#lhh

I snuggle up to you again from behind, my arm gently moving around your waist as I press a tender kiss to your bare shoulder. God, I missed you so much, your soft skin, the sweet sounds you make when you sleep, your magical smell that makes me feel more at home than anything else in the world.

You're not just gorgeous, you're incredibly smart, witty, kind, and supportive of my career. Sometimes I wonder how the hell I ever convinced you to date me, a long-haired, scruffy boy bander.

My palm slowly caresses your stomach, gently enough not to wake you, and when you let out that soft, contented sigh and your lips quirk into that cute little smile, I swear, I'm about to devour you right then and there. You're by far the cutest creature on this fucking planet, and I'm way too deep in love with you.

We lie there for a short while, me breathing in your scent and stroking your belly, you still fast asleep, somewhere in dreamland. But then I suddenly feel it. It starts with a slight pressure in my lower stomach, which then shifts far too quickly between my legs, and before I've even had time to realise it, my cock springs to life and all my blood rushes downwards. "Fuckin' hell, seriously, mate?" I grumble softly as I lift the covers slightly and look down my body, my cock now standing at full attention, as if mocking me.

"Treacherous bastard," I huff, before pulling the covers back over us, trying to ease the pressure between my legs by shifting my position slightly.

But then you suddenly move, unconsciously pressing your ass against my crotch, and I can no longer suppress a soft moan. "Fuck, baby, you're not playing fair right now," I murmur into your shoulder, pressing my face into it to muffle any further sounds. My cock is now twitching uncontrollably against your buttocks, getting harder with every second of friction, and I don't know what else to do but rock my hips slightly back and forth to try and find some relief.

As I continue to roll my hips, my ringed hand slowly travels down your torso and finally between your legs. Your thighs tense reflexively as I gently trace my index and middle finger over your folds, while simultaneously peppering your shoulder and the base of your neck with soft kisses. I know I'm not playing fair by waking you up because of my own needs, but fuck it, I haven't had sex in three bloody months, I'm more than needy, and morning wood is an asshole anyway.

"Missed you so much, Angel." I murmur softly into the hollow of your neck, my hips still rolling as my fingers gently slide between your folds. The moment my fingers first brush against your sensitive clit, you flinch involuntarily, and a barely audible moan escapes your slightly parted lips. I smile, pleased by your reaction and begin to tease your clit with gentle, slow circular motions, feeling you slowly awaken from your slumber.

Your body arches back against me, and your cheeks tighten around my aching cock, which I'm still slowly rubbing up and down between them. The sudden pressure makes me pause briefly, and a loud gasp escapes my lips as I struggle to control myself.

"Ngh...Harry..." I then hear you whimper softly and I slightly increase the pressure of my fingers, causing your hips to jerk forward, seeking more friction.

"Mhm...good morning, sweet Angel." I whisper lowly in your ear before giving your earlobe a playful bite and kissing my way back down your neck.

A shiver runs down your spine as I gently suck on your neck, my fingers now moving slowly up and down between your folds, trying to collect some of your sweet juices to make it even more enjoyable for you. "You're already so wet for me," I say in a husky voice, continuing to rub my fingers over your clit, enough to make you feel pleasure, but far from actual satisfaction.

My cock is now painfully hard, and the way your buttocks clench each time I brush against your sensitive bud doesn't make it any easier to restrain myself. But I don't want to rush things, I never do. I want you to be ready to take me, to enjoy this as much as I do. The pace is your choice, always. I kiss the soft skin on your shoulder, and my hand slowly slides lower until I finally gently slip two of my fingers inside you.

Your reaction is immediate and wonderful, your back arches, your thighs open automatically to give me more room, and a mix of soft whimpers and moans escapes your lips as your eyes stay closed in pleasure. "H-Harry..." you croak as my fingers slowly start to move in and out of you, the cold metal of my rings only adding to your pleasure.

"Right here, Darling," I whisper softly, my movements now agonizingly slow, driving you as wild as you drive me wild by squeezing these damn perfect buttocks together.

The pressure in my cock is building to an unbearable level now, and I know I can't stand not being inside you much longer, so I push my fingers deeper inside you, curling them slightly until your walls reflexively close around them, and a deep moan escapes your beautiful lips.

"Harry, please," you whine, clearly impatient, pushing your ass even closer into me as you squeeze your cheeks around me once more. My trapped cock twitches uncontrollably, and my breath catches in my throat again. "Mmh, greedy much, eh?" I murmur, slightly amused by your sudden impatience. "Not so sleepy anymore now, are you, Angel? Want me that bad?"

Your only response is a soft moan and the pressing of your hips into my hand. My index and middle fingers now move rhythmically in and out of you, while my thumb teases your clit in circular motions with varying pressure.

The movements of my hips become somewhat unrestrained as desire slowly but surely clouds my senses and takes over my actions. I need you, and I need you now. "Gonna make you feel so good, baby," I whisper raspily in your ear as I slowly slide my fingers out of you, eliciting an almost desperate whine from you and a soft chuckle from me. It's amazing how you can go from fast asleep to wide awake and needy in just a few minutes.

I gently grasp your hips and reposition you slightly in front of me until the angle is right, resting my hand with gentle pressure on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs apart as I align the tip of my cock at your entrance. I feel you briefly hold your breath in anticipation, but then your body relaxes against mine, and I know you're ready for me. With one gentle, slow thrust, I slide in until I'm fully sheated inside you. A soft moan escapes us both simultaneously in the moment we are completely joined together in the most intimate and wonderful way two people can physically connect.

The feeling of finally being inside you again after three long months, of being able to be so close to you again, is overwhelming, and I pause for a few seconds, giving us both time to savor this first, blissful moment of pleasure. You're so tight and warm around me, simply perfect in every single way.

But then, after a short while, the urge to move becomes too strong, and I slowly begin to rock my hips back and forth. "Feels so good, Angel," I groan lowly as my hand slowly travels up your body and gently cups one of your breasts. My thumb lightly brushes your nipple, and the sound you make, a mix of a gasp and a moan, almost drives me insane.

My lips are still placing soft kisses on your neck and shoulder, your skin so incredibly warm and soft, just like the tight heat my cock continues to move in and out of.

We quickly find a shared rhythm, our movements slow and still a little sleepy, even though we're both wide awake now. The feeling of our bodies moving in perfect sync, as if they were made for each other, is one of the best things I've ever experienced. No stage and no award in the world will ever compare to you. Nothing will ever feel more like home and "this is where I belong" than you. The way I feel safe and at peace when I'm near you are incomparable, and I wouldn't trade you for anything or anyone in the world.

As your sweet, soft moans slowly intensify and your walls tighten around my cock more often, I know you're nearing your climax, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't also start to feel that familiar pressure and warmth building in my lower half. My hand glides smoothly down your body until it disappears between your thighs again, and I slowly begin to tease your clit with gentle movements.

Your body, now glistening with beads of sweat, just like mine, arches slightly, and you clench so hard around me that I briefly bite your shoulder reflexively, trying to release the sudden surge of pressure somewhere other than by coming too early. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Angel," I apologize immediately after, kissing the spot on your shoulder that now shows the mark of my teeth.

"It's okay." You whisper in that soft tone you always use to speak to me, and when my fingers brush your clit again, you immediately tense around me, causing us both to moan again.

The moment seems so simple, so quiet, so calm, but to me, it's everything, everything I didn't know I needed until I met you. This, right here, means more to me than anything else. Being close to you in this intimate way, feeling you, and knowing that you feel me too, feels amazing. The way we move together and drive each other over the edge is better than any extraordinary position we ever tried or any crazy place we've ever had sex in.

But before I can even continue spinning the most cheesy thoughts like a lovesick idiot, I feel us both, almost imperceptibly, but simultaneously, increasing the speed of our shared movements. My fingers, too, are circling your clit faster now, and your wonderful, soft moans are driving me almost over the edge. But I hold back. I want you to find your release first before I follow you into that beautiful moment of pure bliss.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see your hand grip the sheets in front of you tightly, and hear your breathy voice, "Harry, I-..." and then you're falling apart before you can even finish that sentence. Your moan echoes from the walls of my bedroom, your body convulses in my arms as you cry out when you finally reach your peak.

The impact of your release, the way you're clenching down on me, is enough to pull me over the edge as well, and when I thrust deep inside you two more times, I also reach my climax with a guttural moan just seconds after you.

"Fuuuck, baby." I curse into the back of your neck as my eyes automatically fall shut and the force of my orgasm briefly makes my vision whiten out while my hips stutter and I release myself deep inside you.

We ride out our orgasm together, my hand still slowly caressing your clit, my in-and-out movements slowing until we both finally come to a complete stillness, panting softly, my hand now resting on your stomach and my forehead on your shoulder.

"That was perfect. You are perfect, my love," I whisper softly, scattering lazy kisses across your warm skin as we both savor the aftermath of our orgasms. You smile softly and place your hand over mine on your stomach under the blanket, which has slipped down a bit from our movements.

I feel my cock slowly soften inside you, but I don't bother to pull out. I love this intimate moment of continued connection after the act itself is over, and I'm also just a very needy lad who craves affection. Okay, and maybe I'm also a little lazy, but of course I would never admit that.

I nuzzle my face against your neck and sigh contentedly as I breathe in your signature scent—you smell of mornings, and sex, and yourself, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it's the most beautiful smell in the world to me.

Our bodies are tired now, but completely relaxed, and I chuckle softly when you suddenly let out a deep yawn. "Still tired, love?" I ask before your yawn catches up on me and I, too, can no longer suppress a long, blissful yawn.

"A little," you reply sleepily as you move our hands along your body until my palm rests on your chest, right above your heart, your hand still resting on top of mine. Your steady heartbeat beneath my hand causes me to relax even further, and soon my eyelids begin to grow heavy.

"Let's go back to sleep, yeah?" I murmur sleepily, receiving only an approving hum from you, which brings another smile to my face.

"Love you," I hear you murmur softly, already half asleep.

"Love you, Angel. Always." I reply with a contented smile before we both drift off to sleep again.

@lizsogolden @harrysredshortshorts @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @carolinaastyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

Harry’s eyes drift to to small clock on the wall above the door as he walks down the middle aisle of the small corner store he works at, a heavy sigh slips past his lips when he sees he still has a solid six hours left of his shift since it’s only ten minutes past midnight. He runs a hand through his long hair before adjusting his glasses that tend to slip down the bridge of his nose every time he looks down to fix a wonky bag of some artificially flavored fruit snacks that somehow always get knocked out of its spot on the shelf that houses all the gummy type of treats. As he reaches out to grab a bag of chips that someone tossed onto the wrong shelf he notices a few oddly shaped specks on the floor, with the bag of chips still in his hand he kneels down and feels his brows furrow when he watches the small specks shimmer under the bright fluorescent lights making their iridescent shades of pink and purple gleam brighter letting Harry instantly know what he’s looking at.

Glitter.

Having worked at this same tiny little convenient store for a few years now Harry likes to think he’s seen it all, but for some odd reason the sight of a few star shaped pieces of glitter on the freshly polished but still extremely cheap looking white linoleum floor has his head spinning. He isn’t sure how it could’ve possibly gotten there, his head turns to look around him as he stands up and sure enough he finds little speckles of glittery dots randomly scattered all over the floor of the aisle he’s currently on. With a quirk of his brow he places the bag of chips back in its rightful spot on the shelf before slowly rounding the end cap of the aisle, his eyes looking down at his feet as he moves closer to the door just to find even more glitter near the faded welcome mat that used to be a dark black that’s now turned into a light gray with a worn out nearly white patch in the middle where people wipe off their shoes before fully entering the store. He can’t help but wonder what could’ve possibly happened during the day shift to cause so much glitter to now adorn the otherwise boring floors, but before he can even try to make a mental note to ask Niall his best friend who works days he hears the soft ding of the bell above the door as it swings open.

“It smells good in here.” Harry’s eyes are already glued to the floor as a pair of pink and green striped cozy sock clad feet tucked into what he thinks might just be fancy slippers that look like brown suede slip on shoes step onto the mat. “Is that an air freshener or something? It smells like vanilla and—and cigarettes? Not that I think cigarettes smell good but—I don’t know there’s something with tobacco mixed with vanilla that just smells so—good.”

Harry’s eyes slowly travel upward as your soft voice goes on to tell him how much you like the way the store smells, he feels his cheeks get warm when his emerald colored eyes take in the thick plushiness of your thighs that have his palms itching with a sudden need to feel the softness of them under his hands. He has to clench his hands into fists at his sides to stop himself from involuntarily reaching out to touch you, something he would never even dream of doing to a random customer that comes into his store.

“Stop being so fucking weird.” He thinks to himself as he tries and fails to tear his eyes away from you, not ready to stop his journey up your body that he swears perfectly resembles the kind of beautiful soft and plump bodies he sees in Renaissance type paintings, the ones with woman lounging around looking bored or unbothered while people fawn over them.

It’s not until his eyes reach the perfectly round shape of your bottom that your bright pink spandex shorts barely have enough fabric to cover letting a bit of the meaty flesh hang out just enough to have his pulse quickening that his mind finally allows him to think more clearly; realizing he is probably well past casually checking you out and headed towards being a full on creep. Luckily for him you don’t seem bothered by his prolonged glances at your body or if you are you don’t give him any obvious signs and that has a weird sort of guilt started to build up in his chest.

“Uh—uhm thanks it’s actually me.” He says after clearing his throat and taking a small step backwards while averting his gaze to the shelf full of random gadgets such as phone chargers and usb cords. “I uh wear a tobacco and vanilla-” his words get stuck in his throat as he finally dares to look back over at you, this time at your face that holds the warmest smile and brightness eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. “Cologne.” He mumbles as you fix the strap of your duffle bag that’s slung over your shoulder making your chest jiggle under your tight fitting black crop top that rests snuggly above your love handles that look so perfectly biteable they have Harry swallowing thickly before looking back down to the floor to free himself of the wild thoughts swirling around in his head about you, a complete stranger.

“That explains it then—knew I wasn’t crazy.” You tell him with a laugh that nearly has his knees giving out at how airy and light it sounds as you head towards the back wall that’s lined with all the cold drinks. Harry doesn’t mean to be weird as he turns so he’s facing you, his height allowing him to have an undisturbed view of you as you stand in front of the section full of different brands of water trying to decide which one you want.

Harry doesn’t know why you simply walking into his store has him feeing like he’s never been in the same room as a woman before, something about you has his brain melting and threatening to ooze out of his ears and all you’ve said to him is a few sentences while giving him a smile. There’s an awkwardness to his movements as he tries to act normal and walk back to the counter so he’ll be ready to ring you up whenever you’re done perusing the aisles. He runs a hand through his hair as he tries to make it less noticeable that he’s watching you, wanting to try to piece together the puzzle in his mind as to why your mere presence has turned him into some sort of caveman with how he can practically feel himself wanting to drool over how beautiful you are.

There’s a confidence to the way you move that has every bouncy step you take seem choreographed with how effortlessly graceful you are as you spin around so you’re facing the front of the store after grabbing a water, your well manicured fingers run over the front of a package of powdered donuts before carefully grabbing them. Harry pushes his glasses further up his nose as he watches your eyes bounce around the various baked goods on the shelf in front of you, the corners of your mouth dip downwards as you let out a huff before turning and heading towards the back of the store. Your slight pout has Harry’s need to fix whatever is wrong go into overdrive because even though he has only been in the same room with you for less than five minutes he already knows you’re far too pretty to have anything but a smile on your face.

“Is uhm is there something specific you’re look—looking for?” He asks from a safe distance behind the counter while you start to make your way down the middle aisle.

“No I’m just in one of those moods where everything sounds and looks good but I know it won’t really hit the spot.” Your words are simply explaining why there’s a look of almost disappointment on your face as you look over a few bags of chips, they shouldn’t have Harry’s hands gripping the edge of the counter and wanting so desperately to give you something the knows would hit every spot you’re craving.

“For fuck sake Harry get control of yourself you fucking creep.” The voice inside his head is all but shouting at him as he lets his eyes focus on the dainty silver chain around your neck that has a heart pendant resting just above the neckline of your shirt. As his gaze lingers on your neck he feels as if his eyes might be playing tricks on him, with the subtle movement of your head turning to look at a pack of cheese flavored crackers the lights from overhead make a few speckles just below your ear sparkle in a similar way to the pieces of glitter on the floor.

“I think this will be all for tonight.” Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, making him pause at trying to connect the glittery dots and solve the mystery of how you managed to leave traces of your visit to his store all over the floor yet he’s never seen you before. Harry stands up straight and runs a hand through his hair as you approach the counter so you can place your bottle of water and pack of donuts down next to the register. The smile you give him has his face getting hot making him look down at your two items, taking a mental picture of the brand of each one as he types in their item number. “Do you only work nights? I was in here earlier but it was a funny guy named Niall I think? He was really nice.” Harry nods and tries his best not to show his annoyance at how pretty your voice sounds when saying the name of his bestfriend.

“Yeah I uh do nights and he—he works days.” You tilt your head as if you’re waiting for him to elaborate as he places your donuts in a small bag and slides the bottle of water over to you. “I’m Harry.” He adds with a shy smile as he adjusts his glasses after giving you the total.

“Nice to meet you Harry.” Your smile is genuine as you take the bag from him while offering him your name in return, a name he knows he won’t be able to forget for the foreseeable future given the trance you seem to have him under just by simply existing and gracing his small little store full of snacks and overpriced gadgets with your presence. “Keep the change.” You tell him sweetly as you hand him a ten dollar bill that’s a bit wrinkled and also has a few specks of glitter on it, that little detail has Harry’s mind taking off in all sorts of directions trying to link together how the glitter on his floors that match the glitter on your neck somehow ended up on the cash you use to pay for things like a bottle of water and a pack of donuts.

“See you tomorrow.” You’re already at the door when Harry snaps out of his daze like state, all he can manage to do is lift an arm up and the laugh you let out has him remembering he actually has to move his hand in order to wave but it’s too late to save himself from embarrassment since you’re already stepping into the crisp night air before he’s awkwardly moving his hand from side to side.

“Holy shit.” He whispers with a heavy sigh as he finally feels as if he’s been set free from whatever spell you placed over him. He takes his glasses off and places them on the counter so he can run both hands over his face trying to clear his mind just enough to make it through the rest of his shift but as soon as he opens his eyes he sees a small star shaped speck lingering on the counter. “So much glitter—why?” He mumbles as he slips his glasses back on and reaches out to press the pad of his index finger to the small piece of glitter lifting it off the counter so he can bring it closer to his face to get a better look at it, as if the iridescent pink and purple speck is going to let him in on all your deepest and darkest secrets.

“Hey Harry!” A regular named Tiffany walking through the door has Harry dropping his hand letting the glitter fall from his finger as he gives the woman a smile trying his best to act normal, desperately needing the distraction so he can at least try to get back into the usual routine of his shift. But at the back of his mind all Harry can think about is your smile and how for once he’s actually looking forward to coming back to work tomorrow if it means he gets another chance at seeing you again.

“Have a good night Kenny—don’t get into too much trouble.” The security guard at the back door of the Pleasure Palace chuckles as he moves to the side and opens the door for you so you can exit the club having just wrapped up your shift for the evening.

“That’ll be easy sunshine since you’re takin’ all the trouble with you.” He teases with a wink that has you letting out a laugh as you step outside. “Be safe—see you tomorrow.” You just nod and give him a smile over your shoulder that he returns before letting the door close.

You sling your duffle bag that has all your work essentials stuffed inside it over your shoulder before walking down the dimly lit alleyway towards the sidewalk. You smile when you see the neon open sign blinking on and off in the window of the small corner store across the street. As you approach the crosswalk your mind starts to replay the last few interactions you’ve had with the tall longhaired man named Harry that works the night shift there, he seems relatively harmless and always keeps his distance while you take your time looking around the various snacks and treats but there’s something about the way he looks at you that keeps you coming back even though you can find cheaper bottles of water and junk food closer to your apartment complex. There’s a timidness to Harry that you’re not quite used to, given your line of work you’ve grown accustomed to men acting a certain way around you that isn’t always the nicest since most of them only see you as an object that’s meant to fulfill their wildest fantasies making them a bit more brave to let their domineering and sometimes aggressive sides run free.

But Harry is different and you don’t know if it’s because maybe he doesn’t know what you do for a living, not that your job is any reason for someone to treat you rudely but usually when people know what you do for work they lower their guards a bit because they feel more comfortable being their true selves, no doubt because they think there’s no way in hell an exotic dancer would dare judge them. And most of the time they’re right, who are you to judge what someone does in their free time when you make your money in a way that would have most people clutching their pearls but for you it’s more so you just don’t really mind letting other people live their life in whatever way they see fit as long as it’s not hurting anyone. You like to keep to yourself as often as you can, your social battery is always nearing zero percent by the time you’re packing up your stuff and counting your earnings before leaving for the night after a long shift at work.

So that’s why you don’t really mind how shy Harry is, sure you’d love to hear him say a few more things to you in that slow deep British accent of his that makes even the simple task of telling you hello take longer than normal but you don’t mind the quiet, it makes the sentences he does choose to speak to you seem a little more special. It also doesn’t hurt that you find him handsome, maybe a bit too handsome at times, like when you walked in a few days ago and he had his hair pulled up in a bun and had on a thin gray t shirt that let you see all the swirls of ink on his muscular arms you nearly pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t in the middle of a mid shift power nap but it turned out that’s just how he dresses on days he has to do inventory. You have a grin on your face now as you cross the street, an excitement building up in your chest as you push open the door letting the familiar ding of the bell above it bring you a sense of comfort as you walk in.

“Hi Harry.” You have to hold back a laugh as you watch him visibly jump at the sound of your voice, he looks up from his phone and you see his cheeks get the faintest dusting of pink to them as his eyes find yours. “How’s it going?” You ask with a smile before turning to head towards the back so you can grab a bottle of water, you let out a quiet giggle when you hear him let out a small sigh of relief now that you’re not making him hold eye contact with you anymore, something you have learned makes him very flustered.

“It’s uhm—uh going good yeah—oh we got more of those uh—uhm uh gummy lifesaver things you like.” He informs you as he leaves his usual spot behind the counter so he can walk down the aisle that holds one of your new favorite treats. “How—how is your night going?” He asks as you turn around after grabbing your water, you can’t hold back the giggle that bubbles up from deep in your chest as you find Harry trying so hard to seem casual as he awkwardly rests his arm on top of one of the shelves making a few bags of chips fall to the ground that he quickly bends down and picks up making his glasses slip down his nose in the process.

“I’m ready to be home all snuggled up in bed watching Lord of The Rings until I fall asleep.” You answer with a shrug, Harry quirks a brow at you as he runs a hand through his unruly hair.

“You uh like lord—lord of the rings?” You just nod as he takes a step backwards with every step forward you take until he’s at the end of the aisle while you’re standing in front of the section full of gummy candy. You don’t say anything, wanting to respect his desire for space so you just look over at him making his eyes dart away from your backside and down to the floor while his cheeks turn red because he knows you caught him staring at your ass.

“I do I’m a Samwise girl I really can’t stand Frodo but I get it—he has a horrible task given to him but sometimes he’s just so rude to Sam it makes me want to smack him.” You don’t mean to go off on a small tangent as you grab the pack of gummy lifesavers Harry mentioned earlier but there’s just something about Harry that has you feeling comfortable enough to let all your thoughts out. When you look back over to him Harry’s green eyes are wide in almost disbelief as he stares at you letting you take the opportunity to move a little closer to him without him really noticing.

“What about you? Are you a fan of the hobbits and-” the door opening making the ding go off above it has your question being cut short as Harry’s attention gets dragged away from you and over to the new customer that just walked in.

“I uhm-” He clears his throat before looking back over at you with a shy smile on his face. “Yes I like the books and—and the movies.” He answers as smoothly as possible given how flustered he is once he notices your new proximity to him, being close enough that you can smell his delicious cologne that you’re sure he’s not even aware causes the whole store to smell like him even when he’s not there.

“I’ll be honest I haven’t read the books.” You tell him truthfully as he rubs at the back of his neck with one of his ring clad hands as he turns so his back is against the side of the aisle across from where you’re currently looking, his way of once again creating space between the two of you. “Are they better than the movies?” You as trying to keep the conversation going but Harry just gives you a shrug and when your eyes lock with his he only lets you keep him held in place for a few seconds before he breaks and is walking back to the safety of the counter. Deciding you don’t want to push your luck you just grab a few more snacks on your way to the register, having no clue that with each step small little specks of the glitter you apply to your body before and in the middle of your shift to help you glow under the stage lights are dropping to the floor like glittery breadcrumbs showing where you’ve been.

“Keep the change.” Harry gives you a small smile as you slide over a five and ten dollar bill that you tried your best to iron out but they still have a few wrinkles and crinkles in them. But Harry doesn’t seem to take any notice as he opens the cash register depositing your cash so he can toss whatever change there is from your total into the small tip jar on the counter.

“H—have a good night.” He tells you softly as you take the bag from his hand that to your surprise is extremely soft when his fingers brush over yours in the process of handing you the plastic bag.

“Thanks Harry I’ll see you tomorrow.” You say with a smile before heading for the door, just as your hand reaches up to push it open you hear the sound of his voice and what he says has you grinning all the way home at how genuine he seems while doing his best not to stutter his way through it.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

harry remembers the first time that he touched you very well. it was at niall's party, he fought with his girlfriend kendall and she decided to leave earlier leaving him alone there and completely drunk.

he then saw you standing in the corner of the living room, red plastic cup in your hand while you looked around with a tired gaze clearly not in the mood to socialize, your short blue dress making his breath get caught up on his throat.

he knew approaching to you was wrong but he didn't care, it wasn't even the alcohol acting for him, he knew what he was doing he just didn't care about the consequences.

he only needed 20 minutes of flirting and making you blush to have you against the wall of the bathroom. it was hot and messy, exactly what he needed.

he wasn't surprised at all when you agreeded to hookup with him. it was so painfully obvious from the moment that kendall introduced you to him as her bestfriend that you had a crush on him, made his ego grow.

when he finished he just put his pants back on and left the bathroom slamming the door leaving you alone with your legs shaking and thighs dripping with his release. no aftercare, no "did you had fun?" or "are you okay?" because he knew he didn't need to ask, the way that you were moaning told him everything, at one point he even had to cover your mouth from how loud you were being so he knew that you enjoyed it for sure.

after that night you thought that it would never happen again, he was just mad with your bestfriend and he acted on impulse but you were wrong. not even 24 hours had passed and you already had a text from him.

"wanna come over to my dorm?"

guilt was eating you alive, you knew this wasn't fair to kendall but… you couldn't say no to harry, it was impossible.

ever since you met him you were swooped by him, he didn't even talked to you, he just shook your hand and gave you a little nod before focusing his attention on kendall but that gesture already made your stomach fill with butterflies, it was stupid and pathetic the effect he had on you.

and now that you got a taste of what is like to be with him you couldn't stop.

it became a routine, everytime kendall left his room to go study on the library or had an argument with him he texted you telling you to come over.

"did you put your phone in no disturb?" he asked while kissing your neck, his naked body on top of yours, hands gripping your wrists pinning them on top of your head.

"y-yes."

"good girl."

he only spoke sweet to you before having sex, when he finally gets what he wants he goes back to his usual cold demeanor.

"fuck." he moaned pulling out of you and rolling to lay next to your side in his bed taking the condom off and throwing it to the small bin on his dorm.

his eyes stayed closed for a couple seconds trying to calm his shaky breath, one of his hands pushing his long curls back while the other one stayed behind his head, the sheets barely covering his v line.

he only opened his eyes when he notices that you're not moving from your spot.

"your clothes are over there." he said nodding his head towards the corner of his room, your clothes discarded all over the floor under his desk.

"o-oh… yeah, you're right." you muttered before getting up, blinking a couple times trying not to lose your balance when your vision got blurry from standing up so fast, you never have time to recover from your orgasms because he is always rushing you to get out of his dorm.

somehow you managed not to fall into the floor, the only thing that happened was that you hit your head with his desk when you kneeled down to grab your clothes making him laugh but not in a sweet way, he was mocking at you.

his eyes always stayed glued to your body watching you put your clothes back on while he bites his bottom lip thinking if he should just convince you to get back on his bed for another round or just let you leave.

when he decided that he was done for today he just sighed and grabbed his phone from his nightstand. "the door is that way." he said not taking his eyes from the screen.

that always broke your heart, you had hope that one day he might start seeing you in a different way and not just with lust but everyday he keeps proving that that's not going to happen.

"yeah i know."

"well then leave."

his words always felt like a punch into your face, you knew you deserved someone better, that he was not good enough for you but everytime you tried to pull away from him he always managed to fuck with your head and make you stay with him.

"we should stop this." you said with your hands on his shoulders, his lips on yours while his hands gripped your hips keeping you pressed on his lap.

"mhm."

"i'm being serious." you continued speaking between kisses, your head dizzy from the lack of air.

"nah, you're not." those words made you finally push his chest breaking the kiss, a furrow immediately formed on his forehead while he looked at you offended. "bloody hell, what the fuck is your problem?"

"i can't do this anymore." you whined, your voice breaking when you felt a lump forming in your throat, eyes getting glossy.

"oh for fuck's sake." he cursed under his breath letting his back hit the headboard of his bed, he pinched the bridge of his nose while closing his eyes and shaking his head. "now you're gonna cry?"

"i-"

"after months of doing this you now feel guilty and sorry for kendall?" he attacked you, his eyes now locking with yours while his hands fell to his sides.

"i never said anything about kendall." he was good at manipulating you in the most toxic way, always bringing your bestfriend into the conversation to make you feel insecure. "this is about me and you."

he huffed and rolled his eyes. "yeah, sure."

"i'm being serious."

"no. you're being stupid, you knew what you were getting from the beginning so don't act like a innocent puppy now because we both know that is bullshit." he was starting to raise his voice but stopped when he saw the tears in your eyes.

"hey…" he spoke now with a softer voice, his right hand raising to try and clean the tears that were now falling from your cheeks.

"n-no, don't touch me." you said between sobs smacking his hand away before covering your face with your hands not wanting him to look at you right now.

"sweetheart no- don't do this." he said now circling his arms around you and pulling you to lay on his chest, one of his hands now resting on the back of your head scratching your scalp softly. "shh shh don't cry please, i didn't meant to hurt you." he tried to reassure you.

"but you did." you muttered against his chest, his black shirt now soaking with your tears.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, okay?" he said placing soft kisses to your forehead while holding you close, you could hear the steady beat of his heart against his chest making you calm down slowly. "please forgive me." he begged.

you stayed a couple minutes in silence with your eyes close feeling his hands rub your body trying to comfort you, his lips still pressed into your forehead. you hated the fact that his touch was slowly working on you.

after a couple seconds you raised your head to look at his face, mascara running down your cheeks making you look like a mess. he gave you a sweet smile, his dimples popping out making your heart skip a beat and your stomach do backflips.

"please…"

you took a deep breath and then sighed, your body relaxing on his arms while you leaned your forehead with his, your head was a mess of emotions, then you finally said it, the words he was waiting to hear. "i… i forgive you."

that made his smile bigger, he moved his hand from the back of your head towards your cheek, his thumb rubbing the soft and wet skin there. "thank you, thank you." he whispered before leaning and placing a soft peck to your lips.

when he felt you giving in and pecking him back he sighed and started placing more kisses into your mouth. "let me make it up to you, okay?" he said against your lips, when you nodded your head he gave you another smile and bumped your nose with his before attacking your lips again, his mouth devouring yours.

he got you again.

It’s Y/N’s turn to scoff, “you callin’ me a liar?!”

“No! But c’mon. There’s no way you aren’t and you just don’t remember. You know, like people who walk in their sleep.”

Y/N supposes it was possible, however it had happened so many times by now that she’d actually had the presence of mind to take note of her body in its entirety whenever waking up from these sex dreams she kept having that resulted in her orgasming so hard that it woke her up. She never had her clothes askew, her hands were over the comforter even, tucked under her pillow most times. “I actually looked it up when it first started happening. It’s entirely possible to orgasm without even having to touch yourself at all.”

“Damn, really? And here I am struggling to get myself off as it is. Some people just luck out, huh. Guess you’re one of them then. Can you do it awake, too?”

“Oh, no, Nora… really? What gives… I’m sorry to hear that. Uhm, no, I’ve never tried honestly. Maybe I’ll give it a shot, you know, for science,” they both snicker. “But yeah, apparently it’s all up here,” she gestures towards her head. “Which is probably why you can’t get there. Most of the time it’s just a mental blockage that you aren’t aware of. I usually orgasm easily, but I’ve had relationships where I just wasn’t getting there, even though the guy turned me on and all that. But if we weren’t really compatible otherwise, or if we fought a lot, it affected our sex life. Well, my sex life. They were managing to come juuuust fine.”

Nora laughs at this, “ugh, men. Can they also come without being touched, I wonder? Bet they can’t, since their dicks are so obviously disconnected from their brains. I swear they could get there no matter what.”

“I don’t remember anything gender specific from when I looked it up. But you’re probably right. But yeah, that’s probably it. It’s probably just you being stressed about your master thesis.”

“Could be. Hasn’t really been this bad before, although I’m not the kind to get there easily like you are. But at least I would, eventually. Now it’s like… why even bother, honestly. I’ve tried so many toys at this point that I’ve actually wondered if maybe I’ve desensitized myself.”

“Oh, damn. Is that a thing?”

“Yeah, totally. But lemme guess. You don’t even use toys, do you?

Y/N grimaces apologetically and Nora laughs, “good lord, woman. No wonder you don’t need a man, huh?”

“That’s not what I said!” 

The conversation had led here with Nora pestering Y/N to get on dating apps, claiming she’d never seen her friend coupled up and it sounded like she wasn’t even trying. 

But Y/N doesn’t believe in dating apps. She’s tried them in the past, and realized early on that there aren’t any men interested in actual relationships on there. Nora argued not every date has to lead to a full blown relationship. Casual hook-ups aren’t the end of the world, some could even end up in a friends with benefits type of thing. And surely, that’s better than just being alone.

But that just isn’t Y/N’s style. Nora had widened her eyes and asked her friend, point blank, if she’d really been celibate that whole time, leading to Y/N confessing.

“I mean… no hook-ups, no friends with benefits. Gotta admit, I was gearing up to you confessing you were a porn addict or something, but this really is original, Y/N. Very you. How did your past boyfriends cope with this? Weren’t they jealous your dreams were making you come more than they were?”

“This is actually somewhat new. None of my exes were around when this first started happening.”

“Oh, wow. When did it start?”

“I’m not telling you that! You already think it’s appalling that I’ve not had sex since you’ve known me, hate to think what your reaction would be if you knew how long this dry spell really has been going on for.”

“Oh, god, Y/N. It’s bad, isn’t it? Come on then, let’s hear it!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not!? Hey, if anything, kudos to you. You don’t want casual and won’t settle for less than you deserve, I respect that. Hooking up is not for everyone and that’s fine. And if the apps have really been that bad of an experience, there’s nothing wrong with waiting to meet someone organically. It’s near impossible, mind you, but not wrong per se.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, knowing she couldn’t even argue that. It’ s hard finding someone out in the wild in an era where everyone around was meeting people through apps. But she just doesn’t wanna risk another bad experience, she’d really gone through some wild shit on these dates, the last of which had really made her uncomfortable and she was lowkey traumatized. But she’d never really told anyone about it, instead she just pretended it never happened and that the guy didn’t try and roofie her, only for the bartender to intervene and kick him out before she could drink her second cocktail he’d ordered for her while she was at the bathroom. “Fine… it’s been… just under two and a half years.”

Nora does a shit job at hiding her shock. Instead, she tries deflecting with humor. “Maybe this is some kinda coping mechanism your body has come up with. Do you think you’re officially a virgin again? Like, physically? You know since you don’t even use toys…”

Y/N pushes Nora playfully, gasping in mock offence. “That’s the last time I’m ever confiding in you, by the way.” 

She means it as a joke, but makes a mental note not to overshare again. And also thinks that it was a good thing she never told her about the bar date incident either. Nora would’ve had her call the cops on the guy. And the thing is, even then she knew she should’ve. But that meant facing the reality of what almost happened, and she couldn’t afford therapy.

She hates the idea of someone taking advantage of her like that. Had that guy successfully drugged her, she probably would’ve gone along with anything he’d propositioned her, all her inhibitions stripped and her judgement clouded. And then, she hates to think what his true intentions could’ve been. Maybe he just wanted an easy lay, but who’s to say his intentions weren’t even darker than that? She could’ve ended up dead for all she knew.

This is the true reason why she hasn’t been on any dates with strangers since. She just can’t  trust men again. She’ll either date someone she gets introduced to through common friends, or not at all. She’d need someone to vouch for these men.

Until then, being alone feels like the safest option.

*

Y/N does think about her conversation with Nora, though. She supposes her friend was right, in a way. She’s probably compensating for the lack of action in her dreams. And what Nora doesn’t  know is that these dreams aren’t  just entirely erotic, either. She can actually remember bits and pieces, and she’s actually started journaling them since she grew frustrated when she realized she would promptly forget what little she did remember.

She’d only begun writing down in her journal whatever little she could remember when waking up a year or so back, so more than half was “undocumented” but she sometimes likes going through it, and tries piecing the parts together somehow. Because she’s fairly certain it’s some sort of recurring dream. 

And what makes her believe so is the fact that she is pretty sure she only ever dreams of one particular man whenever this happens. She only visually remembers very few things about him. Whenever she tries to remember him whilst awake, she can never really fully see his face. It’s like trying to remember someone you haven’t  seen in a long, long while and have no photos of. You can remember key features and the mind will just fill in the blanks, but it’s never really the same every time you think of them.

He has long hair, for one. Long, wavy-curly, chestnut hair. She probably remembers this because she doesn’t really know anyone in real life like that. She read somewhere once that people only ever dream of other people they’ve actually met. The mind seemingly can’t conjure up a completely imagined face. So this feature stuck out to her.

Another thing she distinctly remembers are his eyes. But this is where she thinks that thing she’d read up must’ve been bogus, because she’s certain she doesn’t know anyone with sparkly green eyes.

It’s just quick instances she seems to have ingrained in her brain, but him glancing at her and his eyes sparkling is something that always comes to mind whenever she thinks of these dreams. She can’t  even properly describe this in her journal. It’s something she hasn’t seen in fantasy movies even, she doesn’t remember ever thinking about this before. But his green eyes will sparkle when he looks at her in these dreams, almost as if he has light reflecting glitter dancing under the surface of his irises. Which is odd, since she only ever dreams of him in her room.

In her dark room. 

Y/N can’t sleep with lamps on. And for some reason, whenever she dreams of him, it’s as if he’s there with her, in her room, in the middle of the night.

So how do his eyes reflect any sort of light, then?

Another thing she can’t really describe in her journal is his voice. Gruff, hushed, yet sweet and inviting. It’s like he’s always telling her secrets, secrets that she has to get close in order to hear. She can remember the feel of his lips against the shell of her ear whenever he whispers these secrets to her. It’s the one thing she remembers the most, the thing she’s written about the most in her journal entries and seemingly the first thing she remembers for most of these dreams.

It always seemingly starts with her noticing him in her room, as if he’s always been there but she is too preoccupied to notice him at first. Whenever she finally notices him, he smiles at her. He has a very distinctive smile. A half-smile even, a smirk, and his eyes narrow a bit, almost as if to say, “ah, finally, now I’ve got your attention.”

His presence never startles her. It’s always like she knows he is there, all she has to do is look his way. It is never ominous, like some strange man has broken into her home in the middle of the night. For some reason, it’s as if her brain knows him and even expects him.

Her body definitely recognizes him, also. Some entries in her journal describe the feeling of her pussy throbbing whenever they first make eye contact.

He’ll speak to her then, and she’ll not really be able to hear him. 

She’ll invite him closer.

But no matter how close he gets, it’ s never close enough to hear, not until he’s whispering against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. 

There’s nothing in her journal about what he says to her, but whatever it is would make her moan and thrash around in her bed, begging and pleading for him to take her.

The amount of filth Y/N has read out of her journal in the mornings following these dreams is insane. She always forgets what it was she’d dreamed of completely. Sometimes she even forgets having woken up, that’s why she checks her journal every morning. 

It’s never entirely coherent. 

But aside from the way these dreams seemingly all start- her noticing him, him whispering in her ear, her pleading for him, nothing is ever repeated twice. 

Y/N enjoys flipping through the pages from time to time, and everytime she does she pieces together more things about this mystery man she keeps having wet dreams about. It doesn’t happen all that often, maybe 2-3 times a month, but when it does it leaves her feeling satisfied and floaty, and she carries the feeling with her well throughout her otherwise dull workdays. Finds herself fantasizing about him, wondering who he could be or if her mind has truly just created him for her own guilty pleasure.

Most of the things she’s written down she’d never even imagined before. Y/N isn’t really into porn, she found it quite repetitive and a bit boring, she’s certainly never seen anything nearly as passionate as what she’s read out of her journal. She’s surprised her mind is conjuring up these scenarios. She’s always been someone very in tune with her own sexuality, but she isn’t the kinkiest person either. Not for lack of wanting, but she’s just never had the opportunity to try most things that were a bit out there. But whoever she turns into during these dreams is definitely willing to try any and everything and learn she loves all of it. 

“Keeps me in his lap, my back to his chest, spreads me wide and toys with me until my whole body trembles. Whispers in my ear the whole time, wish I could remember what he says to me. His long, thick fingers reach so deep inside me, cupping my pussy and rubbing the heel of his palm into my clit so hard –”

“Every thrust feels like I would explode at any moment, his cockhead rubbing against my g-spot again and again and again perfectly every single time. Pulls out and bends my knees to my chest, sinking his tongue deep inside me and rubbing his whole face hungrily against me until I flood his mouth–”

“His hands on me feel like fire, every touch ignites me, every kiss makes my brain melt. Everytime he hits my cervix I feel my breath catch. Swear he gets so close I can feel him under my skin.”

“He’s everywhere, his presence cages me in, beyond just his broad shoulders, I don’t even know my name when he’s here. Desperate, obsessed, HIS.”

“Full, so full. Can still feel him, still twitching.”

“His groans, his pants, the way he feels under my palms. The way he slides down my throat. My hair pulled, my neck squeezed, my pussy slapped. He consumes me.”

“Keep trying to grasp at him when I finally come and he pins my hands down, his eyes sparkle looking at me come undone for him–”

“Whispers, sloppy kisses, his fingers everywhere at once, his tongue on every inch of me, his eyes burning into my soul. Never want to forget. Never want to wake up.”

She furrows her brows a bit at the end of that particular entry. As much as she wishes she could keep this mystery man in her bed with her after she wakes up, she does very much want to wake up. She decides to grab her pen and strike out that last sentence. What an odd thing to say, indeed… Her lustful mind must’ve really clouded her judgement.

*

Had she fallen asleep? Her eyes turn to look for the digital clock on her nightstand, but something else catches her attention.

Immediately she feels overwhelmed, like she can’t fit in her own skin anymore. She stands up on her bed, her mouth growing dry. “You came back.”

His smirk grows as his eyes narrow, visibly pleased with himself. Standing in her armchair, he uncrosses his legs and spreads them wide. He’s tenting his trousers and wants her to see she has the same effect on him as he does on her.

“Are you staying? Where did you go? Please don’t leave me again…” she whines, slowly crawling to the edge of the bed to get closer. He leans in, resting his elbows on his meaty thighs and just stares at her, taking her in. 

His eyes rake down her body and she can’t help but follow their path, she’s naked. When had she gotten naked?

The sight of her own naked body makes her even more desperate for him to touch.

He then says something, and it’s just barely audible. “Hm? Come closer. I can’t hear you.” And she thinks she’s being really clever, too. He’ll have to come closer and that’s when she’ll convince him to put his hands on her.

He smirks and his eyes sparkle with mischief. It takes her breath away. When he stands she sits back and spreads her legs wide for him, showing him her glistening core. She raises her hand and gestures him over with her finger, “come closer so I can hear you. Closer… closer…”

The mattress dips under his knee as he climbs on top of her, caging her in under his hypnotizing gaze. He then slowly lowers his lips to the shell of her ear, and she shudders at the feeling. 

“Say you’ll be mine forever, Y/N.”

She nearly orgasms at the sound of his voice alone. Her whole body responds to it. 

She combs her fingers through his long, luscious hair as he starts licking down her neck and to her breasts, she feels his leaky tip against her folds and realizes he’s gotten naked too, and the anticipation of what is to come makes her extremely lightheaded. She feels herself sinking into the mattress, floating in a hazy fog where all she can focus on are his hands all over her body and his sparkly eyes.

“Say it, and I’ll never leave again. Want to be mine forever, Y/N?” She nods vigorously, tilting her pelvis, trying to get him to sink in. She feels his long fingers ghost around her neck and then squeeze, slowly adding more and more pressure. “Then say it.”

“Yours. Forever.”

He groans, squeezing harder as he plunges inside of her and she screams in ecstasy, surrendering to the feeling completely. Surrendering to him. 

*

Nora receives a Daily Mail news article on Whatsapp from the common friend who introduced her and Y/N at the New Year’s Eve party. She sees the push notification followed by a lot of exclamation points but is just about to head out the door to catch the tube into work. 

After she makes it to her platform and realizes she probably just missed it since the next train was due to arrive in 7 minutes, she remembers the notification. She opens the link, disregarding the flood of texts that follow it from her friend, and for a few moments, it’s like the words dance on her phone’s screen, without making any sense. 

The picture is what makes her breath catch in her throat. Then the name being mentioned a few times throughout the article. The words start forming coherent sentences when she finally forces herself to read one paragraph at a time.

“Y/N Y/L/N was found on the morning of Wednesday after the landlord had to use the master key to enter the flat she was subletting. She hadn’t responded to any of his phone calls and had failed to pay rent on time. Taking matters into his own hands, the man decided to check the flat, this behavior entirely unusual on the young woman’s part. That is when he found her in her bed, seemingly peacefully asleep, but the foul smell had the man calling an ambulance immediately. He didn’t dare touch her and check for any vital signs, but he did notice she didn’t appear to be breathing whilst he waited for the paramedics to get there.

<< The smell was awful, but I kept hoping she maybe had a pet she didn’t admit to owning that had died, which would also explain her going incommunicado. However, the longer I waited for the ambulance the clearer it was that she’d passed away in her sleep. Nothing looked amiss in the flat. The paramedics took her lifeless body and then the autopsy reported she’d died from what must’ve been a cardiorespiratory arrest in her sleep. They didn’t find anything in her system or on her body to suggest any sort of foul play. She was only 27 years old and wasn’t known to suffer from any health problems that could lead to such an early demise. It’s truly a tragedy…>> 

While the police have ruled out an investigation, they did let on that it appears to have been a matter of the heart that might have led to this somehow. A journal was found at the side of Y/N’s bed, however several pages appeared to have been ripped out, the last entry dated over a year ago. No fingerprints aside from her own have been found and searches for the missing pages have been inconclusive.”

Masterlist

A/N: i've never really delved into something quite as dark and ominous before. i dunno what prompted this, but felt like a nice addition to my repertoire. hope you enjoyed! BIG FAT THANK YOU to @adorebeaa for helping me beta this ♥️♥️🥹🥹🥹

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

(4) and now I’m covered in you..

She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble and it irritates him more than it should. — a scary situation creates a lot of conflicting thoughts for both characters.. angst (14.3k)

(5) magnificently cursed

She can’t seem to ignore him and he’s rather observant of her.. - angst, little dramatic incident (11.4k)

(6) clover blooms in the fields

She needs help and he just so happens to be the only one available.. - little angst, more fluff (tw: does mention surgical procedures) (12.3k)

(7) crescent moon, coast is clear

She was struggling to let go of her worrying thoughts, but he was determined to help her through it. — there’s some angst & fluff (15.2k)

(8) he’s gonna burn this house to the ground

He has added insult to injury and she gives him one chance to make it right. — bit of angst lots of fluff and dialogue (17.5k)

(9) for moments that we stole

She was trying to figure out how to understand her own body, and he was attempting to help as much as he could.. — includes fluff, angst, hints of smut but not smut, & jealously.. (29.7k)

(10) on begged and borrowed time

She builds up her confidence and he takes care of, just as he promised he would.. — fluff, angst, and finally smut (26.7k)

(11) so tell me to run

He lies too easily to her at times, and she always seems to believe him.. — little bit of smut but mostly angst maybe it’s dramatic maybe not (13k)

(12) watch what we’ll become

She can't get over him and he finally does the right thing. — angst, smut (20.7k)

(13) my house of stone, your ivy grows

He works hard to change his ways and she maintains her patience. After all the hardships, it seems they have figured out how to love each other. — slight angst, smut. the final official update (14.7k) (final chapter)

˗ˏˋ extras ˎˊ˗

blueberry pancakes

she makes breakfast while he cuddles with her plushies - fluff (1.9k)

please yourself like you mean it

he finds something hiding in her nightstand - smut (sex toy use) (4.6k)

clean sheets

she starts her period and has an accident, but he assures her everything is fine - fluff (4.9k)

warm & content

Harry needs Ivy in a different way this time.. - smut (cockwarming) (1.1k)

this series is loosely inspired by the song “ivy” by taylor swift

more pics // more pics (2) // more pics (3)

part 8 teaser post (with photos)

part 9 teaser post (with photos)

part 10 teaser post (with photos)

part 11 teaser post (with photos) extra photos

extra photos 2

part 12 teaser post (with photos)

part 13 teaser post (with photos)

‧₊˚ playlist ‧₊˚

(just a few songs that inspired this series & what I listen to while writing it :: these are my music preferences so if you don’t like them.. don’t listen) •••slight spoilers so be aware/you can skip over this•••

ivy - taylor swift

lie to girls - sabrina carpenter

my boy only breaks his favorite toys - taylor swift

norman fucking rockwell- lana del rey

right now - one direction

souvenir - selena gomez

something in the way - nirvana

fine line - harry styles

guilty as sin - taylor swift

cinnamon girl - lana del rey

brain stew- greenday

the next best american record - lana del rey

dancing with our hands tied - taylor swift

lips of an angel - hinder

tonight - zayn

meet me in the hallway - harry styles

small talk - niall horan

iris - goo goo dolls

so it goes - taylor swift

stay over - tove lo

love is a wild thing - kacey musgraves

false god - taylor swift

little freak - harry styles

crimson and clover - joan jett (& the blackhearts)

I can fix him (no really I can) - taylor swift

get stoned - hinder

angel - kacey musgraves

there you are - zayn

nobody gets me - sza

alone - heart

cardigan - taylor swift

lover of mine - 5sos

mateo- tove lo

strong - one direction

» | harry would definitely let you braid, bun, or play in his hair on lazy days in hotels or on the tour bus. he’d be the one to ask when he is feeling clingy or just wants to feel your hands massaging his scalp after a long night. 

» | harry would love to see you backstage or in the crowd during his shows, dancing, singing, and blowing kisses to him while he's performing.

» | he'd love to see you in his collection of band tees he keeps in a drawer for you to grab when you're at his place. there would be a mix of them, pink floyd to even an old arctic monkeys tee.

» | he loves when you dress up for his shows, especially when you wear skirts with those black tights paired with his leather jacket. and the red lipstick. can’t forget that.

» | he's definitely the possessive type. while he knows you love him and only want him, he still loves to make sure you know that he's never leaving your side. touches, words, and even reassuring messages.

» | harry would be the clingy type, always wanting you around during soundcheck, in the studio when he's working on new music, getting tattoos in random cities, and of course in his bunk on the tour bus.

» | harry would be a talker in every kind of situation. mostly during intimate moments, he loves to talk you through everything. when you're on top of him chasing a high, and his hands are grasping your thighs as he praises you, when you're sad and don't know how to explain your feelings, or when you're upset at him.

» | harry can look intimidating, but he's such a softie. when its movie nights, he'll pick an old romantic comedy and cry during the sad parts, then share his excitement after the couple gets their happily ever after.

This wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You had spent the morning in bed, dreading the idea of getting dressed after your shower. You were in one of those moods, you know, the self-depracating kind where nothing you did, or anything anyone said, was satisfying. You wanted to blame it on your period, knowing it was only days away from starting, but you knew that wasn’t truly the issue, even if you could feel it in your mood, and most of all your body. 

“Which ones did you end up buying, love? Any that I picked out?” He asked, placing the package next to you on the bed. 

There it was, a daunting, bland box you knew would only make your day worse. You didn’t want to face it, and you weren’t ready to see what the extra weight from your recent vacation did to your body. It’s not like you didn’t know it was there, that you didn’t feel it in the already snug waist of your yoga pants, which you had been squeezing yourself into, hoping that the high waistband would be tight enough to hold everything back.

And of course it did, but only while standing.

When your eyes met Harry’s, he had that hopeful look in his eye, the one you were trying to avoid. It was too positive, too reassuring in this silent moment of self-crisis. 

“What are the chances of me getting a little fashion show?” he asked, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “You know that’s my favorite love.” 

When he pulls back to stare into your eyes, that look of positivity morphs into something searching. His eyes roam over your face, a sly smirk now playing at the corner of his mouth. You knew what he wanted; you could see it in his gaze. That need arising—you’ve seen it for days now, that want knocking at the door of your thin composure. 

Yet you’ve avoided this very moment at all costs.

“Maybe I’ll try them on later. I’m not really feeling it right now.” You tell him, hoping that will be enough, but then he gives you that “come on, babe” look. The one where he cocks his head and smiles, his wordless plea louder than any words he could say, and it’s so gentle, so fucking genuine, that you have to turn away and throw the blankets over your head, so you didn’t get sucked in.

The box hits the floor from your sudden stir, and the loud thud echoes in the room. You listen as Harry picks it up, opens the side table next to the bed, and the next thing you hear is the sound of tape tearing, and you rip the blankets off your head like the gremlin you’re trying to become, narrowing your eyes at him, as you take in his joyful curiosity. 

“Harry…”

“What, babe? I just want to see…”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him, “There’s nothing to see, they’re just swimsuits.” You tried, but then he was pulling them out one by one, excitement etched into his features like a kid in a candy store. 

“These are great, love. So sexy—oh, baby, you did get the one I liked most…that one’s going to be—“

“Hideous.” You say, cutting him off, “disgusting…” 

You watch as his cheerful expression falters, “Well, those wouldn’t be my describing words, darling.” 

“Harry just put them back in the box. I don’t even want to look at them… I’m not in the mood.” You push, sitting up in bed, gathering your robe closed at the neck, not a single inch of flesh showing. 

“Come on, love. We could have a beach day—“ And your head falls against the headboard at the mention of sun and what that would entail, yeah, right… You thought, go to the beach… like this, and chance anyone’s eyes on you… yeah right.

“Babe, that’s actually the exact opposite of what I want right now.” You answer, eyes falling to the box. 

He laughs, holding up a basic black one-piece, and his face lights up, like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, “black is always classic, I bet this would look really cute on you…although it seems like it would cover all the good stuff…”

Then he grabs another, the bottoms to the two piece bikini with high waisted bottoms, except it was just the bottoms, and he held them up puzzled, a curious pull between his brows, and you sat there mortified, thinking they looked like the biggest pair of granny panties you had ever seen, thinking wow, there was nothing cute about them whatsoever, and when he held them up to his body, trying to figure out their function you held your breath, wondering why the hell they looked even bigger held against his body. 

“Oh, they’re bottoms…are they supposed to be high or something?” He asks, genuinely confused. The thing was. There was no tone, no hint of mockery, the guy was asking a simple question, but something in you felt defensive, felt the need to dumb him down, because how dare he not know exactly what they were the second he held them up, exposing their size, unknowingly projecting back the exact reason you bought them in the first place, and somehow him holding them up to his thin frame only stirred that feeling further. 

“Yes, Harry, they’re high-waisted bottoms…” You say, yanking them out of his hand and onto the bed. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t know they made them. It seems like they would cover your tummy—” 

“Well—yeah. That’s the point. Not every swimsuit has to be a string of floss to be sexy…” You huffed out watching him grab a V-cut shaped pair of bottoms that would have your ass hanging out on full display, and you knew instantly that this was the one he picked out. 

“Ahhh… This is the one I chose…Remember…” and of course you remember how could you forget? You had been scrolling for thirty minutes, endless options right at the tips of your fingers, but nothing looked amazing, and every couple of seconds, you would catch yourself sighing every time you thought of the idea of purchasing a single one.

That’s when Harry decided to help, your sigh calling him like a siren for help. “That one’s cute. The way it goes up higher on the sides. Sexy even.” Harry told you, pointing at a thong high-rise bikini with thick sides. 

You had already had three other suits in the cart, none that you were entirely thrilled about, but you were going to buy them anyway, because if you were going to suffer, you might as well have options. 

“Can you add that one to the cart? Just for fun, maybe you can try it on for me when it comes in?” He asked, nuzzling his nose into your neck. 

You hit add, already dreading the idea, and when you checked out, and got the confirmation email for your purchase, you let Harry have his way with you, feeding into his apparent want, and as he pressed you to the bed, your mind was already wandering to the prison it would hold you in for weeks to come every time his hand gripped a handful of ass or dug into the meat at your sides. 

And now, here was that full circle moment, you looking up into Harry’s eyes, staring back at you with that same look of want, and how could you deny him something so small and trivial… but this is what you were telling yourself, your mind already out to please, because was it really a small and trivial idea? Because the idea of stretching that elastic material to form around your body felt cruel, this body, in which you had been growing to hate. 

Because it wasn’t small? In fact, it was big, depleting even. A kind courtesy, yes, but at your expense, just to make someone else happy. Especially when everything in you already felt like shit… but you wanted to make him happy, make his day, do the kind favor of trying on a silly swimsuit. Could it really be that bad? 

“Fine,” you hear yourself say, the word escaping on a sigh of defeat. Your fingers reach for the high-waisted set first, and you snatch it off the bed, as you rise, the fabric soft between your fingertips, betraying nothing of the misery it would soon inflict.

You watch as Harry’s expression changes, that boyish grin spreading across his face as he settles back against the pillows, ready for a show. “Brilliant, love. You’ll look absolutely stunning. All of these were great choices. I’m excited.”

His kind words were sharp against your mind as you gathered the pieces into your arms, along with the others, and headed toward the bathroom. It wasn’t until your hand touched the doorknob that his voice caught you.

“You’re not gonna change out here, love?” And his question is gentle, curious rather than accusatory. His head tilts slightly, and you can feel those green eyes studying you, trying to decipher this new puzzle, because it isn’t like you not to change in front of him.

“Umm.. It’s just... The bathroom has better lighting,” you force, not meeting his gaze, and the lie is bitter, but you turn the knob before you can second-guess yourself.

“Alright then,” he says simply, and you hear the rustle of sheets as he makes himself comfortable. No push, no pressure. Just Harry being Harry, and somehow that made the guilt settle even heavier in your chest.

When the bathroom door clicks shut behind you, suddenly you’re alone with your reflection and a handful of torment that feels more like a death sentence than swimwear. Because here they were, those high-waisted bottoms out to mock you from where they dangled in your grip, and you remember clicking “X-Large” with such confidence weeks ago. Back when denial was easier, when the numbers on the scale were just numbers, not a fucking verdict ready to lock you away for life.

Of course, you avoid the mirror’s accusatory stare at all costs, stripping down and stepping into the bottoms. That’s when the elastic catches at your thighs, requiring an ungraceful shimmy and tug that was leaving you breathless with shame. When they finally settle at your waist—or what should be your waist—the fabric bites into your soft flesh like teeth. 

This was a fucking joke, you thought, the high-waisted design had promised to smooth and flatter, but instead it seemed to create a strange new map of bulges: one above the band where your skin was escaping like dough from a too-tight pan, and another below where the material was supposed to be compressing a stomach in which it couldn’t contain.

The top was worse. 

You had ordered it in the same size as always, but “always” was apparently a different body ago. It was confusing… How could the cups gap and overflow at the same time? It was completely unflattering the way it was creating four breasts where there should only be two, and the underwire, fuck, it was already digging trenches into your ribcage while the straps strained against your shoulders, leaving angry red marks that would linger long after you had torn this torture device off your body.

There was hesitation as you turned sideways, and the mirror delivered its cruelest blow yet. It didn’t make sense that fucking roll created by the bottoms had somehow made its own shadow, forming its own presence in the room. Your hands move to adjust, to tuck, to try and trick physics into working in your favor, but there was no hiding what couldn’t be hidden.

And that was the cruelest reality of them all.

That’s when you felt the tears, but you swallowed them down; you knew Harry was waiting just beyond that door, probably scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to the war being waged in this tiny, tiled battlefield.

So you force yourself to walk out, each step a small act of courage or stupidity—you couldn’t decide which, and you held your breath as Harry’s eyes snapped up from his phone, and just like you predicted, they lit up. But his expression was unreadable through the fog of your own self-loathing, because in that moment you couldn’t see past yourself long enough to truly care. Was it desire that you saw in his eyes? Surprise? Or worse, was it horror masked as polite indifference? 

And you stood there, sucking in and lengthening your body like a fucking, side show character, some kind of contortionist, holding your breath, waiting for him to say anything, and all he said was:

“Let me see the one I picked out, yeah?” But his voice was steady, casual, as if you weren’t standing there looking like a sausage casing about to split at the seams.

His words were like a grip around your neck, hanging there like judgment you weren’t ready to face, yet you were already moving, already retreating, ready to be back in the safety of the bathroom before your face could give what his silence had confirmed. He hadn’t said a word—not one fucking word—as you stood there exposed with all your many flaws on full display, and as the quiet stretched between you, it felt like a vicious confirmation, and now he wanted to see more? 

For what? 

To catalog the disappointments you were sure to bring?

“Right,” You forced, throat already tight. “The one you picked.” You couldn’t even look at him as the words left your mouth, couldn’t bear to see whatever expression he was trying to mask on his face, and as the bathroom door closed behind you, you felt your fate looming over you, like you were sealing yourself into a tomb of your own making.

As you peeled the high-waisted tragedy from your body, it shed like a skin you never wanted, leaving sore red grooves in its wake. More evidence of your delusion, thinking fabric could contain what refused to be tamed, and as your eyes landed on Harry’s selection, a thick triangle that taunted the very concept of coverage, you let out a dry laugh, knowing the bottoms were exactly what you feared: a high-cut “V” that would frame everything wrong, showcase every new dimple and fold you had spent months trying to get used to.

But who were you kidding?

And you step into them with shaky hands and are immediately struck with the understanding that this is worse than before. The thick bands they called sides sat exactly where your body was softest, cutting into flesh that spilled over on either side, and let’s not even get started on the back, which disappeared entirely, swallowed by an ass that had expanded beyond what any amount of elastic could handle, and what killed your soul the most was the fucking front, now dipping low, framing a stomach that wouldn’t lie flat no matter how hard you sucked in, because your ribs could only take so much. 

The top itself was a futile practice, completely hopeless. 

A thick band of fabric that might have once contained your breasts now strained against flesh that wanted to escape from the stitching. A tube top with no support, now creating new rolls where none existed before, like one big, fat tire, your breasts now becoming one stupid uniboob. And that’s when the tears came. The kind that stole your words and left you in silence, defeated as they slipped down your cheeks in hushed streams, and you forced yourself to turn, to face the mirror that you had allowed to become the enemy.

Who was this person standing before you? When did this happen? When had your body become a battleground for all your mournful thoughts, rather than a vessel inhabited with peace? Because lately, all that seemed to win were the shitty thoughts, arriving like thieves to steal all the joy in your life. Because there was so much joy and happiness, but it was hard for you to remember the not-so-distant past, when this was what you were. You knew deep down that you hadn’t always hated this body or the person you were becoming, but in these moments, it was hard to venture back to a point when you loved yourself, when this, what you saw now, was the version of yourself being reflected back at you. 

That’s when your legs gave way, and you sank to the cold tile floor, pulling your knees to your chest in a desperate attempt to disappear, letting the tears fall faster, silent sobs shuddering through your body as you rocked slightly, trying to self-soothe in a moment that felt beyond the grasp of comfort. Time was meaningless, slipping away in an empty frame of mind. You could have been there minutes or hours; you didn’t know, but then you heard the soft knock that pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Love? You alright in there?” Harry called out, his voice muffling through the wooden door, concern evident in his tone.

You don’t even try to answer. How could you when your throat had closed around all the words you’ve been dying to say, to scream out loud, to rid yourself of the pained torment that was holding you captive, because you knew more than anyone how hurtful words could be.

Another knock sounds, this time more insistent. “Babe, you’re worrying me. I’m coming in, okay?”

The door cracks open slowly, and there’s Harry, his face shifting from concern to panic when he takes in the scene unfolding before him, and when you look up your face falls, and you curl into yourself more, embarrassed at the sight of yourself on the floor in his chosen bikini, face streaked with tears you weren’t even trying to hide. 

“Oh, baby…” he breathes, then falls to his knees on the ground before you, and he gathers you into his arms without a moment’s hesitation, even when you put up a weak protest. “No, no, darling…none of that. Come here, love, let me hold you for a second.”

“I can’t do this,” you sob into his shirt, breathing him in. “I look disgusting. Everything looks wrong. Everything about me is wrong right now.”

“Stop that nonsense. I’ll have none of that, my love.” And his voice is firm, yet gentle as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s just take a second.” He tells you, pulling back enough to cup your face, forcing you to meet his eyes, holding you with that gaze that seemed to keep your whole world. “Come. Stand up with me, darling.”

“Harry, please—”

“Can you just trust me? I promise. I just need to show you something.” 

And you give him a silent nod as tears spill over the rims of your eyes. He helps you to your feet and positions you in front of the mirror you’ve been trying to avoid, standing behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and when you try to look away, his gentle hands turn your shoulders to keep you steady.

“Look,” he says softly. “I want you to really look at yourself. Not just at what you think you see, but at what I see.”

“Harry, I am looking. That’s the problem.”

“No, love. You’re looking through cruel eyes. Here, let me show you… let me lend you mine so you can see what I see.” Then his hands slide down your arms as goosebumps rise in their wake. 

“You see these arms?” He starts, “These strong, delicate arms. These are the arms that hold me every morning, that pull me closer when you think I’m asleep. Do you know how safe that makes me feel, knowing these are the arms I’ll always choose on any good or bad day.”

And then his hands move to your waist, and you tense, but he holds you there with a gentle grasp. “And, Darling. I don’t even know where to start with this body—” There it is, and like a knee-jerk reaction, you squirm at the mention of the word “body,” but he continues drawing you closer, while planting a kiss on the flesh of your shoulder.

“God, baby… This body—” He breathes into your skin, “This beautiful, soft, perfect body, that fits against mine like it was made just for me. Every curve you’re hating right now? That’s where my hands want to be every time you walk into a room… Every soft spot you’ve been trying to hide? That’s where my mouth is dying to be every time I see even the slightest sliver of skin…”

“Harry—” You whisper at the edge of a sob.

“Give me just a few more seconds, love, I’m not quite finished yet…” And then he’s spinning you gently, hands skimming over your tummy, grazing down to your hips with an adoration you were starting to feel too weak to endure, because how did you get so lucky? How did you deserve such kindness?

Harry doesn’t let your tears of self-pity deter him from his mission to build you up, because that’s what he was doing, and dammit if it wasn’t working, because you believed this man, believed every word falling from his beautiful mouth, even if everything in you wanted to fight it, wanted to crumble to pieces under his touch, and as he shot you a sexy smirk, the one he always gave you when he liked what he saw, he lets out a light laugh, eyes roaming down your body with a new hunger. 

“You know… they say to save the best for last, and baby… This ass you’ve been hiding under oversized tees and cozy jumpers—” And you roll your eyes, shaking your head, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you hiding this perfect, lush ass. Baby, oh my god, do you even know what this does to me? Do you know how many times I’ve had to think about gravy and grandma toes anytime you bend over in those sexy yoga pants… I’m a fucking animal, I swear?”

Then Harry howls like a dog, making you jump, and playfully wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his mouth into your neck, and for the first time since he walked into the bathroom, a small laugh escapes. “You’re just saying that.”

“Am I?” He questions, turning you back to face the mirror, drawing your hips even closer, and you can feel the proof of his words pressing into your ass. “You see, love? This is what you do to me. This is what you’ve been doing to me since you walked out in that first suit.”

“Wait? What? Then why didn’t you say anything?” And the question slips out before you can bite your tongue. “When I came out, you just... stared. I couldn’t even tell what you were thinking…”

You study his reaction in the mirror, watching as a flush creeps into his cheeks, a pure sight, noticeable even from behind. “Honestly?” He asks.

And you turn to face him with a nod, gripping at his shirt to pull him into you, “Because, my love… I was really turned on, and I don’t know, I was trying to be polite, and I don’t know… not objectify you.” Then Harry walks you back until your ass hits the bathroom sink, and there’s absolutely no hiding his arousal now as he pushes his growing bulge into your body, and suddenly the air is shifting, thinning, as you draw in a slow breath, your eyes locking with his… and this was a look you both knew all too well.

“Was trying to fight the chub I was sporting…” He whispers, leaning in to push the words into the shell of your ear, and the words hum down your spine, sending a pulse between your thighs, and all at once, nothing else mattered.

It was like the flip of a switch, and he had you. “Was trying to remember that pawing at you like a greedy pup isn’t kind, when you were clearly uncomfortable, wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly…” He rasps, peppering kisses along your jaw, and you close your eyes with a soft smile, not a tear in sight, and you stood there wondering how this man could make you feel like the sexiest woman alive in only seconds.

As he reaches your mouth, lips parted, head falling back into the hand Harry had just wrapped around the back of your neck, and he breathes the words, “But fuck, baby…” at the edge of your mouth, and you spread your legs, opening up space for him to press in closer. “I nearly lost it…Still might...” He tells you, gently taking the swell of your bottom lip between his teeth, and pulling just enough to draw a dizzying moan from your throat. 

That’s when you opened your eyes, watching that boyish grin spread on his face, and your hands found his ass, pulling him into your warm, pulsing center as the room began to buzz with the want that was unfolding between you—the need like a slow simmer, burning just under the surface, and the second his lips pressed to yours, you felt your body growing hot with it. “Harry?” You mumbled against his lips.

“Mmm…” He hums, not wanting to break the kiss, and your hands glide up his body to circle around his neck, fingers already tangling in his hair.

“Harry…” You try again, “I want you to—” But before you can finish the sentence, he pushes his lips to yours, the kiss needy and desperate. His lips move to your cheek, your neck, hands on your waist, greedy and gripping, your flesh plush under his touch, and your eyes are closing, getting lost in the sensation all over again.

“Tell me what you want?” He finally whispers, pressing himself into you, and you graze a hand over the length of him through his sweatpants, watching his pupils expand with a hunger that you, too, could barely contain.

Pleased, by his reaction, you do it again, this time more intentional, your own greed taking way, ready to make him feel as good as he was making you. “I want you to show me what I do to you…” 

“Yeah?” he breathes, hands moving to the edge of the counter, gripping as he walls you in, your hand now slipping past the waist of his pants, taking a warm handful of him into your palm with a slow stroke.

“I want to take this to bed, and I don’t want to leave this flat until you’ve shown me all the many ways you love me?”

“God, baby, I love you so much…” He tells you, “If that’s what you need, then you can have whatever you want.”

“Can we start with this?” You ask, hand stroking up and down his shaft with a calm desperation. 

It didn’t take long before Harry was moving you both to the bed, pinning you against the mattress. Harry’s body hovered above you, radiating enough heat to pull a bead of sweat from your collarbone within seconds. His eyes flickered over your skin as though memorizing every new line and curve, fingertips slowly following, feathering along the wet sheen that trailed down your sternum and pooled in the hollow valley between your breasts.

There was nothing frantic about the way he undressed you, even as your hands scrambled for leverage, pulling at the hem of his shirt until your knuckles grazed the heated underside of his jaw, making him laugh, the sound softer than a whisper against your ear, and he let you strip him down with shaky hands while his own moved slow, slower than the veil of twilight settling after a storm.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—being stripped of all the camouflage, and sinking into the mattress with your legs parted, hips arched and open, so greedy for touch that you didn’t care how desperate it made you seem. 

But Harry wore your desperation with a sense of pride—your growing need, your aching want—as he dipped between your legs, leaving a pathway of open-mouthed kisses up the insides of your thighs, pausing only for a moment to breathe you in, shamelessly basking in your scent, and his warm breath fanned over the soft sensitive skin burning for more as he let his tongue trail promises into the crease of your hip. You couldn’t fight the shudder of anticipation, soaking in the affection of his touch with every passing second. That’s when your hands gripped the back of his head, fingers curving through matted curls until he hummed for you, pressing his velvet-wet tongue to that slick place that had been aching for him.

 His gaze stayed locked to yours, determined—your body his focal point, his focus fixed on drawing pleasure as you became the axis upon which his whole world spun. 

Every flick of his tongue felt like an apology for every mean thing you had ever whispered to yourself, and god it was so good, what you got when you allowed yourself to let go, because you felt it in the way he spent time on you, refusing to move on until you were gasping, legs shaking as you sobbed his name into the air like a fucking prayer, put on this earth for this and this alone, because nobody, not even yourself, had ever made you feel so wanted, you thought as he sucked you through one, then two, slow-burning orgasms, Harry moaning against your pussy as though he needed it, needed you.

You didn’t know how to say thank you except with the trembling kisses you smothered him with as soon as he crawled up your body, blanketing you in heat, as your lips pushed into his damp skin, his salt slick scent filling your senses, egging you on. In that moment, you could barely form words, yet he didn’t seem to need them; he kissed your eyelids, kissed the tears tracking down your cheeks, licked the sweat gathering in the crook of your neck as he pushed out your name over and over, and each time it was like an invocation that stitched you back together each time you wanted to fall apart again.

How could you love someone so much it hurt? You wished there were new words for it, ones that didn’t sound like the thinning, overused phrases that lost their power over time, and yet every time you tried to say something, it snagged on the need inside you, coming out in a moan instead, but Harry seemed to understand the things you couldn’t say—because he said them for you—with his hands, with his hips, with the delicate way he worked himself inside you, inch by slow inch, until you were stretched around him, gasping into his mouth, trying to remember all your senses.

And god, he was so hard, so fucking thick, that you had to squeeze your eyes shut against the stretch. But his hands were there, his thumb caressing soothing circles just above where his cock disappeared inside, while his other hand smoothed your hair from your brow, so tender that you thought you would break all over again.

“Baby, you feel so good…,” he whispered against your ear. “Gunna love you so good, gunna take my time—want to make you feel perfect, can you let me do that?”

All you could do was nod, tears streaming again, his love suddenly overwhelming, but this time there was no shame, just relief as he moved inside you, his hips a slow roll, taking his time, dragging out every sensation until you felt that deepening ache resounding in the pit of your stomach, that knot a gradual coil tightening. Each thrust was like a mantra spilling from your mouths, and every time he bottomed out, you felt yourself shedding all the negative notions of the past, like your body was being rewritten in the curl of his fingers on your waist, and the taste of his tongue in your mouth.

At some point, you stopped keeping track of all the ways he moved you, the ways you moved together, like a sacred dance only the two of you knew. When he brought your knees up, bending you until you were folded under him, nothing about this felt powerless. In fact, it felt safe, like you could finally stop fighting, stop pretending, and just let yourself be loved in all the ways he had promised to love you since that first time he laid you bare, exposing every inch you hated and turning it into a fucking miracle from the universe, a fucking gift he told you.

And now, as your nails streaked marks into his back, teeth grazing his shoulder, you told him—over and over, in every possible arrangement—“don’t stop, Harry,” “more, please,” “I love you, I love you,” until you both were shuddering, chanting one another’s names, your hips moving with a desperation that was as feverish as it was grateful.

He came while he was still inside you, gasping out your name, forehead pressed to yours, and you clenched around him, milking every precious drop, watching his face break with the sweetest pleasure you both could ever give, and there was something holy about it all, about this—about being so wanted by someone that every flaw, every soft and hated bit, had suddenly become sacred in the way he cherished it.

And afterwards, he gathered you to his chest, arms wrapped around you so tight the sweat from your bodies glued you both together, one big sticky, sweet mess as the pounding of two hearts tried to catch up with the moment, and you let yourself be held, not hiding, not wanting to squirm away from his touch, not flinching at the feel of skin on skin, just letting the quiet take shape around you.

“I love you,” you breathed out, when your lungs finally let you speak, and Harry pushed a kiss to your forehead, letting you know then he would never let you forget it.

Neither of you moved, and you lay there, your mind finally at peace, pressed to his body, self-doubt a million miles away. Eventually, you turned to look at him, cheek smooshed into his inked skin, and said, “Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?”

And he laughed, his chest vibrating with the effort. “Only if you wear the suit I picked.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’ll have to give me a couple more rounds of that before I can even think of putting that suit back on…” And you lift your head, moving closer to his mouth.

 “God, baby. That’s all I ever want.” He answers, meeting your lips with a kiss, “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

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