled her toward a set of elevators, “That’s Roland. He’s parking my car for me. Valet. But he does other things too. C’mon,” he moved her into the elevator when the doors opened and hit the ‘P’ button at the top of the row.

Penthouse? She thought to herself.

It turns out it was the penthouse. With its own elevator access.

Y/n looked around the condo and it was over the top nice. Maybe could use a little updating, but the finishes were well done, and there was a wall of windows that looked out toward the country club and park.

“I’ve got four bedrooms. I’ll put you in the one closest to mine. It has its own bathroom too.” Harry led her toward the kitchen and she was astonished at the size. The style was a bit Art Deco, maybe contemporary. Not exactly her favorite style but his place was the nicest she’d ever stepped foot into. She was speechless.

Past the kitchen was a small hall where Harry opened the door to a room, that looked to be a guest room, “Here it is. Nice big window. The bed is comfy as well,” he said as he pressed his palm down onto the comforter to back up his statement. He smiled at her as she looked around.

“Harry… this is too nice. Like… are you sure?” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Of course,” he walked back toward her and helped her sit down at the edge of the bed, sitting next to her, “Please don’t feel like this is too much. I’m lonely most of the time. So, it’ll be nice to have you here. And I’m happy to do this. Really happy in fact.”

The small grin on his face was in contrast to Y/n’s dark thoughts about her situation. He couldn’t truly be happy about taking in a homeless amateur burlesque dancer with a disfigured face and not a dime to her name.

She sighed. Was this better than where she came from? For the first time since she’d left home, she began to wonder if leaving was a mistake. Maybe if she’d tried harder with Chad or worked something else out with her father…

“Hey… look at me,” Harry said. He kept his hands to himself but she noticed the way he lifted his hand up toward her face and then hesitated before dropping it back down to his lap, “don’t think about anything. Just let yourself relax. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Here…” he stood up from the bed and walked toward the closet, opening it up to pull out a towel and a better robe than the one she was wearing.

“You can shower if you’d like. Or actually, maybe take a bath instead. The doctor said to avoid getting your stitches wet until tomorrow. To let it heal up a bit. I’ll help you clean your face after. But I’ve got everything in the bathroom for guests. Soap and hair stuff, and whatever I had stocked in there,” he handed her the towel and robe. He looked concerned.

Pity.

She nodded and pushed herself up. Harry grasped her elbow to help her stand and brought her to the bathroom.

It was true. The bathroom was fully stocked. Lotion and bubbles, conditioners, bars of soap, more towels, warm floors.

Harry scratched the back of his neck as he watched her move slowly toward the sink and place the towel and robe down, “Uh… I’m gonna step out for a bit. Get some food for us, and a few other things. Is there anything you want in particular? Oh! Would you like me to call anyone for you?”

Y/n smiled but she felt herself becoming tired and longed for the warm bath that she knew was only moments away. She turned to look at him and smiled, “No. I have no one. Thank you, Harry. I’m fine, though. I’ll pay you back for everything. I promise.”

Harry frowned and crooked his head to the side, “None of that about paying me back. Bur seriously… There’s no one you want me to call? What about that friend you told me about? You don’t want to talk to him?”

She shook her head, “Not right now. Maybe later.”

Harry sighed and nodded, “Okay. And, once again, you don’t need to worry about anything. You’re not paying me back for any of this. Alright? I’ll be back soon.”

It took Y/n a lot longer to get the tub full and settled into the warm water than she liked. Her body was not moving like it had pre-accident. She was sore and slow, but the moment her body submerged into the soaker tub she sighed and felt her body relax.

But it wasn’t long before she was crying like an idiot. She was thankful but also feeling sorry for herself. Her body ached, her head was still pounding, and now the most beautiful man was being kind to her and had taken her in out of pity. She would have to start figuring out what to do next.

She submerged only the back of her head to wet her hair so she could wash it. The problem was with stiff and achy muscles and trying to make careful movements (so as not to get her face under the water and get her stitches wet).

Y/n woke up to a knock on the door. She realized she must have fallen asleep in the tub. She sat up, “Sorry! Just getting out.”

“S’okay. Take your time. I just wanted to let you know I’m back. Was quiet in there so I, well, just come out when you’re ready. I’ll have dinner for you.”

Her fingertips were wrinkled and her body was still achy. She slowly got up from the tub but found she struggled to lift her leg out onto the floor. She grunted as she used her muscles to move her limbs. The pain pushed a tear from her eye but she held her breath as she slowly placed both feet on the warm bathroom floor next to the tub.

With a sigh, she lifted the towel to her body and leaned in toward the mirror to look at her face.

A disaster.

She found a toothbrush and toothpaste and began to brush her teeth, but even that hurt. She did the best she could. Her mouth and lips hurt to hold open to brush her teeth but she forced herself to do it anyhow.

She combed out her damp hair and considered putting lotion on her body but the task felt too daunting.

One thing at a time.

Wrapping the soft robe around her body she shuffled out into the bedroom and noticed three shopping bags sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed.

She put her hand down to lift one and pulled out a white linen dress, about calf length, buttons up the front from top to bottom. It was pretty and soft. There was also a soft green cardigan, cashmere, she noted, and a pair of beige linen pants with elastic at the waist and a drawstring. None of the clothes were really her style but they would fit.

The other two bags she didn’t bother to look in before she tried to slide the linen dress over her head. Though, sliding it over her head was more like a five-minute struggle to lift her arms and then giving up to unbutton the front and drape it over her shoulders before rebuttoning.

The dress was plain but pretty. It hung loose on her body but it appeared to be made that way.

She decided she didn’t care if she wore underwear at that moment. The linen was thick enough to cover up anything so she gingerly made her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Harry was wearing an apron and had some music playing as he was moving back from the stove to the island.

“There she is. How do you feel?” He smiled as he put plates on the marble surface.

“I’ve been better. Sore still. That took a lot more out of me than I realized. Even took a nap in between,” Y/n laughed.

“That looks nice,” Harry gestured toward her dress, “I had some clothes brought in for you. And since I didn’t know your size the shopper went with things that would likely fit you. At least mostly. We can do some more shopping when you’re feeling up for it. So you can pick out what you like.”

Y/n scoffed and pulled out a stool to sit. She needed to sit, “Please. This is too much already Harry. This dress is expensive. I can tell just by the silk lining of the pockets and these buttons… I don’t want you spending your money on me.”

The smile fell from his face as he narrowed his eyes at you, “I can spend my own money however I choose. I worked hard for what I have so I get to make the decisions on what I buy. If I want to buy you more clothes I absolutely will. I don’t need your permission.”

At that, he turned and started plating. Y/n sat up straight. She hadn’t expected him to speak to her that way. Not that he’d been rude. She watched him as he brought both plates to the spot she was seated and he pulled a stool out next to her.

She stayed quiet. He’d made mashed potatoes and roasted chicken with grilled vegetables. It looked tasty. She looked toward him and then back down to the plate.

“Turn toward me. I’m gonna dab this around your face. Then after dinner, we’ll put some ice right here,” he brushed his finger down from just under the stitches to the top of her cheekbone.

When she moved in her stool, shifting her knees toward him, he gently pressed a damp towel over her skin, which, she wasn’t even sure it was necessary. But she loved the attention he was giving her. Loved how close he was with his winter meadow green eyes full of concern, kissable pink lips in a soft smile, and warm, masculine cologne taking over her senses.

So maybe he didn’t need to do that. But he did and she’d want to ask him to do it again and again if she could get away with it.

When he pulled the towel away he kept his eyes on her face, as if he needed to make sure he’d gotten every spot he could.

“Thank you, Harry.”

His gaze darted down to hers, “You’re welcome. Now eat. You haven’t had real food in a couple of days.”

They ate in silence mostly. The music was nice to break up the awkwardness but Y/n was feeling unsure about everything. As much as she trusted Harry she still didn’t know him all that well. And the response to her about spending his money how he wanted? It set her on edge a little. She knew she was going to get on his nerves and it was already starting. He was growing impatient with her she figured. Already.

When they were done, she tried to clean up for him but he told her to relax. He brought her to the living room and turned the TV on for her, “Pick out something you want to watch. I’ll be back in just a bit.”

She felt like a child. A big dumb kid who couldn’t do anything on her own.

She clicked through the channels on his massive TV and stopped on a movie she’d seen before that she enjoyed. She wanted to reach for her phone and do some mindless social media scrolling but realized her phone was gone. It had been stolen.

Her mind wandered between the movie she was watching to the man who tapped at her window and caused her to have a pretty bad accident. Her body wouldn’t let her forget that man. She couldn’t forget the fear that oozed out of her pores and made her hands shake and her heart pound beneath her ribs.

Harry appeared next to her suddenly. From nowhere it seemed. She was so lost in her mind that she didn’t realize he was approaching her until he sat down next to her on the couch.

“Here. Let’s put this over your face, Y/n.” He held up a hand towel with an ice pack and nudged her head to face toward him.

He wrapped the ice pack in the towel and gently pressed it over her stitches and on her cheekbone, “This will help the swelling. We’ll do this a few times a day. How does it feel?”

He was looking directly into her eyes as he asked as he kept the towel pressed to her skin.

“It’s cold,” she smiled at him with a small laugh. The way the edges of his mouth turned up as he took in her appearance made her wonder for just the smallest moment if maybe he did think she was pretty. Something in his eyes made her insides light up in response.

He brought his free hand up to her jaw and looked at the bruised space. His touch was soothing and kind. She really could trust him. She knew it without a doubt.

“You are going to heal up perfectly, Y/n. You’re a strong girl.” Harry smiled down at her and that look in his eyes had her wanting to believe him. She wanted to prove him right. That she was strong.

He lifted her hand up to press over the pack to keep it in place, “Here, if you lean back like this you can still watch the TV and the ice pack will stay put. We’ll take it off if it gets too cold. Okay?”

She held the pack over her face as she leaned back into the couch and angled herself just so, at Harry’s direction. From her new position, she could see both the TV and Harry’s face, which was certainly ideal.

“This is a good movie. Have you seen it before?” He asked as he set his gaze on the TV.

Y/n watched his profile as he cozied into his spot. He was a dream. In another world, maybe in one where she wasn’t a walking bruise, she’d make a move. But now? She had nothing to offer the man. Not that she even wanted to. In all honesty, the thought of being physical with anyone made her insides crawl at the exertion it would take. She’d need to move her limbs and her mouth and her body over him or under him. That would be too much. It made her bones shiver just thinking of the pain.

“I have yes. It’s one of my favorites,” she smiled as she kept her eyes on him. He had a soft smile on his face as he kept his face toward the TV. She decided to move her eyes to watch the TV to not be a creep, though he was much nicer to watch. Harry’s presence helped her focus on the movie. Her mind didn’t wander to the man and his wrench as often when he was there. As much as she felt like a burden, a gross loser, she did feel safe with him.

Her first night in that king-sized bed was very comfortable. It was probably the best mattress she’d ever slept on. Harry kept checking on her throughout the night, per the doctor’s orders. He was gentle, and caring. She’d wake up to him taking her hand and waking her softly.

“Have some water,” then he’d hand her an Aleve and make her take it for the pain. The doctor originally recommended something stronger but Y/n refused the prescription even when Harry stated he’d pay for it. So, a high dose of Aleve was going to be the answer. She’d get through it. The pain would be bad but it’d get better.

On the following evening, she woke in the middle of the night in a sweat and kicking her limbs, flying from the bed in terror. The pain was almost unbearable, but the part that was the worst was the nightmare she had about the man. About that night.

Harry ran into her room and knelt with her on the floor, helping her up in his arms and then he took care of her like a parent would their child when they were ill. He blotted her head with a cool rag, got her water, kept her company when she asked him to stay and he slept on top of the covers next to her so every time she woke up he was there.

Each day she felt better, physically. Little by little. Her limbs could stretch and move better, her face wasn’t swollen after a week, but it was still badly bruised. Red and purple and green and blue.

But her nightmares didn’t get better. Which meant Harry was with her every night. In her bed, soothing her, brushing her hair from her face, speaking calmly and softly until she was okay and her breathing went back to normal.

Y/n was growing a little too fond of Harry, she feared. He was handsome and hardworking, and he was kind to her. He took very good care of her and gave her space and patience.

But they talked a lot too. Harry found out a lot about Y/n. He learned about her father and a little about her boyfriend. He found out her mother had died in a car accident when Y/n was 17. That’s when her father began drinking very heavily and became mean.

Harry didn’t like Chad one bit. He even made fun of his name and it made Y/n laugh. Harry made Y/n laugh a lot. But Y/n didn’t tell him everything. Not about Chad or her father. Just enough so that he had a bit of an understanding of everything. She was embarrassed about it all, to be honest.

And Y/n learned a lot about Harry as well. His mother and sister, and stepfather lived in Manchester and he had one long-term relationship but mostly just a bunch of flings. Too many to admit to.

But it was more than all that. Y/n really got to know Harry. They’d talk sometimes for an hour in the middle of the night when Y/n would wake from a nightmare. He’d try and distract her while he talked about random things and it worked. She’d start talking about her life and her future goals. Or even things as simple as what her favorite food was and where she wanted to travel to one day.

And he insisted on helping her with things she didn’t need him to. Like holding the ice pack on her face for her. Part of her wondered if it was just his excuse to sit close to her and touch her. Perhaps not, but she liked to think it was.

Harry left for work during the day after she’d been at his house for a week. She kept telling him he didn’t need to stick around all day. So the following Monday he left for work and she decided to make dinner. She wasn’t a great cook but she could be useful in the kitchen.

It was just going to be something simple. A pasta with mushrooms and some bread. She also pulled out a bottle of red wine to share. She wanted to thank him, though everything she was cooking and using was his. She planned to wait to open the bottle of wine just in case it was something too expensive that he’d planned on having for a special occasion.

At nearly 7 pm she heard the door open and she heard Harry’s voice so she quickly went toward the foyer to see Harry entering. And Veronica.

Oh.

Y/n sheepishly waved and then looked toward the kitchen and back at the pair.

“Hey. Veronica needed to drop by to pick up something. Supposedly, she left an earring here?” He said as he turned to look at the gorgeous vixen standing next to him.

She smirked and nodded as she looked Y/n up and down, “That’s right. Somehow I made it home with one of them but the other is missing. I’m assuming it was knocked out of my ear. That was kind of a wild night…” she laughed and Harry frowned as he looked at Y/n.

Pity.

Y/n tucked her lips into her mouth and nodded. She turned back to walk into the kitchen. She was feeling so dumb. So dumb for thinking she could do something nice for a man who didn’t want anything from her. So dumb for trying to make it up to him in any way when he simply didn’t care. He had Veronica, or his pick really. He was wealthy and handsome and he didn’t need Y/n. She was just a victim he felt pity for.

She took a deep breath and sat at the marble island on a stool. She wasn’t going to cry. But she felt an unease in her body about the situation that she hadn’t felt before. Yes, she was a bit jealous but it was more than that. She felt dumb. She felt like she’d gotten her hopes up somehow. She’d grown too attached.

Harry never did anything to indicate he was interested. Not really. He had only treated her with kindness and patience. How could she mistake it for anything but pity?

She startled when she felt a large hand rubbing over her back. She looked up at Harry who was standing behind her, looking down at her with soft eyes.

Pity.

“Sorry. She wanted to come last week but I told her she needed to wait. I figured you’re feeling a bit better today. She’s been bugging me about this earring…”

Y/n waved him off, “It’s fine. No need to be sorry. It’s your house, Harry.”

And that was true. No matter the circumstances, Harry hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Y/n who’d let his kindness morph into some kind of deeper meaning. Something she let manifest physically in the bathroom during her bath when she let her fingers wander the day before. She’d been pent up. She needed a release and Harry was attractive and sweet and he’d smiled at her especially warmly that morning that had her glowing hot on the inside.

But now, she was feeling small. And stupid.

“Harry!” Veronica’s voice sang out.

Harry sighed and kept his hand on Y/n’s back as he leaned down next to her, “I’m gonna help her. She’ll be out of here soon. Okay?”

Y/n just smiled and shrugged. Didn’t matter. The moment Harry walked out of the kitchen Y/n went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She put her hands onto her face and as soon as she pressed her palms over her skin she winced at the pain. She wasn’t swollen but her face was still tender. She cursed under her breath as she walked toward the large window to look out.

She needed to get it together. Soon she’d be healed and need to move on. Harry would probably be thankful for it too. She was lost in her thoughts when there was a knock at the door, causing her to jump.

Yeah, that was another thing that sucked. She was too jumpy these days. Easily startled.

“You made dinner. Gonna come eat with me?” Harry said softly.

Y/n turned and looked at the man in the door. He was so handsome. She would just never get over the way he looked at her. Having his eyes on her warmed her up but she had to be realistic. It was just that he was so attractive with alluring eyes. It made it seem there was something there that wasn’t. She had to stop kidding herself.

She nodded with a half-smile and walked toward him. She was a little hungry.

They both sat down to eat, “Did she find her earring?”

Harry chewed his mouthful and kept his eyes on his plate, “No. She didn’t. I don’t know if it’s actually here or not.”

“So, do you have her over often?” Y/n inquired. She wanted the hard truth. She wanted to know that Harry was off limits because in her imaginary world, he was her knight in shining armor and she was growing more and more attached to him.

Harry sat forward and took a sip of the wine (turns out the wine was expensive but Harry insisted on having it anyway) before turning to look at Y/n, “She’s been here before. A couple of times.”

Y/n nodded and looked back to her plate of pasta with a sour stomach suddenly. She sat her fork down and nodded. It wasn’t her place to get jealous or upset.

She listened as Harry scraped his plate, scooping up the last bit of pasta. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Harry cleared his throat, “I mean… I haven’t seen her since that night you saw us together. So that’s like, a month ago? Well, except when I went to the club a couple of times she was there but I didn’t really talk to her at the club after that. That was the last time she was here, a month ago.”

Y/n turned to look at Harry, “So she was here before that? Then why did she want your card with your number on it?” She remembered that night well when he gave her his card and Veronica wanted one too.

Harry breathed a laugh out of his nose, “She didn’t have my number before. I didn’t really want her to have it.”

“But you brought her here. You just didn’t want her to call you?” Y/n couldn’t help the questions coming out. She wanted Harry to tell her they were fucking and how he was in love with Veronica. She needed confirmation that he felt only pity for Y/n.

Harry sighed, “Yes. I brought her here. But, look, it was nothing. Not really. Just a warm body. That sounds really shitty when I say it like that…” he shook his head and kept his eyes soft on hers.

Y/n smiled and nodded as she got up to clear their plates. She knew it. They’d been fucking. Of course. They were a perfect match. Veronica with mile-long legs and silky smooth hair, luscious lips, perfectly shaped brows… And Harry was… well, he was Harry. A complete masterpiece of a man.

“Y/n… I… what do you want to know? I mean… I’m an open book here. Are you… jealous?” Harry was closer to her than she wanted him to be in that moment. Directly behind her.

Y/n paused and set the plates in the sink, “You think I’m jealous? God, Harry…” The disdain in her voice was clear. She was sick of being pitied.

Harry’s hands were on her shoulders and nudging her to turn gently toward him, “I don’t know. Your questions sounded… maybe you’re just curious. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course, you’re not jealous. You even told me you have a boyfriend so you wouldn’t…”

Y/n laughed and shook her head, “A boyfriend? No. We just haven’t officially broken up but he’s back home posting Snapchat pictures with random girls and he hasn’t even bothered to find out where I am or if I’m okay. He doesn’t even know I’m in Las Vegas. So boyfriend? Nah…” she huffed and shook her head.

Harry nodded. She did tell him most of that when they spoke about Chad. Just not the part where they weren’t still really together. Harry had a feeling that was the case but he didn’t want to ask her outright and seem nosy.

“Okay,” Harry kept his eyes on Y/n’s, or at least he tried as she was dodging looking directly at him, “just…” he sighed and shook his head, “I don’t want you to think I’m still doing anything with her, though. That was a couple of times. I told you I get lonely. We talked about it a little.”

And they had. Y/n knew Harry wasn’t a virgin by a long shot. Of course, he was getting it regularly. But he did always mention how it was just a physical thing. But he never mentioned he was doing it with Veronica. Not that he needed to specify.

“I know, Harry. It’s okay,” Y/n finally looked up at him, “Really. You’re an… attractive man and you need to, well, you know,” she smiled and felt her cheeks heat up. Her saving grace was the bruising to hide the rush of blood to the apples of her cheeks.

“You think I’m attractive?” His mouth quirked up at the edges as he tilted his head to the side.

“Well, yeah,” Y/n shrugged. That should have been obvious.

Harry released her shoulders and nodded, “Hmm… good to know.”

She watched him walk to the island and pick up both glasses of wine. He stepped back in front of the bruised girl and handed her the glass, “Cheers,” he held his glass out.

Y/n raised a brow as she lifted her glass to clink with Harry’s, “To what?”

Harry took a sip and shrugged and then smiled down at her, “To us. You’re doing well, and I’m happy that I have your company. It’s been really nice having you here. Haven’t been lonely since you’ve been here with me.”

Y/n took a sip and kept her eyes on the man but with a look of disbelief in her eyes. She wasn’t buying it.

“What?! You don’t believe me when I tell you this every single time, but I truly like your company. You’re funny and you’re nice, Y/n. I’ve liked you since I first met you. I got lucky to have such a perfect house guest.” He leaned his hip to the island across from where she stood and she mimicked his pose, leaning her hip to the marble at the sink and shook her head, “I don’t believe you because I think you’re just being nice. Like you felt you had to take me in or I’d be out on the street. Which I’m thankful for!”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh but kept a small smile on his face, “You’re insane. You think I’d let just anyone stay in my house with me because I was worried they’d be on the street? If it had been Veronica she’d be out of luck. I’d never let her stay here. Maybe for a night or two but she doesn’t have a kind heart like you. She’d probably screw me over or something. I don’t actually trust her. You, I trust.”

Y/n furrowed her brow, “You don’t have to keep comparing me to her you know. I get it. She’s hot and you like to fuck her, and I’m nice and you like to talk to me.”

Harry cackled a belly laugh that instantly put a smile on Y/n’s face, as he put his hand behind him onto the countertop and looked up at the ceiling, “Jesus Christ, Y/n.”

“It’s the truth. She’s fuckable but not trustworthy. I’m disfigured, but nice and so therefore trustworthy,” Y/n laughed as she spoke. The moment felt lighter with the way Harry was laughing like she was insane. Maybe she was insane.

Harry pushed himself off the counter, leaving his glass of cabernet on the island as he stepped forward to breach the space between himself and Y/n. He took her glass out of her hand, placing it on the counter behind her, and brought his hands up to cup her face with a frown, “Disfigured?” He shook his head.

Y/n kept her eyes on him. The mood had changed so suddenly she wasn’t quite sure she understood what he was doing, but his hands on her face were welcome and gentle and warm.

“Y/n… Even with these bruises, and scrapes,” he brushed his thumb over the purple skin on her cheek and down toward the edge of her lip, “you’re so beautiful. I mean…” he dropped his hands from her face and laughed, threading his fingers between hers as he kept his gaze on her, “And that’s just your physical beauty. The rest of you… god. You’re more than just this, Y/n,” he said as he released her hands and slowly brushed his fingertips upward on the inside of her forearms, the most sensitive part of her skin, until he met the bend of her arm and wrapped his hands around the topmost part of her forearms.

She was shocked. She was starting to look somewhat normal again but she was still bruised and had splotches on her face and a body that was slow moving. There was no way she was more beautiful than Veronica. Sure maybe Y/n was nicer, but prettier? Certainly not beautiful like he said.

“You don’t believe me?” Harry scrunched his brows as he looked down at Y/n.

She swallowed and shook her head, “No. I don’t.”

Harry closed his eyes, his hands still holding her forearms as he pulled them to wrap around him and then brought his own arms around her and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. The hug was perfect. Just tight enough to make a point, but still gentle enough that it didn’t hurt her body.

His warm breath cascaded over her neck and the tip of his nose pressed into her skin as he spoke, “Then I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. And…” he let out a heavy breath that had Y/n squeezing her eyes closed and feeling her heart pound in her chest, “I can show you even. If you want.”

Y/n felt herself tremble. She hadn’t been held in so long. Hadn’t been cared for in the way Harry had done since her mother was alive. His arms around her felt like healing and tenderness. She melted into him and smiled when he hummed and the vibration of his voice traveled over her clavicle.

“What do you mean- show me?” Y/n kept her eyes closed. She was on the verge of jumping on him and showing him how she really felt. She pressed her hands flat on his back and slid them upward over his shirt as Harry pulled her as close as she could possibly get, her breasts pushed into his chest and she felt her nipples harden under her clothes at the contact.

Harry broke from the hug but kept his arms around her, his head tilted close to hers, “Will you let me kiss you? We can start there.”

Y/n couldn’t believe what she was hearing but she was so far gone already that she could feel herself buzzing and spinning. She needed to see what he could show her. She needed to let him show her.

Maybe it wasn’t pity.

Maybe it was something softer and more genuine.

So with a quick nod of her head, Harry grasped the back of her neck in a gentle hold and brought his mouth to hers in the softest kiss Y/n had ever received. She felt her body float away as her stomach twisted and simmered. Harry’s lips caused her to forget all of her shortcomings. At least for the moment.

She began to move her lips against his, opening her mouth and their lips slid together slowly until Harry softly put the tip of his tongue onto her plush bottom lip and licked upward.

Y/n let out a tiny moan, it couldn’t be helped and Harry brought his large palms down to her hips and drew her in close until she could feel his hips lined up with hers.

“This. This is what I meant…” Harry spoke against her warm lips and continued kissing her like he needed to prove a point. He let go of her hip with one hand and pulled her palm from his back up to his chest, sliding her hand up to feel his heart as his lips continued working her into a frenzy.

She could feel the rhythmic thud under his clothes and the cadence matched her own. Harsh and pounding wildly beneath all the layers. Chests rising and falling. Strident breaths in through their noses and out again.

Y/n slid her hand upward to the nape of his neck and ran her fingers into the curls at the back of his head as Harry’s tongue took up space in her mouth and lapped at her lips and the roof of her mouth. She was practically doing a backbend over the counter now, with the way Harry had angled her and suddenly her shoulder bumped her glass of wine and they broke from the magic of the kiss with a gasp as the red liquid poured over the lip of the marble and onto the floor.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” Y/n turned to pick up a rag from the sink and quickly wiped up the mess as Harry put the glass upright and let out a laugh of disbelief as he watched her clean up the spill.

She looked up at him with confusion when she heard him chuckle, “What?”

Harry shook his head and knelt down next to her, taking the rag from her hand and tossing it to the sink. He dragged her back into his arms, returning his lips to hers, and like some kind of Hulk powerlifter, picked her up bridal style and carried her into her bedroom, softly lying her down on the comforter and then crawling over her body.

He dragged his nose up her neck and placed his mouth at her jawline, still keeping his touches and movements slow and soft. She sighed and put her hands into his hair as he easily made himself a space between her thighs to put his hips.

His hands traveled up her clothed body from her hips to her ribs and he kept her in his gentle grasp as his lips met hers once again. The kiss was warm and meaningful. Y/n felt what he meant. He said he was going to show her and he was.

A soft touch that lit up her soul and changed her mind in almost an instant.

This wasn’t pity.

Harry pushed himself up a few inches and then grasped her hip as he rolled them to their sides, facing one another, “Don’t want to crush you. Know you’re still sore.”

His easy hand at her cheek and his soft eyes on hers felt so real. Felt so foundational.

“I want to take care of you.”

Y/n scrunched her brow, “But you have been already.”

Harry slowly dragged his thumb at her cheekbone, “I want to do more. I have this thing…” He kissed her again, their mouths slipping together easily, his hand on her hip, “And it’s something I need to do.”

She didn’t know what he meant but the moment his soft kisses spread over her neck she was a wreck. She hadn’t had sex in so long and even if they didn’t end up actually having sex (because she wasn’t sure she was even ready), she would be over the moon because it was Harry who was touching her and looking at her and kissing her like she meant something to him. Y/n hadn’t felt this way since… well probably ever.

He pulled her thigh up slowly to above his hip and tucked in close as he continued kissing her delicately. The flesh on her neck was being soothed and stimulated all at once.

“Such a sweet girl, Y/n,” his words were melted over her skin.

She couldn’t help it when she spoke in a whisper as she felt him thicken against her thigh, “Oh my god…”

Harry lifted his face and drew her back toward his mouth with his hand at the back of her neck. Their mouths grew desperate together.

He kept his hands in a respectable spot, at her hips and the back of her neck, though he’d have loved to move his hands around to the cute ass he’d noticed a time or two when she wore something that showed her shape.

“Harry you’re really hard. Do you need something?” She wanted to help him with his growing cock. Maybe she’d suck him or give him a hand job if he wanted it. She felt like she owed him.

Harry shook his head, “No. But let me make you feel good.”

Harry didn’t want to hurt her and having her mouth on him or his dick inside of her, as much as he’d love that, felt like it might be too much for her.

“What?” Y/n peeped out as Harry moved to sit up and carefully pushed Y/n’s leg off of his hip. He was gentle with her when he placed her back into the mattress and he hovered over her, hands flat on either side of her arms.

“Let me do something for you. See if I can make you feel good. I’ll be slow and gentle,” he lowered himself to slot his lips between hers and she felt like bursting at that moment.

Y/n hadn’t had much action other than using her own hand in the last nearly two months. And her body was sore, but better, which was why she masturbated to the thought of Harry not two days prior in the tub. She’d been feeling up for being touched and falling under the spell of lust. But she wasn’t sure she was ready for sex just yet.

Harry moved his hands down to the band of her leggings and kept his eyes on hers, waiting for her permission.

“Are you sure, Harry? You don’t want something?” She wanted to provide him with relief that she could tell he needed but he shook his head. His eyes were dark, and even with the way his cock was hard at her hip through his pants, probably achy, he still didn’t want anything.

“Let me. Please. I told you I wanted to show you…” he moved his eyes down her body as he sat back, his hands still waiting for permission to remove her clothes.

“Okay. But I’ll owe you,” she said with a smile and Harry shook his head.

“You owe me nothing,” he spoke as he pulled her leggings down her legs. Harry’s fingers pushed under the elastic band and slowly peeled her bottoms off and his knuckles grazed her warm skin all the way down to her ankles. Even just that had Y/n reeling.

Her underwear was plain. Grey, cotton, basic bikini, but Harry didn’t miss the wet patch at her crotch. He groaned when his hands very delicately flattened against her inner thighs, pushing them apart slowly and gently.

Y/n decided to remove her hooded sweater when she felt her skin was on fire and she had on a matching basic grey cotton bra. Harry paused as he watched her pull it over her head and his eyes didn’t know where to look. Her tummy, the curve of her breasts, the crook of her arm and her clavicle, the meat on her thighs, her hips smooth toward her belly button at the middle.

“Do what you want, Harry. I trust you,” Y/n wanted him to take the lead. She knew he’d treat her right. He dragged his hands upward to her waist and his thumbs softly caressed her skin. When his hands were just under her breasts he looked at her and she nodded with her bottom lip tucked behind her teeth.

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed as he lifted his palms and hesitantly put them over her bra-clad breasts and kneaded at them with reserve. He was being careful. She appreciated it. She needed careful.

When his thumbs poked under the material that covered the swell of her soft flesh he dragged the grey cotton down to pull her out of the cups that hid her nipples. He let out a breathy sound of awe and lowered his mouth to her tits, one by one. A soft kiss and gentle licks to each. His lips brushed over her skin and to the space in between her breasts and she gasped at the feel of his stubble scraping her skin. Tickling it. Waking her up inside and out.

Harry smiled into her skin and closed his eyes. She smelled so good and her skin felt so silky on his face. Her breasts were perfect for his palms and he’d explore her with more fervor once she was all healed up. For now, he was slow and soft and careful with her body.

Harry began to lower himself, his lips barely meeting her skin but she felt his tongue slip out and leave behind a cool patch of moisture as he continued lower.

“Harry… oh god…” Y/n moaned and she knew where he was on his way to. She was fully ready for this moment. Before she decided to make dinner she’d bathed and cleaned up her bikini area nicely. Normally she didn’t give a shit about being too well-kept as long as it was covered up. But living with Harry Styles and seeing him every day made her up her hygiene game a bit. She didn’t truly expect that this would be happening but she wanted to be prepared in case it ever did. No matter how sore she was. It was Harry after all.

One needed to be at the ready in case of an emergency. Such as this.

When he had his shoulders between her bent legs he lifted up a bit and put his hands into the band of her panties and looked up with a raised brow, “Can I?”

Y/n nodded, looking at the man. His pink lips were shades darker than normal, and his light green eyes were taken over by lust, “But…” she pushed herself up to her elbows to speak, “I’d like to see you too. Can you take your clothes off?”

She needed to see him. She knew what he looked like with no shirt. She’d seen him in workout shorts and once in boxer briefs on accident (something that was bound to happen when living with another person for long enough). She knew his body was amazing. His workout regimen gave him a well-built physique. But she wanted to see his cock. She knew he was probably above average in size. Given his large hands and his abounding confidence, it seemed only natural. But the real hint was the constant bulge that appeared under his trousers or sweats. He couldn’t hide the lump because it was so prominent. And when she saw him in his green boxer briefs it became clearer to her that even in a state of rest, he was well endowed.

So now she needed to see him. Wanted to know what he really looked like.

Harry smirked and sat back on his shins as he kept his eyes on hers and unbuttoned his shirt. The tattoos began to appear, one by one as each button was popped out of its home until he shrugged the shirt from his shoulders and draped it at the end of the bed. Then he sat up to his knees and unbuttoned his pants. That natural bulge, now hard and thick under his zipper as he worked his hands to undo his pants. He pulled the material down a bit and shifted himself to drag his pants off his legs.

Y/n tried to keep her gaze on his eyes but she couldn’t help as she watched his arms flex and his abs clench as he shifted around to remove the rest of his clothes. She did try. But this was the reason she asked in the first place, was it not? To finally see him. And it was hard to miss. She glanced at the big thing between his legs and her eyes widened and then she quickly shot her eyes back up to his, her lips parted. She was glad he wasn’t going to fuck her just yet. She was sure her body would fail completely and give up if that thing were to be introduced inside of her right at that moment. But it did create a new level of warmth between her legs. She knew it would feel good once her body was ready for it.

Harry smirked and licked his lips, raising his brows at her, “Better?”

Y/n nodded and her breathless, Yeah, gave Harry a good idea of how pleased she was with his naked body.

Harry put his hands back into the top band of her panties and began to drag the material down her legs. She was wet. And her labia was seeping with glistening arousal which he noted and could not stop staring at as the fabric was slipped off of her. He let out a shaky breath and could smell her from his position and looked up at her, “Can I use my mouth and my fingers?” His gaze moved back to her pussy and Y/n moaned a yes.

Harry dipped down right away, a soft kiss to her mound before settling himself into a comfortable position so he could have his dessert. He licked his lips and used his thumbs to spread her open and then licked into her, her slickness coating his tongue.

The soft strokes of his tongue, up and up and up felt like standing in front of a warm bonfire when the temperature was freezing outside. A satisfying relief. Just what she needed.

Harry situated himself and smoothed a hand up her inner thigh as he pushed her leg back, nearly to her chest but not all the way. He pinned his eyes to hers, his muted berry lips drinking her up and kissing her like she was a precious delicacy.

She kept her eyes on his and watched as his tongue lapped upward and flattened over her clit, “Ooh!”

He kept going with a smile, pleased at her reaction, as he tongued over her soft, wet bits and used his free hand to draw tiny circles just at her opening with two fingers. Gradually he dipped the tips of his fingers inside before pulling them out and smearing them against her teasingly. The unhurried prodding of his fingers into her insides could have driven her mad but just before she was about to protest, just before she could tell him to stick them inside once and for all, he finally drew his two fingers inside down to his last knuckle.

He lifted his face to look down at his hand and to watch for a moment the way his fingers opened her up as he slid them in and out in smooth strokes.

She mewled at the feel of the tips of his fingers dragging against her soft spongy spot, repeated tender presses were met with his lips again as he lapped upward from his fingers to her clit in languid passes.

“Talk to me, Y/n,” he kissed her wet, puffy pearl as he looked at her tits rising and falling heavy, “Do you like this?” He pushed his fingers in deep and tongued over her pussy.

When she didn’t make a coherent answer he slurped her clit into his mouth before lifting his face again, “Want to hear that pretty voice sweetheart. Tell me what you like.”

“It’s good…” her voice was breathy as she lifted her neck to watch, “Harry you feel so good.”

He smiled as he continued fucking into her smoothly with his long fingers. His pace wasn’t punishing because he didn’t want to hurt her, but he wasn’t cutting her too much slack with how deep he was going and the way he was twisting and lifting into her g-spot, “Yeah? Bet your boyfriend didn’t do it like this did he?”

He reattached his mouth, his tongue swiped across her aroused bud quickly and she moaned loudly, “No! He never did this…” She was trying her best to answer him.

Harry closed his eyes and dug in as he made out with her clit and had her vibrating before he lifted again, “Fuckin’ shame. This pussy was made to be worshipped,” a lick upward and soft kiss, “Made to be pampered.” Another flick of his tongue as he pushed her juices around and sucked it into his mouth as he kept his eyes on hers, “Given only the best treatment.”

He wrapped his mouth around her pussylips and swiped his tongue up from where he was fingering her to above her clit, over and over, up and up until he pulled at her clit and rolled it gently in his mouth and she cried out, as she reached to grab his hair.

It felt so good. Harry’s deep voice and strong hands holding the inside of her knee so gently, his long fingers and soft lips. His eyes. In that moment she changed her mind. She did want him inside of her. Wanted to feel that thick cock reaching into her tummy and splitting her open.

“Mmmm… Harry!” She raised her head and moaned, “Fuck me. Want you to fuck me.”

Honestly, that was music to Harry’s ears. He wasn’t going to. Not yet, but to know she was feeling like she wanted it already made his cock throb and his heart pummel behind his rib cage.

“You want my cock right here, Y/n?” He stuffed his fingers in as deep as they could go as he watched her writhe. He could barely lift his head with the grip she had on his hair but he loved the way it felt.

“Yes. Oh my god!”

Harry kissed her pussy and drew her clit into his mouth. The sound of her wet hole being breached by his fingers in and out was so sexy, Harry thought. If she was this wet for his fingers and his mouth, he couldn’t wait to hear how wet she’d be around his cock.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Harry lifted up and one of Y/n’s hands fell from his hair as he continued using his fingers in slow strokes and added his thumb over her clit as she whined. “I can’t wait to feel the way you stretch around me and drench my cock. Gonna make sure you feel every inch of me slipping inside your pussy. Want it so bad, Y/n…” Harry’s voice was tight as he spoke. His cock was leaking from the tip and making a mess of the comforter below him, just as her arousal was dripping down making a puddle below her, all slick and sticky on the covers.

“I want it! Please, oh my god! Harry, I need it!” Her hips were swaying and she was pushing herself down on his fingers and rocking her clit into his thumb as she whimpered her desperate request.

“Fuck, baby. It’s gonna feel so perfect, isn’t it? I can already tell how good you’re gonna feel. This pretty cunt is gonna drain my cock of everything. Isn’t that right? Gonna grip me so good and milk me for everything and beg for more? Yeah?”

Harry was gonna lose it. Y/n was shaking and her tits were gorgeous with hard nipples, swaying softly as she ground herself on his hand. She balled up the blanket under her palm and let go of Harry’s hair as she threw her neck back and reached down to glide her fingers over her clit along with Harry’s thumb.

“Mmm… I’m gonna come! Please!”

Harry coughed out a groan as he looked down at his hand and her fingers together over her clit. Everything between her legs was wet and glossy. He could just imagine the decadence of having his cock in the same spot his fingers were. Indulgent. Luxurious.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/n. Can you come for me, baby? Come on my fingers and let go?”

“It feels so good!” She gasped and threw her head back into the mattress as she pressed her fingers harder into her clit and gripped around Harry’s long fingers as she started to cry out, “Oh!! Ffffff… Fuck!”

Harry couldn’t believe how gorgeous she was when she came. He watched her face scrunch up with her mouth dropped open in awe. Her body trembled and goosebumps covered her arms and her tits jolted softly with every buck of her hips. He looked down to his hand and his fingers were completely submerged inside of her. Even his furthest knuckles were tucked just inside her entrance as she convulsed and contracted in her orgasm.

“Harry! Hhh… oh! Yes!!”

He moaned as he let her ride out her orgasm. Her soft thighs quivering and pussy gushing. Breathtaking. He had thought she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen since the first day he laid eyes on her and now he was certain of it.

When she felt her head begin to rematerialize and her limbs start to solidify she opened her eyes and looked at Harry. He was all sexy with a slight sheen on his chest, dilated pupils, messy hair, puffy wet lips, and an erotic handsome smile on his face.

Reaching down to pull his fingers out of her she pushed herself up to sit as she looked at his dark eyes and pulled his hand to her mouth, sucking on the digits he just had inside of her. She moaned as she swirled her tongue over his arousal-coated knuckles and skin.

Harry groaned and reached down to stroke his cock as he looked at the pretty naked girl sucking on his fingers. He had so much precome dripping from his slit he easily pulled the moisture over his long shaft as he pumped himself and began to breathe heavily.

Y/n watched as he jerked his cock and she pulled at his hand, leaning back a little, keeping his fingers in her mouth. Now Harry was angled just over her as he fucked his fist and watched her face. He panted as his lips parted.

Even though her pussy wasn’t being touched, she was rolling her hips like it was as she looked from Harry’s face to his hand around his cock, his deep pink and swollen tip poking through every time he dragged his hand down his shaft. The moment he inhaled sharply and drew his head back hot come poured over her tummy and her hips. He grunted and his fingers in her mouth pressed deeper, to which she welcomed and sucked harder.

She would have also welcomed his cock inside of her coming. There was something about Harry that she just wanted to have all of. Would have enjoyed the feel of his throbbing dick pouring into her. Would have loved to have been the vessel for his cock to slip inside of and make him feel so good he came.

Harry looked down at Y/n as he moved his hand from her mouth with a laugh, “Fuck, baby. Made me come so fast,” he cradled her face with the hand he’d just had in her mouth and smiled at her, “Feel okay?”

Y/n nodded and bit her lip as she lowered her fingertips to dredge through his come, “Really wanted this inside of me.”

Harry puffed out a breath in disbelief with a small grin on his face as he thumbed over her bruised lip, “You wanted me to come inside of you, Y/N?”

She nodded, “I know it’s bad. I just wanted it.” She lifted her fingers to her mouth and licked the come from her fingers and Harry blinked his eyes in surprise as he pushed her down into the bed and pulled her hand from her mouth, pressing his lips against hers.

He laughed and parted from the kiss, “Naughty girl. Are you on birth control?”

Y/n nodded, “Yeah. IUD. But I know that is so irresponsible of me–” She sat up as Harry got off the bed. She was suddenly worried she’d taken it too far.

“Stay right there,” he gestured at her as he left the room.

Plopping back down into the bed she closed her eyes. She was sure she scared him off with that talk. Who says that to a man the first time they do anything sexual? Well. Y/n does she supposes. It wasn’t something she’d ever wanted before but maybe her orgasm damaged part of her brain for a moment. She shook her head in embarrassment. What a doof.

Harry returned with a glass of water, wet wipes, and a towel and began to wipe her tummy.

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to sound like a… I don’t know. With the come thing? Just pretend I didn’t say it, okay?”

Harry laughed softly and tilted his head as he looked at Y/n’s pretty face, “No. I loved hearing that. Means you trust me. Maybe you want to stick around?”

He pulled another wet wipe out and Y/n watched as he cleaned her up, “Feels silly for me to say. And I do like you. Or,” she laughed softly, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

He nodded and then used the towel to dry her, “Do you want this to happen again?”

She looked down at his knee and the tattoo on his thigh and shrugged. Now she was feeling a bit shy that her hormones had settled.

Harry dropped the towel and nudged at her jaw, pushing her head up to look at him, “Because I want it to. I really like you and I think you’re really special.”

She swallowed and Harry watched her lips turn up in a smile.

“See? Look at that smile. Prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. C’mere,” Harry adjusted himself to sit against the headboard and pulled her hand to follow him. “In my lap, sweetheart.”

He helped her drape her thighs over his, straddling his lap as he put his hands on the top curve of her hips, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I do like you. Especially after getting to know you since I’ve been here. And I know it’s annoying having me here and taking care of me–“

“Shh, shh, shh… no. Wrong.” Harry shook his head, “I love having you here. I love taking care of you. I want you to stay.”

“I mean, you say that but why? Like… I believe you when you say you like me but it’s hard to think that you aren’t a little annoyed paying for everything. And I haven’t worked so I can’t pay you and I have literally nothing to offer you.”

Harry nodded with a small smile on his face, “I don’t want you buying anything. I want to take care of you. Spoil you. Keep you,” he laughed out the words of the last part.

Y/n laughed with him, her sparkling eyes on his. She didn’t know what to think about this revelation. She didn’t even know what he meant exactly.

She moved her hand up his chest and smiled at him. Harry kept his hand on her hip and slowly began to move it upward to her ribs and then back down to the curve of her hip and the outer part of her thigh as they stared at one another.

Harry opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but then stopped himself. He looked between her eyes and stitched his brows together like he was unsure of himself.

Y/n moved her hand up toward his neck and smoothed her palm over his jaw, “What? What is it?” She could see he was working out some kind of turmoil in his head.

Harry licked his lips and softened his face, “I just really like you, Y/n. I’m kind of worried that you’ll leave when you feel up to it because you think you’re a burden or some bullshit. But…” he moved his eyes to the edge of her face and sighed.

He took her hands into his and she kept her eyes on his pretty gaze, “But, I don’t want you to go. I’d like you to stay. And I can… god this is gonna…” he mumbled his words to himself and Y/n had to strain to hear him, “…sound so weird…” he shook his head and laughed at himself before taking another breath.

Y/n stayed quiet as Harry gathered his thoughts for what he wanted to say, “I want to take care of you. In any way you need. I want to buy you things and take you with me everywhere, show you off…” he laughed and looked down. Y/n parted her lips and her eyes rounded in shock. She hadn’t expected any of that.

“Like, just…” he cleared his throat and she could tell he was nervous, “let me?” He looked at her with a pleading in his eyes and softly caressed her fingers with his.

“I don’t… what do you mean?” Y/n was at a loss really. She’d love nothing more than to be with Harry and let him take care of her but she was also under the impression that this situation had been temporary. Just until she could get back onto her feet.

Harry gave her a lazy smile before his expression changed into something more serious, “There’s something about you that makes me want to keep you, take care of you. Spoil you…” his brows went upward slightly when he said the word spoil. She saw him swallow and then he allowed a smile to take over his features, “If you want, of course. But I really don’t want you going anywhere, Y/n. You were living in your car before all this. There’s no way I could allow that. Not that you need permission…” he laughed and shook his head, “but just that you put yourself into danger. You weren’t eating. Showering at the gym… I can take care of you. Everything. Buy you anything you need. Anything you want. I want to.”

There weren’t any words that could be formed. One part of Y/n wanted to jump up and down and tell him yes, that that was what she wanted as well. But another part of her was hesitant because she still believed she’d get on his nerves. He’d get tired of her. She didn’t want to burden anyone or cost anyone any money. He’d already spent so much on her since she’d come to his condo. He paid her medical bills, the cost to have the vehicle towed and disposed of, all the clothes he’d bought her… She shook her head out of shame and embarrassment, “Harry…”

“Don’t say no. Please. I know this sounds weird and I know you want to take care of yourself and prove that you can. I get you,” he moved his face in her line of view so she’d look at him. His fingers dragged up over her wrists and to her forearms, “I understand you, Y/n. But I want more. More of you.”

Y/n took a big breath as she looked between Harry’s eyes. He seemed so sincere, so genuine. The way he was looking at her, touching her… the way he kissed her… it almost knocked the breath from her lungs.

“But I feel like it’s too much. You’ve already done so much for me,” Y/n spoke quietly.

Harry nodded, “I want to do more. I absolutely love buying you things and taking care of you. I want to keep doing it. Will you please let me? You’ll break my heart if you say no because that means you don’t trust me. That you’ll want to leave.”

Y/n let out a laugh of disbelief but she stopped short when she saw the way Harry’s face dropped. He was serious.

How could he want her to stay longer?

“I trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Harry.”

Harry shook his head and frowned, “Then let me pamper you. Let me buy you everything you ever wanted. Stay here with me until you just can’t stand me anymore. At least let me have you for a little while longer. Then you can break my heart and leave when you’re satisfied with everything I could do for you.”

Y/n furrowed her brows and looked at him as if he was ridiculous, “What? You think I’d get tired of you? You think I’d allow you to buy me all kinds of things and then I’d leave you like that? I don’t think you really know me if you feel that way.”

Harry smiled, “I know you wouldn’t do that. I just wanted to make a point. Just want more of your time. More of you. And I only meant that you can leave whenever you want. And that when you do, it’ll break my heart whether you do it tomorrow or a year from now. Either way…” Harry trailed off his sentence and pulled his hand up to her face to cup her jaw and leaned in to give a delicate peck to her lips, “I want to be able to kiss these lips and hear how your day was, and have you rack up my credit card while I work,” he laughed his words and Y/n scoffed.

“Are you serious? This kind of sounds like some sort of sugar baby arrangement…” Y/n squinted as she backed away and looked him square in the eyes.

Harry’s features softened and his brows raised as he smiled and she saw him shrug the tiniest bit, “Would it be so bad? But I’d want you to want that. To be with me. It would be more than just a sugar baby thing. But I do want to pay for everything for you and… it just makes me… it’s kind of a thing I have, to be able to. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.”

Y/n blinked her eyes and looked down to the swallows on his clavicle as she thought for a moment. Would it be so bad? God of course not. Harry wanting her around and buying her everything… she really did like him.

“Is this just a way for you to play out a fantasy that you’ve always had?” She asked as she looked back up at him.

Harry nodded, “Kind of. But I also really like you and trust you. So, it’s a fantasy, but more. Maybe I need to be very clear,” he swallowed and took in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, “I want a relationship with you. I want to know you more. I want you to want me just as much as I want you. Buying you things is just the icing on the cake. That’s the fantasy, but the reality is that I’d want us to be together. Like… a couple.”

Y/n shook her head, not to say no, but to shake herself of her confusion, “So, all this time you have liked me as, like, a girlfriend in a way?”

Harry nodded, “Of course. How could I not?” He chuckled his words and thumbed over her cheek softly, “And now that I’ve gotten to know you more, I’m…” he shook his head, keeping his eyes on hers, “obsessed a little.”

Y/n’s mouth dropped open and she blinked away her thoughts. He liked her? Really liked her? Obsessed?

“Okay. So, what does that mean? Like, I would just live here with you and be your girlfriend slash sugar baby?” She laughed the words she spoke. It sounded nuts.

Harry laughed with her, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his dimples making their appearance, “Yeah. If you want. Maybe I can ease you into that part of it. We can start with being just a couple. Go slow if you want,” he clenched his jaw and she saw him drop his gaze to her mouth, his thumb still gently grazing her cheek, his fingers at her neck.

“Harry I really do like you. A lot. You know I would never expect you to buy me anything. I would be happy to just be a regular girlfriend or something. You don’t have to bribe me.”

Harry laughed again and licked his lips, his eyes taking in all of her features, “I know. Which is why I really want to do it. Because you don’t even want it. You’re so… just a really good girl… and I want you to be my good girl.”

His good girl.

Holy shit.

She could get off from just hearing that alone. She was so starved of attention and compliments that those words did something to her. Harry saw it in the way her chest rose and fell faster, her pupils roved his face, her tongue wetted her lips…

She pressed her mouth to his in haste. She didn’t know what to say to that.

Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her back. Yes, this was the reaction he’d hoped for. Better even.

“Is that a yes? Wanna be my girlfriend?” Harry spoke with a smile against her mouth as she licked over his lips.

She nodded and ran her hands into his thick hair and pushed her mouth harder over his. Harry laughed; he couldn’t help it. He half expected for her to slap him in the face and storm out of his condo and away from him for good. He knew it was a risk to ask her but he just had to. He wanted it more than anything. Even through his laughing Y/n didn’t stop her assault on his mouth.

She slowed her movements and brought her hands to cup his face, putting her forehead to his, “I still don’t want you to think you need to buy me anything. I’m still gonna work as soon as I can go back to the club. I just like you for you…” she brushed her mouth over his.

Harry moaned at her words, “God… that just really makes me want to drain my bank accounts for you, Y/n. You don’t understand… It’s that little thing about you that makes me really want to. You insisting on working and telling me I don’t need to buy you things. Fuck… makes me want to do it even more.”

She giggled when he pulled at her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing each of her fingertips.

“Now, let’s go finish that expensive bottle of red and clean the kitchen up.”

. .

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And within seconds, the numbers begin climbing so quickly that you almost laugh.

3,000.

18,000.

74,000.

122,000.

The comments appear in a waterfall of disbelief.

IS THIS REAL????

HARRY?????

NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY OMG

I WAS IN A MEETING I JUST LEFT

WHO IS HOLDING THE PHONE??

OH MY GOD HE’S LIVE

Y/N IS THIS YOU????

WE MISSED HIM SO MUCH

Hearts rise up the right side of the screen in a constant stream, red and frantic, floating over the image of the empty arena. Seats stretch upwards in silent rows, the stage lit in soft working light instead of show colours. The place looks entirely different at noon, stripped of last night’s madness. No screaming crowd and no glittering sea of phones, just crew members moving in the distance, cases on wheels, cables taped down, a few people in headsets talking into radios. And Harry.

Harry himself is on the main stage, singing into a handheld mic as if the arena is full anyway. He wears black sports shorts, trainers, a cosy Pleasing jumper, and a black beanie pulled low over his hair. There is something very endearing about it, the contrast between the man who owned the stage last night and the one currently standing there in a jumper from his own brand, doing vocal runs with the focus of someone who absolutely doesn’t know that two hundred thousand people are now watching him warm up. You angle the phone towards him and begin walking through the pit. “Good afternoon,” you say, voice warm but amused, because the comments have already become unreadable. “Since a few of you seem to be awake, I thought we’d check what he’s up to.”

The comments explode again.

A FEW OF US???? THERE ARE 300K PEOPLE HERE

Y/N YOU QUEEN

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

HE LOOKS SO CUTE

THE BEANIE I’M GONE

PLEASING JUMPER PROMO KING

PLEASE TELL HIM WE LOVE HIM

I CANNOT BREATHE

You laugh under your breath. “Well, he’s busy right now, but I’ll pass it on.”

Harry doesn't look over at first. He is halfway through a line from American Girls, one hand holding the mic, the other gesturing faintly as he listens to whatever adjustment the sound engineer has made in his in-ears. The band is scattered behind him, not fully in show formation. Sarah is at her kit, tapping lightly between cues. Mitch is sitting on a riser with his guitar, looking half asleep in the way he often does when he is, in fact, perfectly aware of everything happening around him.

You keep walking. The pit feels enormous without fans pressed against the barricade. Your footsteps are small against the arena floor, swallowed by the clean sound of Harry’s voice coming through the speakers. It still amazes you sometimes, how familiar and strange this job can be at the same time. You have heard him sing in kitchens, hotel bathrooms, cars, backstage corridors, Rome balconies at ridiculous hours of the night. You know the casual hums, the silly improvised lyrics, the dramatic shower notes. But hearing him like this — alone in a huge room, voice filling every empty seat — still makes you stop for half a second longer than planned.

The live count passes 500,000. “Okay,” you say, mostly to the viewers, “you lot are fast.”

WE HAVE WAITED YEARS FOR CASUAL HARRY CONTENT

THIS IS HISTORY

Y/N RUN THE ACCOUNT FOREVER PLS

HE LOOKS SO HAPPY

THE WAY HE SMILES WHEN HE SINGS I’M UNWELL

You reach the side of the stage and climb up the short set of steps leading onto one of the side catwalks. A crew member glances at you, recognises the phone, then gives you a small grin and steps out of frame. You walk carefully along the catwalk, keeping the camera steady as Harry moves into another part of the song. He notices you when you are almost at the middle catwalk. His eyes flick towards you, then back, then towards you again. The moment he realises it's you, his face changes. It's immediate and ridiculous, really. One second he is professional, focused, listening to the monitors. The next, his mouth curves into that dimpled smile that has done unnecessary damage to millions of people and, unfortunately, still works on you even after two years of direct exposure. He sings the next line at you. Actually at you. The camera catches it all, and the comments become a disaster.

HE SAW HER

HE SMILED AT HER OH MY GOD

THAT SMILE WAS FOR Y/N I’M SOBBING

I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE

THE DIMPLESSSSSS

HE IS SO IN LOVE BYE

SHE MAKES HIM SO HAPPY LOOK AT HIM

You sit down on the middle catwalk about twenty metres in front of him, legs crossed, phone propped steadily in your hands. Harry is still on the main part of the stage, but he keeps glancing at you between lines, clearly under the impression that you are simply recording him for later. And because of this, he becomes unbearable. He gives you a tiny wink during a lyric and you actually have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing too loudly into the microphone. “Everyone saw that,” you tell the stream quietly, and the comments confirm that everyone did, in fact, see that.

WE SAW IT

WE ALL SAW IT

SIR??????

FLIRTING DURING SOUNDCHECK IS CRAZY

Y/N HOW DO YOU SURVIVE THIS DAILY?????

“I don’t,” you say. “I just pretend to be very professional.”

Harry shakes his head from the stage, still smiling as he sings, though he has no idea what you have just told nearly a million people. The number at the top keeps climbing. Your phone buzzes once with a text notification from Jeff.

Jeff: Did you just go live on his account?

You smile and keep filming. Another message appears.

Jeff: Never mind. Numbers are insane. Continue.

You tilt the phone slightly, zooming just enough to frame Harry and the band without making it feel invasive. It's a sweet kind of access, you think. Not polished, not a production, just him, in the middle of the day, warming up in a beanie and jumper, doing the job before the actual job. And the fans know it too.

THANK YOU FOR THIS

THIS FEELS SO SPECIAL

HE SEEMS SO RELAXED

Y/N YOU’RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE

CAN YOU TELL HIM OPENING NIGHT WAS PERFECT

I LOVE SEEING HIM HAPPY

Then, because the internet can never remain wholesome for more than eight consecutive seconds, the comments take a turn. You read one silently and immediately look away from the screen.

OH MY GOD HE COULD SPANK MY ASS SO HARD I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO WALK FOR A WEEK AND I'D STILL SAY THANK YOU DADDY

“Oh, absolutely not.” You whisper.

The comments notice immediately.

WHAT DID IT SAY?

READ IT OUT

DID ANYONE SEE???

Y/N WHAT DID YOU SEE?

TELL US TELL US

You shake your head, still filming Harry as he moves into another vocal run, completely unaware. “No, because some of you need supervision.” More comments fly by.

WE DO

YES WE DO

PLEASE SUPERVISE US

WAS IT A FREAKY COMMENT?

IT WAS DEFINITELY A FREAKY COMMENT

You laugh, helpless now. “Someone just called him daddy in a sentence I am not repeating on his official Instagram account at lunchtime.”

The stream loses its collective mind. Harry, still singing, notices your shoulders shaking with laughter and his brows lift from across the stage as if to ask what you are doing. You wave him off with one hand and keep the camera on him. “Also,” you add, unable to resist, “you’re all much braver than I am. I would never type that where anyone could screenshot it.”

Y/N PLEASE

SHE’S LAUGHING AT US

OFFICIAL INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT AT LUNCHTIME 😭

ASK HIM IF HE KNOWS HE’S DADDY

NO DON’T ASK HIM I’LL DIE

ASK HIM

You read the comments with growing amusement. “I’m not asking him that while he’s working.”

Harry finally stops singing. Not because of the question, obviously. He still hasn't heard it. He stops because he has now realised that you're no longer silently recording. You're talking to your phone, laughing, and occasionally looking far too entertained by whatever is on the screen. He lowers his voice. “What are you doing over there, love?”

His voice carries easily through the speakers, warm and suspicious. You turn the phone slightly so he is fully in frame. “Nothing.”

Harry tilts his head. “That’s your lying voice.”

The comments flood instantly.

HE KNOWS HER LYING VOICE

I’M ON THE FLOOR

THE DOMESTICITY

HARRY LOOK HERE

TELL HIM HE’S LIVE

You smile sweetly. “I’m giving your fans a little show.”

Harry pauses. His eyes move from your face to the phone, then back to your face. “Are you live?”

You nod.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“On my account?”

“Yes.”

His mouth opens slightly and for one beautiful second, he looks genuinely surprised. Then he laughs. Not a polite laugh, not a stage laugh, a real laugh, head tipping back a little, shoulders loosening, the sound echoing through the empty arena. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he says.

“You hired me.”

“I’m rethinking that right now.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” He steps closer to the edge of the main stage, grinning now. “How many people are watching?”

You glance at the number. “Just under 1.4 million.”

Harry’s eyebrows lift. “At once?”

“You’re very popular.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Modest.”

“Always.”

He gestures at the phone with the mic. “What are they saying?”

You look at the comments at exactly the wrong moment and immediately regret it. Of course Harry sees your face. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What are they saying?”

“They’re being very supportive.”

“That’s not the face for supportive.”

You sigh, because now the comments are moving so fast you can barely keep up. “They are calling you daddy.”

Harry’s laugh comes faster this time, bright and delighted. Sarah hits a cymbal once behind him as if punctuating the moment and looks up with the smug smile of someone who absolutely heard that. Harry looks at the camera with mock seriousness. “At this hour? Have some decency.”

The comments go feral at that again.

NO DECENCY

NEVER

HE KNOWS

I’M SCREAMING

DADDY SAID HAVE DECENCY

HARRY PLEASE

You lower your head, laughing. “You made it worse.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You looked into the camera and said decency.”

“Important word.”

“Not helpful.”

He grins. “What else are they asking?”

You scan the comments, grateful when a few actual questions appear between the chaos. “Okay, serious interview portion,” you announce. “Mr. Styles.”

Harry straightens dramatically. “Yes.”

“How are you feeling today, after opening night?”

He hums quietly, pretending to consider it like this is a formal press conference and not you sitting cross-legged on his stage during soundcheck. “I feel good,” he says. “A little tired. Very happy. Last night was…” He pauses, searching for the right word without over-polishing it. “It was beautiful. Really beautiful. I didn’t know how much I missed it until everyone started singing back.”

WE MISSED YOU TOO

THE CROWD LOVES YOU

LAST NIGHT WAS MAGIC

I CRIED THE WHOLE TIME

SO PROUD OF YOU

You read a few of them aloud, and Harry’s smile becomes quieter. “Thank you,” he says, looking towards the phone. “Really. Thank you for being so lovely last night. And loud. Very loud. Borderline dangerous.”

You ask, “Are you excited for tonight?”

“Very. Night two always has a different energy. Everyone’s a bit less terrified.”

“You mean you.”

“I mean everyone.”

“Sure.”

He points at you. “Biased interviewer.”

“Extremely.”

Another comment catches your eye. “Someone asks if you have a favourite moment from night one.”

Harry thinks. “The first chorus of Fine Line was special. Felt like everyone decided at the same time that we were going to be alright.”

Your smile softens behind the phone. He looks at you for half a beat longer than necessary, both of you remembering the green room the night before without saying so. Then you clear your throat lightly and read another question. “Favourite snack backstage?”

“Banana.”

You stare at him. “That’s your answer?”

“What’s wrong with banana?”

“It’s a bit boring.”

“It’s reliable.”

“People were hoping for insight.”

“That is insight. I’m a reliable man.”

"Okay." You shrug.

Then another question flies past. “Someone asks if you have any advice for people coming to tonight’s show.”

Harry looks back at the camera. “Wear comfortable shoes. Be nice to each other. Drink water. Don’t throw anything at my head.”

You nod. “Strong advice.”

“And sing,” he adds. “Even if you think you sound terrible. Especially then, actually. Makes me feel better.”

The comments fill with love again, fast and bright. You are still smiling at them when Harry suddenly steps off the main stage area and begins walking down the catwalk towards you. You look up. “What are you doing?”

He doesn't answer and that is your warning. “Harry.”

Still no answer. “Don’t.”

He reaches you with the most innocent expression he has ever worn, which means he is absolutely guilty of whatever he is about to do. Before you can pull the phone back, he bends, snatches it neatly from your hands, and drops down beside you on the catwalk.

“Oi!”

“My account,” he says.

“My livestream.”

“Our livestream now.”

The comments are too fast to read now. Hearts pour up the screen so quickly they cover half the image. Harry flips the camera to the front-facing view, and suddenly both of you are on screen. You immediately try to lean out of frame. Harry, delighted, loops an arm behind you and gently pulls you back. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not supposed to be on camera.”

“You started a livestream on my Instagram.”

“To show you.”

“And now we’re showing us.”

“That was not in the strategy deck.”

He looks into the camera. “Hear that? She made a strategy deck.”

“I did not make a strategy deck.”

“You absolutely did. It had tabs.”

“It was a planning document.”

“With tabs.”

“That’s how documents work.”

Harry grins at the comments, which are currently full of people typing both your names in capital letters.

HARRY AND Y/N TOGETHER STOP

THEY ARE SO CUTE

SHE’S SHY 😭

DON’T HIDE Y/N WE LOVE YOU

BEST SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER EVER

COUPLE CONTENT

You cover part of your face with one hand. “This is your fault.”

“You pressed the button.”

“You stole the phone.”

“Team effort.”

He shifts into interviewer mode with alarming speed, holding the phone out so both of you fit in the frame. “Welcome people on the internet,” he says solemnly. “We are here with the new head of my social media platforms. She’s very talented, very organised, and currently regretting every professional decision that brought her to this stage.”

You groan. “Harry.”

“First question,” he continues. “How does it feel to be on tour?”

You glance at him, then at the screen, trying not to look too awkward. “It’s been really lovely. Everyone’s been very kind. The crew are amazing, the band are amazing, and Amsterdam has been a beautiful first stop so far.”

Harry nods seriously. “Very media trained.”

“I studied.”

“Second question. Are you enjoying working for me?”

“You’re not my only boss.”

He looks offended. “I am the face of the operation.”

“You are the face making my job difficult by going inactive for years.”

The comments love that. Harry laughs. “That was a read.”

“It was a professional observation.”

“You’re doing very well.” He glances at the comments, then his grin turns wicked. “Final question.”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

“I know your face.”

He turns back to the phone. “How does it feel to date daddy?”

You make a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a groan, immediately trying to move away while he laughs so hard the camera shakes.

“Harry Edward Styles.”

“Oooooh, full name.”

“This is still your official account.”

“Right. Sorry.” He looks into the camera, not sorry at all. “How does it feel to date a man who eats bananas backstage?”

You shake your head, laughing. “Exhausting.”

“Wow.”

“But rewarding.”

He brightens. “I’ll take that.”

The live continues like that for a while, messy, warm, completely unscripted. Harry reads comments with exaggerated seriousness, answers a question about his favourite city by refusing to choose because he “doesn’t want to start geopolitical drama,” and tells everyone Sarah is the coolest person on tour — she is. At some point, Jeff appears at the edge of the pit, watching the numbers with an expression of pure managerial conflict: horror at the lack of control, joy at the engagement.

You see him and laugh. “Jeff looks stressed.”

Harry turns the camera towards him. Jeff immediately points at both of you. “Do not put me on that.”

Harry turns it back. “Jeff says hello.”

“I did not,” Jeff calls.

By the time the stream reaches twenty minutes, the viewer count has peaked at 2.6 million. You stare at the number in sheer disbelief. “That’s absurd.”

Harry looks proud, but not in a smug way. More amused than anything. “You said it yoursef, I’m popular.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” you agree softly.

He looks at the camera. “Alright, we’re going to go finish soundcheck before my manager starts ageing visibly. Thank you for spending your lunch break with us. Or breakfast. Or the middle of the night. Please sleep if it’s the middle of the night for you.”

You wave, still shy but smiling. “Thanks for joining. Be nice to each other tonight. Drink water.”

Harry adds, “And maintain decency.”

You snatch the phone back just long enough to end the live before the comments can explode again and the screen goes still.

For a second, neither of you moves. The arena feels enormous around you, quiet now except for the low murmur of crew conversations and someone testing a guitar tone in the distance. Without the comments and hearts, without the live number climbing, the middle catwalk becomes just a strip of stage suspended inside a giant empty room. Harry puts the phone down carefully beside you. Then he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him. You let yourself lean there, tucked into his side, the warmth of his jumper against your cheek as his beanie brushes your temple when he rests his head lightly against yours.

“That was good,” he says after a minute.

“You think?”

“Yeah.” His thumb moves once against your shoulder. “Felt nice. Not too polished.”

“That was the goal.”

“You’re good at this.”

“It’s literally my job.”

“No.” He turns his head slightly, voice gentler. “You’re good at knowing how to let people see me without making it feel like I’m being handed over.”

The words sit between you for a moment. You look out at the empty seats, rows and rows waiting to be filled again tonight. “I just want it to feel like you,” you say.

“It does.”

That means more than the 2.6 million views. More than Jeff’s relieved texts and more than the comments thanking you for the stream. Harry presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“For getting you called daddy in front of millions of people?”

“For that, obviously.” He smiles against your hair. “And for being here. On tour. With me. Working, and dealing with my nonsense, and making all of this feel…” He pauses. “Less strange.”

You turn slightly to look at him. “I couldn’t ask for a better job.”

He gives you a look.

“Alright,” you add. “Maybe slightly calmer working conditions.”

“There’ll be calmer days.”

“Will there?”

“No.”

You laugh, and his face does that soft thing again, the one you saw yesterday before he went on stage, the one that belongs only in quiet moments between you two. “I’m happy,” you tell him.

Harry looks at you for a long second, all playfulness fading into something warmer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His arm tightens around your shoulders. “Me too,” he says.

The crew keeps working, the tour keeps moving, tonight, the arena will fill again, and Harry will walk out beneath the lights, and thousands of people will scream like they have been waiting their whole lives for it. But for now, it is just noon in Amsterdam. An empty arena, a phone facedown on the catwalk, Harry’s arm around you.

“I love you,” he says quietly.

You smile, leaning into him. “I love you too.”

Taglist: @lizsogolden @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @chocostyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

Author’s Note

It feels a little surreal to be posting again after being away for a while. Life has a way of pulling us in different directions, but there is something so comforting about returning to a place that once felt like home. Writing Harry has always felt soft and familiar to me, and this story is my gentle way of finding my way back. Thank you for being here, for reading, and for allowing me to share these little pieces of my heart with you again. I hope this one wraps around you like a warm blanket.

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Tour Life, Established Relationship

Tags: pregnant!reader, protective Harry Styles, backstage moments, husband!Harry, Together Together tour, soft Harry, emotional support, sleeping reader, song dedication, domestic fluff, expectant parents

Word Count: ~6.5k words

—————

The first thing you noticed when Harry returned to touring was how differently he looked at you.

Not because he loved you more than he had before. That seemed impossible. Harry had always loved you with a kind of all-encompassing devotion that settled into the smallest moments of your life together. The way he tucked your hair behind your ear while you read. The way he reached for your hand in the middle of the night just to reassure himself you were there. The way he said your name like it was both a prayer and an answer.

But now, with your child growing beneath his hands, with your body carrying the living proof of the love you had built together, Harry looked at you as though you had become something sacred. You were six months pregnant, your stomach beautifully rounded now, impossible to hide, and Harry had spent the better part of those six months in a constant state of awe.

Every morning he kissed your belly before he kissed you. Every night he rested his palm over the curve of your stomach and whispered sleepy little conversations to the baby in a voice so soft it nearly made you cry. He read parenting books. Researched strollers with the seriousness of a man preparing for battle. Saved videos of nursery ideas and asked your opinion on tiny knitted jumpers with a level of enthusiasm that was both adorable and slightly alarming.

And when the Together Together tour was was being discussed, there was no question in his mind that you were coming with him. “You are not stayin’ home by yourself for months while carrying our baby,” he had said, kneeling in front of you on the bedroom floor with his hands spread protectively over your stomach. “Absolutely not. You’re comin’ with me. Both of you.” You had laughed and run your fingers through his curls.

“Harry, I would survive.”

He pressed a kiss to your belly. “I would not.”

So here you were. In another city. Another arena. Another night of watching your husband command a stage like he had been born under a spotlight.

You stood backstage with one hand resting under your stomach, supporting the extra weight the way your doctor had shown you, and watched Harry move under the lights with a kind of effortless magic that still stole your breath no matter how many times you had seen him perform. The crowd screamed his name. Thousands upon thousands of voices lifting toward him in adoration. And yet, somehow, when Harry turned and his eyes found you in the wings, it felt like the two of you were alone.

His entire face softened. The smile that spread across his lips was different from the one he gave his audience. Smaller. More intimate. So full of love that your chest tightened painfully. He pressed a hand to his heart.

You smiled and rested your palm over your stomach. The baby kicked.

You laughed quietly to yourself. “Daddy’s showing off again,” you whispered.

Harry launched into the next song, but every few moments his eyes drifted back to where you stood. Each glance lingered just a little longer than the last, as if he needed reassurance that you were still there.

Later, he moved to the center of the stage, breathing a little heavier from dancing, cheeks flushed and curls damp around his forehead. He grinned into the microphone.

“My wife is here tonight.” The crowd erupted. Harry looked toward the wings, his eyes immediately finding you. “She’s six months pregnant with our little one,” he said, his voice warming with unmistakable pride. “And she still came all this way to keep me company, which I think deserves a round of applause, yeah?” The roar that followed was deafening.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Harry’s expression softened into something achingly tender. “This next one is for my two favorite people in the world.” Your hand flew to your mouth as the opening chords began.

Harry sang with his gaze fixed on you so often that by the end of the song you were blinking back tears. The baby moved again, a gentle flutter beneath your ribs. “Your dad’s a menace,” you murmured, smiling through tears.

By the time Harry launched into another high-energy set, fatigue had begun to settle into your bones.

Tour life was thrilling, but pregnancy made everything feel just a little heavier. Your feet ached. Your lower back throbbed. Your eyelids felt increasingly difficult to keep open.

One of Harry’s assistants approached you. “Would you like to rest in his dressing room?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the stage. Harry was dancing under a wash of blue light, radiant and entirely in his element.

“He’ll understand,” the assistant said kindly.

You smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Harry’s dressing room smelled like him. Clean cotton, bergamot, and the faint trace of his cologne lingering in the fabric of the blanket draped over the sofa. You eased yourself down carefully, one hand bracing your back, another supporting your stomach.

The couch was soft.

The room was warm.

And the distant sound of Harry’s voice drifting through the walls wrapped around you like a lullaby. You curled onto your side, one hand resting over your belly. “I’m just closing my eyes for a minute,” you whispered.

The next thing Harry noticed was that you were gone. He had just finished the song he dedicated to you when he glanced backstage out of habit. The space where you had been standing was empty.

His smile faltered.

He looked again.

Nothing.

For anyone else, it would have been a minor detail. For Harry, whose mind was already perpetually attuned to your wellbeing, panic hit instantly. He forced himself through the next song, but his concentration was fractured. By the end of it, he was already moving toward the edge of the stage.

“Give me one second,” he told the audience, breathless. His manager intercepted him the moment he stepped offstage.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“My wife’s gone.”

“She probably went to sit down.”

“I’m checking on her.”

“You’re due back in ninety seconds.”

Harry was already walking. “I don’t care.” He moved quickly through the corridors, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. By the time he reached his dressing room, his hands were shaking.

He pushed the door open.

And stopped.

You were curled on the sofa, one hand tucked beneath your cheek, the other resting protectively over your stomach. Your breathing was slow and even. Your hair spilled across the cushion. The soft rise and fall of your belly beneath Harry’s sweatshirt nearly brought him to his knees. Relief crashed through him so powerfully that he had to brace himself against the doorframe.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered. Harry crossed the room quietly, moving with the same reverence he always used when you slept. A blanket lay folded nearby. He lifted it carefully and draped it over you, tucking it around your shoulders and over the curve of your stomach.

Then he crouched beside the sofa and brushed his fingers through your hair. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Harry?”

His expression softened instantly. “Hi, sleepy girl.”

You blinked up at him, disoriented and adorably drowsy. “Was trying to stay awake.”

“I know, love.” He kissed your temple. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

You shifted slightly. “Shouldn’t you be on stage?”

Harry smiled and slid his hand over your belly. “Our baby needs sleep.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“And if our baby needs sleep, then mummy needs sleep.”

You looked at him with so much love that his chest tightened. “Sorry I disappeared.”

He frowned, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Do not apologize for taking care of yourself.”

Your eyes drifted toward the door. “Your manager’s going to kill you.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh. “He can get in line.”

You smiled sleepily.

Harry leaned closer until his forehead rested against yours. “You scared me for a minute.”

Your expression softened. “I’m okay.”

“I know.” His fingers threaded through yours, then settled over your stomach as if he could not resist touching both of you at once. “Just needed to see you.”

The baby kicked against his palm. Harry’s eyes widened. “There you are,” he whispered, his whole face lighting up. He pressed another kiss to your forehead, then another to the curve of your belly. “Look after your mum for me, yeah? Daddy’s got a few more songs to sing.”

You laughed softly. Harry stood reluctantly, smoothing your hair back one final time. “You rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You caught his wrist before he could step away.

“Harry.”

He turned immediately.

“I love you.” The words struck him with the same force every time. His eyes softened until they almost glistened.

“I love you more than anything.”

He bent to kiss you, slow and sweet and impossibly tender. When he pulled back, he tucked the blanket more securely around you.“Sleep, baby.”

You were already drifting again by the time he slipped from the room.

Back on stage, Harry seemed lighter. Brighter. As if simply knowing you were resting nearby had restored something inside him. Near the end of the show, he stood before thousands of screaming fans, chest heaving, sweat dampening his curls.

He smiled into the microphone. “My wife’s asleep backstage.” The crowd erupted. Harry grinned, his eyes shining. “She’s carryin’ our baby, and I think she deserves all the rest in the world.” His voice softened. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

—————

When the show finally ended, Harry did not linger.

He thanked the crowd, waved goodbye, and all but sprinted backstage.

You were still asleep exactly where he left you.

Harry changed quickly, then gathered you into his arms with practiced care. You stirred, blinking sleepily as he lifted you. “Show over?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You nestled closer, your head falling against his shoulder. “How was it?” Harry laughed quietly, kissing your hair. “Best one yet.”

You smiled without opening your eyes.

Harry carried you to the car waiting outside, shielding you from the night air, one hand spread protectively over your stomach the entire way. As the car pulled away, you slept against him, wrapped in his jacket and his arms. Harry rested his cheek against your hair and stared down at the two people he loved most in the world.

He thought of the dedicated song.

Of your sleepy smile.

Of the tiny kick beneath his hand.

Of the future waiting for all three of you.

His throat tightened with emotion. He kissed your forehead. And whispered into the quiet darkness. “Thank you.”

You stirred slightly. “For what?” you mumbled.

Harry smiled, tears pricking unexpectedly at his eyes. “For making me the happiest man alive.” Your fingers curled weakly around his shirt.

Outside, the city lights blurred past.

Inside, wrapped around you and your unborn child, Harry felt exactly where he was meant to be.

Home.

Because home was never a place.

It was you.

And the little life growing between you both.

—————

Because within ten minutes of arriving late and apologising too much, she’d smiled warmly and said, “You look terrified, love,” before sliding a spare apron across the table toward you.

Anne was unlike anyone you’d ever met before. Not in some dramatic, life changing way. Just quietly.

She remembered things. Tiny things. The kind most people let pass without thinking twice about.

How you took your coffee after class. The fact you hated olives. The way you always wore silver jewellery instead of gold. Once, three weeks after you’d mentioned it in passing, she’d turned up with a small hand cream because you’d complained the clay kept drying your skin out.

“Thought this might help,” she’d said simply.

You still weren’t entirely sure what to do with kindness like that. Especially not from someone who owed you absolutely nothing.

By month three of pottery classes, the two of you had developed something dangerously close to a routine.

Thursday evenings meant clay under your nails, Anne gossiping lightly about neighbours you’d never met, and coffees afterwards in the café across the road while your pieces dried in the studio overnight.

It became normal. Comfortable. The kind of thing you started building your week around without realising.

Which was probably why it slipped out so casually.

“So, what’re you doing for Easter then?” Anne asked one Thursday evening, carefully painting glaze across the rim of a bowl.

You shrugged lightly, focusing on cleaning your hands with a towel.

“Oh, nothing exciting. Probably just stay in.”

Anne glanced up immediately.

“No family visiting?”

There was nothing invasive about the question. Nothing prying. Which somehow made the answer harder.

“They’re back up north,” you said vaguely. “We don’t really… do Easter.”

Anne hummed softly, though yuo could practically feel her noticing the way you avoided eye contact.

“Well,” she said after a moment, placing her brush down carefully, “that simply won’t do.”

You frowned slightly. “What won’t?”

“You being alone all weekend.”

“Oh no, honestly, I don’t mind—”

“Nonsense,” Anne interrupted instantly. “You’re coming to ours.”

You actually laughed a little at that, assuming she was joking. Anne didn’t laugh back.

“Anne—”

“No. I mean it, dear.”

The firmness in her voice caught you off guard slightly. “You shouldn’t spend holidays alone.”

Something uncomfortable twisted quietly in your chest at how easily she said it. Like it was obvious. Like you mattered enough for it to be obvious.

You tried anyway.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t.”

“Still, I barely know your family.”

Anne smiled then. Soft. Knowing. “You know me,” she said simply. “That’s enough.”

You spent the next week trying not to regret saying yes.

Not because you didn’t want to go. That was the problem, actually. You did. Far more than you probably should have.

By Friday, Anne had already texted twice reminding you not to bring anything except yourself, which only made you more nervous somehow. Because now it wasn’t just a polite invitation thrown out casually in pottery class. It was real. And real things were harder. Especially things that looked suspiciously like being wanted.

You changed outfits three times Sunday afternoon before settling on a tank top, jeans and a faux fur coat, then immediately felt overdressed the second you stood outside Anne’s front door holding a bottle of wine you’d bought entirely out of panic.

The house itself looked warm. Not inthe aesthetic Pinterest way people always described places online. Warm in the real sense. Light spilling through windows. Music playing faintly somewhere inside. The blurry movement of people through frosted glass.

For one pathetic second, you considered pretending to be ill and going home.

Before you could properly overthink it, the front door opened.

And you almost dropped the wine.

Because standing there, wearing grey joggers and a faded navy hoodie with curls pushed messily off his forehead, was Harry Styles.

You just stared at him.

Not in the dramatic, starstruck way people probably usually did. More in genuine confusion.

Because somehow, impossibly, Anne had failed to mention that her son was Harry fucking Styles.

His expression mirrored yours for about half a second before something amused flickered across his face.

“Oh,” he said.

You blinked.

“Oh?”

“You’re pottery girl.”

You stared at him blankly enough that he laughed softly. “Mum talks about you constantly.”

Heat crawled immediately into your face. “Oh my god.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, stepping aside to let you in. “I think I know more about your pottery projects than my own career at this point.”

You were still trying to process the situation while pulling your coat off awkwardly.

Anne appeared a second later, immediately pulling you into a hug before you could say anything coherent.

“There you are!”

“You didn’t tell me your son was Harry Styles,” you whispered the second she pulled back.

Anne looked genuinely confused. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

Harry laughed behind you.

You turned slightly to glare at him on instinct, only to catch him already looking at you with obvious amusement. And annoyingly enough, it settled something in you almost immediately.

Because despite the surrealness of the situation, despite the fact your brain was still catching up properly, Harry himself didn’t seem interested in making it weird. If anything, he looked just as curious about you.

“You alright?” he asked quietly while Anne disappeared back toward the kitchen.

“Just a bit shocked,” you admitted.

That made him grin properly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

You followed him further into the house still feeling slightly detached from reality.

It smelled like rosemery and garlic and something sweet baking somewhere deeper in the kitchen. Music played quietly from a speaker near the dining room, something soft and old you didn’t recognise immediately.

The whole place felt lived in. Not pristine. Not staged.

A cardigan hung over the back of one chair. Half finished drinks sat abandoned on kitchen counters. Someone had left a pair of sunglasses beside a fruit bowl despite the fact it was raining outside. It felt warm in a way your family home never really had.

Harry took the wine from your hands before you could awkwardly continue clutching it.

“Mum’ll love you forever for bringing this,” he said, glancing at the label.

“I panicked in Tesco’s for twenty minutes choosing it.”

“That’s the correct amount of time, actually.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. Dangerous.

He was easy to talk to. Annoyingly easy.

“Oh my god!” Gemma appeared suddenly from the dining room, smiling brightly as she crossed over to hug you quickly. “Oh thank god. Another normal person.”

Harry looked offended immediately. “Excuse you?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like rude while Gemma laughed. And just like that, some of the tightness in your chest loosened slightly.

Because nobody was making you feel out of place. Nobody was acting like you didn’t belong there.

Anne reappeared carrying a tray of drinks before immediately fussing over whether you were hungry despite the fact dinner was apparently less than twenty minutes away.

“Sit down, love.”

“I can help—”

“You absolutely can not,” Anne interrupted firmly. “You’re a guest.”

The word hit strangely. Guest. Not inconvenience. Not obligation. Guest.

You sat eventually after enough insisting, ending up beside Harry on the sofa mostly because it seemed like the only free space left.

“That’s my spot,” he informed you seriously the second you sat down.

You immediately started getting back up. “Oh my god, sorry—”

“I’m kidding.” His hand caught lightly around your wrist before you could stand properly, smiling when you glared at him. “Christ, you’re easy to wind up.”

You narrowed your eyes at him while he laughed quietly to himself.

From the kitchen, you caught Anne watching the interaction for half a second over the rim of her wine glass before Gemma physically nudged her shoulder.

Your suspicion grew immediately.

“You’ve spoken about me,” you accused quietly, turning toward Harry.

“Mum’s spoken about you,” he corrected easily.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He smiled into his drink.

Dinner happened slowly after that.

Not formally, either. Nobody really announced it. Anne just started bringing dishes to the table while Gemma stole roast potatoes directly off trays and Harry kept “accidentally” getting in everyone’s way in the kitchen until Anne threatened to throw him out entirely.

“You disappear for months and suddenly think this is your kitchen again,” she told him, swatting at his arm with a tea towel.

“It is my kitchen.”

“It was your kitchen when you remembered to visit.”

Harry placed a dramatic hand over his chest like he’d been wounded deeply.

You laughed before you could stop yourself. His eye sflicked toward you instantly at the sound.

It was strange, noticing how attentive he was.

Not in an intense way. Just… present. Every time you spoke, he listened properly. Every time you laughed, his attention shifted toward you automatically like he couldn’t help it.

And embarrassingly enough, you noticed every single time.

By the time everyone finally sat down to eat, your nerves had faded into something softer. Warmer.

Conversation moved easily around the table. Anne telling stories from pottery classes that made you groan into your wine while Harry looked delighted the entire time.

“She nearly cried over a vase once,” Anne informed him happily.

“It collapsed!”

“You cried?”

“I did not cry.”

Harry looked unconvinced. “You definitely cried.”

You pointed your fork at him accusingly. “You are having to much fun in this.”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted easily. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had in months.”

You rolled your eyes, though you were smiling despite yourself. It shouldn’t have felt this easy. That was the unsettling part.

You weren’t used to family dinners where people spoke over each other affectionately instead of carefully. Weren’t used to warmth that didn’t feel conditional somehow.

At one point, Harry reached over absentmindedly to refill your glass mid conversation without even asking first.

The gesture itself was tiny. Meaningless, probably. But something about it lodged painfully in your chest anyway.

Because you didn’t have to ask. You looked down quickly before anyone noticed the sudden sting behind your eyes.

Unfortunately, Harry noticed everything.

“You alright?” he asked quietly beside you.

You nodded too fast. “Fine.”

His expression said he didn’t entirely believe you, but thankfully he let it go. For now.

Later, after dinner dissolved into dessert and coffee and Gemma arguing with Harry over music choices in the kitchen, you found yourself standing alone briefly near the back garden doors, staring out at the rain tapping softly against the glass.

“You’ve gone quiet.” Harry’s voice appeared beside you a second before he did.

You glanced over slightly. “I’m fine.”

“That’s twice you’ve said that tonight.”

You huffed a small laugh. “And?”

“And usually when people say it that quickly, they’re lying.”

He leaned casually against the wall beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

Up close like this, he looked different than he did publicly somehow. Softer around the edges. More tired. More real.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “mum was worried about you.”

You frowned immediately. “Why?”

“She said you always make jokes when people ask about your family.”

You stared at him for a second. “Has your entire family been psychoanalysing me behind my back?”

That made him laugh quietly. “No. Just her.” A pause. “She likes you.”

Something about the simplicity of that made your chest ache again. You looked back toward the rain quickly.

“I like her too.”

“I know.”

The way he said it was soft enough to almost miss entirely. Then, without a word, Harry stepped back and left you be.

Inside, you could hear Anne laughing loudly at something Gemma said. Plates clinking softly. Music still humming faintly through the house.

Home.

The thought arrived suddenly enough to almost knock the breath from you. Not your home. But somebody’s. And somehow, tonight, they’d made space for you inside it.

“You’re thinking too hard again.”

You blinked slightly, turning back toward Anne as she appeared beside you carrying two mugs of tea.

“I didn’t realise it was visible.”

“Oh, love.” She smiled softly, handing one over. “Everything’s visible on your face.”

Heat crept faintly into your cheeks as you accepted the mug. Anne followed your gaze briefly before looking back at you knowingly.

“It’s nice having you here,” she said simply.

The sincerity of it caught embarrasingly sharply somewhere in your chest. Because she meant it so casually. Like it was obvious. Like there wasn’t a possibility you’d ever been unwanted somewhere before.

You looked down into your tea quickly.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

Anne frowned instantly. “Why on earth not?”

You shrugged lightly, though it felt tighter now somehow.

“I don’t know. Family things just aren’t really…” You searched briefly for the right word. “Normal for me.”

Anne’s expression softened immediately. Not pitying. Worse, somehow. Understanding.

“Well,” she said gently, reaching over to squeeze your hand once, “you can stay whenever you’d like.”

Something in you cracked slightly at that.

And across the kitchen, Harry looked up just in time to catch the expression on your face.

You stayed a little longer after that. Mostly because Anne kept finding reasons for you to.

Another cup of tea. Leftover dessert. A story Gemma absolutely needed to tell you involving Harry getting locked out barefoot once during lockdown.

“You promised never to speak about that again,” Harry groaned from the kitchen.

Gemma looked delighted. “And yet.”

It was easy to laugh with them. Easy to sit curled into the corner of Anne’s sofa while music hummed quietly through the house and conversation drifted lazily between rooms.

At some point, you realised you’d stopped checking the time altogether. Which felt more unsettling than anything else.

Because usually, during things like this, you were counting the minutes until you could politely leave.

But here? You kept catching yourself wanting to stay a little longer.

Wanting one more conversation. One more story. One more hour sitting inside all this warmth like maybe if you stayed long enough, some of it might settle permanently into you. Dangerous thought.

By the time you finally stood to leave, the house had softened into that late-evening quietness that only happened after good dinners.

Half empty glasses abandoned on tables. Slower conversations. Tired laughter from the kitchen.

Anne looked genuinely offended when you reached for your coat. “You’re leaving already?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” you laughed softly.

“And?”

“Yeah, and?” Harry butted in, making you turn your head.

“Some of us aren’t internationally famous and unemployed at the moment.” Gemma piped up from the sofa, grinning.

Harry looked up immediately from where he was loading glasses into the dishwasher. “Unemployed is harsh.”

“You’ve been home for three months.”

“I’m resting.”

Gemma snorted loudly into her drink.

Anne ignored both of them completely, already fussing with containers in the kitchen. “You’re taking leftovers.”

“Anne—”

“No arguing.”

Five minutes later, you somehow ended up standing in the hallway holding your bag, your coat, and enough food to survive at least four business days.

“This is ridiculous,” you said through a laugh.

Anne waved dismissively at you before pulling you into another hug anyway.

And maybe it was pathetic how much that alone affected you. The casual affection of it. The certainty. Like she already expected you back.

“You text me when you get home, alright?” she said firmly.

You smiled despite the sudden tightness in your chest. “I will.”

Behind her, Harry reached for his own coat from the hook beside the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I know.”

The answer came easy. Immediate. Like it wasn’t even a question.

Anne’s expression turned suspiciously smug behind him while Gemma outright grinned into her wine glass.

You pointed accusingly between them both. “Whatever this is, stop it.”

“Stop what?” Gemma asked innocently.

Harry muttered, “They’re unbearable,” while opening the front door for you. But he was smiling when he said it.

Cold air rushed lightly against your face the second you stepped outside.

The rain had eased into more of a mist now, the pavement still shining beneath streetlights while distant traffic hummed softly somewhere beyond the neighbourhood.

Harry stayed beside you as the door clicked shut behind him. For a moment, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t awkward, though. Just quiet. Comfortable in a way that surprised you slightly.

“You survived,” Harry said eventually as the two of you started down the path.

You glanced over at him. “Barely.”

“Yeah, mum can be intense once she decides she likes someone.”

The words settled warmly somewhere low in your chest. “She talks about you all the time too, you know.”

Harry groaned softly beside you.

“Oh god. Whats she telling people?”

“Pretty much everything other than the fact youre harry Styles.”

“Right. Brilliant.”

“And,” you added casually, “she might’ve shown me a video of you singing Tina Turner into a hairbrush when you were eight.”

He stopped walking immediately. “You’re joking.”

“I’m really not.”

Harry stared at you in genuine betrayal while you laughed properly for the first time all evening.

“So you did know I was… well, who I am?”

“Yes, I know who Harry Styles is but I don't know what he looked like as a child. Think thats pretty weird.”

Still smiling, he shook his head lightly before the two of you continued walking.

You became aware then, suddenly, of how close he was. Not in a dramatic way. Just enough that every so often his shoulder brushed yours lightly as you walked side by side down the pavement.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter now, “mum was really happy you came tonight.”

You looked down briefly at the pavement. “I’m glad she invited me.”

“No,” Harry corrected softly. “I mean really happy.”

Something in his tone made you glance over. His expression had softened completely now, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie while he looked ahead thoughtfully.

“She worries,” he admitted after a second. “About people being alone, I think.”

You swallowed slightly. “She didn’t make me feel alone tonight.” The honesty slipped out before you could stop it.

Harry looked at you then properly. And for a second, there was something almost unfairly gentle in his expression.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think that was the point.”

Your chest tightened embarrassingly fast. Good lord. Thankfully, your car came into view before you had to say anything else.

“Well,” you said softly, reaching into your bag for your keys, “thank you for not making tonight weird.”

Harry smiled immediately. “You really thought I was gonna make it weird?”

“You’re Harry Styles.”

“Unfortunately.”

You laughed quietly, leaning against your car door for half a second longer than necessary. Neither of you moved.

The rain caught faintly in Harry’s curls again, soft beneath the orange glow of the streetlamp above him. And suddenly, painfully, you realised you didn’t really want the night to end.

“Can I have your number?”

The question came casually enough. Still, your stomach flipped instantly. Harry looked almost amused by your expression.

“I mean,” he added lightly, “mum probably already has it memorised at this point. But I’d quite like to have it myself.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “Smooth.”

“I try to be.”

He handed you his phone. Your fingers brushed briefly during the exchange, tiny enough that it should’ve meant nothing. It didnt feel like nothing.

When you handed the phone back, Harry glanced down at the contact for a second before smiling softly to himself.

“Good,” he murmured.

You opened your car door mostly because suddenly standing this close to him felt a little dangerous.

“Text me when you get home,” Harry said.

You blinked at him. “I thought that was Anne’s line.”

“It is,” he admitted. “Still works though.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head.

Then, softer. “Thanks. For tonight.”

Harry leaned slightly against the open car door, eyes still on you. “You can stay, y’know.”

Your breath caught slightly. “What?”

“At ours,” he clarified gently. “Anytime.” A tiny shrug. “Mum’d kill me if I didn’t say that.”

But something about the way he looked at you made it very obvious that wasn’t the only reason.

Warmth spread slowly through your chest. The kind that lingered.

And as you finally pulled away from the pavement a few minutes later, Harry still standing beneath the streetlight watching you leave, your phone buzzed softly against the passenger seat before you’d even reached the end of the road.

Unknown Number

hope you like leftovers x

You smiled so suddenly it almost hurt.

By midnight, graduation stopped feeling like the end of something and started feeling like an excuse to do something stupid.

The whole house was too loud: music shaking through the floors, people laughing in the kitchen, someone crying in the downstairs bathroom because “college was over,” even though half of us were staying in town after summer. Gold streamers hung unevenly from the ceiling. Someone had taped a banner over the fireplace, with “WE SURVIVED” written across it in black marker.

I stayed near the back of the living room with a drink I hadn’t touched, pretending I wasn’t watching Harry every chance I got, and failing badly.

He was across the room, leaning against the wall like he knew exactly how many people were watching him. His dark curls fell loose around his face, his white button-down was open at the throat, and between the black trousers, rings, painted nails, and pearl necklace, he looked unfairly good.

He laughed at something Ava said, head tipped back, dimples out, and my stomach reacted like it hadn’t had three years to get over him.

Harry was the guy everyone thought I had a harmless crush on, which was easier than admitting I’d been quietly in love with him for half of college.

I loved him through open mic nights, through late nights in the library when he showed up with coffee and somehow always remembered my order, and through house parties where he flirted with me just enough to ruin my common sense before doing the same thing to everyone else.

I loved him while he was with Emma, and that had been the worst part.

She was beautiful, confident, and sharp in all the ways I wasn’t. She touched him like it was easy, kissed him in public, wore his jackets, and posted pictures of him half-asleep in her bed, all messy curls and soft mouth.

I smiled through it, told him I was happy for him, and pretended the whole thing didn’t make me feel pathetic.

They broke up four months ago, and I told myself it didn’t matter.

Graduation made that harder to believe. Suddenly, everything felt temporary, even though I wasn’t leaving town; Harry wasn’t either, as far as I knew; Ava had signed a lease two streets over; and half of us were staying for grad programs, internships, bad jobs, hopeful jobs, or jobs that barely counted.

Still, it felt like the last night of something, which might’ve been why Harry kept looking at me. He wasn’t looking at me the way he looked at everyone else, all easy charm and casual attention. He looked directly at me, like he kept catching himself before he came over.

Ava noticed, too, because subtlety had never been my strongest skill around Harry. She appeared beside me with a fresh drink and a suspicious expression.

“Are you hiding back here?”

“No, I’m standing.”

“You’re literally standing behind a plant.”

I looked at the plant like it had betrayed me. “It’s a big room.”

“It’s a decorative fern, [Y/N]. You’re not as hidden as you think.”

“I’m appreciating the decor.”

“You like emotionally unavailable musicians with good cheekbones.”

I nearly choked, which was impressive considering I hadn’t even taken a sip. “Ava.”

“What? We graduated. I’ve retired from subtlety.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, which sounded fake even to me.

She gave me a deeply insulting look.

Harry looked over again, catching my eyes from across the room, and his smile shifted into something softer. Ava followed my gaze and sighed.

“He’s been staring at you all night, and don’t even try to tell me he hasn’t.”

“That’s just how he looks at people.”

“Please. He looks at you like he’s one bad decision away from crossing the room.”

My chest tightened, and I looked away. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Ava asked.

“Don’t make it into something if it isn’t.”

For once, Ava didn’t turn it into a joke.

Ava’s expression softened, and for once, she sounded careful. “What if it is something?”

I looked down at my cup because that was the thing I’d never let myself want too clearly. Wanting Harry from a distance had been safe, even when it hurt. I could blame it on shyness, bad timing, Emma, or the fact that Harry always felt too far out of reach. But tonight he looked restless, and I was tired of pretending I didn’t notice.

Still, when he stopped just looking and started walking toward me, I panicked.

“I need some air,” I said.

Ava blinked, glancing past me toward Harry. “Right now?”

“Yes,” I said, already backing away.

“Wait, [Y/N]—”

I slipped past her before she could stop me.

The backyard was almost empty. Fairy lights hung along the fence, warm above the grass, and the music was muffled enough out here that I could finally breathe, even if I could still feel the bass in my ribs. I stepped onto the porch and wrapped my arms around myself, letting the night air cool my face.

I was wearing the pale blue graduation dress Ava had insisted on, which felt too pretty for how overwhelmed I was. She’d said I looked “soft and devastating,” which made me laugh and want to hide at the same time.

I leaned against the porch railing, trying to breathe, when the back door opened behind me.

I closed my eyes. Of course, he’d followed me.

“Running away from your own party?” Harry asked.

He didn’t sound drunk. His voice was low and warm, with a rough edge that made my stomach react.

I turned around before my nerves could talk me out of it.

He stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, curls falling over his forehead, looking unfairly good in the kitchen light as if Harry needed help looking like trouble.

“I’m not running away,” I said.

“No?” He stepped onto the porch. “Because it looked a lot like fleeing.”

“I needed some air.”

His mouth curved like he already knew the answer. “From me?”

My stomach flipped, but I kept my voice steady. “From the party.”

“Shame.” He stepped closer, slow enough to make it impossible not to notice. “I was hoping I was finally getting interesting.”

“You’ve always been interesting.”

The honesty slipped out before I could stop it, and for one second, Harry looked like I’d caught him off guard. His cocky smile came back quickly, but it was softer than usual.

“Careful, love,” he said. “Keep saying things like that, and I’ll get the wrong idea.”

“You already have plenty.”

“About you?” His eyes held mine, and his smile turned slower. “More than I should.”

The air shifted, and I looked away first because that was what I always did with him. Harry came to stand beside me at the railing, close enough to make me aware of him but still not touching. For a while, neither of us said anything.

After a while, his voice dropped. “You looked beautiful today.”

My throat tightened. “You mean at graduation?”

“There too.” He looked over at me. “But I meant all day.”

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I laughed under my breath. Harry’s expression flickered like he’d noticed the nerves in it.

“You always do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” I asked.

“You laugh it off every time I’m trying to be serious with you.”

I looked over at him, and the half-shadow on his face didn’t soften how serious his eyes were.

“I thought that was just how you were,” I said before I could lose my nerve. “You joked, you flirted, you made everyone feel special for five minutes.”

Harry let out a slow breath, as that had landed harder than I meant it to.

“I know,” he said quietly.

I hadn’t expected him to admit it. He dragged one hand through his curls, rings catching in the porch light.

“I know I do that,” he said. “I know how it looks.” He laughed once, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Mostly because you’re right. Most of the time, it is just flirting.”

My chest ached before he even finished.

“But it wasn’t like that with you.”

My breath caught when he turned fully toward me, leaning back against the railing.

“With you, I never knew what to do,” he said. “You’d go quiet, and I’d convince myself I’d made you uncomfortable. But one smile from you, and I’d spend the rest of the night trying to earn another one.”

My fingers tightened around my cup as I said his name. “Harry.”

“I dated Emma after that,” he said, voice softer. “I thought it would make this go away.”

Everything in me went still. “Make what go away?”

His smile softened, as if it hurt. “You.”

For a second, the party disappeared, and all I could focus on was Harry looking at me like he was done pretending.

“I thought you didn’t look at me like that,” he said. “I thought I was just Ava’s annoying friend who talked too much and dressed like someone’s dramatic aunt.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of me, too close to tears for comfort. “You’re dramatic.”

“I know.” His smile flickered a little. “But I wanted you to see past it.”

“I did see past it.”

It came out so quietly I almost missed it myself, but Harry didn’t. His eyes sharpened. “What?”

I looked down, embarrassed by how fast I’d admitted it.

“I did see past it,” I said. “That’s why it hurt.”

His hand drifted toward mine on the railing, but stopped before touching me.

“Love.”

“I liked you for years,” I said, my voice shaking. “When you were with Emma, I knew I didn’t have any right to be upset, so I got really good at pretending I wasn’t.”

His expression changed completely, and for once, there was nothing cocky left for him to hide behind.

“Fuck, love.”

I shook my head quickly. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you pity me.”

“I don’t.” He stepped closer. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I should’ve known.” His voice roughened. “I looked at you too much not to.”

My pulse jumped everywhere at once. He was close enough for me to smell his cologne under the night air, warm and clean, and when his fingers brushed mine on the railing, neither of us moved away.

Harry’s gaze dropped to our hands, moved to my mouth, and came back to my eyes.

“Tell me not to kiss you,” he said quietly, “and I won’t.”

I forgot how to breathe for a second.

“But if you don’t tell me no,” he said, his voice dropping, “I’m going to kiss you like I’ve been thinking about it for years.”

I felt myself melt and panic at the same time.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I whispered.

Harry’s hand slid to my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, and for one second, he just looked at me like kissing me mattered too much to rush. When his mouth finally touched mine, it wasn’t the easy, playful kiss I’d imagined from him. It was soft at first, almost careful, until his hand found my waist and pulled me closer like he couldn’t hold back anymore. I made a small sound into his mouth, and his whole body reacted.

He groaned into my mouth, low and rough, like that tiny sound had pushed him closer to losing control.

“There you are,” he whispered against my lips. “Fuck, I’ve wondered what you’d sound like when you stopped holding back.”

Heat rushed through me so fast my knees went weak, and Harry caught it immediately, his arm tightening around my waist.

“Still okay?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, like he needed to hear it. His mouth brushed mine again. “Because I’m not done with you.”

The second kiss was deeper and messier, the kind that made me grab the front of his shirt to stay upright. Harry backed me against the porch railing with careful pressure, his body warm against mine and his hand spread low on my back.

“You drive me mad,” he muttered against my jaw. “You’ve been standing there in this dress all night, looking like that, and I’m supposed to pretend I’m fine?”

My head tipped back as his mouth moved to my neck, and the first warm press of his lips made my whole body go loose against him.

“You were with Emma,” I whispered.

“I know.” His mouth stilled against my neck. “And I shouldn’t have tried to use her to get over you.”

The honesty in that opened my eyes. Harry pulled back just enough to look at me properly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never wanted you to feel like you were just another person I made feel special for five minutes.”

I touched his jaw, letting my thumb brush over the faint stubble there. “That was the problem. I never felt like part of the crowd with you.”

His eyes softened, and the smile that followed made my chest ache.

“Good,” he murmured, looking at me like he wanted the words to sink in. “Because you never were.”

This time, I kissed him first, and Harry made a surprised sound that turned into a smile against my mouth. His hand slid up my back as I pulled him closer, even with the music thudding inside and people close enough that anyone could’ve opened the door.

I didn’t care until Harry eased his thigh between mine, and the pressure made me gasp louder than I meant to. He broke the kiss, eyes dark and far too amused.

“Quiet, love,” he whispered. “Unless you want Ava to come out here and murder me.”

My face burned. “You’re impossible.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

His grin stayed, but his voice roughened. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“That you like me.”

He sounded too vulnerable for me to joke my way around it.

“I like you, Harry.”

His hand tightened at my waist, and his voice came out lower. “How much?”

I looked up at him, still shy even though his mouth was swollen because of me.

“A lot,” I admitted.

His grin came back, slow and pleased. “A lot sounds like something I can work with.”

He kissed me again, slower this time, like he wanted me to feel exactly how far past pretending we’d gone. His hand slid down my hip and stopped just before it could become more.

“Come upstairs with me,” he said, his voice low. “Only if you want to.”

My pulse jumped, but I didn’t look away. “I want to.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Harry kissed my forehead, soft enough to make my chest ache, and took my hand. We slipped back into the house through the kitchen, unnoticed at first because the party was too loud, too messy, and too busy pretending the night could last forever. Ava spotted us from the living room, looked at our joined hands, looked at my face, looked at Harry’s, and immediately looked ready to scream.

Harry gave her a small salute because, apparently, he wanted to die, and I dragged him toward the stairs before she could say anything.

“Coward,” he whispered, laughing.

“She’ll interrogate me later.”

“She’s going to kill me later.”

“Probably.”

“Still worth it.”

We climbed the stairs hand in hand, and the noise of the party dropped behind us with every step. The hallway at the top was dim, a few bedroom doors shut, someone’s graduation cap abandoned on the floor. Harry led me to the last room on the right, his room in the off-campus house he shared with two other guys.

I’d been in his room once before with Ava to pick up a charger, but standing in it now felt completely different. The posters, the guitar in the corner, the books on the floor, the unmade bed, the black suit jacket over the chair, and the warm smell of his cologne and laundry all felt too personal now.

Harry closed the door behind us, and the soft click made the room feel suddenly smaller. He stayed with his back against it, looking at me like he still couldn’t quite believe I was there. The shyness hit me all at once.

I smoothed my hands over my dress, suddenly too aware of myself. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “I’ve just thought about having you here more times than I should admit.”

My stomach dipped. “You have?”

“Sweetheart.” He pushed off the door and came toward me. “You have no idea.”

He stopped right in front of me, close enough that the space between us felt deliberate.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice low.

My face warmed because asking for anything with him standing that close felt dangerous. “I’m not good at that.”

His face softened like he understood exactly how hard that was for me to admit.

“I know.” His fingers brushed mine. “We’ll go slow.”

My face burned, but I made myself say it anyway. “I don’t want to slow the whole time.”

His eyebrows lifted like he hadn’t expected that from me, and I almost laughed.

“Oh?” he said, looking far too pleased.

I rolled my eyes, embarrassed. “Don’t make me regret saying that.”

“I won’t.” His hand settled at my waist. “I just like knowing there’s something filthy under all that shy.”

“Harry.”

“There she is.” His lips brushed my ear. “All embarrassed now. Sweet.”

I pushed at his chest, more embarrassed than serious, and he caught my hand before pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“Tell me to stop teasing,” he said, voice low.

I swallowed, my body reacting before I could pretend it hadn’t. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His eyes darkened. “Good girl.”

The praise went straight through me, low and hot, and Harry noticed the way my body reacted before I could hide it. His smile turned slow.

“Oh, love.” He stepped closer, looking far too pleased with himself. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

I covered my face with one hand, too embarrassed to look at him, but Harry laughed softly, pulled it away, and kissed my palm.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said softly. “Not tonight.”

The humor faded as he kissed me again, and this time there was nothing between us except his bedroom, his hands, his mouth, and all the years we’d spent pretending not to want this. He walked me backward until the backs of my legs hit the bed, his hands firm at my waist like he was holding himself back on purpose.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his hands still at my waist.

“Yes.”

“Use your words, darling.”

I looked him in the eye. “I want you.”

Harry exhaled hard. “Fuck.”

His mouth found mine again, and we fell onto the bed together. He braced himself above me, careful with his weight, but I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down because I wanted to feel him. His knee slid between my thighs, and the first press of friction made me gasp into his mouth.

Harry went still when I gasped, and I felt his smile form against my mouth. “Already?”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t.” He kissed along my jaw. “You’re too pretty when you’re needy.”

“I’m not needy.”

He pressed his thigh more firmly between mine, giving me just enough pressure to make my hips move before I could stop them.

Harry’s grin turned wicked. “Liar.”

I hated how much I liked it, especially when my hips kept moving against his thigh like my body had stopped asking for permission. Harry kissed down my neck, slow and warm, while his hands moved over my waist, my ribs, and the sides of my dress.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” he murmured, his mouth still moving against my neck. “You in my bed, trying to stay quiet while I find out exactly how much of that shyness I can ruin.”

“Harry.”

He laughed against my throat. “That wasn’t a no.”

His fingers found the zipper of my dress and stopped there, careful even with his voice gone rough. “Can I?”

“Yes.”

He drew the zipper down slowly, careful enough to make my skin prickle. His mouth followed the exposed line of my shoulder as he eased the straps down my arms.

The dress loosened around me, leaving me suddenly exposed enough that I wanted to cover myself. Harry noticed before I could hide.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “Still with me?”

I nodded.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

He kissed my cheek. “That’s okay.”

“I just…” I swallowed, embarrassed by how small my voice sounded. “You’ve probably done this with girls who know what they’re doing.”

His expression changed immediately, not pitying, not amused, but almost protective.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly.

I looked away, and he touched my chin, gentle but firm enough to bring me back.

“I don’t want girls,” he said. “I want you. Shy, nervous, bossy when you forget to be scared, all of it.”

My chest ached.

“And for the record,” he added, his mouth curving, “you’ve been driving me out of my mind for years without even trying. I’m pretty sure you know exactly what you’re doing.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of me.

“There she is,” he whispered.

He pushed the dress down with careful hands, easing it past my waist and helping me out of it until I was lying beneath him in pale underwear, suddenly too aware of how gently he was looking at me.

He stared, but not like he was picking me apart. He looked at me like every part of me was something he wanted.

“Beautiful,” he said.

The word was too simple for the way he was looking at me, so I reached for his shirt because I needed to see him undone, too.

“My turn.”

He smiled and let me have the buttons.

My fingers shook, but he didn’t tease me for it. He just stood there, breathing slowly, watching me open his shirt one button at a time. When I pushed it off his shoulders, I let my hands stay on his chest.

He was warm under my hands, lean and solid, with a few beauty marks scattered across his skin and his necklace resting against his collarbone. I touched it before I could overthink it.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

“I waited longer. I get a pass.”

“That’s not how staring works.”

“It is tonight.”

He kissed me again, still smiling, and whatever argument I had disappeared. Harry moved down my body with infuriating patience, kissing my collarbone, the tops of my breasts, and the center of my chest before his hands slid under my back to unclasp my bra. He looked at me before taking it off.

I nodded.

He removed it carefully, and for a second, he just stopped. His throat bobbed.

“Harry,” I whispered, suddenly shy again.

“I’m trying very hard to be respectful,” he said, though his eyes made that sound difficult.

“And?”

His gaze dropped over me before coming back to my face. “And I want to put my mouth everywhere you’ll let me.”

My breath caught. “Okay.”

His smile turned slow. “Use the word you mean.”

My face burned. “Please.”

That did it. Harry lowered his mouth to my breast and took his time, tongue dragging over sensitive skin before his lips closed around me. I gasped, fingers twisting in his hair, and he groaned as the tug went straight to his body.

“Do that again,” he said, voice rough.

I tugged lightly, and his eyes closed like he couldn’t help it. “Fuck. Yes.”

Making him lose his breath like that made me braver. Harry moved to my other breast, mouth hot and unhurried, until I was arching beneath him and pressing my hips up for more. His hand slid down my stomach and stopped just above the waistband of my underwear.

“You’re squirming,” he murmured.

“You’re smug.”

“I’m happy.” His mouth brushed my ribs. “I’ve wanted to make you squirm since sophomore year.”

I laughed, but the sound broke into a gasp when his fingers slipped under the elastic of my underwear.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

His hand moved lower, slipping beneath the last thin barrier between us. The first slow stroke of his fingers through how wet I was made both of us go quiet. Harry rested his forehead against my stomach, like he needed a second.

“Jesus, love.”

I covered my mouth instinctively when he touched me again, but he looked up immediately.

“No hiding from me.”

“People are downstairs.”

“Bite my shoulder, then.” His smile turned filthy. “Or my hand. Or my pillow. I’m not picky.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re this wet because I kissed your neck and called you pretty.” His fingers circled slowly, deliberate enough to make my breath shake. “I think I’m doing fine.”

My face went hot, but my body betrayed me immediately, hips lifting into his hand. His grin softened into something hungrier.

“There you go.”

He slipped one finger inside me, slow and careful, watching my face as I gripped the sheets.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His mouth brushed my hip. “Relax for me.”

He gave me time before adding a second finger, stretching me gently while his thumb circled with steady pressure. The pleasure built slowly, hot and relentless, and the way he watched me made it harder to stay quiet.

“Harry,” I whispered.

“I know.” He kissed the inside of my thigh. “I’ve got you.”

His mouth moved lower, and I froze for half a second.

He stopped immediately. “Too much?”

“No.” I swallowed. “I just—”

“Shy,” he finished softly.

I nodded.

His eyes warmed. “I like it shy. Means I get to watch you forget how to be.”

He pulled my underwear down and settled between my thighs, hands firm on my hips as he opened me for his mouth. The first slow lick over my clit made my back arch off the bed, and Harry moaned like tasting me had done something to him, too.

“Oh my god,” I breathed.

He lifted his head, mouth already wet, eyes wicked.

“A bit formal, but I’ll take it.”

I laughed, mortified and turned on, but the sound died completely when he put his mouth back on me.

He was slow at first, teasing and learning me, licking in soft strokes before giving me more pressure. His fingers kept moving inside me while his tongue found exactly where I needed him, and my hands twisted in his curls. Every time I tugged, he groaned against me like he couldn’t help it.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, mouth brushing against me. “Fuck, I could stay here.”

“Harry.”

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“More,” I breathed, embarrassed by how needy it sounded.

His eyes flashed. “That’s my girl. Ask for it properly.”

He gave me more, his mouth getting hotter and messier as his fingers curled inside me. The pleasure sharpened all at once, and I grabbed his hair before I could stop myself.

“I’m close,” I gasped.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Good. Come on my mouth, love. Let me have it.”

The words pushed me over. I came against his mouth, thighs trembling around his shoulders, one hand pressed hard over my own mouth to keep the sound in. Harry didn’t stop until I was shaking and had to pull gently at his hair.

He crawled back up my body, kissing my stomach, my chest, my neck, and finally my mouth.

I tasted myself on him and made a small, embarrassed sound. Harry smiled against my lips.

“Filthy girl,” he whispered, fond and playful, his mouth still wet from me. “Look at you.”

I slapped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything worse. His eyes crinkled like he was enjoying himself far too much.

I removed my hand slowly. “If you say something smug, I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No?”

His hand slid over my thigh, fingers pressing just enough to make my breath catch. “You haven’t had me yet.”

Heat gathered low in my stomach all over again, humiliating and obvious. He saw it immediately.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what I thought.”

I reached for his belt, and Harry’s teasing expression flickered. I liked that. Liked knowing I could make him lose the smooth edges, make him stop talking for once.

He helped me with his trousers, kicking them off messily, and when I palmed the hard shape of him through his briefs, his jaw tightened.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Sensitive?”

His eyes flicked to mine. “Don’t get cocky.”

I smiled. “You do.”

“I’ve earned it.”

I stroked him again through the fabric, and his head dropped forward like he couldn’t help it.

“Maybe not tonight,” I said.

His laugh turned into a rough groan as I slipped my hand beneath his briefs and wrapped my fingers around his cock. He was hard and hot in my hand, and the feel of him made my mouth go dry.

Harry braced one hand beside my head, his breathing already less steady.

“Like this?” I asked, stroking him slowly.

His eyes shut. “Just like that.”

His voice sounded so wrecked and honest that it made me braver. I watched his face while I touched him, watched his mouth part and his brows pull together, watched all that easy cockiness disappear under the pleasure he couldn’t talk his way around.

“You’re pretty like this,” I said softly.

His eyes opened. For a second, he looked genuinely stunned. A heartbeat later, he kissed me hard.

“Careful,” he muttered. “Say things like that, and I’ll fall in love with you.”

My hand stilled. Harry froze above me, and for a second, everything went quiet. The words had slipped too close to the truth, and I saw it on his face before he could turn it into a joke.

“Harry,” I whispered.

He swallowed hard.

“Later,” he said, voice low. “Let me say it properly later.”

My heart pounded as I nodded. He kissed me again, softer now, almost careful, but I pushed gently at his chest until he sat back.

“I want to taste you,” I said.

His eyes went dark immediately. “Fuck.”

I sat up and slid down between his legs, my pulse loud in my ears. For all his flirting, Harry looked almost reverent when I looked up at him.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I want to.”

His hand touched my cheek. “Okay.”

I took him into my mouth slowly, and his whole body went tense above me before a rough sound left his throat.

“Christ, [Y/N].”

His hand moved into my hair, gentle and careful, not pushing, just holding on. I set my own pace with my mouth and hand, watching him lose pieces of that easy control. His head tipped back, his throat worked, and his fingers trembled lightly against my scalp.

“Your mouth,” he whispered, wrecked. “Fuck, love, your mouth feels so good.”

I hummed around him, and his hips jerked before he caught himself.

“Sorry,” he gasped.

I pulled back enough to smile. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay if I embarrass myself before I even get inside you.”

The bluntness made me laugh, and he looked down at me with helpless heat.

“Don’t laugh with my cock in your hand, sweetheart. I’m fragile.”

“You’re not fragile.”

“Right now? Extremely.”

I kissed the inside of his thigh and took him again, slower this time, to feel the way his body tensed under me. He cursed into his hand to keep quiet, and when his breathing turned ragged, his fingers caught gently at my jaw.

“Stop,” he said, voice wrecked. “Please. I need to be inside you.”

The plea went through me so fast I almost forgot how to breathe. I climbed back up his body, and he kissed me like he’d been starving without my mouth.

“Condom?” I asked, breathless.

Harry’s eyes flicked to mine, dark and dazed, like the question had pulled him back from the edge.

“Drawer,” he said.

He reached for the nightstand and fumbled once before getting it open. I would’ve teased him, but my own hands were shaking too. Seeing him like this — shirt gone, trousers kicked aside, hair ruined from my fingers, mouth swollen from kissing me — made the whole thing feel suddenly real and impossible at the same time.

He tore the packet open, but before he rolled it on, he paused, not for drama. Not to be charming. To look at me.

“Still want this?” he asked.

I nodded, but he stayed exactly where he was.

“Words, love.”

My face warmed. Even now, after his mouth had been between my thighs and mine had been around him, he could still make me shy.

“Yes,” I said. “I want this. I want you.”

His jaw tightened like the words had done something to him.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You say that and expect me to stay normal?”

I smiled, small and nervous. “You asked.”

“I did.” He rolled the condom on, eyes locked on mine. “Best decision I’ve made all night.”

He kissed me once and shifted off the bed. For a second, I thought he was pulling away, but he only reached for my hips and guided me closer to the edge of the mattress.

My breath caught.

Harry stood between my thighs, bare skin warm under the low lamplight, one hand on my knee and the other at my waist. The position made me feel exposed in a new way and not hidden beneath him and not tangled safely in the sheets. Just open under his gaze.

I started to close my thighs, but his hand stilled gently on my knee.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Too much?”

“No.” I swallowed, embarrassed. “Just…”

“Shy?”

I nodded.

His smile wasn’t smug this time. It was tender. He bent down and kissed the inside of my knee before moving higher, his mouth warm against the soft skin of my thigh.

“I love shy,” he murmured. “Means I get to watch you decide you want me anyway.”

My stomach flipped. “You’re too good at talking.”

“Only because you make it easy.” His mouth brushed my thigh again. “You blush at everything.”

“I do not.”

He looked pointedly at my face.

I covered it with one hand, and Harry laughed softly before pulling it away to kiss my palm.

“No hiding,” he said. “Not after I’ve spent three years wondering what you’d look like in my bed.”

My breath shook.

He stepped closer, guiding my legs around his hips with careful hands while I stayed at the edge of the mattress. It made everything feel slower. Deliberate. His hands were steady, but his breathing wasn’t, and somehow that helped.

I touched his ribs, letting my fingers trail over warm skin, and he shivered.

“You’re sensitive,” I whispered.

His smile tilted. “You’re naked on my bed and still trying to win arguments.”

“I might.”

“You might,” he agreed, kissing me like he was trying not to smile. “But not this one.”

He lined himself up slowly, letting me feel the first careful press of him before he went any further. My whole body went still, and Harry caught it immediately.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

I did. He took his time, careful and focused, his eyes never leaving my face. The feeling was intense enough that my hands grabbed at his forearms before I could think.

He stopped immediately. “Okay?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “Just slow.”

“Slow,” he repeated, as the word mattered.

His thumbs moved over my hips, steady and grounding, while he gave me exactly that. When he finally let out a breath, it sounded shaky.

“Christ,” he whispered. “You feel…”

He cut himself off, jaw tight.

“What?” I asked.

His eyes lifted to mine. “Like I’m going to embarrass myself if I talk too much.”

A soft, shaky laugh slipped out of me.

Harry smiled. “There she is.”

He started moving slowly, dragging out of me before pressing back in with controlled, careful strokes that made my breath catch every time. The edge of the bed gave him leverage, but he didn’t use it to rush. His hand held my hip while the other stayed hooked behind my thigh, keeping me open beneath him as he watched my face.

The eye contact was unbearable, too intimate with him inside me, so I looked away. Harry leaned over me immediately, still moving, his mouth near my ear.

“No,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

I did, barely.

His smile was filthy and soft all at once. “Good girl.”

Pleasure went through me so sharply that I clenched around him, and Harry’s rhythm broke as he felt it everywhere.

“Oh, you liked that.” His voice came out rougher now. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep doing it.”

He pushed deeper, and my fingers dug into his arms as the angle hit exactly right.

“There?” he asked.

I nodded quickly, already losing the ability to be embarrassed. He did it again, and my mouth fell open.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “There. Right there.”

“That’s my girl.”

The possessive little phrase hit differently with him standing between my thighs, hands firm but careful, hips moving into me with enough rhythm to make every thought narrow down to him. The party downstairs was still there, muffled beneath the floorboards, but it felt impossibly far away.

Harry lowered his hand between us, his thumb finding my clit where I was still swollen and sensitive from his mouth. I jerked hard enough that his hand tightened on my hip.

“Too much?”

“No.” I caught his wrist. “Don’t stop.”

His grin turned wicked. “Bossy now?”

“Harry.”

“I like it.” He circled slowly, keeping his thrusts deep and controlled. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

My face burned. He slowed his hips, cruel enough to make me glare at him.

“Come on, love. You graduated today. Surely you can manage a full sentence.”

I glared at him through the haze, and he looked delighted.

“I want you to keep going,” I said, voice shaking. “I want you to make me come.”

Harry’s expression went molten. “There she is.”

He stopped teasing and gave me what I’d asked for, fucking me steadily from the edge of the bed while his fingers moved with the rhythm of his hips. His rings were cool against my skin, the angle sharper and deeper than before, and my thighs trembled around him as he watched every reaction cross my face.

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he said. “All shy until you’re spread out under me, asking so nicely.”

“Harry.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “I’ve got you.”

The orgasm built fast, hard enough that I could barely breathe, but just as I started to fall into it, Harry slowed.

A frustrated sound slipped out of me.

He laughed under his breath. “Don’t hate me.”

“I might.”

“No, you won’t.” He leaned down and kissed me. “I don’t want you to come yet.”

“Why?”

His mouth brushed mine. “Because I want you on top of me first.”

My stomach dropped. “I—”

“We don’t have to,” he said immediately, touching my cheek. “But I want to see you. Want to feel you choose it.”

The nerves softened before they could take over.

I nodded.

Harry kissed me once before carefully pulling out and moving onto the bed, lying back against the pillows. He looked unfairly beautiful like that — flushed, breathless, curls ruined, one arm above his head as he belonged in some old painting I would’ve pretended not to stare at.

Except this time, he was looking at me like I was the art.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Take your time.”

I sank slowly, palms braced on his chest, taking him inch by inch while his head tipped back against the pillows. His throat was exposed, his jaw clenched, his hands tight on my waist like he was forcing himself not to rush me.

Seeing him like that did something to me. Harry, who flirted with everyone, who always had a joke, who made whole rooms turn toward him without trying, was completely wrecked underneath me.

When I finally took all of him, his eyes opened.

“Jesus, [Y/N].”

I shifted experimentally, and his fingers dug into my waist.

“Careful,” he said, voice tight.

“Why?”

His smile was strained. “Because I’m trying very hard not to grab your hips and lose it underneath you.”

I moved again, slow and deliberate, and his eyes shut like he couldn’t help it.

I smiled. “Oh,” I said softly. “You’re very sensitive.”

One eye opened. “Do not use my own lines against me.”

“I thought you liked bossy.”

“I do.” He swallowed hard as I rolled my hips. “I like it a dangerous amount.”

That gave me confidence.

I started to ride him properly, slow at first, then steadier, learning the rhythm by the way his body reacted beneath mine. Harry watched me like he was starving, his hands moving from my waist to my thighs to my hips again, but he let me stay in control. Feeling all that restraint under my hands was dizzying.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice rough. “Fuck, look at you.”

I tried to look away, embarrassed by how exposed I felt, but his hand came up to my jaw.

“No. Stay with me.”

I held his gaze, and his thumb brushed my lip.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Ride me, love. Just like that.”

The dirty encouragement made my hips falter around him.

Harry’s grin returned. “Oh, that got you.”

“Stop noticing everything.”

“Never.” His hands slid back to my hips. “Not with you.”

I moved faster, chasing the pressure building low in my stomach while Harry met me with careful upward thrusts, deep enough to make me gasp every time.

“There?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hands guided me, not controlling, just helping me keep the rhythm. “Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

I did. The room filled with quiet, filthy sounds — broken breaths, skin, the bed shifting under us, Harry groaning every time I sank just right. Sweat gathered at his throat, his curls stuck to his forehead, and he looked so wrecked beneath me that the sight alone made the heat in my stomach pull tighter.

“Wanted this for so long,” he said. “Wanted you like this. Wanted to know if you’d get shy after, or if you’d look at me like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“And?”

His smile was wrecked. “You’re doing both. It’s killing me.”

I leaned down and kissed him, still moving over him, and Harry’s arms wrapped around me like he couldn’t stand the space between us anymore. He pulled me close until my chest pressed against his, and the angle changed enough to make him groan into my mouth.

“Wait,” he whispered.

I stilled immediately. “What?”

“Nothing bad.” He kissed my cheek, breath uneven. “I just want you closer.”

He sat up with me still in his lap, and I gasped as he shifted deeper inside me. His back hit the headboard, his arms locked around my waist, and suddenly, there was no distance left at all. Chest-to-chest. Face-to-face. So close I could feel every shaky breath he took.

I felt surrounded by him, not pinned and not trapped. Held.

“Oh,” I whispered.

Harry smiled softly. “Yeah?”

I nodded.

“Good.” His forehead touched mine. “This is what I wanted.”

The teasing had faded completely. His hands moved slowly over my back, my waist, my thighs, like he wanted to feel all of me while I rocked against him. The rhythm was smaller now, but deeper, more intimate, every shift pressing exactly where I needed until my thoughts narrowed down to his breath, his hands, his body under mine.

He was inside me, around me, under my hands. Everywhere.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did, and the look in his eyes nearly undid me. He looked vulnerable. Almost scared.

“I love you.”

The words felt different here. Not accidental. Not half-hidden under teasing. He said them while he was holding me close, like he wanted me to believe there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

My breath caught, and his voice roughened.

“I love you,” he said again. “I think I’ve loved you for years. I tried not to. I tried to be normal about you, and I was fucking terrible at it.”

My eyes stung. “I didn’t know.”

“I know.” He kissed me softly. “That’s on me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His hands tightened at my waist. “I let you think you were just one more person I flirted with.”

I shook my head, but he didn’t let me argue.

“You weren’t.” His mouth brushed mine. “You were the person I looked for in every room.”

My chest hurt. “Harry.”

“And now you’re here,” he whispered, a breathless laugh slipping out. “On top of me. In my bed. Looking at me like that.” His smile trembled. “So I’m saying it before I do something stupid like pretend I’m not completely gone over you.”

I cupped his face. “I love you too.”

He went still inside me, like the words had knocked the air out of him. For one second, he looked completely stunned. A heartbeat later, he kissed me so hard I forgot how to breathe. The rhythm came back desperate and messy, but still close, his hands guiding my hips while he kissed me between broken whispers.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His hands tightened at my hips. “Again.”

“I love you, Harry.”

The sound he made was rough and broken, like the words had hit somewhere too deep.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I love hearing you say that.”

I laughed against his mouth, but it turned into a gasp when his hand slid between us again. His fingers found my clit, stroking in tight, practiced circles while I moved in his lap, still full of him, still too sensitive from before. The pleasure was immediate. Too much and not enough.

“Harry.”

“I know.” He kissed my jaw. “Come on, love. Give me one more. Let me feel you come while you say it.”

I hid my face in his shoulder, and he laughed softly, breathless and affectionate.

“There she is. Shy again.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I have to.” His voice dropped. “You’re too sweet when you’re full of me and still pretending you’re not filthy.”

I clenched around him, and Harry groaned.

“See?” he whispered. “You like it.”

I kissed him hard, partly to shut him up and partly because I couldn’t stand how much I loved him.

The orgasm built slowly this time, pulled out of me by the deep grind of his hips, the pressure of his fingers, and the way he held me like I was precious while talking to me like he wanted to ruin me. It rolled through me hard and trembling, my arms locked around him, my mouth open against his neck because I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

Harry held me through it.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Perfect. So perfect for me.”

When it finally eased, I was shaking in his arms. He kissed my temple.

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

“Need to stop?”

I shook my head. His eyes darkened again, but his voice stayed gentle.

“Lie on your side for me?”

The softness of the request made me melt. He helped me shift carefully, staying close as he eased us down onto the mattress. We separated for a second, and I missed him instantly. Harry moved behind me, pulling my back against his chest, one arm beneath my head, and the other wrapped around my waist. Side-by-side like this, everything felt warmer. Closer. Almost too tender.

He guided himself back inside me from behind, slow and careful, kissing my shoulder as he pushed in.

I whimpered.

Harry stilled immediately. “Too much?”

“No.” I reached back, fingers tangling in his hair. “It’s good.”

He exhaled against my neck. “Good.”

This position was softer, but somehow more overwhelming. His chest was warm against my back, one arm locked around my waist, while his mouth moved from my ear to my shoulder to the side of my neck. He moved slowly, deeply, less frantic now, like he was trying to make the moment last.

“Feels different like this,” I whispered.

His lips brushed my ear. “Good different?”

I nodded. His hand spread over my stomach, holding me close.

“Mine tonight?” he asked, voice low and playful again, but softer than before.

I smiled despite myself. “Only tonight?”

Harry’s hips stuttered, and his laugh came out rough and breathless.

“No.” He kissed my shoulder. “Not only tonight. Not if you’ll let me.”

I turned my face toward him as much as I could. “I’ll let you.”

His next thrust went deeper.

“Careful, love,” he whispered. “You keep saying perfect things.”

“You told me to use my words.”

“I didn’t know you’d be this good at it.”

His hand slipped between my thighs again, and my breath caught.

“I don’t think I can again,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to.” He kissed beneath my ear. “I just want you to feel good while I lose my mind.”

The honesty in that made me clench around him.

Harry cursed softly. “Exactly like that.”

His pace changed, still gentle, still close, but with urgency now slipping in. His fingers stayed between my thighs, touching me lightly, not trying to force another orgasm out of me, just keeping pleasure moving through me while he lost control by degrees. I felt it in the tension of his body, the uneven rhythm of his breath, the way his arm tightened around my waist.

He buried his face in my neck.

“Tell me again,” he whispered.

I knew what he meant. “I love you.”

His whole body shuddered. “Again.”

“I love you, Harry.”

He came with a broken sound against my shoulder, hips pressing deep as his arm locked around me. His hand spread over my stomach, holding me close while he trembled through it, like hearing it had pushed him over as much as my body had.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The room was quiet except for our breathing and the distant thump of the party below. Harry kissed my shoulder once, twice, and a third time, softer than before.

“I meant it,” he whispered.

After he pulled out and dealt with the condom, I turned carefully in his arms. He came back to bed immediately, pulling the blanket over us before I could get self-conscious.

“So did I,” I said.

His smile was small and stunned, like part of him still didn’t believe he was allowed to have this.

“Yeah?”

I touched his cheek. “Yeah.”

Harry kissed me slowly, nothing rushed or teasing about it now. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed under my eye.

“You okay?”

I nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Not sore?”

“A little,” I admitted.

His face softened instantly. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with warm water and careful hands. He cleaned me gently, kissing my knee when I got embarrassed and whispering stupid little jokes until I stopped trying to hide my face. Afterward, he climbed back into bed and pulled me against his chest.

Downstairs, someone yelled the lyrics to a song completely off-key.

Harry grimaced. “Romantic soundtrack.”

I laughed into his skin, and he smiled against my hair.

“Date tomorrow?” he asked.

I lifted my head. “Tomorrow?”

“Too soon?”

“No.” I smiled. “I just thought you’d wait at least twelve hours before becoming unbearable.”

“Absolutely not.” He kissed my forehead. “I waited three years. I’m done being patient.”

My heart warmed.

“Ava is going to know.”

“Love, Ava knew before we did.”

I groaned. Harry laughed and tucked me closer.

“Let her know,” he said. “Let everyone know.”

I looked up at him, and his smile softened without losing any of its certainty.

“I’m not hiding you,” he said.

I was still shy, still overwhelmed, still not used to wanting something and being allowed to have it, so I did the only thing I could. I kissed him.

Harry smiled into it.

Outside his room, graduation night kept going without us.

“So you all were asking if you’d be seeing me at the shows, and the answer is yes. Of course. I unfortunately can’t take pictures with you all when I’m there because of the ‘security risk’ thing, and the boss is very protective of little ole’ me. I saw some comments asking that and thought I’d address that in a vlog so you guys know I’m not being some weirdo who’s let fame go to her head.”

The snort coming from the bed made her narrow her eyes, flicking her middle finger towards him off camera. He always liked to make little noises and comments and it was something people tended to look forward to.

Harry would pretend like he didn’t do it on purpose, but he did. They’d made the decision to keep their relationship mostly private which meant she didn’t want him in her vlogs, especially because she wanted an identity outside of him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to let people have tiny glimpses.

Her audience called it edging, and she wouldn’t disagree.

Considering he was majorly offline it made the most sense. Besides that point, their memories were theirs. She recorded quite a lot of just the two of them but it wouldn’t ever see the public- just the tiny private account she had with people in their inner circle, which was about 30 people.

“Also, yes, this is the new merch and I did steal it. Took it right off the vendor table.” She plucked the black tee shirt and showed it off, the glittery writing sparkling in the setting sun.

“You did what?” Was called from the bed, making her roll her eyes.

“Was it gonna make a difference if I took it today? We both know I’d m go in the dressing room tomorrow and ask your assistant to bother himself with getting me one of these as soon as we got there. I figured I’d snag it at rehearsal so I could christen it by sleeping in it… like a good luck charm.” She grinned the specific ‘innocent but absolutely not innocent’ grin that always had him huffing at her, but it didn’t matter. It was all for show anyways.

He liked seeing his stuff on her. That was proven time and time again.

“Can’t believe m’in love with a criminal.”

Y/N knew that line would be picked up and people would run it all over the internet but she was going to leave it in. Just a little reminder to everyone that he was indeed in love with her.

No matter how many times people pretended an international pop star needed an influencer for a ‘PR. Relationship’

Her following was massive and nothing to scoff at. That wasn’t her downplaying her success, but facts were facts. Her 15 mil didn’t do much for his however many millions more he had. That wasn’t something neither of them paid attention to.

“You are, and don’t you forget it. You’re all lucky he’s the singer in this because if I could hold a tune, I’d be be singing ‘mama I’m in love with a criminal.’ I’m sparing everyone’s ears.”

Y/N really couldn’t sing for shit and it was quite funny. She prayed that if they ever had kids that they’d inherit his musicality, because hers was hopeless.

“Anyway, you’re going to get to see the venue tomorrow. I’m pulling up before the opening act because a flower shop has graciously offered to let me help them make some bouquets of tulips and let me film it! So I’ll get to bring the boss good luck flowers and have some content about local business, which I’m stoked about.”

Harry watched her ramble to the camera and sort of envied the way she was able to be so natural and real on film. That was a weak point for him at the beginning, getting comfortable with people recording him, talking to cameras, all of that.

Y/N teased him about his prepared, rehearsed and recycled answers at times but routine and predictability felt good to him. Being with her had him working a bit more on loosening up on camera- especially when he witnessed her recording herself brushing her teeth while he stood off to the side, unashamed of toothpaste dripping down her chin.

They were so different in so many ways, but that was why it worked so well. Bringing different things to the table, different talents, different experiences.

Unfortunately she was right about the singing, though. Her karaoke resembled a howling dog, and he loved her for it.

He heard her shut the recording off before feet padded to the bed, making him look up from his book just in time to put it to the side as she crawled onto his lap. No warning, nothing at all, but that was just how she rolled.

“Hello. Didn’t know we were in Australia.”

“Huh?” Y/N pulled her face from his neck, hair a mess as she peered at him.

“Considering I’ve got a koala on me. Didn’t know we’ve gone from Amsterdam to somewhere in Aus.” He repeated, a laugh escaping him as she groaned, putting her head back to his shoulder with an ungraceful ‘thunk’.

“You missed out on a career in comedy.” She muttered sarcastically, stretching her limbs out and over him until he was covered in a blanket of Y/N, and his hand was rubbing up and down her back. “The stand up scene mourns. Thankfully you’ve got a hundred thousand people who may show up tomorrow for your gig, so it all works out.”

“Fresh.” He shook his head giving the meat of her bum a little pinch to make her squeak. It didn’t hurt, just took her off guard as she stuck her cold feet over his as revenge. “And now m’getting attacked. Wonder what your audience would say if they knew you were torturing me when the camera was off, mm?”

She slept in her car close to a trailer park, just behind the lot. She rarely had anyone bothering her. A membership to a cheap gym provided her with showers, full access to exercise equipment, and a yoga room that no one ever used.

There was an opening at a burlesque club called the Haute Baude (she hated the name too, but the opening was for an amateur without experience, which was precisely her burlesque skill status). She was desperate for work. She came to Las Vegas knowing she’d probably be doing something like this. Being a burlesque dancer could be fun, but she wasn’t trained to dance burlesque. She had classic training, though, and was capable and athletic.

The gym’s yoga room had come in handy for her training. She had her first appointment for an interview in a week’s time and until then, she worked her ass off, studying burlesque fundamentals, and style. She was lucky the position was for someone with no experience. She could dance and keep rhythm and make her own dance routines… she had a solid foundation, but burlesque was something a bit different than she was used to. A little outside of her comfort zone.

A bit sexier. Daring.

For the interview, she scraped together something she thought might be appropriate to wear. A pair of tights with athletic shorts (cute athletic shorts, she thought), paired with a cropped long-sleeve top. All black. It wasn’t what she would have chosen if she had more money to her name but it could work. She hoped.

Hope was the only thing keeping her feet on the ground as backward as that may sound.

Tucking herself into her backseat with her blankets and pillows she watched out the window looking at the stars and moon. She couldn’t believe this was her life but at the same time, she was proud she had the nerve to leave her dad’s house. The safety net of home came with a big catch. Her dad was an alcoholic and could be abusive. Not physically (only a couple of times did he ever lay a hand on Y/n). And then there was her boyfriend. She lived with him for almost 6 months until his lease came up and he didn’t renew so he moved in with mutual friends but she refused to be a burden to any of her friends in that way. He also occasionally pushed her around.

He was edging toward being physically abusive. He never left bruises. He’d only ever shoved and pushed her, yanked her wrists, and pulled her hair (and not in a fun way). But it was never enough to see it for what it was.

Until she left. Until she got air. Until she could look in from the outside.

She soon came to learn that Chad didn’t care much if he saw her once they stopped living together. She’d drop by to see him but he never made an effort to see her. So she did an experiment. One week she just didn’t make plans to see him nor did she stop by randomly. He never even called her. He didn’t care.

That realization stung her a bit, but she figured if he didn’t care, then neither did she. That was the final push she needed to pack up her car and head West. She didn’t tell her dad, and she didn’t tell Chad. Neither had called her yet. She didn’t need them.

The day of her interview she showered at the gym and got ready the best she could. She had nearly perfected a sweet little winged eyeliner which she felt proud of. When her phone had fully charged she called her only friend, Vinnie, for a pep talk. Vinnie had been her best friend since high school. He moved away to California the year before when he got a job in costume design and production in LA.

“Today’s the day, beautiful!” He answered the phone excitedly.

Y/n laughed into the receiver, “It is. I’m so nervous Vin. I just had to shower and get ready at the gym. I hate the outfit but my eyeliner is on point,” she spoke as she leaned into the mirror to get a closer look.

Y/n spoke to Vinnie every day. She missed him a lot and one of the reasons Las Vegas was on her radar was because she’d be closer to him. Maybe one day she could make it to LA for good but rent prices were even higher in LA than in Las Vegas. She and Vinnie imagined living together in some cute little bungalow with a small yard and a dog, both working and grinding and doing what they loved most. But that was just a dream and even though she’d come this far, she couldn’t know what her future really held.

She only knew she was never going back to where she came from.

The club was busy when she arrived. She was led to a back hallway and into a room that looked a bit like a clinical waiting area. There was one woman sitting in a chair near reception but otherwise, the waiting room was empty.

She sat close to the door and read a little bit on her phone, an article she started reading earlier in the day before she went to get herself ready at the gym.

She tried to pay attention to the article but her mind was all over the place. The first thing she wondered about was the club. It seemed so busy and posh when she walked in, but this waiting area was the opposite. She could hear the thudding of the base from the main room’s music. The waiting room had bright lights with deep blue carpet and white walls and the sterile smell of the waiting room had her a little confused.

A door opened and a young woman dressed in workout gear called out, “Regina!”

The other woman who’d been sitting near the reception area stood up and walked through the door. Y/n wondered if Regina was here for the same job opening – or if for something different. Looking back down at her phone to continue reading she realized she wouldn’t be able to take in any of the information. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and crossed her legs.

When she graduated with her bachelor’s in dance, she felt so proud. Her mother would have been proud. Y/n’s mother was a trained dancer as well. She taught Y/n all about the world of dance and would bring her along to the dance studio when she went. Everything for Y/n was all about dancing and artistry and music and movement, especially when she was little.

Then she met Chad when she was 22 and he never encouraged her to dance and never went to any of her performances, not that she had many of them. He just really didn’t seem to care. The more she thought about Chad the more she realized he was never any good for her. Kind of a dick really. He was emotionally abusive and sometimes handled her with anger, shoving her, or yanking her arm. He never hit her, but he wasn’t nice. Now, away from everything, away from her dad and her boyfriend, she realized that even if she’s sleeping in her car in a not-so-safe area, she’s still better off.

Happier. Free.

The door was pushed open and the same young woman with the workout gear on popped her head out and looked at Y/n with a bright smile, “Y/n?”

The next room Y/n was brought to was darker and felt more like a club. There was a pole and a small stage with a desk facing toward where she assumed she’d be showing off her routine.

“Just wait here. Angelique will see you in a moment.”

Y/n walked around the room. There were speakers at the top corners and lights pointed at the small stage area. The room wasn’t large, but it made sense that it would be a spot for an interview or maybe a private dance. Y/n wasn’t exactly sure about what kind of club this was. Burlesque didn’t usually involve private dances or anything like that, but she hadn’t done a whole lot of research about Haute Baude.

“Ms. Y/n?”

Y/n turned quickly and took in the woman who was probably Angelique. She crossed the room and held out her hand, “Yes! Nice to meet you. Are you Angelique?”

The woman was older with dark hair and dark eyes and botoxed lips. She was fit and tall. She held out her beautifully manicured hand and shook Y/n’s with a nod, “Yes. It’s good to meet you.”

Angelique sat while she gestured toward the stage, “Do you have a song you’d like to be played or shall I pick?”

Y/n stepped up onto the stage and nodded, “Yes. I was hoping to do a routine to I Want To Be Evil by Eartha Kitt.

Angelique smiled and nodded, “Lovely. Do you happen to have the song saved so we can play it to the speakers?” She waved her hands upward gesturing toward the speakers.

Y/n did. It had been on repeat for over a week when she practiced every day in the yoga room. When Eartha’s voice came over the speakers, Y/n walked back and forth and began to move slowly, using her hips and stepping in line with the words spoken.

When the music really got started and Eartha began to sing, Y/n had memorized the choreography she put together and began to move and add texture to the sensual beat. It was a mix of things she’d learned along with some of her own little bits she added in.

One of the reasons she chose that song, in particular, was because it was classy and sexy and only three minutes long. She really hoped the amateur part of the interview would give her an in. She really needed this.

At the end of the routine Angelique stood up and clapped with a smile, “Great. Thank you, Y/n. Come and sit.”

Y/n jumped down off the stage and sat in the metal folding chair across from the desk.

Angelique rounded the front of the wooden furniture and sat down at the edge, “Your resume tells me you have a dance degree and that you’ve never danced burlesque. Correct?”

Y/n nodded, “Yes. That’s true.”

Angelique nodded, “I can tell,” she laughed, “but don’t worry. You’ll get better as time goes on. We don’t need someone here who is a star. You could become one someday, but right now we’re looking for someone who can dance in a group setting in the back to fill in space, and also serve cocktails.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. The way Angelique was speaking made it sound like she’d already gotten the job. Not something she expected at all.

“We have two big burlesque evenings every week. Fridays and Saturdays with two shows each night. We’re looking to fill bodies into the back. You can keep rhythm and you seem to understand the basics so you would work well for our needs,” the woman spoke with her hands, waving them around to punctuate her words, “We also would like you to be available for small parties to do dance routines in groups and serve cocktails from time to time. I know being a cocktail waitress doesn’t seem to go with the job here, but we get booked for small parties from high-paying clientele and generally, we like to keep our best on the big stage, and the small parties we can send out the amateurs to serve cocktails and maybe do a dance or two. No stripping or anything like that.”

Y/n listened intently with a smile and a nod.

“How does this sound to you?”

Y/n sat up straight, “I need the job. I’d love to do anything you could book me for.”

Angelique nodded and her smile revealed a row of straight white teeth, “Oh, honey I know you need the job. Most of the types coming in for a no-experience-required job are usually in a tough spot here in Vegas. Can you do the job and be available and on call as needed? That’s all I need to know.”

Y/n nodded again, “Yes. Absolutely. I have no obligations.”

. . .

There was no one to celebrate with and Y/n didn’t have money to buy wine or something yummy to commemorate the occasion either. But she did call her best friend and he squealed and she squealed.

It felt good to have a job. To have a place in the world, even though she’d not yet started. Her night ended just as it began, in her little car, at the back of the trailer park, doors locked, stars shining in.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face and just knew this could be the beginning of something good.

. . .

Things were not good. Her first night at Haute Baude did not go as expected. She was sent a text on Wednesday about her upcoming schedule and the dance routine she’d be working on. She was expected to be at the club and to practice and then be ready on Friday and Saturday.

The other burlesque dancers she practiced with didn’t give her the time of day. She still practiced with them, watched closely to learn the routine, and stayed after to really get the portion down that she’d struggled with. On Friday she arrived very early to practice again. She had been fitted for a costume after her interview and expected that it would be ready before the shows on Friday night.

The studio she practiced in was empty when she arrived but that was only better for her she decided. The other dancers weren’t very welcoming, and she knew they wouldn’t be. She was just the amateur thrown into the back anyway. Why bother?

After three hours of dancing, and practicing she’d worked up a sweat and an appetite. Y/n was hungry. She hadn’t really eaten all that much because she simply couldn’t afford to. The dancer’s locker room had showers and vanity areas to get ready. Y/n took a warm shower and shaved all her nooks and crannies. She knew what the outfit looked like and she really wanted to make it look good. If she couldn’t get the moves down perfectly, at least she could look perfect.

When she found Angelique after searching through the building for a bit, she was already out of breath. The show would start in two hours and Y/n still didn’t know where to find her costume.

“Angelique!” Y/n spoke excitedly.

The woman looked scattered and panicky, “Yes?” Angelique turned and once she saw Y/n her smile dropped.

“Hi. Uh, I just wondered if you knew where I could find my costume. I don’t…”

“You’ll need to find Richard. He should know where it is,” Angelique turned to walk away.

“Wait! Who’s Richard? Where do I find him?” Y/n followed Angelique, hating to be a bother because the woman was clearly busy but she needed to find her outfit.

“He’s at the bar right now. Short man with blue eyes. Bald,” she didn’t bother to turn and look back as she quickened her haste down the hallway.

Y/n stopped in her tracks with a frown. Angelique was busy and in a hurry. Y/n didn’t want to be a burden anymore than she already felt she was.

When Y/n got to the main room she spotted Richard right away. He was wearing a tracksuit and had a big belly.

“Richard?” Y/n spoke as she walked toward him. Patrons were in the lounge area already, filling up the space and chatting. Music was playing, and on the stage was a dancer doing a solo routine.

“That’s me,” he spoke and looked Y/n up and down. Y/n still had not done her hair or makeup yet. She wanted to wait until closer to show time.

“Hi. I’m Y/n,” she held her hand out to the bald man to shake. He smirked and took her hand with a limp hold.

“Pleasure. How can I help you?”

“I was told you might know where my costume is for tonight’s show. I’m one of the dancers.”

Richard’s brows went up and then he looked toward the corner of the room with a squint before turning his sight back to Y/n, “I don’t know of a costume that needs to find its owner. All of them have been handed off to the dancers already. Sorry, doll,” he turned back to doing whatever it was he’d been doing before Y/n interrupted him.

Y/n’s heart sank. This was not good, “Sir. Look, Angelique told me you’d have it. I’m new and I was just fitted for it on Wednesday, so would there be someone I can speak to who knows where I can find one if mine’s not ready yet?”

Richard sighed and cocked his head as he looked back at her, “I have another idea.”

. . .

Her costume was lost or had never been ordered. She wasn’t sure. So, instead of having her first dance routine that night, she was booked to serve cocktails for a private party. Not how she envisioned her dance career progressing, but a job was a job. She needed the money. She needed to eat.

She was given a basic outfit to serve cocktails in. There were four cocktail waitresses. The little outfit was a bit showy for such a job, but she wouldn’t stick her nose up at it.

She curled her hair and pinned the front back and applied makeup. She adjusted her little outfit and tugged at the hem of the skirt. It barely covered her bottom. The tall heels were a touch too small for her feet but she took deep breaths and kept calm. The private party was in a large room (not the main room) with a small bar, some tables, and a stage.

She stood toward the entrance and watched the room get set up.

When the guests who’d booked the private party arrived, Y/n took her spot as directed and saw a group of ten men with nice suits and big attitudes walk in.

She immediately walked up to the table assigned to her and smiled brightly, “Welcome! Can I get you started off with a drink gentlemen?”

There were three tables for the guests and four cocktail waitresses spread amongst them.

Two beers, a whiskey neat.

Back and forth.

A round of shots for the group.