#hs4

[cupid-styles]

call it fate, call it karma (olderry x alt!y/n)

in which harry's getting an unfortunate tattoo covered up at the shop y/n works at, they're 12 years apart, and they have big, fat crushes on each other. also, harry hates frappuccinos. 

word count: 10.1k

content warnings: age gap (12 years), harry's kind of an idiot at first, angst (all is solved in the end), smut (daddy kink, p in v penetration, fingering, dirty talk, choking, slight size kink, crying)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

When Harry was 29, he made a mistake.

Well, maybe not a mistake. Perhaps… a series of poorly thought out decisions. 

It started out when he met May. They were seniors in college and for years, Harry swore it was love at first sight — and with the enthusiasm and dopey, loved up grin he had when he told the story of how they met, May believed him for a long time. It always started the same: He didn’t want to go out that night but his friends begged him, telling him it was his last year in college to party before they went into the real world at full force. Finally, they wore him down enough to the point where Harry agreed, except he felt no desire to drink or smoke once they got to whoever’s house was throwing the get-together. He sat on the couch all night, nursing a warm beer from a plastic red solo cup, waiting for his buddies to decide when they’d had enough so Harry could ensure they got home safe — and then, May Wilkins walked in.

Harry always claimed that it seemed like the weed and cigarette smoke parted the second she entered the room, though he promised to revise the story when they told their future children. As soon as he laid eyes on the clean-cut brunette girl, he insisted that May would be his.

And, by the end of the night, May was his.

In fact, May continued to be his until he was 32 years old. 

For the first few years, it was heaven. People doubted them — they said it was stupid to get into such a serious relationship when graduation was looming, just a few months away, but it only fueled them further. After they received their degrees, they moved in together. The following year, Harry proposed. By 25, they were married.

Within a year of marriage, the fighting started. 

It seemed that they had a problem with everything the other did — if Harry stayed late at work, May was angry and accusing him of cheating on her. If May went out for a girls night with some friends, Harry was calling her at 1 a.m., demanding to know where she was. They didn’t trust one another, and the insecurities ate at them; first slowly, and then all-consumingly. Eventually, May couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Harry. He started getting tattoos and she hated every single one. Every time he came home with a new one, she rolled her eyes and asked why he couldn’t put that money towards their savings, so they could buy a house in the suburbs like they’d planned to five years prior. 

Harry wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet, though. After that, they tried couples counseling. When that ended in a screaming match, they decided to try sleeping in separate beds to put some space between one another. That worked for about three days before May got wine drunk one evening and crawled into his new bed that he purchased for the guest room. By the end of the week, they were back to sharing a mattress again.

And, believe it or not, it’s only then that he made his big mistake. 

He thought maybe May despised his tattoos so much because he had so many for other people — his sister, his mum, his godchildren. Maybe if he got her name inked on his skin, she would see how much he really did love her, despite all the arguing and fighting. 

Except, when he walked through the door to show her that evening, she was so angry that she stayed at her friend’s house that night. 

A week later, May filed for a divorce. 

He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure how they got there, but he knew it was time. There was nothing they could do to save their marriage.

The divorce was settled relatively quickly. Neither of them had much more fight left in them. They split all their assets down the middle and since they didn’t own a house together, Harry offered to move out of their shared apartment and let May live there until the lease was up. She didn’t, though. She broke their lease four months early with a mumbled explanation of not wanting to live there anymore. 

When it was officially over, Harry’s friends took him out to celebrate. An evening of debauchery filled with enough alcohol and drugs to keep Harry satiated for the next decade. 

But that’s when he realized that the hard part was just beginning. 

Divorced life in your early 30s wasn’t easy. He threw himself into his job, but he felt lonely and empty without May by his side. It wasn’t even because he loved her anymore — he’d just spent so many formative years with her that he didn’t know who he was without her. 

For five years, Harry focused on himself. He worked hard, he bought a house, he spent time with his family. He made himself the best son, brother, friend, uncle, and godfather he could be. And at 37, he was mildly content with that — he owned a beautiful home and was at the top of his company. Dating was so far down on his list of priorities that he didn’t even know how people met anymore. His friends encouraged him to join “the apps”, offering to help create a profile for him, but the only girls he dated had been from his years in school. He could admit that he was a little lonely, but the thought of starting over with someone completely new was intimidating and scary. Plus, there was one very big reminder of his past still inked on his arm. 

So, that’s when he came up with his plan: He would cover up his tattoo of May’s name. He’d never gotten a coverup tattoo before but based on his research, they weren’t easy to do. It could take multiple sessions, which he was more than okay with — because, when her name was finally banished from his skin, he would officially throw himself back into the dating pool and try to find someone new.

A month later, he was walking into Jaded Tattoos for his first session. 

. . .

Tuesdays are Y/N’s least favorite days.

When she comes into work on Monday, she at least has some sort of energy. She typically feels semi-refreshed from the weekend and always makes sure to stop for an iced latte on her way into the shop. Plus, Mondays are one of the calmer days at Jaded Tattoos — after all, there weren’t a ton of people coming in to get tattooed on the first day of the workweek.

But Tuesdays are just… icky. Y/N works as the makeshift secretary at the shop, so she manages everyone’s schedules and handles client booking — it would all be terribly boring if she didn’t work at Jaded, but she can get a new tattoo or piercing anytime one of the artists has some down time. Plus, no one ever judges her for the existing art on her skin, which she can’t say about other jobs she’s had in the past.

However, on Tuesdays, for some reason, the shop is always bustling. Clients are always canceling or showing up late (or, worst of all, missing their appointments altogether without saying a word), which in turn makes the artists annoyed. Y/N understands that — it’s annoying and rude, but then the energy in the shop gets all wonky and everyone feels tense and stressed out. Even her mid-afternoon break, when she takes a walk around the block to get herself a coffee and a pastry, isn’t enough to pull her out of the weird mindset. 

She’s just settled into the last part of her day, using the iPad to look through the schedule when a fairly looking clean cut man walks through the door. At first, she assumes he’s lost, but only an idiot would come in without knowing it’s a tattoo shop. He has neatly groomed brunette hair and wears a navy blazer over a white tee-shirt, complete with matching trousers. It makes Y/N involuntarily quirk her eyebrows, a pesky wrinkle appearing between them as she accidentally stares at him. He offers a tight, awkward smile when he walks up to her desk, placing his elbows on the surface. 

“Hi. I have an appointment at 3 with Jan.”

Y/N tries her best not to let her jaw drop. She knows she should really be less judgemental, but based on the slight crows feet wrinkles that creep at the edges of his eyes, this guy has to be nearing his 40s. Was he having some kind of midlife crisis? She supposes it’s possible, but why wouldn’t he just opt for buying a new car or house or something? He looks rich enough. 

“Hello?” 

Y/N realizes that she hasn’t said a single thing since he approached and parts her lips, mumbling out an embarrassed apology as she scrolls on the iPad to look at Jan’s schedule. Sure enough, she’s blocked off from 3 to 4:45 p.m.

“Um, is this your first tattoo?” Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes quickly roam over his body, but most of his skin is covered. There’s a spiel she says with people who are tattoo virgins — making sure they’ve eaten and they’re hydrated and if they’re not, she gives them snacks and water. It was one of the policies she implemented when she started a few years back, and it makes her happy to know that she helps newbies feel more comfortable before getting jabbed with a needle for an hour.

“No,” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Jan’s helping me with a coverup.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, Jan is great with those.” she replies as she slides the iPad across to him. “I’m just gonna have you fill out this consent form and some other fun stuff. I’ll let her know you’re here, but my name is Y/N if you have any questions.”

He nods and flashes her a bright smile, and Y/N swears her heart skips a beat. She wonders what tattoo he’s getting covered up. She doesn’t often ask clients what they’re having done unless they decide to talk to her about it. It can be a rather personal experience for some — while she has some completely asinine, ridiculous tattoos herself, she also has a few with meaning, and she would certainly be taken back if someone randomly asked her about them.

Jan is busy getting some sketching done when Y/N gently knocks on her open door. She turns around in her wheely chair and smiles before asking her what’s up. 

“Your 3 p.m. is here,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “He says you’re covering something up for him?”

“Yup, that’ll be Harry Styles.” Jan replies with an affirmative nod. “We chatted a decent amount through email. Took the guy like, a month before deciding to come in.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “What’s he getting done?”

Jan stands from her chair and stretches her back and arms out, revealing a sliver of her tattooed stomach. “Wants his ex-wife’s name covered up. You know how it goes. You can send him in whenever he’s ready, I just need to photocopy some stencils.”

Y/N nods and hopes Jan didn’t catch the way her eyes widened at the mention of an ex-wife. She supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised — she did figure he was on the older side, at least 10 years her age — but is still a bit shocked that someone who looks that wealthy and put together would tattoo his partner’s name on him. Y/N, despite having a plethora of permanent tattoos herself, didn’t believe in any of that. She felt like it was bad luck. Plus, she didn’t see herself ever loving anyone enough to do that. The thought itself made her shudder.

When she returns back to the front, Harry’s drumming his fingers along the surface of her desk and looking around the interior of the shop. He doesn’t look nervous, but she wonders if he is. She’d seen her fair share of grown men pass out or vomit from being under the needle.

“All done?” she asks, pointing to the tablet. He nods. “Cool. You ate before this right? Hydrated and everything?”

Again, Harry nods, but this time a crooked smirk appears on his face. “Yes. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” she murmurs, plugging the iPad back in the charger, “Okay, you can follow me to Jan’s workstation.”

“Sure. Just one question — is there a place I can put this?”

Before Y/N has a chance to ask him what he’s talking about, he sheds the blazer he’s wearing to reveal two heavily tattooed, very muscular arms. She has to forcibly prevent her jaw from falling to the floor as her eyes roam over the myriad of black ink that swirls over his tanned skin. There doesn’t seem to be much of a theme, but her tattoos lack coherence, too. She swallows like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character, and when she finally glances at Harry’s face, he has a stupid, cocky smirk on. 

She narrows her eyes. “There’s some jacket hooks by the door.”

“Perfect,” he grins cheerfully. He turns, showcasing a few more scattered designs on the backs of his arms, and places his jacket on one of the hooks. “Now you can stop judging me like I’m some old man going through a midlife crisis.”

This time, Y/N’s jaw really does drop.

“I’m not!” she immediately scrambles, even though they both know it’s a complete lie. “I just— I didn’t see any tattoos and I wanted to make sure you were prepared—”

“Sure, sure,” he cuts her off, pointing to some of the workstations in the back. “Jan’s is back there?”

“Yes, but I really wasn’t judging you, I have a million stupid tattoos myself—”

“Right, but because you’re half my age, it’s fine, right?” 

“That’s not what I thought at all—”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

Y/N’s left standing there, confusion and embarrassment seeping into her bones, as Harry walks over to Jan’s station.

. . .

Exactly one hour and 45 minutes later, Harry leaves the shop.

Y/N spent the entire time nervously straightening up, sweeping the floors and rearranging their supply closet, trying to decide on what she would say to him when he walked by. She wanted to apologize, especially because she hoped he didn’t say anything to Jan. A client had never complained about her — not once in her three years of working at Jaded, and it would ruin her to know that somebody had a poor experience because of her. 

Instead, she chickened out and watched him grab his jacket off the hook. Like every tattoo client leaving, he had a clear piece of film wrap stuck to the inside of his left arm. She wished she could see Jan’s work. 

A few minutes later, Jan is heading out, too. 

“Don’t stay too late tonight, Y/N. The needles and ink can get sorted tomorrow.” she says, nudging her chin the direction of the closet she’s currently busying herself with. Y/N hums and peeks her head out.

“How was the coverup?” she tries her best to make her voice seem nonchalant, as if she’s sincerely curious in how it went as opposed to finding out if he made any mean comments about the nosy girl in the front.

“Fine,” Jan shrugs as she pulls her car keys from her tote bag, “We didn’t get too far. He’ll be coming in for the next three or four weeks. It’ll take some time to cover that shit up. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Y/N nods robotically and forces out a “get home safe!”. 

Three to four weeks?

Harry Styles is going to be the death of her. She’s sure of it.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N has a plan. 

When she arrives to work that day, she double checks the schedule to ensure she hasn’t been driving herself insane for a week over nothing (and maybe she has, considering her brain has been a hamster wheel of overthinking a man who uttered a few snarky sentences to her). Sure enough, Harry Styles is scheduled to come in for his second session of covering up his tattoo at 3 p.m. sharp.

Here’s what she decides to do: She’s going to dig her Doc Marten-clad heels into the (metaphorical) ground and politely but assertively tell this Harry Styles that it wasn’t very kind of him to assume she was judging him. After all, isn’t that more judgemental on his end? He had been acting like a classic, wealthy, powerful man, asserting his so-called power over a young woman who was simply trying to make his tattoo experience as seamless as possible. What a dick! 

It goes without saying that when he shows up at Jaded at 2:45 p.m., her eyes automatically narrow his form. She’s slightly hopped up on caffeine (she’ll admit, she’s been waiting for this moment all day). She doesn’t even allow herself to to assess his outfit today, which consists of another white tank top, a dark gray blazer, and a pair of matching trousers. It’s similar to what he arrived in last week — all business and ridiculous and stupid, she thinks, especially in comparison to her cutoff denim shorts, vintage band tee-shirt, and platform shoes. 

“Hi Harry,” she says, greeting him with a fake, rage-filled smile, “Do you have a moment to chat before your appointment?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, almost as if he’s surprised that she’s even speaking to him to begin with.

“Sure.”

Y/N nods and stands from the front desk, motioning for him to head outside. He does and she follows him, immediately crossing her arms over his chest the second they’re no longer within earshot distance of the shop.

Instantly, a stormy look comes over her face and she flares her nostrils. “Last week when you accused me of judging you for going through a midlife crisis? Yeah, that wasn’t cool. You can’t just do that to people. I get it, you’re a privileged guy who’s used to getting whatever you want in life, but I’m here to put my foot down and tell you that it wasn’t nice. It actually really hurt my feelings! And, you know what, why does it even matter what—”

“You’re right.”

Y/N’s head snaps up. 

“What?”

Harry shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re completely right. The second I left, I felt awful. I wanted to say something when I was leaving, but I felt it was better to give you your distance.” 

Confused, she fumbles over her words, forgetting where she was in her speech. She clears her throat and nods curtly. 

“Yeah. You should feel awful.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “I do. I even brought you a cookie from my favorite bakery by my office building.”

“Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. 

Harry nods and digs into the work bag on his shoulder. Sure enough, he produces a cookie that’s the size of Y/N’s face. She recognizes the sticker on the wrapping as a bakery that’s downtown — she’ll order pastries and snacks from there for the staff sometimes, but it’s usually too expensive and far away for her to treat them. She accepts it from him, but not before she peers up at him with narrowed eyes.

“What kind is it?” she questions, as if it’s a test.

“Raspberry white chocolate,” he answers. “I didn’t know what you like, obviously, so I went with my favorite. I hope that’s okay.”

She won’t tell him that that’s also her favorite, but she offers him a short nod of approval. She swallows tightly as she looks back up at the taller man. “Thank you for the apology cookie. Do you wanna share it with me?”

The edges of his lips curl up into a grin. “Sure. I have some time to spare before my session.”

Y/N digs into the bag and retrieves the cookie, breaking it in half. She hands a piece to Harry, who murmurs out a soft thank you. Together, they stand outside the shop in silence, each nibbling on their half of the cookie. After a few moments of quiet, Y/N sneaks a glance at his tattoo. Jan was right — they haven’t gotten very far in covering it up since she can still clearly read the three letters that spell out MAY.

Harry must have followed her gaze because he glimpses down at her. “Do you guys get a lot of people covering up dumb tattoos?”

She does her best not to choke on the bit of cookie in her mouth. 

“Um, I mean, some people end up regretting… certain things they get,” she replies, stumbling over her words. “You’re, um, definitely not the first to… y’know. Get their partner’s name done.”

He chuckles, but it seems more humorless than anything. “Yeah. Stupid mistake for sure.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders. “It can’t be that stupid if you learned something from it.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows the rest of her cookie and leans back against the cool, brick wall of the shop. It feels nice in comparison to the rising temperatures outside. Now that they’re slowly dipping into warmer climates, she finds herself appreciating small instances of cooling down, like an air conditioned coffee shop or the evening draft when the sun’s gone down.

“We all make mistakes or decisions that don’t end up working out. You’re certainly not the first person to get divorced or even get their significant other’s name tattooed,” she explains. “But did you get anything out of the process? Did you learn anything from it?”

Harry thinks for a moment. He hadn’t really considered that — not in the five years since he and May made their divorce official. It was a shitty experience from start to finish, that much was apparent. But when he ponders whether or not anything decent came out of it, he wonders if she has a point. 

“I mean, I guess I did. I don’t think I would be where I am, standing here now, if it hadn’t happened.”

She hums. “It wasn’t a complete waste then.”

He shrugs. “I guess not.”

Y/N pulls her phone from the pocket of her shorts and glances at the time. 2:58 p.m.

“We should probably head back inside. Your appointment’s starting soon,” she says, straightening out her posture. “Thank you again for the cookie.”

“Sure,” Harry nods. “Thanks for the advice.”

She shoots him the smallest of bashful smiles in response.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N feels far less intimidated about seeing Harry. 

In a weird way, she’s actually looking forward to his 3 p.m. appointment. He’s way more talkative than some of the other clients that come in, and she’d be lying if she said his little cookie stunt from last week hadn’t placed him in her good graces. She also felt as though it was a crime not to acknowledge how attractive he was — she’d noticed it from the first moment he stepped into the shop, but now that they were on better terms, she was more open to recognizing it. Beyond the plethora of tattoos that covered his skin, he didn’t look much like other people Y/N had gone after in the past — not that she was going after him in any way. 

Her exes consisted of a rough roster of less than satisfactory partners: There was Declan, who she dated in college, but they broke up after he got kicked out for doing stick-and-poke tattoos in his dorm room. After that was Alice, but it turned out she was just using Y/N to figure out her sexuality and, after three months of dating, decided she didn’t like going down on girls. Lastly and most recently there was Jonathan, who had so many tattoos he lost count. He had big dreams of becoming either a professional skateboarder or a drummer in a punk band, but he didn’t own a bed frame so his mattress took permanent real estate on the dirty, hardwood floor of his loft, and he was constantly sending Y/N Venmo requests for money with captions like “pls babe haven’t eaten in 2 days.” (It’s safe to say that all of those relationships ended for good reasons.)

While she didn’t have any plans to approach Harry romantically, there was something about him that piqued her interest. Well, maybe it was multiple somethings. For one, he was 12 years older than her. She’d never thought about dating someone that much older, but she happened to sneak a glance at his consent form to see his date of birth just out of plain — and legal — curiosity. Harry seemed to have his life together. Every time he came to the shop, he was coming straight from work in what appeared to be a put-together, expensive suit. He always tipped Jan well (30% for each session — Y/N knows because she did the math) and he was kind to all the artists, even if he’d never spoken to them before. And, she had to admit that the communication and vulnerability he offered last week had been a stark change from the treatment she was used to. 

Yeah, so maybe she had an eensy, tiny, miniscule crush on Harry. But she’s sure it’ll fade away once he’s finished with his coverup — he only has two sessions left, anyway. How much damage could be done in that small of a timeframe? 

. . .

“Y/N, I need you to postpone Harry’s session today!” 

Jan’s haphazardly running around and grabbing her things, mumbling out nonsense as she looks for her car keys. Confused, Y/N gets up from her seat at the front desk. 

“Is everything okay?” she calls out as she walks over to the jacket closet, grabbing Jan’s keyring off the hook. Shutting the door behind her, she finds Jan scrambling through her office. When her eyes flit up to see the keys in Y/N’s hand, her eyebrows relax as she grabs them. 

“Not really,” she mutters, yanking her phone out of her pocket, “You know that girl I’ve been seeing? Lizzy? She was at my place with my dogs today and apparently one of them must’ve eaten something bad because now they won’t stop throwing up. I’m meeting her at the vet downtown. Tell Harry I’m really sorry, okay?”

Jan is gone in a flash, running down the sidewalk to get in her car. Y/N can’t blame her — her dogs are her entire life, so her stomach sinks as she thinks about something bad happening to them. She makes a mental note to text her and check in with her later, but not before she messages Harry to let him know that his appointment is canceled.

When she heads back to her desk, she brings up Harry’s digital paperwork to retrieve his number. They don’t have a phone specifically for the shop, so she has to text him from her personal number, which makes her heart beat a little too quickly for her own good. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she types out a message: Hey Harry, this is Y/N from Jaded. I’m just texting to let you know that Jan had an emergency and can’t tattoo you this afternoon. She’s really sorry about the inconvenience. 

She places her locked phone down on the dark mahogany of the desk and tries to ignore the pit of disappointment that settles in her stomach. Had she spent a few extra minutes primping her appearance this morning in preparation to see him? Maybe, and there’s a teensy, tiny part of her that despises herself for it. Harry doesn’t want anything to do with her. She’s 12 years his junior and she’s nothing more than the nice receptionist at the tattoo shop he’s getting a piece done at. 

With a self-deprecating sigh, she picks at her fingernails when her phone lights up. She reads Harry’s name across the screen and assumes he’s probably responded with something kind and unassuming; something that will make her heart beat embarrassingly fast in her chest. 

That’s okay. Thanks for the heads up. 

Are you still at the shop? Maybe we can get together instead.

Y/N’s eyes are the size of saucers as she quickly replies: okay! Where should we meet?

. . .

Harry chooses a coffee shop that’s within walking distance of Jaded. He’s never been there before but each week he noticed Y/N sipping on iced drinks with the name of the cafe sprawled across the cup, so he figured she must like it.

It’s been a long while since a girl has been Harry nervous, and he’s somewhat surprised that she comes wrapped up in a body with sprawling tattoos and piercings, always in cute skirts and platform Doc Martens. She’s sweet — he likes that her shoes are so heavy that he can hear her walking before he sees her and that she fiddles with her nose ring when she’s bored. He likes that her wardrobe is a rotation of baggy band tee-shirts and black jeans or plaid skirts, that her soft, smooth hands are covered in nonsensical designs that likely have stories similar to his — a friend with a tattoo gun, a boring Tuesday afternoon. She’s nothing that Harry has ever been attracted to and yet, she’s everything he wants.

He’s made careful efforts not to put her on a pedestal. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was just horny and depraved — I mean, what kind of guy would walk into the shop and not drool over the pretty, young girl working the front? And while he’s not entirely proud of what he did next, he found it to be a necessary next step: He sorted through his rolodex of hookups, texted his most foolproof girl (a tall, leggy brunette who modeled on the side), and invited her over. 

It turns out, Harry could only come when he pretended she was Y/N. 

In hindsight, it made him feel gross and icky; lusting over a girl who’s certainly at least 10 years younger. It’s why he forces himself to try — if she rejects him, he can move on with his life and find someone more age-appropriate. 

But she doesn’t. In fact, she replies within a minute and asks where she should meet him.

It’s how Harry ends up clutching a small Americano in his hand, sitting in a back booth at Buzzybee Cafe.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, nervous and jumpy, keeping his eyes glued on the front entrance. Every now and then, he’ll glimpse down at his phone on the table to check the time. He halfway expects her to text and let him know that she’s not coming — an understandable and believable excuse about getting busy at work or, Harry doesn’t know, maybe not wanting to meet up with someone who’s older. Why would she? She’s capable of getting nearly anyone she wants in this world, she’s pretty and funny and smart and stands up for herself and—

“Hey, Harry.”

His spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt when he glances up to see the object of his affection standing over him with a small, timid smile on her lips. He blinks, somewhat surprised that she’s there. 

In front of him. 

And he hasn’t said a thing yet. 

“Hey,” Harry finally forces out, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously, “You made it.”

“Of course!” her eyes light up and he feels his heart thump noisily in his chest, “What’d you get to drink? Do you need anything?”

“Just an Americano,” he answers, trying not to feel lame about his boring drink choice. Y/N wrinkles her face in response. 

“You would be one of those manly ‘I-only-drink-espresso-and-black-coffee’ kind of guys, wouldn’t you?” 

She says it with a teasing smile and it offers him permission for a small scoff to leave his throat followed by a joking roll of the eyes. 

“What, was I supposed to get one of those sugary drinks you always seem to get?” he fires back, making Y/N’s eyes widen.

“They’re not that bad!” she exclaims through plush, lipstick-stained lips, “Here, now I’m gonna order one and make you try it. You’ve dug your grave, Styles!”

She’s turning on her Doc Marten-clad foot to order before Harry has the chance to offer to pay for her order. That had been the plan, but like most things about Y/N, he realizes, those pre-decided upon strategies get tossed out the window the second she pops up. It makes Harry jiggle his leg beneath the table, both as an expression of unfamiliar excitement and nervousness. 

She returns to their table with some sort of coffee-hued concoction with whipped cream piled high. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, and he doesn’t notice that Y/N smiles at the way his skin ripples underneath the cute expression. 

“Okay, since you were kind of a dick to me the day we met, you have no choice but to try it.” 

Harry’s eyes instantly form into rounded saucers, apologies quick to make it to the tip of his tongue. Before he can start, she puts her hand up. 

“I don’t care about it now, you’ve already apologized for it. But the only way for us to move on is if you try my white mocha frappé.”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs. He scoots his elbows forward and peers up at her. “What the fuck is a frappé?”

She giggles before wrapping her lips around the straw, taking a hearty sip of the drink, “It’s like a blended coffee. It’s my go-to when I’m having a shit day.”

“You drink this when you’re having a bad day?” Harry asks as she pushes the cup in his direction. “You don’t think this will fuck your stomach up enough to absolutely ruin your day?”

“No, because it’s a fun treat. And a little treat will brighten up anyone’s day.”

Y/N answers his question like it’s plain and simple science. He wants to continue on about the sugar content, how this is likely a heart attack neatly compiled into a 16-ounce cup, but he can’t — not when he looks at her and she stares back with an expectant expression, waiting for him to take a sip.

“Fine,” he mumbles, flexing his fingers to wrap them around the cold plastic cup, “But promise you won’t bring up my… shortcomings anymore?”

Y/N grins. “Scout’s honor.”

It tastes exactly how Harry expected — sugary, way too sweet, and slightly nauseating. But when he sees that puppy-like look of excitement painted over her face, he can’t help but let out a quiet laugh and shake his head. 

“See? That wasn’t too bad.” Y/N replies as she takes her drink back. 

“No,” not when you look at me like that, “Not at all.”

. . . 

Harry and Y/N sit tucked away in their booth at Buzzybee for far too long.

It’s easy to talk to her, Harry finds. She’s receptive and kind and lets him finish his stories without interrupting. She doesn’t judge him for his divorce, not even when he tells her that he played just as much of a part in ruining his marriage as May did. He tells her about his job as a museum curator, his affinity for playing tennis on the weekends, his six year-long trek with veganism, and his secret passion for hunting down vintage band tee-shirts from the 1970s and ‘80s. 

Y/N isn’t ashamed to reveal just as much which, if she’s being honest, is quite uncharacteristic for her. It typically takes weeks, if not months for her to completely warm up to a person and start telling them about her hobbies, family dynamic, and the time her grandma cried when she realized she got her nose pierced. She tells him about how much she loves playing cozy video games on her Nintendo Switch, the myriad of plants and greenery that decorate her loft apartment, and how she actually started working at Jaded to become a tattoo apprentice, but ended up falling in love with working the front instead.

By the time the cafe is closing up and the nice employees are now glaring at them, silently pleading that they leave, Harry feels like he’s known Y/N for a million years. In some weird way, he doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without her bright smile and saccharine laughter in his life. It’s all he can think about as they throw their empty cups away and slowly stroll down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the tattoo shop. He doesn’t mean to be lost in his thoughts as 

Y/N chatters on about the latest game she’s been playing in her down time, but he can’t ignore the small shining pit of happiness that’s glowing deep in his belly right now. He’s missed this — this hopeful feeling with the promise of someone special on the other end. 

It’s all he can think about as they approach Y/N’s car and, when she turns to face him to say goodbye, he’s already blurting the words out without a second thought.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

She blinks, parting her plush lips as her tongue peeks over the ridges of her two front teeth. “Oh… I thought— this wasn’t a date?”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Oh! I mean— it could if you wanted it to be. I just— I didn’t ask you beforehand and I’d want to do that. And pay for you and all that.”

“I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I just thought— I don’t know what I thought—”

“No, you were right, I was just being dumb—”

“No, no!” Y/N shakes her head and the smile that edges at her lips makes Harry’s chest pulse with relief. “We’re both being silly, I think. I would love to go on a date with you, though.”

“Yeah?” he asks, the slight disbelief apparent in his voice, “Are you free this weekend?”

She nods with a small smile.

“How about Saturday? You can come over and I’ll cook you dinner?”

She has to bite her lip to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He watches as she starts her car and pulls away from the curb to make sure she’s safe on her way home.

. . .

On Saturday evening, Y/N shows up to Harry’s house. She wears her favorite black midi dress and matches them with a pair of clunky boots. When she arrives, the smile that encompasses Harry’s face makes her chest glow. 

He’d texted her earlier that day to make sure she didn’t have any dietary restrictions and made them a delicious pasta dinner. Afterwards, they cuddle on the couch, Y/N’s heart thrumming quickly in her chest at the close proximity. When it’s finally time for her to go home, Harry seals the deal by smearing his lips against hers. It’s warm and soft and his large palms splay over her hips as she wraps her arms around him, gently playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

By the time she gets home that evening (texting Harry to let him know she got back safely, per his request), they both know they’re head over heels for one another. 

. . .

Perhaps quite predictably, Harry and Y/N start seeing each other more regularly after that first afternoon at Buzzybee Cafe. It’s slow at first — Harry’s nervous about scaring her away, so he sets boundaries with himself, only pledging to text her a few times a week. She’s receptive, though, and he’s thrilled that her messages start coming in more often: Sometimes pictures of dogs that come in with clients to the shop, other times it’s memes that remind her of him. (She’ll sometimes have to explain them to him because he, embarrassingly enough, doesn’t always understand.) Weeks of casual texting complimented by his weekly appointments with Jan tumble into daily good morning texts accompanied by selfies and outfit shots. When his tattoo of his ex-wife’s name is finally covered up by a detailed illustration of a sailing ship, he’s anxious in his realization that he’ll have to come up with new ways to regularly see her, but she’s already two steps ahead of him with an invitation to their second (official, third unofficial) date for the upcoming weekend. 

The rest is somewhat history. 

Well, sort of.

It’s a month and a half in when Harry asks Y/N to accompany him to a work event at some smarmy art museum in the city. His office had had a huge hand in sourcing the pieces and there were a ton of donors involved, so the museum’s director was throwing some type of soiree to celebrate the opening. Inviting Y/N as his plus one was a no-brainer — call him old fashioned, but he had plans to ask her to be his girlfriend sometime soon. He wanted to make it special, though, maybe with a candlelit dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant or a well thought-out picnic in the park they loved to walk through on the weekends. 

“This isn’t, like, on the level of the Met Gala or something, is it?” Y/N asks that evening as she swipes a q-tip beneath the sharp cat eye of her eyeliner. Harry snorts and shakes his head from his spot in the doorway, where he watches as she diligently finishes up her eye makeup. He’d picked her up from work and eaten an early dinner together before they planned to head out to the museum. 

“It’s really not a big deal, it’s just a small event with a bunch of snooty art people,” Harry replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a fashionable set tonight, consisting of a powder blue undershirt and a navy blazer with matching trousers. As usual, his fingers don their usual jewelry. When Y/N saw what he was wearing, she’d wanted to match him, but she didn’t have any dresses in her closet that weren’t black. He insisted that it was fine, but there was a teensy sliver of her that felt bad about it. 

“How snooty?”

He thinks for a moment. “I mean, no one will be mean to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d never let that happen anyway.”

She ignores the way her cheeks warm as she sweeps some bronzer over the structure of her face. 

“It’ll be fine, baby,” he murmurs, coming up from behind her. He knows better than to disturb her while she’s doing her makeup, so he waits for her movements to still before he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart stutters at the pet name. “Almost done, yeah? We gotta leave soon.”

“Mhmm,” she nods, picking up her freshly sharpened lip liner, “Just gotta do my lips and put my dress on and we’re good.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting lipstick on when I’m not gonna be able to keep my mouth off yours all night.” he instantly fires back as he issues a squeeze to her waistline. Y/N squeals and bats him away, eager for some peace from Harry’s playful teasing. He chuckles, presses a kiss to her temple, and murmurs out something about calling the Uber as he leaves the bathroom. 

Y/N has to force the smile off her face so she can finish applying her lip liner.

. . .

Apparently, when Harry meant “snooty”, he really meant to say, “the most annoying, judgemental, snobby people on planet Earth”. 

From the second Harry and Y/N had stepped into the museum that evening, she was on the receiving end of horrified stares. From the colorful ink that decorated her arms to her arm being threaded through Harry’s, it seemed like everyone had something to gawk at. Truthfully, she was used to people looking at her — not in an arrogant, “pick me” kind of way, but in the way where she understood she had tons of tattoos that some people liked and others hated. 

But the snide eyes weren’t just because of her ink, and she knows that. It’s because she’s here with Harry.

Harry, who knows nearly everyone at this event.

Harry, who’s apparently one of the most high up curators at his job and Y/N had no idea.

Harry, who’s capable of rubbing elbows with even the rudest of people while Y/N just stands there, unsure of what to say, because when the first person asked her what she does for work and she said “I work at a tattoo shop”, they replied with a simple, disgusted, “oh.”

She feels like an idiot.

She feels small.

She feels judged.

And the person she came here with is doing nothing, aside from the occasional grimace when the conversation finally ends.

Y/N’s last straw comes in the form of one of the museum’s assistant directors, who comes over to thank Harry once again for all of his hard work. When her eyes dart to Y/N, who has one hand curled around yet another glass of fizzy champagne, they widen and pingpong back to Harry. 

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you had a daughter!” she exclaims as her lips stretch into a huge grin. Immediately, Y/N’s arm drops from Harry’s and she swallows as bile begins to build in her throat.

“Oh— Gwen, no, this isn’t— t-this isn’t my daughter,” Harry stutters nervously, blinking as he watches the horrified look in Y/N’s eyes. “Um, this is Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, my mistake. Apologies to you both. I just assumed Harry would spend his time with someone a bit more… savory.” her gaze flits back to Harry. “You must understand.”

Y/N doesn’t allow herself to hear Harry’s response. She knows he’s too kind and professional to chew her up and spit her out the way she wants him to. Instead, she simply slams her glass down on the nearest waiter’s tray, turns around, and rushes out of the building. 

The words continue to replay in her head as tears flood her vision. All she wants to do is go home. She never should have entertained this relationship — who does she think she is? Someone a bit more… savory.

You didn’t tell me you had a daughter!

You must understand.

Fat, salty slip down her cheeks as she walks outside, her platform heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk. She doesn’t know where she’s going, instead just picking a direction and walking in it as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the wetness away.

You must understand. 

You must understand.

You must understand.

Because everyone, including Y/N now, gets it — she doesn’t fit in to Harry’s world. She never has and she never will, and it was pathetic for either of them to think she ever would. 

Gripping her silky dress in her hands, she continues walking as far as she can get from the museum. As her vision begins to clear, she makes half-baked decisions: She’ll order an Uber when the distance from Harry is decent enough to feel comfortable. She’ll block his number. She won’t even care to pick up any of the clothing she’s left at his house, and she’ll simply throw away the few tee-shirts and sweatshirts he’s left at hers. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been walking but she’s ripped from her thoughts when she hears loud calls of her name. She recognizes the voice — how couldn’t she, not when he’s the only person that’s seeped through her psyche and into cotton candy tufts of her dreamland — and tries to quicken her pace. She mentally curses the heels on her feet, sniffling as she begins to limp from the pain of the high platforms.

“Y/N, please! Stop!” 

The sound of his shouts only makes her eyes blur with tears once again and suddenly, the tall figure is beside her, panting and breathing loudly. He wraps a careful arm around her shoulders as he matches her slow pace and shushes her, caroling them over to the side in front of a business that’s already closed for the night. Through weepy eyes, she can hardly make out his face, but she can tell it’s Harry just from his touch and scent alone. 

“Baby, please,” he says, slowly smoothing his hand down her back. It’s comforting and she wishes it wasn’t. “You have to breathe, honey. C’mon, inhale and exhale.”

Y/N’s brain is a wash of noisy static so she welcomes the direction, quickly abandoning her plans to remove herself from Harry’s life. It helps that he’s reminding her of how to do the most basic of human functions, guiding her in slow, deep breaths that start to regulate her speeding heart. 

“There you go, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.” 

When she finally manages a glimpse up at him, his eyes are bleary and red-rimmed. She finds it difficult to believe that he would’ve been crying over her, too, so she quickly blinks and looks away. 

“What happened back there?” Harry asks, his throat bobbing with a swallow, “I know that was weird, but why did you run? Why couldn’t you have talked to me?”

Y/N can’t fight the scoff that forces itself free from her chest. “All night, people were staring at me like I was some kind of alien. As if my tattoos weren’t enough of a reason to gawk, they were looking at me like I didn’t even deserve to be standing next to you. I felt pathetic, Harry. I just— I don’t fit in with this lifestyle and I think it’s better if we just… just leave it.”

“What lifestyle?” Harry demands as his eyebrows thicken with anger, “I’m not like them, you know that—”

“I don’t want to go places and have people think I’m your daughter, Harry!” she yells with wide eyes, “I don’t want to be looked down upon if we go to a work thing for you! People acted like I was your fucking sugar baby. Do you know how demeaning that is?”

“And do you realize how disgusting that makes me feel?” he seethes. “Bringing someone 12 years younger than me? Being in love with someone who wasn’t even around for the first part of my life?”

“You don’t mean that,” Y/N breathes, shaking her head in angry dismissal. “You’re just saying that.”

Harry takes a hesitant step closer and reaches out to cradle her elbow. “Yes, I do. I would never lie to you, Y/N. But I love you— I love you so much that it’s killing me that you would ever think you don’t have a place in my life.”

“I don’t, Harry—”

“You do,” he cuts her off and reaches to take her hands in his palms, squishing her cheeks together. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. I don’t care what they think of us. I love you, Y/N. I want you in my life.”

Y/N swallows harshly. She can’t escape his locked-in gaze, but she doesn’t want to. It’s all she needed, even if she didn’t realize it until now — the verbalization that he wants her there. And that’s enough. 

“Okay,” she whispers, nodding her head in his grasp. His eyes widen. “Okay. I want to be in your life, too.”

“You promise?” 

A small smile curls at the edges of her lips. “I promise,” she says, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. “Take me home now, please.”

. . .

The second Harry and Y/N walk through the doorway of his place, it’s a blurry scene of spit swollen lips, wet kisses, and sprawling touches. 

Harry imagined their first time being far more romantic than this, but he doesn’t care. Neither of them do. Now, more than ever, they need each other. 

The air is thick with tension when Harry momentarily breaks their kiss only to shed Y/N of the straps on her shoulders. He gently tugs them down to her shoulders before slowly traveling down her body, sliding his large palms over the silky fabric of her dress to meet her platform heels, where he diligently unbuckles them and slips them off her feet. 

“Thank you,” she breathes, watching as he gets back up from his knees. He hums and cups her chin with his fingers, bringing her closer to lightly kiss her lips. 

“I want to show you that you’re not making a mistake,” he whispers as he gently leans his forehead up against hers. “That giving me a chance is something you won’t regret.”

Immediately she shakes her head. Despite the close view of her face, Harry can tell her eyebrows knit together; a familiar furrow whenever she’s particularly determined. 

“I know it’s not. You don’t have to show me anything.”

He notices that her fingers shake as she brings them up to his neck, winding them around to the back of his head. He swallows, allowing her the space to experiment, both verbally and physically. 

And then: “I love you, Harry.”

At first, he doesn’t say anything. His heart races and his chest feels warm as he blinks, repeating the words in his brain. 

Finally, raspberry lips part. 

“You don’t have to say that just because I said it,” he murmurs, thumbing over the apple of her cheek. “We can go slow. There’s no pressure.”

“I know,” she nods, “I know. But I do. I love you so much.”

A pause. 

“I love you,” Harry says, sliding his hands down the curves of her sides and to her waist. “Fuck, I love you, Y/N.”

“Don’t stop saying it.” she whispers. His fingers dip below the material of her dress and she swallows when he finds the bare skin of her hips. Exhaling shakily, she allows him to pull her lacey underwear down over the bend of her bum, letting them pool uselessly at her feet. 

“I love you.” he says again, his hands suddenly at her wrists. He uses his gentle grasp to lift her arms up so he can push the dress up and over her body, leaving her in just the strapless bra she’d fit herself into for the evening. Just as quickly, his skilled fingers pop the clasp open, and they’re in a futile pool of Y/N’s clothes while Harry stands before her, still in his navy blue ensemble. 

It’s a vulnerable place to be but she doesn’t hate it — not when he stares at her with soft eyes, dragging his gaze up and down the expanse of her form. She wants to cover herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches forward and thumbs open the button of his blazer before sliding the fabric off his torso. Just as he did to her, he watches as she slowly sheds him of his shirt, then his trousers, and finally, his briefs. 

His cock is thick and long and Y/N’s hand immediately loops around it the second it slaps up against his lower belly. He hisses and grabs her hips, pressing blunt fingernails into the soft skin as he pushes her back against the couch. All too flawlessly, he’s now given himself the upper hand, hovering over her naked body, his biceps bulging as he keeps himself up. 

“Please,” she says breathily, “I want you. No teasing.”

Harry huffs out a guttural chuckle as he begins to plant kisses along her collarbones and down to her chest, landing just above her belly button. 

“I’m big,” he murmurs into her skin. “‘M not trying to tease. Just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can do it,” Y/N insists, her voice growing whiney with need. “Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

"You're cute when you beg." Harry mumbles out in response as his lips curve into a smirk. Her jaw drops a smidge, prepared to respond, but he quickly stretches over her body to press his lips to hers again. Just as it was the moment they came home, the kiss is frantic and driven with energy, filled with tension and electricity. Harry catches each of her noisy whimpers with his lips, a groan of his own on the verge of tumbling out. He feels her squeeze her thighs together and assumes it’s an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in her core, making his cock continue to swell between their bodies. If he wanted to, he knows he could get them off just like this — him grinding against the soft skin of her stomach while he dips a few fingers into her sopping pussy. But they both need more than that.

Again, he breaks this kiss, this time resulting in a rather frustrated Y/N. Her lips are slicked with spit and swollen from the frenzied kissing, his likely appearing the same.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," she breathes, nodding her head like a bobblehead, "Yes, I want you. Please."

"You want me?" he teases, and she has to resist rolling her eyes at the sudden uptick of arrogance. "That's awfully forward of you. What happened to my sweet good girl?"

"I'm still here," she whines, "Harry, please, you're— you're being mean, you know what I want."

He ducks under her jaw to press soft kisses along her neck, gently sucking at spots of skin. Light splotches appear from the welcomed assault, ensuring that they remember this long after it’s over. She instantly weaves her painted fingernails into his curly hair.

"Tell me what you want." Harry demands, placing his hands on either side of her head. He keeps his palms flush against the throw pillow, caging her in. Her face begins to flush and her lips flutter over the words, so he leans down to brush his nose against hers; a reminder that she’s safe. "Go ahead, bun."

"I want you to fuck me," she mumbles, her bottom lip nearly quivering with need. She looks like she could cry all over again — only this time, for good reasons.

He reaches his hand up to her mouth, jutting his thumb out to pull at her lip. Immediately responsive, she parts her lips, making him smile as he pushes his finger inside. She sucks at it lightly.

"You're so good. So cute, so good," he says softly, watching her. "I want you just as bad, sweet girl. Y'sure you're ready for my cock? I haven't even seen your pretty pussy yet—"

"Shut up," she mutters out, his thumb laying heavy on her tongue. "I can take it. Promise.” He lets out a laugh at her sudden boldness. He removes his finger from her mouth, mumbling out a greedy girl as he leans down to wrap his lips around a nipple, moving his hand down to her mound. 

At risk of her snapping at him again, he presses a thumb to her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. He begins to circle his thumb tightly, her muscles suddenly tightening underneath his grasp. Selfishly, he takes joy in watching her slowly crumble underneath him, her soft whimpers growing into moans when he dips his finger further down, circling her hole once, twice, before dipping in.

"H," she whined, her eyes screwed shut."What, bunny?"

"I— please, need your cock, no more teasing."

He stills his fingers inside of her, gently pulling them out. On any other day, maybe he would have persisted with the slow burn of pleasure, but he’s feeling just as desperate as her. He wraps his fist around the head of his cock, using strings of her arousal to slowly pump, relieving some of the built up pressure.

"Y'still good, baby?" he asks, resisting the groan at the tip of his tongue.

"Yes, daddy."

His head snaps up to see an arrogant smirk painted on her features. "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

This time, he finally does let out a moan.

Shuffling his knees forward, he rubs his cock against her core, painting the tip from her clit to her hole, up and down, until she wiggles her hips down. He smirks as she lets out a pathetic whine. Slowly, he pushes forward, the tip of my cock instantly encased by her tight walls. He hisses at the feeling and reaches down to grab her hip, his hand gripping her skin tightly.

"More," she chokes, nodding her head eagerly, "Please, more, daddy."

Once he knows that she’s not in any pain from the intrusion, he keeps going until his hips are flush against her warm skin, his cock buried deep inside of her. Her plush lips form a soft 'o' as she reaches forward to rake her nails down my chest, a silent plea to move.

"You feel so fucking good, bunny," he mutters out as he begins to snap my hips, slowly building a steady pace. He’s careful not to push her too quickly, but the fear of coming too fast is consistent in his brain. Despite sleeping with his fair share of people, he’s never felt so complete inside of someone. The way her pussy is so snug and tight around his cock makes him feel like an addict.

She’s a moaning mess beneath him, her fingernails pressing harshly into his back. Her eyes are wide and teary now, making him smirk as he lifts a finger to wipe the liquid away.

"Don' need to cry, babe, you're doing so good for me." he says, leaning down to pepper kisses over the surface of her face.

"Yeah?" She gasped, her hand snaking down the length of her body. Her fingertips quickly find her clit and he looks down to watch her make tight little circles into the skin.

"So fuckin' good," he mumbles, entranced by the sight of her touching herself, "y'gonna cum all over daddy's cock, angel girl?" She nods eagerly and he speeds up his thrusts, desperate to make her finish before he manages to explode. He can feel his muscles clenching, her pussy somehow getting even tighter with every movement.

"What do you need?" he grits out with a clenched jaw.

She’s moments away from finishing now; he can feel and see it, but he’s determined to push her over the edge. Swallowing harshly, her jaw drops as she mumbles out, "c-choke me, please." 

Groaning, he wraps his hand around the column of her throat, pressing gently against her windpipe. He watches as her eyes roll back and feels the way her muscles instantly contract around his cock, triggering his own orgasm to approach. At the sounds of her moans, he quickly pulls out and pumps his cock twice before finishing all over her stomach and chest, a splatter of come painting itself on her soft skin. They’re both breathless and Harry resists the urge to completely collapse against the girl beneath him. He would have, if not for Y/N’s closed eyes as she catches her breath. In the silence of the moment, he takes in the appearance of her naked body covered in his come. Grimacing slightly at his softening prick, he grabs his boxers and shuffles them over his hips. He stands from the couch and straightens his posture when he hears a sleepy mumble from below. "Where are y'going?" "Gonna clean you up," Harry says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, "be right back, 'kay, bunny?” Y/N asleep before he returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. He sits at the edge of the couch and gently runs it over her body, wiping away the remnants of their intimacy. Her eyes blink open when she realizes he’s returned, granting him a small, lazy smile. He returns it. “You did so good for me,” he murmurs, tossing the dirty cloth on the floor. He’ll throw it in the washing machine later, but right now, taking care of this sleepy, fucked out lump is the top priority. “Do you wanna go upstairs and change? Go to sleep in my bed?” She shakes her head. “Let’s sleep down here. Too tired to move.” And yeah, maybe Harry hasn’t slept on a couch since he was in his 20s because he has back problems. Yes, his hips will surely ache from sharing the space with the girl he’s been crushing on for months. Surely, they’ll shift positions multiple times throughout the night as they attempt to find something that’s semi-comfortable for the both of them. But he’ll do anything to see Y/N smile. “Sure, baby,” he replies, grabbing a soft throw blanket from the end of the couch. He wiggles himself into her side so he’s holding her from behind, tossing the cozy material over their bodies. “G’night. Lemme know if you need anything.”

She hums, and then it’s silent.

Harry allows his eyes to fall closed, sinking into the comfort of the warm girl beside him. It’s only then that he hears her inhale, followed by seven soft words: “I love you, Harry. I mean it.”

He tucks his face into her shoulder and hides the grin that stretches over his face.

“I love you, Y/N. I mean it.”

[harry]

Harry out in London — 26 March 2024

[becauseheartsgetbroken-hs]

this album is gonna be so fucking good

[haylor-stuff]

like or reblog if you save

[savebylou]

credit: zabelrry

[hardcandycigarette]

Chubby Hubby

TW this dicusses body image issues. Please dont read if this will upset you in any way. I will always want what's best for you

This is soft, fluff but with body image disucssion.

Despite the tears in Harry's eyes as he waved goodbye to the crowd in Reggio Emilia, he had no doubt that his heart was filled with love, gratitude, sadness and joy. The final performance of Love On Tour was his last time bidding farewell to his fans. He wasn't sure when he would see them again, and that left a hollow in his heart. But it was finally time for him to take a break. And after 169 performances, two movies, press tours, and so much more it would be a well-deserved break. Night after night, he'd danced and stomped and sang his heart out across state after state and country after country. When he traveled he’d forget what time zone he was in sometimes. All the while, he kept a strict diet and even had his personal trainer beside him to keep him motivated. Later, once the crowd was long gone and the spotlight faded, he stood at the edge of the stage. His  heart was pounding from the adrenaline rush of his last performance. The deafening roar of the crowd still reverberated in his ears, a testament to his fans' fervent adoration. It was the closing act of his world tour, the culmination of more than two years of tireless dedication and unwavering passion.

As he went backstage to celebrate with his friends, family, bandmates and crew Harry couldn't help but feel a profound sense of accomplishment wash over him. The whirlwind of the tour, with its endless rehearsals and countless performances, was an exhilarating journey. However, now, with the final curtain call behind him, he looked forward to the tranquility of home.

        ***

Once he was back in the sanctuary of his home, Harry relaxed in the newfound freedom that came with the end of the tour. No more early wake-up calls or grueling soundchecks; now, he could relax in the simple pleasures of life. Enjoying the fruits of his labor after a decade of non-stop work, he'd finally decided to take a real break. Not a break in order to write and record an album and plan a release and tour, but a real proper break from all the noise.

One morning with a contented sigh, Harry poured himself a cup of coffee and settled on a stool at the kitchen island. The warm morning sun filtered through the windows. He surveyed the array of breakfast delights laid out before him - stacks of fluffy pancakes, butter, maple syrup, hashbrowns, and perfectly scrambled eggs.

"Morning, love," Y/N's voice broke through the peaceful silence as she entered the kitchen. Her presence was a welcome sight to Harry's eyes. She leaned in to kiss him softly. Harry smiled. "I made breakfast. Aren't you proud of me?"

"Sure but I'll really be proud to see you clean up the mess." She giggled, shaking her head as she poured her coffee.

Y/N sat beside Harry at the island. She caressed the nape of his neck, content to have her husband with her at breakfast without scarfing down his food before darting out the door.

But this morning they were in heaven. Each bite was a symphony of flavors, a celebration of the decadence Harry had denied himself during the rigors of the tour. They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the clinking of cutlery against plates.

And the days passed just like that leisurely breakfasts, playing with the dog in the backyard, quiet afternoons lounging in front of the tv with a bevy of snacks laid out before them. They went to pizza parties with their kids' classes. Life as a couple and family was real and routine. Gone were the days of constant travel, demanding schedules, and the pressure to perform. Instead, Harry and Y/N reveled in the simplicity and stability of their routine, cherishing each peaceful moment together and relishing in the ordinary joys of everyday life.

One lazy afternoon, as Harry was changing his clothes, an unease crept over him. He glanced at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. His gaze lingered at the subtle changes in his physique. The once-defined muscles were now soft, his abs obscured beneath the slightest bit of untoned muscle. Most likely no one noticed. Any other person in the world would have to work years just like Harry had to work to maintain the body he had now, much less the body he had when he was on tour. He feared losing what  he had worked so hard for during his time on tour. It lingered in the back of his mind, making him question his self-image and his ability to maintain the same level of physical fitness.

The self-doubt gnawed at Harry's insides as he studied his reflection, his mind plagued by insecurities. He was always proud of his appearance, but now, faced with the undeniable evidence of his body's imperfections, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Lost in his thoughts, Harry swiftly dressed himself when footsteps approached. Soon Y/N appeared in the doorway. Her brow furrowed with concern as she observed his troubled expression.

"Hey, love," she said softly, crossing the room to stand beside him in front of the mirror. "What's on your mind?"

Harry hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the doubts that plagued him. But Y/N, ever perceptive, reached out to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into her touch, something that always comforted him.

"You seem distant," she observed, her eyes searching his for answers. "Is everything okay?"

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping as he struggled to find the right words. "I don't know," he confessed. His voice cracked. "I just... I feel like I've let myself go, you know? Like I'm not the same person I used to be."

Y/N's heart melted at Harry's vulnerability. She knew all too well the pressure he faced to maintain a certain image in the unforgiving world of show business. "What sweetie? What's wrong?"

He lifted his shirt to just above the butterfly tattoo on his torso. "This." He looked down and tried to pinch even a single inch of skin.

"Babe you're gonna have to explain. I don't get it."

He sighed and looked down. "This. M' stomach, it's going to hell."

Y/N giggled. "What? That? That teeny tiny bit of skin you're desperately trying to pinch?"

"Yeah. Getting chubby. Look at it."

"You are absolutely gorgeous, Harry Styles," she insisted. "Every inch of you, inside and out."

He shook his head. "No, 'm gettin' a dad bod. Next thing you know, the tabloids will talk about how I've let m'self go. And they'll be right Y/N, they will be. Look at me."

Her beautiful husband was on the verge of tears. She tilted his chin to look at her. "Listen to me, okay. You are gorgeous, and yes your body is different, since you actually enjoy life now. You don't kill yourself dancing and running and working out non-stop five hours a day. You eat things you love, not rabbit food. We drink wine on the patio or do tequila shots while we slow dance in the kitchen. We order takeaway and take walks instead of jogging. We spend time together, and relax and read books till 2 in the morning. The two of us spend time getting to know each other again. Question. When I had the girls each time I complained and cried about my body, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"And what did you tell me?"

He lifted his head again so his eyes met hers. "Told you you were the most beautiful fucking woman I'd ever seen. Told you a little bit of extra skin, or your boobs or the scale had nothing to do with any of that. And I told you, that body had given me two beautiful daughters and I wouldn't trade it for the world's most perfect amazing body. I told you that it was perfect to me because that body belonged to you, and I love you more than anything in this world."

She smiled and kissed him. "Correct. And all of that is true when I look at you. Honestly, I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't brought it up. Now, I'm not telling you how to feel about yourself because I can't dictate to you what to feel. What I can tell you is that if you aren't happy with it you can easily fix it, but it doesn't matter to me. The fact that I can wake up with you every morning and go to bed with you every night is one of my favorite things. That I can smell your body wash seeping through the shower door. I can sit in the garden with you and watch the girls play. If you want to switch back to a stricter diet or cut back on something or go to the gym more days a week I'm okay with that. All I care about is you."

"But look at me," he protested, gesturing towards his reflection in the mirror. "I've got... I don't know, a dad bod or something."Harry couldn't shake the nagging fear that Y/N might no longer find him as attractive. He worried that without the stage lights and the adoring crowds, he was just an ordinary man with ordinary flaws.

She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "Guess what stud? You are a dad. You're a man. A man who plays tea party with his girls, builds forts, and teaches them to swim. You're a man who loves his family. Nothing is more meaningful than that, nothing. Get it?"

He grinned, revealing gorgeous dimples. "Got it." He nodded before kissing her.

"Harry," she murmured. "You are perfect exactly as you are. Your body tells the story of all the incredible experiences we've shared together. Every laugh, every adventure - it's all written there, etched into your skin, just like those tattoos are a roadmap of your life. Nothing has changed. Nothing."

Harry felt warmth spread through his chest at Y/N's words. In her eyes, he found the acceptance and reassurance he so desperately sought. This was a reminder that his worth was not defined by the number of abs on his stomach. He thought about the encouraging words he'd given fans through the years. Having a few extra pounds would not disappoint them. They'd be disappointed if he didn't see what they saw, what his wife and friends and family saw.

With a grateful smile, Harry leaned in to press a soft kiss against Y/N's lips, his heart so grateful for the woman who saw him for who he truly was. Together, they settled into an embrace, his chin resting on her head. He was content in the wonderfully human moments they shared.

With Y/N by his side, Harry explored new hobbies and interests, finding joy in the simple pleasures of everyday life. They spent lazy afternoons picnicking in the sun-drenched gardens of their home, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of flowers and the sound of laughter. They had time to delve back into their shared passions for the world like art and literature. They lost themselves in timeless classics and discovered new expression in every brushstroke and word. They took day trips to lakes and farms, teaching their children about the beauty of the world around them.

However, some days the doubts still plagued him. Despite Y/N's reassurances, he couldn't help but question if he was enough. He wondered if he would ever truly measure up to the impossible standards of beauty and perfection that seemed to govern his world.

One evening, as they sat curled up together on the balcony, watching the sun dip below the horizon in a blaze of fiery hues, Harry voiced his fears to Y/N once more.

"Do you ever feel like... like you're not enough?" he asked, breaking the peaceful silence. "Like no matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to live up to everyone's expectations?"

Y/N turned to him, her eyes soft and understanding. "All the time," she admitted.  "But Harry, you don't have to be flawless. You just have to be you. And to me, you're more than enough."

He knew it was finally time to let it go. He knew the world was unpredictable and someone always had an opinion. The goalpost was always moving. And just like every other time the world commented on him he would take it in stride. "I've been so happy with you and the girls, so fucking happy. I can't let some ridiculous standard set by complete strangers take that away. The world has gotten enough of my time and energy. It's time that all be given to you and the kids. Yes, I think I'll hit the gym a bit more and lay off the cakes and bread a bit, but I'm not gonna quit being happy because of something I'm telling myself that isn’t even true." In that moment, he was determined to no longer be defined by others' expectations, that real happiness lay in embracing his authentic self, flaws and all.

With Y/N's love as his guiding light, Harry embarked on a journey of self-discovery, exploring the depths of his own soul and finding beauty in the imperfections that made him uniquely himself. He began to see himself through new eyes, recognizing the strength and resilience within him, waiting to be unleashed. He accepted that if a woman like Y/N could think he was amazing then he had to be because she was perfection in every way to him.

As the months passed they made new memories. They embraced the challenges and triumphs of life with open hearts and open minds, facing each new day with courage and love.

One day as Harry looked into the mirror he no longer saw flaws to be hidden or masked. Instead, he saw a man who was imperfect, yes, but also deeply loved and profoundly happy. He saw a man who had weathered storms and emerged stronger on the other side. He knew he was exactly where he was meant to be: in the arms of the woman who loved him, flaws and all.

And though the world around them may be fickle and fleeting, their love remained constant, an unbreakable bond.

[srldesigns6277]

If he's doing ballerina research and choreo, does that mean we are getting an updated version of this?? 👀🤔

[hstylestuff]

like or reblog if you save

[twopoppies]

But I think with hs4 will be different tho, HSH was wrote from 2019 (considering little freak and boyfriends) to 2021, so he "was dating" OW during just some months when it was finallyzed, its's easy to create another narrative, but now with hs4 he has been writing it since probably 2021, we'll 100% get something ab holivia

I disagree. I think the original intent was to market that album along with that relationship. The GP (and even most of the fans) would never have known when he wrote what if he didn't go out of his way to bring it up over and over again. He went out of his way to say Love of My Life was about London––he rarely ever says what songs are about, and that one could easily have been interpreted as being about her.

Plus, I'm still convinced that he re-recorded his interview with Zane Lowe. We had pretty good confirmation that the interview was shot and being edited in January or February (I can't remember now). And then the interview dropped and he was suddenly being interviewed at Coachella. I just think that it became clear that linking that album to her was going to be a bad thing in the long run, and they changed course. I don't see why they'd bring her back on HS4 unless maybe he's writing a song about escaping a fate worse than death or a song about a narcissistic demon. Anyway, we'll see soon enough. Perhaps I'm wrong. But I'd just be surprised if she shows up again. She's like Voldemort. Don't summon her.

[womanexile]

Is HS4 going to be moon themed? Harry has been talking about the moon a lot during tour. Was he giving us Easter eggs?

Has been leaving clues since the start of Harry’s House era?

The flower he was carrying around the other day could be this flower.

The crew for Love on Tour wore these passes. (These passes are so cute)

Pleasing for the last few days has used music in their TikTok’s talking about the moon.

And let’s not forget about Harryween 2021

[hl-obsessed]

inspired by this poll and zayn's live

[cupid-styles]

a helping hand*

in which y/n can't orgasm and harry is a helpful ex-friend with benefits.

word count: 3.3k

content warnings: mentions of depression/mental health and anti-depressants, discussions of reduced libido, smut (phone sex, mentions of sex toys, dirty talk, description of group sex and mmf threesomes)

this one goes out to all the besties on anti-depressants

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Harry sighs in frustration before crossing his arms over his chest. If he pursed his raspberry lips into a pout, he’d look more like a petulant child than the young adult Y/N’s known for the past few years. With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a healthy swig of her coke and rum. She allows herself to scan the interior of the bar — it’s just barely 6 pm on a Wednesday so she’s not surprised that it’s primarily filled with locals and teams of corporate offices decompressing after a long day. 

“I could always make you come when we hooked up and I bet you I could still do it.”

“Christ, Harry, give it a rest,” Y/N replies, narrowing her eyes at the curly haired brunette. “It’s not just with partners, it’s me, too.”

He quirks an eyebrow and settles his elbows on the sticky table. She huffs when she realizes she’s only piqued his attention even more now that she’s revealed another inkling of her… problem. 

“Can you just tell me what’s going on, then? You know, when I texted you for our semiannual catch up, I didn’t think we’d be getting into your sudden inability to orgasm, but—”

“Can you lower your voice?” Y/N hisses with wide eyes. “I didn’t think we would talk about this either but you’re the one who asked if I’m seeing anyone—”

“Yeah, seeing anyone, not coming for anyone—”

“Just shut up!” she mutters, nearly knocking over her almost-finished drink. “If I tell you, you have to drop it.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Harry…”

“As your ex-friend with benefits, I have no duty to keep secrets that aren’t about our bedroom-related rendezvouses.” 

“There hasn’t been a ‘rendezvous’ in five years.”

“There could be.”

She sighs and presses her fingertips to her temples. This is why she and Harry never worked out. They’re total opposites — he has the energy of a rowdy golden retriever and she exudes a calm, monotone nature. (She thinks she’s borderline boring if you ask her, but that’s something she’s been saving for therapy.) 

At parties in college, he was always the one working the room, chatting with everyone while she stood in the corner and clutched her solo cup for dear life. 

He had a million contacts in his phone and people remembered him, even if they knew each other from something as small as working together on a project in a class three semesters ago. 

Meanwhile, Y/N could spend two years straight working in the same office and someone would still ask her when she started working there because she looked “new”.

(Seriously. It happened last month, and she had to rush to the bathroom to cry.)

Despite their opposing personalities, they did work for a while, but only as friends with benefits. To begin with, Y/N never wanted anything more — when they started hooking up, they were nearing their senior year of college, and she didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything when making decisions about her future. But secretly, she knew feelings for Harry would inevitably pop up. How could they not? Although he was an annoying ball of energy sometimes, bouncing off the walls of her apartment before they even made it to her bedroom, he was kind. He had a good heart — he still does after all these years, otherwise Y/N would never bother meeting up with him without the intention of hooking up — and he was funny, and he made Y/N feel all warm and gooey inside. He was a good fuck, too, and as much as she wanted to widdle his presence down to being purely physical, she wasn’t strong enough for that. 

She was grateful, albeit heartbroken, when six months after their arrangement began, Harry very sweetly told her he had a crush on a girl in his advanced sculpture class and wanted to go for it. As she swallowed a lump in her throat, she told him that was perfectly fine, that she was glad he told her, and that she hoped things worked out between him and Emily.

(They did. For two and a half years. Y/N had never been so thankful when graduation arrived and she could run as far away as possible from the couple.)

Harry tried his best to keep in touch, even after graduating while he was dating Emily — always commenting on her Instagram posts and responding to her stories, even occasionally texting her to wish her well on her birthday or major holidays. Y/N kept him at an arm’s length for as long as she could. That is, until he moved to her city last year.

The only reason why Y/N had a heads up is because of an Instagram story he posted. In his typical overly excited way, he posted a picture of his dog in his new apartment with one of those tacky, premade location tags. (She’s allowed to think they’re ugly — she’s a graphic designer.) So, it didn’t come as a surprise when a week or two later, a text popped up from an unknown number: Hey Y/N! Not sure if this is still your number or if you still have mine, but it’s Harry :) I just moved to your city and was wondering if we could get together! It would be great to see you.

Thus began the tradition of Harry and Y/N’s semiannual meetups. 

It was an unsaid routine they followed — every six months or so, one of them would text the other for drinks or coffee or lunch. They only ever met up in public and they didn’t talk much outside of their scheduled hangouts, though Harry was much more prone to messaging her stupid memes and, on occasion, a picture of his dog, a husky named Fish. 

Much to Y/N’s dismay, the chemistry between her and Harry was still very much there. It had been apparent from their first meetup last February. It was difficult not to flirt, especially when he brought up their past (she would happily pretend none of it ever happened if it meant Harry Styles never made her blush ever again). The thing is, though, is it was fine as long as nothing ever came of it. 

Until now. 

Because as Y/N sits across from Harry in the worn booth of a dive bar a block away from her apartment, she can’t believe she’s seriously considering letting him back in her bed.

“Can you just tell me what you think the problem is?” Harry asks. He slides his elbow onto the table and presses his knuckles up against his cheek, like they’re best friends giggling over some silly gossip. It makes Y/N want to elbow him in the ribs.

“It’s a biological issue,” she mutters, “Like I said, nothing you could fix. Even if I wanted you to.”

“Just spit it out, blossom.”

She narrows her eyes, though she finds it difficult to ignore the way her stomach flips at the familiar nickname. “You’re not allowed to call me that anymore.”

“Tell me what the issue is and I won’t call you that,” he replies easily. “C’mon, it’s me. Remember all the times I helped you pee when you were too drunk to sit up straight? We’ve definitely seen each other in more embarrassing situations before.”

Y/N sighs loudly. He has a point — there was a time where Harry knew her better than anyone else in the world. And frankly, she hasn’t talked to anyone about her problem. 

Scooching her body forward, she attempts to close most of the gap between them. Harry leans closer and she rolls her eyes. To an outsider's perspective, they probably looked like they were performing some kind of sketchy drug deal or like little girls swapping secrets at a slumber party.

“Remember how I struggled with, um… getting pretty sad?”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together and he nods. 

“Right, so it got… worse when I moved here. And I needed to find help, so I started seeing a psychiatrist who put me on antidepressants. They’ve helped a ton — I feel better, and the depression that I do feel is a lot less intense.”

“That’s great, Y/N,” he says, and she can tell he means it by the genuine tone to his voice. “What does that have to do with you not orgasming, though?”

She swallows tightly. “Well, my doctor increased my medication over the winter, and one of the side effects is…y’know. Decreased libido and whatnot.”

His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, leaning back against the cracked leather of the seat. “Oh, shit.”

“And you’ve tried vibrators and stuff?”

“Of course I have, I’m not an idiot.”

“So how long has it been?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip as she thinks. Even with flings that she’s had over the past few months, they all gave up at a certain point. The sex was still fun, but she was just the only one who wasn’t coming.

“Well, I can give them to myself if I… work at it,” she mumbles, folding her hands in her lap. “But with a partner? Probably… six months.”

“Six months?!”

The look on Harry’s face is dramatic and theatrical, as if she just told him she was moving halfway across the world and participating in some kind of 90 Day Fiance situation. 

“Shut. Up.” she says through grit teeth, sending him a harsh look. “I don’t need a reminder of how shitty it is.”

“Who the hell are you letting in your bed?” he demands sharply. 

“It can take me an hour, Harry, I don’t expect every person I sleep with to be that patient.”

“They should be, Y/N.”

With a shake of her head, she glances down at her phone on the table. Everything has always seemed so simple for Harry — he’s one of those people where things just come easily for him, no pun intended. A part of her wishes they never delved into the subject matter. Vulnerability somehow always bit her in the ass and this instance was no exception. 

“I’m gonna get going,” she says, pushing her empty glass to the center of the table. “Thank you for the drink, H. It was good to see you.”

His eyes soften as she begins to scooch her way out of the booth. Quickly, he throws a few bills down on the table and gets up to follow her. 

“Can I walk you out, please?” he asks, swallowing as his stomach brims with nerves. She nods, though he’s unsure if it’s a reluctant response. Silently, they leave the bar together, and he nibbles on his bottom lip as she pushes the front door open. The spring air is a welcomed breeze from the sticky interior of the establishment, and she shifts on her feet as she turns around to face him. She parts her lips as if she’s readying herself to bid him a final goodbye, but he beats her to it. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he says as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I just meant— like, you deserve better, is all. Someone who will be patient and care to learn your body.”

Y/N nods slowly. “Right. And you’re that person.”

Her tone teeters on mocking and it sends a harsh hit straight to Harry’s chest. He shrugs.

“If you wanted me to be.”

She doesn’t reply to that, but she doesn’t make a move to leave, either. 

“I’ll think about it,” she finally says, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “My hand cramps up when I’ve been at it for too long. Maybe it’ll be nice to have someone else try.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh. “Just let me know and I’m there.”

. . .

A few days later, when Harry is at a friend’s house, he receives a text from Y/N: Are you free right now?

In all honesty, he’s surprised that she’s — assumingly — taking him up on his offer. Y/N remains to be one of the most stubborn people he’s ever known (one time she spent an entire week trying to put together a desk she’d purchased before asking anyone for help. The only reason why Harry was able to do it for her is because she’d called him over for a “destress fuck” and he finished it while she slept). 

He swipes down on her message, his other hand occupied by some shitty IPA Lizzy’s new boyfriend had bought. He keeps asking Harry if he likes it and he has to lie about tasting the hints of citrus, even though it tastes like every other crappy beer he’s consumed. 

At a friend’s house, he quickly types back, Why? Is your hand cramping?

He can basically feel her rolling her eyes as he bites back a smile, watching as the three dots appear to signal her impending response. 

Yes. I was wondering if you wanted to come over.

He’s unsurprised by the casual invitation on a Friday night at 9:40 p.m. (it seems that, as far as hookups go, Y/N hasn’t changed much since college). Nibbling on his bottom lip, he uses his free hand to type a response. 

I’m sorry, I would if I could. I’m trapped at this “apartment-warming” party for my friend. Apparently people host housewarmings even if they’re just renting a new place.

Y/N immediately types back: As much as I’d love to debate that with you, I’m really just looking for an orgasm. So if you’re busy, I’ll go back to buzzing at my numb clit.

Harry snorts at that before placing his beer on a coaster and excusing himself to the bathroom. Once he’s locked the door, he’s quick to pull up Y/N’s contact and press the pad of his thumb to her number. 

“Hello?”

She sounds confused and frustrated when she answers and Harry smirks at that.

“Hey,” he greets, leaning back against the white porcelain sink. “I’m calling about your orgasm.”

“You’re seriously not trying to have phone sex with me right now.” 

Her tone is as deadpan as it gets, and the monotone nature is enough to make a small bit of insecurity crawl into Harry’s stomach. 

“Well, I was planning on talking you through it. ‘S not really phone sex if only one person’s getting off, I think.”

She lets out a noisy sigh and there’s some rustling on the other side. He waits for her response and is surprised when she agrees. 

“Fine,” she huffs, and he can envision the way her eyebrow raises just slightly when she’s decided to give into something, “Let’s give it a try. Porn is getting boring anyway.”

“What were you watching?”

“Well, when you’ve been trying to come for 40 minutes, you end up in some… odd places,” she says. “I started out with lesbian porn, then found my way into threesomes, and somehow I ended up at double penetration.”

“Ah,” Harry nods, “Sounds like you’re having some sort of craving for group sex, then?” 

A pause. And then: “I guess. I’ve never tried it, I just think it’s hot.”

“What’s hot about it for you?”

He thinks he hears her swallow, but he can’t be completely sure. 

“I just like the idea of pleasing more than one person. I think that’s how I got to double penetration stuff.”

“Oh, I see. You want to be used.”

It’s blunt and it’s to the point, but he’s not wrong — he knows he’s not, because he slept with her for six months straight.

“I guess,” she replies non-committedly, “I guess it’s like… a fantasy of getting two people off and them feeling that way because of me. Through oral or… being inside of me, or whatever.”

“So what’s your threesome fantasy, then?” Harry pushes, though his tone teeters are near carelessness at this point, “Girl/boy? Boy/boy? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Who do you want to be between?”

Y/N exhales shakily, “I’ve never thought about it.” 

“Well, now you are.”

She doesn’t immediately reply, but he knows she responds well to the calloused persona he suddenly obtains. She’s always been this way — submissive and good, always looking to please him intimately. It’s too easy for him to put the pieces together and solve the puzzle.

“I guess I like the idea of being with two guys, but it doesn’t matter much to me.” she eventually decides.

“Okay. And in your deepest fantasies, what are these two men doing to you?”

Another pause, though he thinks he hears a shuttered sigh on the line. He doesn’t mention it — not yet at least.

“Maybe… maybe one’s inside of me and the other one’s in my mouth.”

“And how is he fucking you? Is he on top of you, missionary style, or are you on your hands and knees while he fucks you from behind?”

A breathy whimper departs Y/N’s lips and this time it’s loud enough for both of them to hear. He smirks at the sound of it. 

“I like the idea of him behind me. A-and the other one fucking my mouth.”

Harry hums, almost as if he’s praising her. “Close your eyes and envision it, then. Think about how you’re letting two men take advantage of you and use your body, just so they can get off. One’s fucking into you from behind, spanking your ass and grabbing your hips like you’re just some kind of toy to him. And the other one is thrusting deep into your mouth, making you choke, getting you all drooly for him. You’re nothing but a set of holes for them, honey. Isn’t that sweet?”

On the other line, all Harry hears is a series of shattered moans and low curses. Even though it’s been years, he can imagine the way her muscles are all tensed up, her pussy clenching around a dildo or her fingers. He wishes he would’ve asked so he could envision it, too.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers out, and Harry palms himself through his trousers at the sound of her high-pitched mewls. 

“There you go, blossom. Atta girl, just let go. ‘S easy, let it go for me,” his voice is a near coo and it makes Y/N’s eyes roll back into her skull. It’s like he knows how easy it is for her brain to ping pong to other far less sexier thoughts — like the dirty plates in the dishwasher or the unfolded laundry in the corner of her bedroom — so he continues crooning through the receiver, his low, soft voice guiding her through every bump and ridge of her impending orgasm. 

When she comes, she comes hard, considering it’s been a solid two weeks since she’s been able to give herself an orgasm. It shoots through her entire body and, even with her eyes shut tight, the fantasy she created still plays through her brain — except now, it’s not two mystery men. Now, it’s just Harry fucking into her, all tan muscles and sweat pearling at his hairline. 

She’s boneless and exhausted when she finishes, her throat dry from the involuntary moans she let go. She only remembers she’s still on the phone with Harry when she hears him clear his throat, followed by a call of her name. 

“Hey, sorry,” she mumbles as her cheeks flush a deep red hue, “T-that was good. Thank you.”

“Yeah? You finished?”

If she had more energy, she would roll her eyes. Of course she finished. The entire neighborhood knows she finished.

“Yeah.” she mutters shortly. “Have a good time at your apartment-warming party.”

Harry huffs a laugh, “Yeah, ‘cos that’s what I’ll be thinking about for the rest of the night.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask him what he means before he’s bidding her goodbye: “Let me know when you wanna do this again. I’m around this weekend.”

[harry]

Harry making a run for it — 26 March 2024

[allthelovehes]

Writing Retreat* | TEASER

Summary: Harry takes Y/N on a writing retreat to Italy, and given all this alone time causes things to bloom between him and his guitarist.

Pairing: Famous!Harry x Guitarist!Y/N

Word count: 2.5K TEASER of a 5K Patreon Exclusive!

Warnings: Unprotected sex, smut, p in v, swimming pool sex.

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold @harrysbabycherry @htaylor18 @rose-garden-dreamz @myalovesharry @mellamolayla @hsonlyangelxo @yousunshineyoutempter @heartateasee @blueheisenbergtragedy @bikestyles @bohemianrhapsody86 @cherrylovers-world @harrys-littlefreak Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

Support my work by joining my Patreon!

“You're coming with me to Italy right?” Harry asks Y/N through the phone, while he is sitting on the sofa in his living room. Harry is planning a writing retreat in Italy to work on his fourth album. He is hoping Y/N will agree to come with him as he could use her expertise for the project.

“Yeah, I am.” Y/N answers while looking at the plane tickets. She is currently staying in New York with a couple of friends to catch up with them before she leaves for Italy. “I bought my tickets already, we'll arrive on the same day.”

“Perfect. I'll send you the address of the Airbnb we're staying at so you can check out the local sights and stuff. The studio isn't far from there, so it will only be a short walk.” Harry says while smiling to himself, excited to have her there to help him write his songs.

“That sounds good.” Y/N says as she looks over her shoulder and sees her friend walking into the kitchen. “I'll text you tomorrow. I can't wait to see you.”

“Me too.” Harry smiles to himself again.

“Y/N, do you have a boyfriend you never told us about?” Her friend suddenly says as she puts down her phone and Y/N can hear a bit of a laugh in her voice.

“No.” Y/N shakes her head as she turns towards her friend. “Why are you asking that?”

“You have this look on your face that tells me you're smitten with someone.” Her friend says, smiling. She is onto something as Y/N is indeed head over heels for Harry and that's where it gets complicated. Not only is he her best friend, but also her boss, so she doesn't want to mix the two together.

“I don't.” Y/N laughs, shaking her head as she gets up. She walks into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and her friend follows her.

“Then who were you talking to?” She asks, smiling.

“Harry.” Y/N answers honestly as she turns the kettle on and grabs two mugs from the cupboard.

“The Harry?” Her friend asks, her eyes growing wide. “Harry Styles, the man you have worked for the past years? Your best friend, Harry?”

“Yes, the one and only.” Y/N laughs and her friend laughs with her.

“Does he know about your feelings?” Her friend asks as she sits down on the barstool at the counter.

“Gosh, there's no feelings for him to know about. We're friends.” Y/N answers, not looking at her friend as she takes the teabags from the top drawer and puts one in each mug.

“Sure, okay. I get it.” Her friend says, not believing her.

“I mean, yeah, he's attractive. But I'm sure every girl thinks that.” Y/N adds.

“Not just every girl, but most girls.” Her friend replies. “Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

“I can't.” Y/N answers simply as she turns to look at her friend. “He's my boss.”

“But you also said you're his friend, right?” Her friend says. “You'll be with him on a holiday for the next couple of weeks, plenty of time to figure it out.”

“We'll see.” Y/N replies as the kettle boils and she turns back around to make their cups of tea. ***

The next morning, Y/N's alarm wakes her up and she immediately gets out of bed. She goes to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, before going to the kitchen. It's 8 am and Y/N has to be at the airport in two hours to catch her flight. She made some sandwiches the night before and packs them into a box along with some drinks. Then she packs the last of her stuff in her suitcase and grabs her handbag. Her friends are still sleeping and they offered to take her to the airport, but Y/N decided she would get an Uber. She is too nervous to sit in a car with her friends on her way to the airport.

When the Uber arrives, she sends her friends a text to let them know she's leaving and she opens the trunk before the driver helps her put her suitcase in the car. Once she's seated in the back, the driver starts the journey to the airport.

Y/N checks her phone for the hundredth time this morning and Harry hasn't sent her a message yet. She knows he's probably sleeping, as he's flying in from London, but she is hoping he's up soon to send her a message. Y/N is excited to see him.

She opens Instagram and scrolls through her feed. She is a little nervous to go on a writing trip with Harry. What if they spend all day and night together in their own private bubble and something happens between them? She isn't sure what to do if that were to happen, but she is also trying to not think about it.

It's not like they'll be the only ones in the studio but the Airbnb is just for the two of them. Harry made sure to book a proper house for them, with enough rooms and a pool. It is a big Airbnb, located close to the beach and the studio. There's a kitchen where the two of them can cook their meals and the bedrooms both have their own ensuite.

Y/N can't help but daydream a little about sharing the house with Harry. It's the first time the two of them will live together and she wonders what it will be like. She has known him for so long, but living with someone is always a different story.

The ride to the airport goes by fast and once Y/N has checked in, she grabs a coffee and waits for her plane to start boarding. As she sits down, her phone lights up and a smile appears on her face when she sees Harry's name pop up.

HarryHey, can't wait to see you. You at the airport yet?

Y/NHey. Yeah, just boarded the plane. See you soon!

HarryText me when you arrive and I'll come get you.

Y/NWill do. x

She puts her phone into airplane mode and takes a sip from her coffee, while she looks outside at the planes landing and taking off. She has done this so many times before, but this time is different.

After a couple of hours, Y/N's plane lands in Milan and she is relieved to finally be on solid ground. She is greeted by the warm Italian air as she walks to the baggage claim and takes her phone out of airplane mode. Her phone buzzes immediately and she smiles as she sees Harry's name light up the screen.

HarryI'm outside, can't wait to see you.

Y/NOutside where?

HarryBaggage claim.

Y/N smiles as she picks up her suitcase from the conveyor belt and walks outside, searching for Harry. She is surprised when she sees him standing outside, his eyes fixated on his phone, and her heart beats a little faster. He is wearing a loose t-shirt, jean shorts and his curls are styled perfectly.

“Hey.” Y/N says, her voice sounding a little nervous.

Harry lifts his gaze from his phone and he smiles when he sees Y/N. He quickly puts his phone away and walks towards her. “Hey.” He says as he wraps his arms around her and Y/N feels her body melt into his embrace. His scent is intoxicating and she lets out a deep breath.

“How was the flight?” Harry asks as he pulls away.

“Fine. How was yours?” Y/N asks as they start walking.

“It was good.” Harry nods, smiling.

“I thought I was supposed to let you know I'm here before you'd come pick me up.” Y/N laughs and Harry's smile grows wider.

“Well, I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to see you.” He says, his words causing butterflies in Y/N's stomach.

They make their way through the airport and soon, they are outside. It's hotter than Y/N expected it to be, but the Italian air feels nice. They get into Harry's rental car. She tries to focus on the beautiful buildings, parks and trees, but her mind keeps wandering off to the fact that she'll be living with the man beside her for the next couple of weeks.

“Here we are.” Harry says as he parks the car and Y/N is snapped back to reality.

“Wow, this is huge.” Y/N exclaims as she takes in the villa. It's even better than the pictures showed. It has a large porch with a garden in front of the house and she can see the pool behind the house.

“Yeah.” Harry says as he gets out of the car and walks around to get Y/N's suitcase from the trunk.

“Let me help you.” Y/N says as she grabs the other side of her suitcase and they walk up the stairs towards the entrance.

“No, no, I've got it.” Harry shakes his head and Y/N lets go of her suitcase. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him.

“Thanks.” She says as Harry opens the front door and pushes her suitcase inside.

“This is our home for the next couple of weeks.” Harry says as they walk further into the house. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Where is my room?” Y/N asks as she takes her shoes off.

“Uhm, upstairs, the first door on the left.” Harry answers.

“Thanks.” Y/N nods. “I'll just bring my suitcase upstairs, unpack and freshen up a little.”

“No problem.” Harry says and Y/N can feel his eyes on her as she climbs the stairs. She opens the door and smiles as she takes in the beautiful bedroom. It has a king-sized bed, a couch and a desk. She places her suitcase on the couch and opens it.

“This is nice.” Harry says and Y/N turns around to see him leaning against the doorway.

“Yeah.” Y/N nods. “Much bigger than my bedroom in London.”

“I'm glad you like it.” Harry smiles as he steps into the room and sits down on the edge of the bed. “So, how have you been?” ***

It's been a couple of days since the two of them arrived at their dream destination and they have spent most of their time exploring the area. They have gone to the beach, the shops and restaurants and today is the first day they will start working in the studio.

Y/N has woken up early, even though they stayed up late the night before. They have gone to a fancy restaurant where they had some good food and wine.

“Morning.” Harry's voice comes from behind her as Y/N stands in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to be ready.

“Hey.” Y/N says, smiling. “There's coffee in the pot.”

“Thanks.” Harry says as he steps towards the coffee machine and grabs a cup.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” Y/N asks.

“We're going to the studio, right?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah.” Y/N says, nodding her head. “I have some ideas for a new song, actually.”

“Really? That's great.” Harry says, his eyes lighting up. “We should get breakfast on the way.”

“Okay, let's go.” Y/N nods and follows him outside.

Once they are in the studio, they settle in the control room and Harry hands Y/N his notebook. She flips through the pages, seeing the songs he's already written and some notes he's made.

“Can I play something for you?” Harry asks.

“Of course.” Y/N smiles, turning her attention back to Harry.

“I want your honest opinion, okay?” He says and Y/N nods her head. “So, it's not finished yet. I just want to hear how it sounds with the melody.”

“Go ahead.” Y/N says.

Harry sits down on the chair and starts playing the piano. His fingers hit the keys and Y/N closes her eyes, letting his voice and the music engulf her. It's a beautiful song, the lyrics and melody flowing perfectly together.

“How is it?” Harry asks when he finishes and Y/N opens her eyes.

“It's amazing, Harry. Really.” Y/N says, her voice is sincere.

“You really think so?” Harry asks.

“Yeah.” Y/N says as she gets up from the chair and steps closer to Harry. “I really do.”

“Thanks.” Harry smiles, looking down at his feet.

“Let's add some guitars and record a demo. See how it sounds.” Y/N suggests and Harry nods.

“Okay, let's do it.” Harry agrees, following her out of the control room and into the live room. They work on the song until the late afternoon, recording and mixing the demo. ***

Two weeks later, they have a lot of work done on the album and Harry's been playing the guitar and singing for most of the days. Y/N's been listening, offering him some advice and helping him out with the arrangements along with other people who dropped into the studio here and there.

It's late at night and they're sitting on the porch, a glass of wine in their hands.

“I think we're almost done with the album.” Harry says.

“Yeah, it's coming along really nicely.” Y/N replies, looking over at him. “It's a good one, Harry. Really.”

“Thank you.” Harry smiles. “It wouldn't be the same without you.”

“Of course it would.” Y/N smiles, blushing a little.

“No, it wouldn't.” Harry shakes his head, his eyes on hers. “You've been such a big part of it.”

“It's your music, your songs. It's a big part of you, Harry.” Y/N says, not breaking the eye contact.

“Exactly, but it's your words. Your inspiration. Your heart.” Harry replies, his eyes falling on her lips for a split second.

“Well, I'm glad I could help.” Y/N whispers, her heart pounding in her chest.

“I've never felt like this when writing songs, Y/N.” Harry admits. “It's almost like... I don't know.”

“Like what?” Y/N asks.

“I don't know, it's different. More, more real. More meaningful. Something like that.” Harry says, a smile playing on his lips.

“It's the Italian air.” Y/N says, her eyes looking up at the sky.

“It's you.” Harry corrects her. “Your presence.”

“I'm sure it's just the Italian air.” Y/N says, looking down. She is afraid that if she looks at Harry, her feelings will be obvious and she doesn't want that.

“I'm serious.” Harry says, placing his hand on her chin and making her look at him.

“So am I.” Y/N whispers, her heart beating even faster.

“Then prove it.” Harry challenges her, his hand still on her chin.

“What?” Y/N asks.

“Prove it.” Harry repeats, his eyes falling down to her lips again.

“How?” Y/N asks, her voice barely audible.

“Kiss me.” Harry whispers.

“Harry...” Y/N starts, shaking her head.

“Y/N.” Harry says, his voice firm. “Kiss me.”

[skepticalarrie]

I'm so pumped for Harry's new album! Feels like years since we last saw his face. I'm seriously craving some content from him. But what I'm really hyped about is the upcoming tour.. Can you believe it's a whole new cycle all over again? damn! New album, new lyrics, promo, music videos, and then the tour! What are you most excited about Allie?

Oh, same! It's crazy how it feels like just yesterday we were speculating about HS3, yet also like it was such a long time ago. I have this thing with Harry where I feel like I only truly satisfy my craving for him when he's on stage, just being himself and performing. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to see him during promo and pap walks (not really, this one), but it feels like he's got all his walls up in those moments and I just can't see through him. So yeah, I'm absolutely dying to see him back on stage again. And can we talk about the expectations for this next album? After FL being such a masterpiece, I honestly didn't think anything could top it, but then HSH was just like... Grammy winner, HUGE, amazing! So now I have no idea what this boy can come up with next, he's capable of anything, and the expectations are *high* 🚀 I'm just so, so happy for him and I can't wait!

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Ceilings

CW: Alcohol use, cursing.

Word count: 3,389

As Olive lay in her empty bedroom, the feeling of loneliness weighed heavy on her. She stared up at the plain, off-white ceiling that seemed to mock her with its emptiness. Thoughts swirled in her head, each one a dagger stabbing at her heart as she contemplated what could have saved her drowning relationship. It had been so long since she had felt truly content. Her ex-boyfriend Harry was not like any other guy she had known. His rise to fame had taken him far from her and their once happy life together. Tour after tour, hotels, buses, interviews, and recording sessions occupied most of his days and nights. Yet he always made time for Olive, even if it meant sacrificing his precious alone time.

Olive didn't mind taking a backseat or being second in line for Harry's attention. After all, she too cherished solitude. But she also loved seeing Harry do what he was born to do - make music. The passion and joy that lit up his face when he played was something she couldn't help but be drawn to. Even now, as their relationship lay shattered and broken, she couldn't deny the magic of watching him create art with his guitar and voice.

Unlike her past relationships, everything with Harry seemed to be going effortlessly well. Their conversations flowed seamlessly, filled with future plans and dreams of marriage, a luxurious apartment on the upper east side, and even talks of what their future daughters would look like. They were both content and had built their home around each other during their three years together.

Olive had given up everything to be with Harry and to keep their home safe. She left her full-time job as a manager at a fancy furniture store to work part-time as a barista on weekends. It wasn't necessary for her to work, but she wanted to contribute in any way she could. Her dedication to their relationship knew no bounds.

Despite their happiness, Olive knew that they had to keep a low profile. The world didn't know about them, and safety was always a top priority. She deleted all of her social media accounts and rarely went out in public with Harry, except for special occasions or parties. In many ways, Olive lived in the shadows, but she didn't mind as long as she had Harry by her side.

The shock of his phone call still reverberated through her body, even four months later. She couldn't believe he ended their relationship with a single phone call on a Saturday night. There were no final kisses, no tearful goodbyes, and not even the courtesy of doing it in person.

And then there was his cold, calculated message: "The bills at the apartment are paid for the next year, so take your time finding a new place. I'm sorry." The words rang in her ears like a broken record, a constant reminder of how easily he had let go of their love.

Now here she lay, in her usual spot on the worn-out couch in the crappy apartment she had found after the break up. The ceiling above her crackled with every movement, adding to the already suffocating atmosphere. But she didn't mind, because it was just another distraction from her thoughts. Thoughts of Harry and how much she missed him.

Despite the fact that he had covered the rent for their old place for the next year, she couldn't bring herself to go back there. Every single thing inside reminded her of him - his toothbrush in the bathroom, his jacket hanging by the door, and all the memories they had shared in every corner of the apartment.

She had given everything for him - her time, her love, her trust - and yet it wasn't enough to keep him by her side. Now she was left with nothing but an empty heart and a hollow home. And as if fate wanted to rub salt into her wounds, her noisy neighbors chose this exact moment to have another one of their infamous domestic disputes.

But amidst all this chaos and heartache, she couldn't help but wonder: where did it all go wrong? Was it something she did or said? Or was their love simply not strong enough to withstand the challenges thrown their way? These questions tormented her every day, as she tried to piece together the shattered remains of their once beautiful relationship.

Olive had been feeling trapped in her own sadness for months, barely leaving her house besides for work. But tonight, she felt a glimmer of excitement as she got ready to go out. It was her best friend's birthday and their small group had managed to snag reservations at the most exclusive sushi bar in Manhattan.

As Olive prepared herself for the night ahead, she couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the days when she used to go out and have fun without a care in the world. With a deep breath, she pushed aside her negative thoughts and focused on getting dressed. She opted for a sophisticated dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, accentuating her curves. She paired it with sleek platform heels that added a touch of glamour to her outfit.

After pulling her hair back into two elegant buns with wispies framing her face, Olive took one last look in the mirror before heading out. Her makeup was soft and natural, enhancing her features without being too overbearing. With a surge of confidence, she smiled at herself and knew that she was ready to take on the night.

With the simple tap of her finger, Olive summoned a sleek and shiny Uber to whisk her away to the restaurant. She settled into the backseat, surrounded by the muted hum of passing cars and the soft padding of the leather seats beneath her. Her driver was friendly and chatty, asking about her job and if she had tried the famous sushi bar before. Despite not being in the mood for conversation, Olive graciously answered each question with a smile. As they weaved through traffic, the city lights blurred together like a kaleidoscope, marking the passing time until they arrived at the restaurant in what felt like mere minutes.

With a sense of anticipation, Olive arrived at the upscale restaurant where her group of friends was already waiting for her. They were laughing and teasing each other, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as their jokes about her tardiness hit close to home. She had a bad habit of agreeing to meet up with them and then not showing up, leaving them waiting and disappointed. But tonight was different - she really wanted to go out and have some fun, she needed this break from her busy life.

As they approached the door, the girls gave their reservation name to the fancy dressed waiter who greeted them with a warm smile. He led them through the bustling restaurant to their secluded table in the back, away from prying eyes.

Olive settled into her seat and ordered a Sake, savoring the crisp taste and soothing effect it had on her nerves. The atmosphere was elegant yet lively, filled with the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses. The girls decided to share several sushi rolls for their meal and eagerly placed their orders with the attentive waiter. As they chatted and caught up, Olive couldn't help but feel grateful for this night out with her friends.

As the night wore on, Olive could feel herself slipping further and further away as she continued to drink her sakes. The alcohol burned a trail down her throat, igniting a sense of boldness and freedom within her. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards Harry, although she wasn't sure exactly why.

In a moment of drunken clarity, Olive realized that she needed to call him. She needed to tell him that she was doing just fine without him, and in fact he had done her a favor by breaking up with her. Her fingers fumbled with her phone as she dialed his number, the anticipation building with each ring.

Just as she was about to hang up, he answered. "Olive?" His voice was low and tired, betraying the fact that he must have been woken up by her call from some other part of the world.

"Yeah. Hi, Harry. I just wanted..." Before she could finish her thought, her phone was ripped from her hand and the call abruptly ended.

Confused and slightly annoyed, Olive turned to see her friend standing there with a disapproving look on their face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" they whispered angrily into her ear.

"Telling him off," Olive slurred back defiantly.

"Okay, well, now you can't because I just blocked his number," her friend replied calmly before proceeding to delete his contact information from Olive's phone.

A fire raged inside Olive at being denied the opportunity to confront Harry. But deep down, she knew her friend was right. Her actions were rash and messy, fueled by too much alcohol. And now any chance of closure or confrontation with Harry was gone in the blink of an eye.

Or so she thought. Not more than twenty minutes later, the girls moved their party outside to the patio, eager for some fresh air and a change of scenery. The warm glow of string lights illuminated the area, casting shadows on their faces as they continued to indulge in their drinks. Olive had already downed four Sake shots, feeling the familiar buzz start to take hold. Her friends didn't seem to mind, knowing that a night like this was exactly what she needed to let loose and find herself.

As the group of girls chatted outside, their voices growing louder and more rowdy with each passing minute, the surrounding area suddenly fell quiet. Gasps and murmurs were heard, causing Olive to turn around in confusion. Her eyes widened at the sight of someone she never expected to see again - Harry.

Her heart raced as his intense gaze locked onto hers. Without a word, he strode over to her with purpose, grabbing her arm firmly. "You, me, outside. Now." His tone was laced with anger and resentment, his words cutting through her like a knife. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Olive could do nothing but obey.

As she stood from her chair, Olive's eyes scanned the faces of her friends who watched on with ghostly pale expressions. They knew about her tumultuous past with Harry and the pain it had caused her. But now, as she watched them walk away together, it felt like déjà vu. It seemed history was repeating itself once again.

“I-I uh, how did you know I was here?” Her voice trembled as she spoke, her heart pounding in her chest. She suddenly felt completely sober, the effects of the alcohol dissipating in an instant. She was sure any moment now she would pass out, but not from drinking.

“Your contact was still sharing your location. I tried to call back but you blocked me.” Harry's words were harsh and they sent a shiver down Olive's spine. She couldn't find the right words to say, her mind racing with memories of their past together. She watched as his lips continued to move and remembered what it felt like to kiss him for the last first time - bittersweet and heartbreaking all at once.

Their first date had been a picturesque picnic. She had handcrafted fresh sandwiches, cutting them into perfect triangles and arranging them neatly on a plaid blanket. The fruit was meticulously cut into cute little cubes, adding pops of color to their spread. Everything was carefully wrapped and placed in a wicker basket, like something out of a romantic movie.

As they settled into their cozy spot in the park between their two apartments, the sun shone down warmly and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. The scene felt like it was straight out of a fairy tale.

Mid-bite into a juicy strawberry, Harry leaned in and left a lingering kiss on her cheek. She couldn't resist taking another bite, savoring the sweet taste as he leaned forward and pressed his soft yet slightly chapped lips against hers. As they pulled away, he remarked that she tasted like the fruit she was eating. In that moment, she knew she was falling in love with him.

A heavy silence fell between them, and for a brief moment Harry stopped talking. The weight of their shared memories threatened to pull her under, but she pulled herself back, determined to stay strong. In reality, all she wanted to do was run away and cry, and maybe hide under her bed forever. She had tried to block him out, to push him away, but it never quite worked.

“I didn’t block you,” she whispered timidly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I got drunk and called you to say I moved on. Ally took the phone away when she saw what I was doing.”

Harry's expression remained neutral, his gaze fixed on her face as she spoke.

“Olive, why did you call?” he finally questioned.

She looked up and met his eyes, searching for an answer in the depths of his gaze.

“Harry, why did you break up with me?” Her words hung in the air like a veil of sadness and regret.

As Olive waited for Harry's response, the tension between them was palpable. She could see the conflict swirling behind his eyes, a mixture of emotions she couldn't quite decipher. The park seemed to grow quieter around them, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

Harry let out a sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I broke up with you because... because I thought it was for the best," he finally admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

Olive felt a surge of anger rise within her at his words. "The best for who, Harry? Certainly not for me," she retorted, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

He winced slightly at her words, the weight of her pain evident in his expression. "I know I hurt you, Olive. I never meant for things to end this way," he said softly, reaching out as if to touch her but then pulling back just in time.

She looked away, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. "You have a funny way of showing it," she muttered bitterly.

Harry's gaze softened, full of remorse and longing. "I messed up, Olive. I made a mistake letting you go. I thought I was doing what was right, but all I did was break both of our hearts. I was scared. It had never been this serious with anyone before, so I ran. Ran to protect you, ran because I though that was what I had to do. It wasn’t what I wanted to do though."

Unable to hold back any longer, Olive turned to face him fully, tears streaming down her cheeks. "And now what, Harry? Do you expect me to just forgive and forget? Ive spent the last four months staring at my ceiling wondering what I did wrong. How I could’ve changed things. Why you stopped loving me." she choked out, her voice cracking with emotion.

His eyes met hers with unwavering sincerity. "No, Olive. I don't expect forgiveness. But I hope for a chance to make things right. I think about you constantly and wanted to reach out for a while. I was guilty though. I didn’t want to see you upset so I just stayed away. I miss you though. I miss us. I miss the house we wanted to buy or the little jokes or making you a cuppa tea," he declared earnestly.

As their eyes locked in a silent exchange of raw emotion, Olive felt a glimmer of hope flicker within her heart. Maybe there was still a chance for them to find their way back to each other amidst the tangled mess of their past.

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, stirring the fallen leaves as Olive grappled with Harry's heartfelt confession. She wiped away her tears with a trembling hand and took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Harry, it's not that simple," Olive began, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I can't just forget all the pain and confusion you caused me. It's not fair to ask me to put myself through that again."

Harry's expression shifted, a mix of understanding and desperation crossing his features. "I know I messed up, Olive. I'm not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want the chance to show you that I've changed, that I'm willing to work through this with you."

Olive gazed at him, searching his eyes for any hint of deceit or insincerity. "How can I trust you again, Harry? How can I be sure that history won't repeat itself?" she questioned, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Harry took a step closer, reaching out a hand tentatively towards Olive's shoulder. "I understand your doubts, Olive. But I promise you, this time will be different. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust and make things right between us," he vowed earnestly.

Olive hesitated, torn between the lingering pain of their past and the flicker of hope Harry's words ignited within her. "I need time," she finally whispered, her gaze dropping to the ground as she processed the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

Harry nodded solemnly, his hand retreating as he gave her the space she needed to come to terms with everything. "I'll wait for you, Olive. As long as it takes," he assured her softly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of longing and determination.

Harry reached out a hand towards her, a silent plea in his eyes. "I know it won't be easy, Olive. But if there's one thing worth fighting for in this world, it's us. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust and make things right between us."

A sense of vulnerability washed over Olive as she gazed into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of hope reflected back at her. Taking a small step forward to close the gap between them, she whispered softly, "Okay, Harry. Let's take this one step at a time and see where it leads us."

As the words left her lips, a tiny smile formed on Olive's face. Slowly, trembling with emotion and uncertainty, she reached out and took his hand. They stood there, locked in a moment that felt like a lifetime as their fingers intertwined. The world around them faded away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the memories they shared. They stood there for what seemed like hours, lost in their own thoughts and feelings until finally, Harry broke the silence. "Oliva," he whispered, calling her by her full name for the first time in months. "You know I love you."

Her eyes met his again, softening as she took in the sincerity of his words. She knew he meant it this time, she could feel it in the way he looked at her and held her hand. A shiver ran down her spine at the sound of his voice - it always had that familiar effect on her - but this time, it was different. There was something new in his tone; something promising and earnest that gave her hope. She smiled softly up at him before leaning in slowly to press her lips gently against his own; their first kiss since that fateful night they decided to part ways. It was slow and tentative at first, but soon enough they were lost in each other once more. Their hands tangled up in each other's hair, their bodies pressing closer still as they forgot about everything else around them except for each other. The taste of cherry blossom saké lingered on their tongues as if to remind them both where they were.

A small part of Olive couldn't believe it – how quickly things had changed from anger and hurt to this moment – but another part recognized that there is no point holding on to pain.