#messyemmy

[messyemmy]

Red Herring- Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry might just be the pettiest of assassins.]

Word Count: 2.3k.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, death, angst, 3rd person.

Other Writing

🥀

Hair ruffled, tuxedo dishevelled, Harry is a sight for sore eyes. He really does look like the consequences of a mission gone awry. 

Things had gone from zero to a hundred in such a blinding commotion that as soon as it had started, it was over. He hadn’t the time to even process the fact that death had just been on his doorstep, ambushed and beaten from every which way as he did anything possible to defend the blows of at least four assailants. 

If it weren’t for Her showing up, his body already been detained, forced to his knees as a masked man pressed his forearm along Harry’s neck and squeezed it in place, choking tight, lagging his vision and causing his eyes to bulge with panic- there is almost no chance that Harry would have walked away in one piece. 

Like the holiest of angels, she had floated into his line of vision, which was now so blurry that he saw double- left eyelid threatening to swell shut- an amorous apparition beaming as if a spotlight shone from above, twinkling along with the stars, and Harry couldn’t decipher if she were another dream conjured up by his lovesick mind- definitely not out of the ordinary- it’s only as she neared and the blinding white light morphed into a satin white ballgown, wrapped around her statuesque figure, that Harry feels certain of her existence. 

And then things became a stampede of feet stomping, Harry still restricted and unable to see past the mess of curls and blood now dripping down his brows, covering almost all visibility as he was forced to stay put and hope for the best- the last thing he would ever want- whilst the group black-suited men fumbled around in defence, attempting with all might to eradicate the two problems at hand. 

Though valiant, the pack of assassins lose momentum along the way, and as Harry is finally able to twist loose of the weakened grip of the man keeping him bound in place, he quickly uses his full body force to completely free himself and immediately throws his strength into incapacitating the threat breathing beneath him. 

But the ear-shattering crack of a gun going off had Harry’s heart freezing over with fright, immediately expecting the worst. He could only chance a split second, glancing over at the attack ensuing to his right, just as one of the men hit the floor with a thud.

Increasingly impressed by the woman effortlessly holding her own, Harry returns his attention to the man unsuccessfully wriggling against his hold. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need the thin blade neatly tucked away in his inner blazer pocket. Still, as the assailant struggled and beneath him, furiously flailing, Harry knew that it had to be done, his palm reaching into the secret pocket of his blazer, drawing the weapon, aiming and thrusting it into the man's chest until the myriad of moans and gurgling slows and then silences all together, his body stiffening beneath Harry’s own.                                

Panting over the corpse, another brute hits the floor, the softest and swiftest of bullets finding a home in his skull, and Harry can’t look away as his angel hardly bats an eye, re-cocking the gun- he knows it’s not her usual choice of weaponry- as she saunters over to the last man standing, stopping his chance of charging over by tapping the trigger, watching emotionlessly as the minutest bullet thunders over and lodges into his heart.

And just like that, the threat of death has dissipated and Harry can finally take a proper breath, still panting over the man’s stiffened body. With sudden overwhelming relief, his entire body starts to ache, his head throbbing, injuries ready to render him to the floor in the hopes of recovery. 

Nothing in the world could have convinced him to move- well, nothing but the gut-punching sound of high heels wedging themselves into the scattered stones, singing like clinking marbles as they not only picked up the pace but started to patter into the distant darkness- away from Harry’s crouched figure. 

Back on his feet in a flash, patting down his clothing attire, Harry’is bowtie is long gone, his dress shirt torn and missing several buttons, his pants ripped along the thigh from a blunt blade, and his shoes are scuffed and covered in dust as he leaves the drama behind him and makes a break up the hill. Why? Well, to confront his knight in shining armour, of course. 

Harry almost trips over several dislodged rocks and snapped damp tree branches as he blindly chases her through the dark of night. He thinks back to the six-inch stilettos she’s still wearing, the same heels that pressed into an unknown assailant's pelvis mere minutes ago. How the hell is she moving so fast? 

It doesn’t help that his left knee is busted, bruising with each step. A kick to the hip results in a dull throb, and even though he has hardly caught his breath, his chest as thirsty as his brain, Harry follows after her, trying to garner her attention through his gritted teeth, 

“Hey!” He can hear the leaves rustling as her pace increases. Harry tries to do the same, calling out with all the energy left to muster, “Hey!” 

She spins on her heels, neck-snapping to meet her shoulder with such speed that it nearly results in whiplash, strands of hair wisping in the wind. Face furrowed in a frown, she wants to be anywhere but here,

“Leave me alone.” 

Harry feels such shock that he stumbles on his own steps, barely able to stop himself from falling at her feet. He thinks she’d probably love that- it would definitely have her blood rushing with dominance. But, she needs no more dominance, this ‘incident’ was more than enough to prove her power for years to come. 

She lets him wander over but doesn’t know why. His perpetual need to poke and prod was something that couldn’t be countered, let alone dismissed. She had already fucked up, majorly, what compels her to believe this would be any better? 

As Harry finally finds his footing and gets close enough that they can study one another’s rage-fueled scowls, his stomach rumbles with frustrated ruminating confusion.

The volcanic heat bound between their chest threatens to erupt and douse their companionship with raw hatred and a river of larva courses through Harry’s lungs and expels from his throat,  

“Why did you do that?”

“Save you?” 

“I had it under control.” Harry’s incredulity is so falsified that it infuriates her, and as fast as a whip, her almost bare back walks off once more, mockingly singing out,  

“Sure looked like it when you were in that headlock.” 

“I can take care of myself.” He defends. But she keeps moving, close to disappearing into vast nothingness, and once again Harry is trailing after her, “Hey!”

“What?” This time she stops for real, riddled with stress that pertains to Harry- and he just cannot help but make it worse. She needs him to leave. 

Harry needs to say something before she does. His pointer finger cast her way with confused accusation, his grassy eyes doey, and blotchy purple bruises along the bags of his bottom lashes,

“You had no business interfering with my mission.”

“Jeez, sorry I saved your life.” Her arms are flailing in surrender. 

“You really are one to talk.” He spits, taking a hearty step closer. 

“Don’t go there.”

The life in her voice has left, and a discerning shift in seriousness causes a shiver to dance up Harry’s spine. He’s so angry, though- close to furious at her choices- all of them- and still, she will hardly give him her full attention. 

Never even in his wildest of nightmares had Harry envisioned himself in this version of hell- the person he once knew better than he did himself is now the person who has the task of killing him. At the least, it’s disappointing, and at the most, his heart is so shattered that heaven itself could not heal his damage. 

“They practically did your job for you.” He’s yearning to yell, to let the whole world know how weird and wrong this all was, “You chose to stop them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Her head shakes with stubborn denial, gearing up to turn away from him.

“Oh, fuck off. It does.” He’s hot on her heels. 

She stops as quickly as she started and Harry hasn't the time to do the same, his sternum nearly bumping into her shoulder. Ignores their chests crashing together, pushing apart, pretending it means nothing to be this close to him again,

“Let me get this straight, you would have preferred it if I had let them kill you?”

“It would have saved you the bullets, no?” He’s not wrong. 

“No, Harry.” Palm pressed to her forehead with sorrow, “That��s not how it works.”

“Oh, so now you want to follow procedure?” He cannot recall a time that they had ever played by the rules. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She shudders at the mere thought of their deep-rooted relationship; the first of many rules broken, and the only reason the two of them stand here, faces reddened and glistening under the moonlight. 

Harry swears he feels her skin prickle at the mention of their messily perfect relationship, and he can’t stop the paralysing shiver that skates up along his spine as his head stays bowed, glaring down at her, 

“Christ, at least buy a man some dinner before you take a hit out on him-” 

“I’ve bought you dinner on several occasions-” 

“And you still took out the hit.”

Stomach dropping and splatting against the gravel, all of the blushing blood drains from her features, leaving her with a loss of energy, of deep emptiness. Stepping- stumbling- back, she builds the distance with fatigued frigidity, 

“Harry, I’m warning you. Leave me alone.” 

“No.” Harry’s foot almost stops with lividity. 

This only increases the imminent eruption of fury that she so desperately wishes to spew his way, and they both know that there is hardly a way to stop Harry when he’s determined, so she walks away with dismissal, muttering just loud enough,

“You’re so fucking childish.” 

“Me? What you did was childish!” 

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘leave me alone’.” 

Harry will be damned if she thought he’d ever give up so easily- it’s not like he hadn’t been desperately trying to track her down for three weeks. Heart hurting, headache splitting, his neediness boiling over, he won’t stop until she explains herself,   

“I want to know why.” 

“The hit was set, Harry.” She howls into the void, back still turned, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I took the job so nobody else would.”  

She works overtime to keep her weakened voice from wobbling with each word, and if Harry were even a smidge wiser, he would have let her explain. His wisdom is dwindling though, 

“That doesn’t-” 

“I planned to avoid you for the rest of my life.”

Harry feels sick- sicker than sick- his heart drops to his stomach, where it is swallowed whole and thuds tirelessly, nausea travelling up to his throat, bile burning and poisoning his larynx. He can only stare blankly, lips beginning to babble like a thirsty fish, his tongue sticking to his sandpaper gums. 

His cluelessness is crippling her ability to maintain calmness, each dumbfounded blink makes total destruction the only thing on her mind.

Without hesitation, she takes the largest of steps forward, her shoe-clad toes scraping against his own as her hand reaches up, and bunches a fistful of his cotton shirt collar, tugging Harry down to meet her scowl. 

He can feel her enranged, and breathy exhale fan across his features, her glare so icy that Harry worries he may turn to stone if he gazes a moment more. With sharp polished nails scraping and almost puncturing the skin protecting his jugular.

“For fucks sake, H. Be smart for a change and leave me alone.” 

“Or what?” He challenges and leans in, jaw brushing along her hairline like old times- though the compassion so true to her core is long deceased and decays the closer he comes. 

But what frightens him to the point of utter seriousness is the sudden pressure of steel pushing into his left side, settling over his organs just as the familiar click of a pistol cocking warns Harry that things are quickly crumbling into dangerous territory. Especially when she loses all love and says, 

“Let me get this through your thick skull,” The barrel pressing deeper, “If I see you again, I will shoot you on site.” 

She releases him and doesn’t bother to grant even a small glance as if he were a mere stranger who had threatened her existence. Harry doesn’t follow, she wouldn’t care if he did, and he’s smart enough to know where he stands now. 

There is a swell of staling energy that holds the place in which she once stood, vibrating vicious electricity all through his body, coursing and singeing his vitals as she slips into the forest and possibly out of his life for good- he would welcome death in exchange for seeing her once more.

The one thing he could at least do for her- think smart- was an improbability because Harry had already made a huge mistake… Massive. 

How in the hell is he gonna tell her that his heartache had gotten the best of him- that he had done the worst thing imaginable? 

What’s the best way to break the news, ‘Hey, I hope you don’t mind but my feelings were really hurt so I retaliated and took a hit out on you too’? That will go down swimmingly…

[messyemmy]

Green-Eyed Monster- Harry Styles x Reader (kiss prompt).

[Premise: Harry has been pining over his best friend's older sister for as long as he can recall. Here's some angst when the band goes on hiatus].

Prompts: "You're jealous, just admit it, you want to be the one kissing me." // “If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.” 

Word count: 2.6k.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Other Writing

🍷 the guest 🍷

There is no reason for you to feel as bent out of shape as you are in this very moment, zoned out of a conversation with an old friend because standing behind her is the man himself- leaning against the balcony with a collection of adoring guests gathering near, Harry Styles. 

Harry Styles; whose boyband had just announced a hiatus. Harry Styles; is properly back in his hometown for the first time in half a decade. Acting- as you deem- far too nonchalant for someone as global as he seemed to be. He had simply slipped back into his old groove as if no time had passed at all. 

But all you can think about is how much time has passed. Harry seems almost unrecognizable- hair and tattoos only increasing in length and number. It’s only when his face takes intervals to crinkle with glee- smile cheesing, eyes squinting with joy- that you see the Harry you’ve known so long it feels as if life never existed before him. 

Even as his life is about to change completely- a whole new chapter challenging his past and now his future- Harry seems to have little reservation about embracing happiness. Perhaps his nonchalance is the reason your observation stirs into frustration and confusion, causing a sort of panic you were sure to have never felt prior. Who is Harry Styles now? 

Then again, your sudden distaste may also be attributed to the adoring attention he has been receiving all night- particularly that of the beautiful people who were visibly blessed with the chance to praise and pet him… And they were indulgently taking advantage of the opportunity. 

Harry, by the looks of it was eagerly lapping it up, happily reciprocating touches and even looking at some of them with a gaze you had once noticed when it was dedicated to yours truly. 

He definitely isn't a teenager anymore, and it dawns on you how impactful and influential his introduction to stardom had been. 

Where were these thoughts even coming from? Your mind never wavered to the thought of Harry unless a One Direction song came on in public or Jack dropped him in conversation. 

All the questions you had never pondered were causing your brain to swell, your body stuck in a frozen frenzy of how much has changed- for all of you- starting with the obscene and sudden assessment of his features- had you ever considered him as anything other than just… Harry? Has he always been so pretty? 

All of those thoughts shatter as you raise your glass for a sip and across the room, Harry’s arm wraps around an unknown auburn-headed woman’s waist- which, at the least, makes your stomach clench and at the most, has you tilting your head back to empty the glass in one desperate swallow. 

Without consideration, you hastily dismiss the person still animatedly engaging in a one-sided conversation and turn your back on the oddly upsetting scene happening against the balcony railings. 

Ignoring the high possibility of tripping, agitation carries you to the kitchen- abandoned and almost silent in contrast to the party vibing merely meters away- and you immediately get ahold of the nearest bottle of chilled champagne, filling your flute to the brim and have a hearty sip before finally settling, taking a deep breath, trying to untangle your thoughts- hopefully rid yourself of them for good. 

A couple minutes- what sounds like the length of a song- pass before you feel grounded and sane enough to rejoin the festivities. So, with a deep breath and a final sip for good luck, your faithful docs exit the kitchen and trail into the chatty confinements of the living room.

Lo and behold, Harry Styles is everywhere you go, practically blocking your path with his body pressing up against Auburn from outside, and he looks mere moments away from engaging her in a kiss. 

That silly sickly feeling threatens to return if you stay a moment longer, so your stare meets the floor and your feet pick up their pace, heading directly for the barricade that is Harry. 

His eyes bore into your own with a fervour that you will never forget and for a moment he has you pondering how such a magnificent emerald forest, framed by the wispiest of lashes, could have gone unnoticed for so long- how had you granted his adoring gaze such little attention? 

🍷 the host 🍷

Harry is in two minds about this evening- he can’t help but indulge in the praises and doting that showers him from each and every direction, his pulse is racing with ecstatic at the relief of finally being home again. 

His fears of everything changing have long passed, leaving his worries at the door as he is embraced with excited and excessive welcomes from anyone and everyone who looks his way. 

With his oldest and best friend, Jack, by his side once more, Harry feels no different than he did at that farewell party at least five years prior, enthusiastically greeting familiar faces, accepting each praise with a gracious humbleness. 

But Harry can’t tell if humble is even an accurate definition anymore and it isn't long before he feels his social battery starting to stutter and it’s clearly time for a drink. 

By the end of drink number two, his body is as relaxed as his mind, and Harry is now encouraging the constant vying for his attention- his supposed importance- especially when it includes an array of beautiful people stroking his extremely inflated ego. 

Leaning against the balcony railing, Harry cradles a whisky in one hand and the waist of a dazzling woman in his other. He hasn't actually been listening to a word said around him, nodding every so often as the small group around him eagerly bantered on. 

He’s just happy to be here and doesn't think it could get any better until he spots the only thing on earth that could permanently put him on cloud nine- his greatest dream all wrapped up in the gorgeous physical being that is yours truly- and suddenly Harry feels as if all of the happiness he currently feels is merely an appetizer to the type of joy he could be feeling if he were only across the room staring into your eyes. 

Oddly enough, your eyes are already set on him, suspiciously staring him down with an unreadable gaze that fills his stomach with an odd sense of unease. You look older- the same, but older- and something about that freaks Harry out and reminds him of his own age, how different things actually are now, even if it doesn't feel that way. 

And as if he were seeing you for the very first time, Harry cannot stop staring with bewildered admiration- his eyes darting from your trusty Docs to the extremely fashionable clothing you donned, sternly studying the dips and curves of your body before settling back on your grumpy, but heinously beautiful face. 

He felt it unreasonable- borderline evil- how much better you seemed to get with each interaction, how the hell was he to garner your attention now when he was already hardly capable of doing so for the last decade?

After you disappear into the sanctuary of the kitchen, Harry is too antsy to keep it together any longer and he finds his legs blindly following after you. 

He’s hardly in the hallway by the time his female company comes from outside- he didn’t bother learning her name. Her auburn hair was identification enough- and she caught up and captured his bicep between her cold hand. 

She ascends to her tippy toes, puckered lips finding their place just below Harry’s earlobe, her breath fanning over his sharp jawline as she seductively slips sensual suggestions his way, her free hand trailing up along his torso, fingernails tapping his chest. 

For a good moment, Harry truly does start to forget what he had gone on the hunt for, easily distracted by the shower of affection drizzling all along his body by the unknown woman. 

But, with a sudden shock, the kitchen door violently swings open to reveal your rigid figure, eyes furrowed and lips trapped fearfully between your gritted teeth.  

You are the spitting image of a deer in headlights, staring up at Harry with a look that has him stopping in his tracks, realizing that fate has struck again and he has his elusive person right where he wants you. 

Except, his plan to finally confront you had not included a third party and Harry could feel his face swelling with red blotches of blushy embarrassment. 

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, shame creeps its way into the pit of his stomach, fists clenched as his body turns to brick, and Auburn, still semi-latched on, is becoming so suffocating he feels like a lobster about to boil inside out. 

Rudely, and far too obviously, Harry disarms himself, shrugging his body from beneath Auburn’s grip and muttering some dismissive promise of meeting up with her later on- praying that his words are muffled enough that you don’t hear them. 

You aren't stupid though, and by the height your brow manages to raise in suspicion, Harry confirms that his words did not go unnoticed. 

His dismissal of Auburn seems fine by her as she smiles hopefully, giving him a swift kiss on his cheek before slipping past Harry and disappearing back into the party. 

Unfortunately, he isn’t surprised as you attempt to pretend this interaction was even occurring by disconnecting your shared stares, glancing your focus to the living room, and planning an escape route. But there is no choice other than to pass Harry and there is zero chance he will let you get away with it. 

Harry steps and then tilts his body closer, hoping to encourage you to do the same, but you stay put and only glare up at him expectantly and impatiently. He ignores your frigidity as if it were just a farce- it is- instead his smile turns to a full-on grin, reaching his eyes and crinkling cutely at the corners, and it spreads along his features with a fondness so fierce that you find yourself working overtime to avoid your face from breaking out into the same smile. 

“Avoiding me, hm?” He muses with a precious pout, “Y’know that hurts my feelings, klutz.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You do it every single time.”

Arms folding across your chest, face frowning with the preparation of upping your defensiveness in the name of dismissing Harry- just like old times,

“I see you enjoy lying for fun now.” 

Harry nearly scoffs but it projects as a sly smirk and points it at your painful scowl, 

“Y’do. Dipping in and out of patios… kitchens… Yet you always meet me in the hallway.” 

The stomach-knotting realisation that this is factual- how many times had this happened before? How many times would it happen again? Have it your way, and this will be the last time,

“Meeting and cornering are not the same thing.” 

“Stop tryna be smart.” Harry slightly, but softly snaps as his lips smack together.

“You’re ruder than I remember.” 

All snippiness leaves as soon as it comes, Harry sinks back into a swell of adoring amusement, 

“You rate?” 

“Ignoring your guests is a party fowl.” Definite diversion on your part. 

“Avoiding the host is a party fowl.” He counters. 

Weakly attempting to walk past him, only renders your back pressed up against the red abstract wallpaper. He remains put- which, to you, is rather unnerving- and upset is racing along your prickling skin, 

“I told you, I’m not avoiding you.” 

“Why don’t I believe you?” He edges closer with curiosity. 

“Just because you’re used to people throwing themselves at you doesn't mean I'm avoidant." You spit and suddenly, he’s so close. 

“They don’t all do that.” 

“Sure, Harry.” 

Have you two ever been this near before? Most certainly, but you could always chalk that up to intoxicated confusion- at least on your end had it ever felt this… intense? Is there any worldly justification for the suspicious stirring of curiosity now that he has so calmly and tenderly crossed the threshold of your personal space. 

Harry knows he has never felt as satisfied as he does whenever your bodies threaten to blend into one, but for perhaps the first time, he thinks you may consider this palpitating chemistry as something more than a silly game. 

But, he does so fondly enjoy the game, and if he pushes even a moment longer, Harry knows your patience will wither and guide you away from him for good. He uses a tried and true tactic,

“I like your hair.” He does. 

“Yours is like longer than mine.” It is.

“D’you like it?” Harry is deep within your space. 

“It’s alright.” You shrug, lying through your damn teeth. And you could leave it at that, but the bitterness has clearly taken over, “I’m sure the groupies are creaming, though.”

Hell, Harry has missed the pleasure of being in your preference, how electric and alive his body expels excitement and the anticipatory flames you will surely attack him with. He loves it- hates how much he does, can’t help but prod and provoke, 

“I can tell you’re agitated.” 

“Does that make you feel special?” 

“Can’t put my finger on why…” He ponders- Harry’s missing context, the type you are unwilling to confess- the only evidence he has is your pointed stare flickering with fury- wait, envy? “Oh.” 

“Oh, what?” 

“Oh, you’re jealous.” 

Your throat chokes on your stomach as you croak out a spluttered, “What?” as Harry’s chest brushes your shoulder blade and his spearmint-scented breath fans across your neck, 

 “I think you heard me just fine.” 

“You are delusional.” 

Is he, though? Has jealousy been the reason for your distaste and discomfort this evening? Are you as delusional as you believe Harry to be? He seriously thinks so, skin tickling your own,  

“Maybe… Still think I’m right.” 

“Fuck off, Harry.” 

He won’t though. Hand coming up to play with a strand of your hair, twirling it around his finger as his righteous gaze bores into your own- frozen and wide with bewilderment- and finally, his lips threaten to brush the back of your ear, 

 "You're jealous. Just admit it. You want to be the one kissing me."

“No-” 

“Never looked at me like this before..”

You know, and you hate that he kdoes too. You should leave. Now. But with a compulsion too fierce to fight off, a culmination of fascination that ignores your conviction of moving away,

“I don’t-”

“If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.” 

Harry says it so matter-of-factly that it shocks your body, and brain, into returning to reality and those succulent tingles swirling in your stomach twist sourly, threatening to suffocate you inside out. 

With disappointment that is mostly directed at yourself, your sudden enamourment switches to the act of pressing your palm to Harry’s sternum and pushing sternly until he stumbles back in surprise. You cannot risk leaving without gifting him a cruel and crushing tongue-lashing, 

“You’re a frat boy in the body of a former pop star. I would never want to kiss someone like you.” 

You slip past him with zero resistance, no consideration for confirming his reaction as your back turns to Harry. 

Well, Harry thinks he’s glad you grant him some privacy because the guttural disappointment melting his face into a frown is shameful enough.

He doesn’t understand the sudden stinging of his tear ducts, the shrill ringing in his ears. Suddenly, Harry doesn’t quite feel like celebrating his return. 

Head bows as he carries his hurt and frustration to the confinements of the kitchen. It’s about time to spiral. 

🍷

You can send me a couple numbers and a trope/dynamic to write about! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35,) em. Xo 💞

[messyemmy]

Little Angel, Only Freak? - Grapejuice, Halloween.

🎃 Halloween Flashbacks 🎃

This can be read as a stand-alone piece! 👻 I've really been wanting to include some flashback moments from Harry and Klutz's past, so I thought Halloween would be the perfect place to start!

Premise: Harry has been pining over Y/n - his best friends slightly older sister - for as long as he can remember.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Other Writing

NB! Y/n's (Klutz) brother's name is Jack. In Grapejuice it's mentioned that Harry may have wrote some songs about Klutz. These events were inspired specifically by two of his masterpieces lmao, so lemme know if you notice any references hehe. - Em. xo

Warnings: Drinking/smoking (this oneshot contains quite a bit due to the fact that they are attending a lot of Halloween parties). Age-gap (2yrs). Self-insert she/her.

Word count: 5.4k

🍷 2011 🍷

Sitting with your legs criss-crossed, on the kitchen counter which is perhaps the highest off of the ground you are most comfortable with. Your firm belief in keeping your feet on the soil, neither under deep waters nor up in the air. 

That aside, you are eating a toastie, courtesy of your own cooking- rather surprised that not only did you manage to get ready on time, but actually finished with plenty to spare. 

Indulging in your meal, the sound of Travis Scott accompanying your chewing, Harry's sudden appearance in the kitchen is startling, but nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, there have been plenty of worse and compromising interactions in the past. 

“Aren’t you too old to be trick-or-treating?” You mumble through your food-filled mouth, eyeing him from top to bottom, shamefully admiring his choice of costume. Perhaps you were a sucker for a sexy pirate- though a large part of you believes the 'sexy' part was unintentional. 

Harry only smiles and meanders further into the kitchen, invading the fridge for god knows what before giving up, strolling over to you, invading your space in an instant and with audacity you have never witnessed prior, he snatches the half-devoured triangle of a toastie and takes a hearty bite before speaking through muffled chews, 

“Age is but a construct.”

“I guess I agree.” You shrug, thoughts travelling to the dangerously explicit fantasies you experienced at the mere existence of Tom Hard, your brain concocting a dreamland in which a 15-year age gap would be graciously welcomed. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry archives the moment. An entirely separate dreamland surrounds him and yourself. But, you still seem so far away, Harry is aching to extend the conversation, “Where are you off to, a Tarantino-themed party?”

“That my dear, is none of your business.”

“Well for what it’s worth,” he informs both sweetly and sultry, “you make a beautiful *Viper.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Styles.” You open the gates and let your guard down, needing him to know you notice him- see him, and if vulnerability is the way to make that clear, god willing, something inside you wishes to share it. 

Harry is stunned- your words are one thing, your tone is another. He wants, no, he needs to hear your softness, again and again. Then there is an invasive double honk and it can only belong to the red Mazda parked in the driveway, stark headlights shining through the kitchen curtains. 

You hop off the counter without a care in the world, straighten out your costume, and check your makeup in the reflection of the microwave before strolling straight past Harry and into the entrance hall, grabbing your matching purse. You raise your voice to address both your brother and the sexy pouting pirate stunned to silence,

“That’s my ride." Certain they've both heard, you open the front door and as an afterthought, call over your shoulder, "Save me a Mars bar!”

👻

The boys are in line for the entrance to a club that Jack stated would be "popping", but there is a clear age limit and Harry's anxiety is already reaching its limit. He turns to Darth Vader- ignoring how ridiculous his friend is- and Harry cautiously ponders aloud, 

“Are you sure we’re even gonna get in?”

“Trust me.” Jack sternly enforces. 

“What is this hold you have over me?” Harry concedes. 

By what could either be deemed a miracle or exceptional finesse, it's not long before the boys have their left wrists stamped with a small ink jack-o-lantern, and are entering the club. 

“See! Am I ever wrong?” Jack projects against the booming bass, but Harry certainly hears him, more focused on the dissipating nerves being replaced with confidence. 

“Drinks!” Jack doesn't allow a retort, making his way to the bar with the assurance that Harry is following close behind. Harry was, and after a few other patrons are tended to, the boys order their choices and cheer a duet of tequilas in celebration of their success. 

The tequila is still travelling down Harry's throat when a voice, so sweet and so familiar, almost causes him to choke, his eyes opening, neck dropping to look at the person who had exclaimed "Oi!". Unsurprisingly, you are standing there, arms on your hips, a look of disappointment painted across your face,

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect you to be here either.” Jack shrugs.

“I thought you were trick-or-treating, Jack." You chide.

“Oh, please, we’re seventeen. You knew that was a cover.” His eye-rolls with a jovial smirk. 

“Still. I thought at least a house party.” 

“Which is exactly where you said you would be.”

“Shut up.” Your last line of defence. 

“C’mon, Y/n. Go have fun, it’ll be like we’re not even here.”

With a dissatisfied sigh, you grab your drink from the bar counter and gather within the group of girls all dressed with glamorous uniqueness, disappearing into the mass of dancers, praying that Jack’s statement would prove correct. 

But, as expected, this promise was broken within the first hour after the desperate need for a Marlboro was lulling in your lungs, and for some useless and godforsaken reason, smoking is banned from the bar and dancefloor- bar vaping- however, due to the lack of an outside area, the designated smoking zone was the hallway. 

After a trip to the bathroom- which had vanity counters, ladies waiting near the cashmere wash towels to unnecessarily aid in drying your hands; each bathroom is garnished with gold framing and every stall comes with a little glass table attached to the wall; perfect for cutting lines of coke- you decided it was time to settle down for a good smoke, spotting an empty, luxurious maroon and velvet two-seater sofa. 

Your focus is on the ridiculous custom silver bear lighter you bought second-hand, your head bowed, smoke balanced between your lips, so it comes as a great surprise when you glance up and Harry is standing before you. By the time your cigarette sets alight, he is settled next to you on the lounger, 

“Fancy seeing you here.” He teases lazily.

“You lost Jack?” You shift your body to better see him, simultaneously handing him your smoke. 

“Always do.” He softly chuckles, knuckles brushing your fingertips in exchange, and he takes a good drag, hoping it will miraculously cure the anxiety that seemed to return the moment he found himself alone. 

“That guy’s a menace.” 

"This is the strangest hallway I've ever seen." He comments, glancing around the room of scattered stoners and straight smokers. Then he remembers the house he visited less than three hours ago, "And that's saying something." 

"Our hallway is not that bad." You lamely defend- this conversation has been ongoing since youth. 

"Can't believe we're sitting on a chez lounge." Harry marvels, hand stroking at the smooth material. 

"This place truly is something." You agree, proceeding to ponder the answer to a premonition she needs confirmation for, “What are you doing over here?”

“Just needed a breather.” He admits. “You?”

“Guess I’m doing the same.” You consider. 

“What’s the matter, klutz?” He reads your mood like a medium- some sort of magician.

“Boys are shitty.” You allow him the tip of the ice burg- it has been bugging you, perhaps not as much as the other things bothering and plaguing you.

“We are.” He agrees lightly, knowing it would be detrimental to pry. 

“You aren’t. most of the time, anyway.” 

“I thought I was the most annoying person you know.”

“You are. Maybe ever.” You dramatise your distaste, “But you are by no means shitty.”

For a reason Harry had always known, yet never questioned, he found your presence as relaxing as falling asleep cradled by a fluffy cloud. He briefly wonders if you feel the same, but knows better than to embrace hope. Nevertheless, he says what he can guarantee will suit your interesting demeanour, 

“I’m sorry about… whatever you’re going through.” 

“Thanks, Harry.” You smile earnestly as the pair of you proceed to pass the cigarette back and forth, comfortable in the presence of taking a cool-down. 

But, with your vulnerability out in the open, it becomes mandatory to verify the reason he is currently sitting beside you, 

“Why aren’t you down there?”

Harry knew it was coming, thought about what to say, and came up with a few reasonable excuses but as soon as the question leaves your quirked and lush lips, the truth comes pouring out and he cannot do anything but witness his honesty,

“I feel out of my element.”

“That’s all in your head.” You try to reassure him, knowing it isn’t that simple, yet hoping he might allow you the chance to prove it, even for just a moment. 

“Oh, is that right?” He smirks. 

You are standing before he can blink twice, singing your cigarette in the ashtray and reaching your arm out for him to join you, 

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t protest- he doesn’t even hesitate as he wraps his hand in your own, raising from the chair and allowing you to drag him wherever you please. 

This results in descending stairs, weaving through a crowd before finally reaching the destination; the bar. He shouldn’t be surprised, but the pleasure and subconscious pride he wore as you tugged him about, moving closer, sometimes a few steps apart, but never letting go of his hand- even if only one finger was hooked to his own.

The bartender arrives with such haste that Harry is almost certain it has something to do with your beauty- it does- but mere moments later he finds out that you are in fact a regular visitor- and a loved one, at that. 

Harry is so enamoured and floored with such an overload of new information about you that he hardly registers when you tilt over the counter and order four tequilas. 

And when the tequila arrives, there are five, offered as, ‘on the house’. Your reaction is mischievous and Harry feels exhilarated at the promise of your mission to make his night memorable.  

“Bottoms up.” You command, double-parking and encouraging Harry to wrap both of his shot glasses in each palm. He does as follows, giving you awkward cheers before copying your skill and tossing back the tequila one after the other. You then guide Harry to drop both glasses on the table and immediately grab the lonesome shot glass, still filled to the brim. 

You go in for half a sip, savouring the sharp spirits slipping down your throat but leaving half the glass full. Handing it over to Harry he finishes the drink and turns to you in anticipation for further instructions. Your shoulders can’t resist a consequential shudder, and then you clap your hands together and cheekily beam up at him,

“Now, we dance.”

“I can’t dance.” His pitch is one of panic and protest. 

“Neither can I.” You answer proudly, wrapping his hand in your own and leading him onto the dancefloor.

🍷 2016 🍷

Your boyfriend has caused yet another scene, taking it personally when some poor guy dressed as a zombie accidentally stepped on his foot.

Before he had the chance to toss more furniture, you plan an escape and make a beeline for the kitchen- somewhere likely to be devoid of party-goers. But when you round the corner, the sight of Harry, dressed in a white and red striped shirt, hair quaffed beneath a goofy matching beanie, and eyes framed by large, black round glasses. He's sitting on the counter, his light jean-clad legs dangling, shoes knocking against the bottom cabinets.

He seems too calm for such a festive evening, especially when he is as notorious as Jack when it comes to turning into a playful nuisance- affectionate, chatty, and likely to end up attempting to dance.

You walk straight over, only coming to a halt when your sternum presses into his knees, and beneath those gaudy glasses, you don't miss the way his deep green eyes swell and his lashes bash beautifully with bafflement.

"Ah, here's Waldo." You beam up at him.

"Y'got me." He lightly shrugged, a sneaky smile painting his cheeks.

"What do I win?"

Eyes widening with an accompanying Chesire cat smile, your tone tainted with taunting cheeriness. But, nonsensically you lean in closer, bare abdomen grazing his denim.

Whether intentional or not, Harry is set alight, his burning knees spreading along his stomach, trailing up his chest, simmering his heart and throat, coals burning at his cheeks and brain. He is so stoned on placebo, that his mouth is unable to project his profession,

"Anything you want."

You are experiencing first-degree burns, bathing yourself in diversion,

"Are these your real glasses?" You lean your face forward, lining up with his own, your hands gently clasping the black frames and examining the determined false lenses. "Guess not."

There are less than zero reasons for your bodies to remain so stuck, relaxed in the sanctuary of physical contact, but neither of you makes an attempt to move, unaddressed and absolutely mad. You deem it time to turn things around,

"Avoiding the party?"

"A little." He shrugs.

"Bad company?"

"The worst." He tilts his chin to the ceiling before returning his gaze to your own, "Though I can't imagine I'm much better."

"Anything is better than the mess going on outside." You meet his pondersome eyes with a competitive roll of your own.

Now Harry understands the crash he had heard through the kitchen window. Your expressions of annoyance and disappointment emit all of the information he needs to know,

"Dickie acting up again?"

"You know that's not his name."

"It should be."

Harry has never shied away from expressing his distaste for your boyfriend- simply because you were dating him. Harry was hardly around, and when he was, you were almost guaranteed to be absent due to plans with Ricky.

With a sudden bough of frustration, your hands press into Harry's upper thighs to properly balance yourself. he does everything- and more- to avoid physically reacting to your unusual closeness. You breathe out and it matches the mournful furrow of your brow,

"He's just... why does he have to be so aggressive?"

"Yeah, that table certainly didn't deserve that." Harry leans in, looking down at you with a worrisome but sensitive demeanour. And then he leaps and lightly wraps his hand around your hip.

His eyes are studying your soft face, his heart focused on your sweet features and the feeling of your skin separated by his clothes, but his head is still stuck on the confusion currently holding you captive. He can't help by prying,

"He's not... aggressive with you, right?"

"Not yet." The words trail off of your tongue. And then you toss everything aside, pressing your fingers into his thigh "I don't wanna talk about it right now."

Harry doesn't know how to react, sudden shocks of arousal emulating at the discomfort of your digging nails, the desperate desire to destroy the distance between your lips, loop his arm around your neck, softly cup your cheek and express how special you should be treated- with such certainty that you never forget,

"I like your costume. Might be your best so far."

It definitely is, you are rather impressed with how well your Other Mother costume turned out. Though, your already tragic bank account has taken a traumatic bashing,

"I spent way too much money on it."

"How much?" His grin is mischievous.

"Too much."

"Now I have to know." He pleads, but know you will never utter the shame you suffer. He won't let you off the hook so easy, though, "Just to rub it in, I'll have you know, I only spent three pounds."

You huff, leaning further into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on your flesh. He has to tilt to see you fully, and you aid him craning your neck to meet him in the middle, dismissing the deemed unnecessary distance,

"Well, you've done a terrible job at making it hard to find you."

"Maybe I wanted you to find me." He shrugs with suave.

"That was ambitious."

"It worked, yeah?" He is seeping with playful pride, though he cannot prevent his need to compliment you- perhaps the only way to get his attraction across was through words, true words at that, "You really do look beautiful."

"Not just sexy?"

"Sexy as fuck." He groans, fingers pressing into the plush fleshyness of your waist, "But not just sexy."

"Filthy." You scold seductively.

And then you seem to find yourself sinking further into his touch, trying with everything in you to get nearer- his neck so biteable, collarbone begging for loving bruises. Harry is on the same page, body pressing into your own, his palm trailing up and settling on your lower back.

You think he might kiss you. You think you are out of your mind... But, you think you're going to let him. The only thing to pause your seemingly-senseless thoughts is the defensive, stern, and frankly, threatening boom of your boyfriend,

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing with my girl?"

Like velcro being violently ripped apart, you have never moved with such haste in all of your current existence to date. Harry is now at least three feet away from you, and your boyfriend is berzerkly striding towards him. Harry calmly and rationally raises his palms in defence,

"Nothing, mate."

"Ricky-" You edge closer.

But, your boyfriend has already aimed his fist at Harry's face, and instead of reacting with returned aggression, he interjects,

"Mate, chill out." Harry reasons with a casual shrug, "She's like a sister to me."

An invasive feeling of disappointment pangs at your heart at the sound of sister, and to this day you will not analyse why. It was something you were guaranteed to repeat in the future.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Ricky scoffs but his arm drops to his side nevertheless.

Harry hops off of the counter with ease, stepping past your boyfriend with effortless confidence. He glances over at you for a mere instance- not long enough for you to comprehend the event that just unfolded.

He reaches over to the nearest countertop and grabs his solo-cup and before turning his back completely, he addresses Ricky with finality,

"Believe what you want, Batman."

🍷 2018 🍷

Harry knocks for a third time before Jack finally answers the door- and when he does, dressed Pennywise- a red balloon tied to his wrist- Harry instantly regrets his entire life, attempting to prepare for a chaotic Halloween party. Whenever Jack finds himself in an extravagant, far-too-detailed costume, two things are certain; there will be a magically, monstrous punch bowl, and Jack will be dancing on any piece of furniture that catches his eye.

“So, this was your last-minute decision?” Harry works hard to keep the disturbed feelings from projecting across his features.

“It was this or Heisenburg, okay?” Jack sighs, audatiously comparing his- what can only be described as a slutty Pennywise to simply purchasing a hazmat.

“How much time did you spend on this?” Harry finds his amusement increasing.

“Too long.” Jack admits with distaste. But all in all, This is the best of his costumes to date, and Harry certainly agrees.

“I’m sure the ladies will love it.” He commends, and Jack nods avidly, his face mimicking that of confidence.

Harry ponders halfheartedly as they enter the home Harry knows so well- the home he spent at least a quarter of his 28 years. It's only as he reaches the living room, packed with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Many of them seem older than he, and Harry can only assume these are friends of Jack’s college, and your work colleagues.

A pang of panic threatens to become a full-blown wave of disappointment and regret. Missing out on the life he could have had.

Before he can be swept away by his newfound unfamiliarity, Jack has led them to the makeshift bar- a dining table decorated with spooky decorations, all surrounding the notorious monster of the eve- the Halloween punch. Harry doesn’t protest- by this point he deems it necessary.

Lightly tapping their cups together in cheers. Jack takes a hearty sip before his brows suddenly raise in realization,

“Huh. That’s funny.” Jack finally takes a moment to acknowledge his best friend, emulating the Devil himself.

“Hm?” Harry asks halfheartedly, eyes scanning the room for something and he doesn’t even know what.

“I just noticed your costume.”

Harry’s gaze snaps back to Jack, giving him a puzzled look, masking a sudden bough of insecurity simmering beneath the surface,

“I look funny?”

“No, Y/n told me she was gonna be an Angel. Coincidence, huh?” Jack shrugs.

“Is she here?” Harry tries to hide the sudden panic.

“Not yet. You know she’s gonna lose her mind over it.” Jack grins, always bemused by the so-called banter between his sister and best friend. 

Harry’s panic is substituted by an odd sense of relief- he now knows what- or who- he had been searching for. With a bough of mischievous confidence, he mimics his best friend's grin and informs,

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

👻

Upon the news of his holy crush’s imminent arrival, Harry finishes his first punch cup and then heads towards the ‘bar’ to pour another.

Pleasantly, someone is already attending to the punch- an old teammate from his high school football team has the same intentions, finishing up on filling his cup before recognizing Harry and enthusiastically initiating a catch-up. One that proves helpful, replacing his thoughts of you with good conversation and in turn, allows him to react.

It’s unclear how long this chat persisted as the boys moved from the make-shift bar to a spot on the porch- already scattered with smokers and an extremely tense game of beer-pong.

Eventually, the punch has caught up with him and Harry has to excuse himself in favour of the bathroom. This should be an easy enough task, but this monstrous punch has proved poisonous as it lags his movements and encourages him to take a long, good look at himself in the cobweb-framed mirror.

Impressed with his costume, and impressed with how calm and cheery he felt. Things don’t seem so bad- the intrusive thoughts were offering silence for the sake of letting him have a good time.

His best friend’s home has always had the oddest of hallways. A complicated combination of narrow to wide, with unnecessary corners and nooks. These proved sacred during the times of childhood, the perfect place to out-smart the person trying to yell, ‘Tag, you’re it!’ Now, this hallway is treacherous and Harry longs to find himself back in the living room, especially with the amount of party-goers crowding the corridor.

Looking back, Harry wonders if he would have even seen you wedged between a pair of what seems to be Cersei and Jaime Lannister. It would be hard not to, with the way the shimmering satin dress and the sparkling halo create a ring of glory around you.

But you certainly see him, meandering down the hallway dressed in a costume to match your own. Your first feeling should be annoyance, but unfortunately, your thoughts are redirected to just how good he looks.

The duo you were humouring are a thing of the past as you mutter an “excuse me”- gaze and mind already set on intercepting Satan himself.

He’s leaning against the wall- being extra careful to not knock over any picture frames. His head is bowed, contemplating his next move and it suddenly and forcefully occurs to him that his original plan to find you was diverted by a pointless side-quest.

As if the thin veil of Halloween was thoughtful enough to grant him instant gratification, a set of white heels, laced to the upper calf is walking his way. He lets his eyes trail the length of soft thighs up to the seams of lacy trim, savouring each fleshy, smooth thigh before finally addressing the owner's face.

When his eyes are met with your own, glittering with each blink, Harry’s widen in surprise, jaw threatening to slack as you stop before him. Giving him a good glance before mimicking his stance and balancing yourself against the wall. 

“Well, well, well.” Your tone is both amused and annoyed.

A sudden rush of ease and euphoria washes over him at the coolness of your mood- though, that was subject to change rather quickly in the presence of Harry.

On a whim you attribute to both a poisonous punch and the devil standing before you, Harry is taken off guard by the sudden contact of your palm on his chest, even more, surprised as you push and guide him into the nearest alcove.

But that was as far as your thoughts had progressed, what was the plan now? This is a result of impulsivity, and when you concede and don’t go on to say anything further, Harry takes the opportunity to back you into the corner, arms balancing loosely on the wall near your face.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” His smile is cheesy.

“I’m sure you’re enjoying this.” Your eyes roll, arms crossing your chest in distaste.

Harry tilts down ever so slightly, aligning his lips with the shell of your ear,

“Loving it.”

“And I’m supposed to believe this is just a coincidence?”

“Believe what you want, Angel.”

He returns to his previous position, aching to get a better look at your face, hoping that the blush pink scattered across your cheeks is a product of not makeup, but himself. You cannot admit that it’s a combination of both- not even to yourself- instead opting for a classic eye-roll and continuing to do what you do best,

“I see you chose to go costume-less this year.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“You’re the Devil.” You try, “Truly.”

By now, your hands have dropped to your sides, securing distance but still unexplainably allowing Harry the chance to wander closer if he wishes. He does, but only enough for your chests to brush, his head bowed to gaze your way, one of his hands reaching out to fiddle with the accessory adorning your head,

“Why, because I make you want to ditch that pretty little halo?”

“You’re insane.” You chide, palm raising to his abdomen in protest.

“And you want me.” He articulates with certainty.

“Correction, you’re psychotic.”

But you like the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your hold, the musky and fruity aroma invading your senses. The curve where his shoulder and neck meet is aligned with your chin, and for a split second, you ponder the impulse to get closer, latch your lips to his skin and sink your teeth in.

Harry likes having you so near, he can smell the Chanel and cocoa butter seeping from your skin, the crown of your head smells of something fruity and fresh. And when your hand absentmindedly trails further along his stomach, settling on his shoulder, Harry almost stops breathing when his impulses get the best of him, wrapping his free arm around your waist, and when you don’t protest and your free arm goes to rest along his shoulder, he thinks he might have a chance,

“Are you sure, pretty Angel? Your body seems to think otherwise.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“You’re more than welcome.” he smirks, loving the way your eyes simmer with conflict, “…To shut me up, that is.”

You decide that fame has done a lot to him, not just the typical singing, stadiums and superstardom, so why the hell is he talking like a… man? Like he knows how to seduce a woman, and why the fuck does that make your stomach churn with curiosity.

But, you remind yourself that age equals experience and that makes you the superior. Besides, from the way he’s currently behaving, you have an inkling that his ego has likely inflated.

This could be fun. Two could play at this game, and no matter the amount of fraternizing Harry may have committed, you were competitively and egotistically prepared to knock him down a peg.

Raising to the tip of your toes, hand tightening on his shoulder, nails softly scratching at his back, your other hand reaching to wrap around his neck, your thumb stroking the crook of his chin. Batting your eyelashes with a lick of the lips, you ensure he hears each and every word,

“Is that what you want, sweet boy?” You coo, and Harry stiffens in an instant, blinking rapidly as you push on, “Want me to take care of you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” He blurts out before the ‘ou’, fist flexing against the wall, his body aching to be tangled up with your own.

It's cute, and unnecessarily arousing, and as much as you know you shouldn’t, there’s an ache in your chest that chants for you to crumb him along for just a little longer,

“Pity. After all, this is just a costume.”

“Prove it.”

His eyes are eager, nose bumping along your forehead, and your hand comes to its finale as it holds his cheek in place, gently pulling his face nearer to your own. You pout, but the sly smirk prints itself at the corners of your lips nevertheless,

“A Devil certainly isn't deserving.” 

“Prove it anyways.”

Harry thinks he’s about two sentences away from begging for something he didn’t know he needed so desperately. As much as it pains you to put a pin in this, the confusion of juxtaposition of attraction is threatening to make you light-headed.

“No.”

So, to Harry’s utter dismay, you release him from your hold and tactfully slip out between the space you once occupied. With one more sympathetic pat on his shoulder, you smile at him and make your way back down the hallway, feathered wings taunting him in your wake.

🍷 2019 🍷

Harry was lucky enough to have been in town for Halloween- he can't count how many holidays he missed over the last half-decade. He’s dressed as her favourite thing; a teddy bear- fuzzy ears and makeup to match. Your brother, Jack was hosting his famously chaotic annual Halloween celebration, and Harry was far too giddy at the guarantee of seeing you again. He can't count the missed holidays, but he can certainly count how many years it’s been since you last spoke- mar the quick birthday wishes, and periodic congratulations and praise.

But, after an hour or so, he is starting to doubt his certainty, gaze shamelessly studying the room, hoping he had merely missed your arrival. Two solo cups of warm beer later, Harry is itching to locate you- this is your tradition after all, and he was so sure that this time would end differently, that she would finally see him for the man he was becoming.

He definitely wouldn’t be asking Jack why you weren’t here- partially because he seems preoccupied with a makeshift gravity bong. Instead, Harry seeks out one of your oldest friends, Nova, who is dressed as a Harley Quinn, but before he can even reach the group in which she mingles, his boot trips on a rug and unable to help it, the contents of his cup comes spilling out, splashing and coating Nova’s front with the sticky substance. After apologising profusely- even if just to come off polite- Harry musters up the humility to ponder your lack of presence.

Disheartened and disappointed when she responds with, “She’s in Italy”, Harry is once again confused by Jack’s lack of mentioning the news. Though none of his business, the dichotomy of standing his ground and avoiding the question versus caving in and simply asking Jack has him in quite the frenzy.  

The rest of the evening is a bore- Harry switches to ginger ale, and though he attempts to mingle, maintaining interest proves to be impossible, and for the first time, Harry makes the decision to head home early.

But, now, with a make-up-free face and his favourite jammies, he is tucked beneath the fluffiest sheets and your mere existence is pulling the sheets tighter, trapping him in a series of thoughts of yours truly, thinking about you.

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Three

Premise: To your dismay, an Italian reunion with Harry seems impossible to avoid, and it's time to start facing the music- after all, it seems you are the one who can't stay away.

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Alcohol use, mind-blowing banter. Use of She/Her.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist 

Other Writing

-

You were still at a loss for words, soul sucked out of your throat - straight into his hands. Perhaps if you said nothing, this would remain a figment of your imagination. 

But he was as real as he had been between your thighs, as he had been when you were beaming up at him, eyes doey and desiring to please. 

You suddenly felt insecure – thrust onto a stage, the spotlight so terribly blinding. Harry was politely keeping his eyes trained on yours, awaiting a response he would never receive. 

Savina, who could clearly sense you had just been sent straight into a torture chamber, quickly sits up, tossing her hat to the side and extending a warm introduction. You hadn’t noticed the man standing beside him but Savina recognised him from the first encounter outside the café, so she extended her welcome his way. 

He introduced himself as Jeff, and before you could even think to protest, Savina invited both men to set up and join your little beach session. A kindness you hardly ever saw her express, and Harry accepted far too quickly for your liking. 

Naturally, he chose to set his towel next to yours; and to make matters worse, he sat directly facing your side, legs bent forward, almost touching your hip. You slightly shifted away, aware that he would notice but not address it. 

Savina took the liberty of keeping the light conversation flowing, prying on how Jeff knew Harry, what they were doing here, where they were staying and for how long. You heard not a thing; head thumping, chest burning. 

Harry was particularly quiet, chiming in every so often, putting forth his best side for Savina, encouraging her to change her mind- or at least opinions on him. Harry was certain you had only shared vague details about him – even vaguer about your relationship. 

And he tried to avoid being disappointed, still completely overwhelmed by finally confirming that he was, in fact, not crazy - you had been the person he saw running in the opposite direction – twice. 

Harry was yet to understand why he found it so challenging to stay on planet Earth when in your presence. He had to keep himself grounded, trying his hardest to keep his gaze directed away from you,

“Of all the places…” you built up the courage to snap at him. 

Harry took this with a grain of salt- knowing you well enough to expect rejection and complete weariness. For now, he deemed he could deal with those feelings when you weren’t fearsomely sitting across from him. 

Savina ensured no gaps of silence settled, asking all the right questions – general and friendly. Jeff was eager to engage and happy to be in the company of others- the last day and a half consisted of only physically communicating with Harry. Harry, who had spent his hours mulling about, stuck in his head, totally distracted. Jeff didn’t know what his problem was- starting to ponder if this was how Harry behaved during his downtime. 

You were still focused on regulating your heart rate, ears ringing, eyes staring blankly at the sea,

“So, Y/n, how do you and Harry know one another?” Jeff asked, startling you back into reality. Your lips parted, mind blank, and as you struggled to formulate a simple response, Harry stepped in and, to your surprise, helped you out, 

“She’s Jack’s little sister-”

“Older sister.” you scoff, eyes rolling. 

Jeff nodded along, having been around your brother in the past. He made the same face everyone made whenever Jack was mentioned; a look of approval after flashbacks of your chaotic-good, riot-of-a-time brother came to mind. 

“Where is he staying this summer?” 

“Alps.” both you and Harry spoke in sync. 

You glanced his way, already sure he was smiling as a result. And he was - cheekily. Just as rapidly as before, your heart was beating against your chest. It was loud – orchestral; ears screeching, body-quaking thumps, waves crashing against the sand, and the chatter of the three people situated around you - they spoke with clarity, but you heard only mutters- feeling like a bomb had just detonated beside your head.

After applying extreme focus, the ringing in your ears dulled and replaced itself with the sound of talking- comprehensive conversation. The last thing you wanted was to give Harry a reaction. After all, it was what he lived for. But you both knew that it bothered you– Harry knew before he even said hello.

Your stubbornness kept you going – always had – and from extensive practice, you were sure you could tune out his existence– at least for the time being.

“He plans on staying until August.” you scoffed – your brother was a moron who always seemed to forget how much the snow displeased him, 

“Bet he’ll last a month, tops.” Harry decided, and you briefly looked over in acknowledgement, 

“A week.” you felt certain – remembering a phone call yesterday where Jack whined for far too long about another incident on the slopes.

“Wanna put money on it?” Harry tempted.

“Money? We’re not children.” Instantly regretting your choice of words.

“Is that a fact?” 

“Don’t start.” Yet again, your anxiety surfaced- hot under the invisible collar of affection he clearly wanted to swaddle you with. 

“So, no money?” 

“No money.” You dismissed, breaking eye contact. 

Harry thought about it for a while – certain he could find a cheeky consolation prize for his failed attempt at striking up some friendly competition. 

“Doesn’t he hate the snow?” Savina pondered.

“Does it even snow there during the summer?” Jeff joined in.

“Some places snow all year round…surely?” Harry was sucked right into the confusion.

Your body was on fire, a headache threatening to split your forehead in half, and everything sounded like noise, sensory overload in full swing. 

“You can still ski in some places in Switzerland during the summer. Christ, next thing you’re gonna ask where snow comes from.” the longer you stayed put, the sooner you found yourself setting alight. 

“You already gave me that lecture in seventh grade.” Harry reminded.

“You thought snowflakes were a myth.” 

“At least I didn’t take it upon myself to spend all week preaching safety tips.”

“I’m older. I know better.” you scoffed.

“Slanderous lies.” 

“It doesn’t matter. Clearly, all of my warnings went in through one ear and out the other because you sprained an ankle and lost one of your ski sticks.” 

“You bumped into me.” Harry leaned forward, ready to argue to the death.

“Fuck right off. You cannot bump into someone who is behind you. And you were certainly behind me, you fuckin’ klutz.” You reclaimed the nickname, amazed that you were still having this argument. 

Harry always refused to let it go. It was one of the first times he learned that listening to you was probably a wise move. He remembers how frantic you had gotten- yelling at him for not listening, for hurting himself, and for finding it so amusing. But your eyes were so sweet, filled with concern, hands soft as they helped remove his gear. 

“Oh please, you came out of it practically unscathed.” Harry scoffed.

“I still have a chipped tooth!” you couldn’t believe how incredulous he was.

“Well, my heart still hurts after you called me, ‘Dickhead. You foolish dickhead. Are you trying to get us killed?’” Harry had memorised it like his favourite song.

He deserved it then, and he deserves it now, you thought. And though Harry’s recklessness was anxiety-inducing, you couldn’t help how fun the day was – before and after his fall – there was minimal argument, plenty of laughter, and the best hot chocolate you’d had to date. 

“I was being nice.” you offered. 

“Oh, I know.” Harry said smugly, “Until recently, it was the nicest thing you’d ever said to me.” 

A choral of your voice - singing sweet compliments his way, intent on luring him closer – made your stomach churn; the many, many pretty praises pointed straight at him. And just like that, all calm and collectiveness were sucked back into the Earth's core, replaced with only remorse and dread. There were no walls, and yet they were certainly closing in; you felt all eyes were on you now, burning into your skin with newfound curiosity- you couldn’t bear to look anywhere other than directly at him. 

And he was looking right back at you, waiting to see if he had struck a chord, hoping to get more than just a dismissal. But he was sorely mistaken – underestimating your need for control, becoming more overwhelmed by the second. 

Harry hadn’t the faintest clue about how he made you feel – how could he really? Your poker face could earn millions; your expression never faltered, no noticeable twitches, your body rejecting the ache to stiffen. But you could feel the cracks starting, threatening to shatter, spill all of your nerves out right into his lap, and if you stayed here a moment longer, you were sure to break. 

With that in mind, you startled the group by standing abruptly, your book falling from your lap, hitting the towel, causing Harry to look away for a moment- enough time to gather your cool, pulling your shades back over your eyes, hiding sheer panic. 

You turned to Savina, who was already looking at you puzzled, your words jumbling together, refusing to come out coherently. You searched desperately for an excuse- for some damn reason to get out of this mess. But all you could foolishly muster was both weak and faulty, 

“It’s fucking swelting. Think I'm gonna go for a swim.” You turned with whatever confidence you could scrape to the surface, walking off toward the ocean– your guard only retreating once the sea enveloped your ankles, cooling you down in more ways than one. 

You kept on forward, letting the salty water twist and wrap your thighs and belly- letting yourself sink into its embrace, dipping your head back until your hair dampened, fresh and comforting to your swelling brain. 

As you straightened, letting your body bob between the waves, hands coming up to cup your face, hiding your embarrassment from even yourself. This was not your definition of summer- you were sure this was nobody's ideal vacation. 

Harry was punctually proving that spending even ten minutes with him was a grave mistake. And you decided then and there that designating your time to avoid him was your best bet- your only guarantee that whatever vacation remained would stay sacred. 

Your skin was pruning by the point of your begrudging departure from the water, taking your time and returning to where you had left Savina, Jeff, and Satan himself.

And a wave of relief, bigger than those you had been bobbing in, washed over you with fresh revival at the realisation that the men were no longer here, only Savina, deeply invested in The Old Man and the Sea, perched in one hand, the other strewn across her hip.

You reached down for your towel, wrapping it loosely across your shoulders,

“Y'know, reading that book is kinda foretelling.”

“Are you calling me an old man?” Savina turned, instantly shutting, and discarding the book. 

“No, no. I think you’re struggling with the language barrier.” You teased.

“I speak better English than you.” Sshe reminded. 

You scoffed, folding and putting your towel back down, sitting cross-legged. There was a moment of pause, an itch to ask what had happened after you went for a swim- but the relief you had felt suddenly intertwined with slight disappointment. Why had they left? 

“They had lunch reservations.” Savina informed. 

“You did not need to invite them to join us.” you reprimanded. 

“And I didn’t need to invite them out for dinner tomorrow night, but I did.” She said matter-of-factly. 

Rage, confusion, anxiety, and a little excitement. You couldn’t decide which to act on- instead, your jaw went slack, lips parted, eyebrows raised, 

“You bitch.” 

Savina chuckled, picked her book back up and continued reading. 

🍷

Lunch had been a quiet affair; Jeff did most of the talking, and Harry did his best to listen. If it weren’t for the steaming serving of Shrimp Scampi keeping him sane, Jeff probably would have left Harry to his own devices for the day. 

But, after eating had long passed, and the sun had set over the sea, Harry was still in a funk- one that Jeff had failed to see from him so far, which, in itself, was odd. Jeff was usually first witness to Harry going through the motions; stressed, anxious, overwhelmed or overjoyed.This mood is hard to pinpoint though. It almost seems like Harry is so deep in thought he has become dismissive of all surroundings. 

Mid-way through the evening, when Harry unintentionally sighed for the third time in ten minutes, Jeff looked up from his phone, paused his round of Sudoku, and decided an investigation was in order,

“Is this how you behave on all holidays?” 

“What does that even mean?” Harry shrunk back in the sofa, shading his wariness behind a surprised façade. 

“You’re acting weird.” Jeff said, one brow arched, and as an afterthought, he decided to get straight to the point, “Is there something going on between you and Y/n?” 

“Why would you say that?” 

Harry ignored the little cupid’s dancing within the walls of his stomach, swallowing hard and staring out past the closest window, watching the sandy shores welcoming waves, the sea sparkling under the waning moon.    

“For starters, I don’t think I’ve seen you get this flustered around someone before.” Jeff tested, “Which is… something.” He was too observant, which obviously didn’t help soothe the little stars and hearts swirling around like a halo above Harry’s head. 

“…Don’t know what you’re on about.” He murmured timidly.

Jeff couldn’t comprehend why Harry seemed so reluctant to talk to him- surely if the two of you were purely platonic he would have no reservations just clarifying. Right now, Harry could barely look at Jeff, forehead compressed in an intense moment of introspection. 

A phone notification pinged, distracting Jeff momentarily, and Harry was back to his belligerent thoughts of yours truly. The knots in his stomach were ones of excitement and anticipation, but his head was advising him to halt, to be realistic for once in his life, even if a piece of his heart took a hit along the way. 

“So?” Jeff sternly pressed on, dropping his phone back into his lap.  

“So… what?” 

“Is there something going on between the two of you?” 

“No…Maybe…I don’t know.” Harry exhaled mercifully, only perplexing himself further.

“What’s the problem?” The muddy waters were only worsening- Jeff had never heard of you, and now he was hooked on figuring out exactly why that was the case. 

“She’s Jack’s sister, for starters.” Harry stressed, finally sharing his apprehension.

“Does he care?” honest curiosity.

“Probably not.” Harry hadn’t really thought about that part. 

“Does she care?” Jeff worded.

“Oh, for sure.” He knew that for sure. 

🍷

Harry was lying in bed now, the window ajar, salty summer breeze mixing with the lull of waves crashing in the distance. A secret sliver of the moon peeked through the sheer curtains, dancing across his face, illuminating his features, flickering like a flashlight above his shut eyelids. 

With a huff, he grabbed a fistful of the thin cotton sheet covering his torso, crinkling it between his palm, tugging it along with him as he turned over, facing his back to the moon., 

Harry couldn’t fall asleep, and even if he could, he wasn’t letting himself. His thoughts were on a sugar high, replaying the entirety of today on repeat; hyper-focused on the moments that included you, the sun crisping your edges, sunscreen turning to golden gloss atop your soft skin. 

And though he felt tremendous relief knowing he was, in fact, not delusional. You were as real as you had been the last time he saw you - sweetly slobbering, just for him – Harry felt you slipping further away. Especially after your less-than-stellar reception to his arrival- it could have been chalked up to the fact that you were surprised to see him, but something in Harry knew better. 

And when you jumped up off of your towel, body seeming scorched, scalded and scathing - desperate to separate from him- he easily confirmed you were running from him. 

Harry felt a pang in his heart each time he thought of you walking away, unable to drift off peacefully knowing that you were so close, and he had blown the opportunity once more. He would sell his soul to find out what went on in your head-especially regarding him. Harry thought he would gladly doze off into slumber, wrapped in the soothing comfort of your headspace. 

Yet here he was, his mind and body riddled with inertia- swallowed and swaddled by the sheets- he felt lonelier than he would have liked to admit. Harry knew just how well your body fit so snugly with his own, considering the feeling of tugging you closer, tangling yourselves into one whole being. 

Never in his right mind would he have actually expected to see you here. He had sooner accepted that he was slipping into delusions- and somehow still easier to pretend that was the case. At least then he wouldn’t be trapped in this limbo. 

As you walked away, Harry quickly glanced over at Savina, and they shared a brief but curious exchange. Jeff, none-the-wiser – reminded Harry that they still had that lunch reservation. Though he wished to stay, feet buried within the sand, relief rushed through his veins- frustration for, once again, being unprepared in your presence. 

He hadn’t expected you to be so standoffish, a hint of discomfort seeping through your usual style of banter. Harry worried it was because of him- because you truly couldn’t stand being near him.

Punctured with confusion, but almost certain that you had meant it when you were asking for him with such a needy craving that night in his bedroom, Harry still felt he knew you- knew not to take it too personally when you sent such frigidity his direction. He couldn’t – and wouldn’t – let it get to him.

His neck started to ache, threatening to spasm if he didn’t punctually readjust. And with that being the case, Harry lifted himself up and swung his legs over the mattress- feet softly thudding against the hardwood. 

Waiting on his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his hand blindly roamed the nightstand in search of his phone. Coming out successful, he unlocked the screen, glancing at the time, 01:13. He decided this was still a reasonable-enough hour, going to recent calls and pressing dial- knowing the man on the end of the receiver was still awake- confirmed when the call connected after two rings,

“Talk to me, baby.”

“Why are you still awake?” 

“Why would you call unless you thought I was?” Jack starts to think, offended that Harry would have called whether he was asleep or not.

“And why didn’t you tell me Y/n was in Capri?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.” He says nonchalantly.

“Well, you thought wrong.” Harry tries not to snap. 

Either Jack can’t tell that his friend is currently rather moody, or he can tell and just doesn’t care. Considering that their consistent friendship spans two decades, there’s a high likelihood Jack made a more-than-conscious choice to dismiss Harry’s demeanour. Instead he takes the opportunity to do what he does best, complain,

“Dude, I’m freezing out here. I fear I might have hypothermia, and I burnt my tongue on a cup of hot chocolate first night here- barely have any taste buds left. And, for some reason, I have this feeling I’m gonna get caught in an avalanche, I know, I know, that might be irrational but-”

“Stop whining. Go somewhere sunny. Go to the sea, I’m already looking forward to hearing you worry about hyperthermia instead.” Harry griped petulantly.

“Not a bad idea…” Jack considers. 

It sounds like Jack has started busying himself on the other end of the line, shuffling around as Harry contemplates bringing you up again. But, sleep will be hard to find if he chooses not to, and he’d kick himself for backing out, 

“Your sister doesn’t seem very keen on me being here…”

“Yeah, she didn’t sound too impressed.” 

“You spoke to her?” Harry almost sits up fully, soft sheets pooling at his waist. 

“Well, she sent me some rather colourful texts earlier.” Still, in the midst of doing something, Jack definitely has the phone on speaker now, veering further from Harry’s evident curiosity. 

“What about?” posed with caution, 

“Same as you. Wanted to know why I didn’t tell her you were coming.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why you’re both suddenly so interested in one other. I could just send you her number- would help stop me from having to be the messenger.” Jack groused.

“Not necessary.” Harry quickly dismissed, his nerves untangling as relaxation began to wash over him. He liked the idea of you being interested in him. For now, that was enough to lull him into a state of sleep, “You are the worst messenger, though.”

“And you love me, bitchboy.” He sang with silly spirit, voice nearing the speaker. 

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t think insurance will pay out if you die on the slopes... Maybe keep that in mind?” 

“That’s it. I’m getting out of here, man.” 

“Good for you.” Harry affirmed, yearning for a yawn.

“Tell Y/n I say hi!” Jack merrily tormented. 

“Fuck off.” He chuckled lazily, eyes visited by the Sandman. Throwing in an, ‘I love you’, promises of their next dialogue happening during daylight hours, and a threat of coming to visit, the call came to an end. 

Harry released a lengthily postponed sigh, palm pressing to his forehead, before his phone emitted a startling ding, Jack’s name lighting up. Attached are the words, 'I think my fingers are freezing. Will they fall off?', as well as your name and number. 

He wanted to roll his eyes, dusty rose coating the apples of his cheeks- shyness coursing through him, and great relief that Jack had dismissed his protests- swooning at the digits belonging to you, feeling a little closer- nearer.

Customizing your contact details, gifting you the title of Klutz with a wine glass emoji for finesse, Harry’s eyes finally swell shut with sleepiness, body soothed back into the sheets, already drifting into dreamland by the time his head hits the pillow.

🍷

You would sooner face the guillotine than admit how long you took to choose an outfit for dinner. Throwing clothes in your suitcase the morning of your flight- ‘it’s not like I’ll have anyone impress’ mixed with ‘I put off packing to binge-watch Kitchen Nightmares’- was now biting you in the ass. Why the fuck did you bring so many socks? When would you even use them? 

When you had finally settled on something- consisting of a white tee tucked into a high-waisted coral and pink mermaid-esque skirt, paired with white latex ankle boots, a cream belt and a matching mini baguette bag- it was time to start fussing over hairstyles and by the end of that, it was a miracle you hadn’t ripped out all of the hair on your head. It was only when you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror that your confidence returned, and you mustered up as much of it as you could to get through the next few hours. 

The chosen restaurant was spacious, built with cobblestone, and decorated with dark green vines and eclectic hardwood tables. Harry and Jeff were already waiting on the sidewalk. Greeting you warmly, the sudden kiss Harry pressed to your cheek was startling but welcomed, and you hoped he wouldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed wishfully.  

Settling in, Harry makes it very clear that he intends to sit next to you- forcing Jeff to the end of the table without a chance for choice. It had been expected, but still, you felt the familiar bubbling of anxious uncertainty within you. The only promising factor was the chance to eat- something you had been too distracted to do all day. 

An awkward silence lulled over, only amplifying the splitting headache you soon faced. Harry looks at you as if he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the world. Gaze happily settled on your own- and your lack of comfortability- clearly revelling in it all. If the wine you had ordered would just arrive, perhaps your nerves would settle. 

“Thanks for inviting us, Savina.” Jeff started after a subtle clearing of the throat, and everyone was more than grateful for it. 

“Oh, of course! It’s such a coincidence bumping into someone Y/n knows from home. We just had to have dinner.” She shot a cheeky glance your way, and you hoped to God that the dim lighting would mask the blush rushing across your cheeks, 

“Well, we didn’t have to.” You mumbled, regretting it as Harry’s ears instantly perked up,

“Cancelled another hot date, did you, Y/n?” With each word, he seemed closer and closer, pricking at your emotions, stirring frustration back to the surface each time it threatened to settle down. 

“Do I sense jealousy?” You felt yourself shifting forward, arms resting impatiently atop the table. 

“Just curiosity.” He shrugged, relaxing back into his chair, arms folded across his chest with nonchalance, 

“What are you, a cat?” You dismissed him, turning both your attention and body to face the others, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jeff.”

“Likewise, I’ve heard plenty about you.” 

“Hope I live up to my reputation then.” Shrugging, you glance over at the loved-up boy from your childhood, and he's already looking at you longingly.

“Oh, trust me, you already are.” Jeff chuckles with certainty, 

“Really?” you pondered, mirroring the curiosity that flashed across Harry’s features.

“I can’t help but enjoy seeing Harry being put in his place.” Jeff shrugged, sending a reassuring wink across the table.  

“Ah, you’re the designated babysitter?” You quizzed heartily.

“I hardly need a babysitter.” Harry defended in an instant.

“Hardly.” Jeff emphasised. 

“You make it sound like I’m a child.” Harry worked hard to remain still- tempted to act out with a pout and a soft foot stomp.

“All I’m saying is, it’s refreshing.”

“To see me being scolded?”

“The constant praising is great but…” Jeff’s face scrunched sympathetically.

“Tiring?” Savina tries.

“Exhausting?” you add. 

“Alright, alright.” Harry shushed with a playful eye roll- mostly directed at yourself.

The waiter arrived with a newly opened bottle of Merlot, gesturing for confirmation to pour a tester into the large glasses you were each designated. Savina approved, taking the liberty of tasting for the table. With a delighted suck of the teeth and a nod, the waiter went on to fill each glass. 

“So, Savina, what line of business are you in?” Jeff asked between his first sip- pleased with the bitterness greeting his pallet. 

Savina knew exactly what she was doing as she blocked her courtesy and left you with the challenge of creating some form of communication with Harry. He proved to be kinder, however, taking the opportunity to show signs of life, 

“What’s good here?” he made no effort to check out the menu, 

“Everything.” no effort on your part either. 

“Narrow it down.” 

“Well, you can never go wrong with Risotto alla Milanese…you’d probably really like Parmigiana- but either way, we should get the Olives Ascolante as an appetizer, they’re incredible, and I know you love olives…”

“Look at you, so astute.” He was trying not to grin back at you, heart silently swelling at the subtle affection you had let slip, 

“Shove off.” You prayed he would let it slide. 

Thankful for the return of the waiter, you took the liberty of ordering appetizers accordingly- glancing over at Harry to confirm he was satisfied with your choices. As an afterthought, you asked for a side of Rice Arancini.

Harry was enjoying his vacation more than ever, unabashedly sending a smile straight to your heart, hairs rising up the back of your neck, 

“What?” You asked when it was clear he was in no hurry to look away, 

“I like it when you’re assertive.” 

“Yeah, why am I not surprised?”  

“Guys?” In sync, your heads turned to the other two, “Should we also order some Focaccia for the table?” Nodding- in sync- Savina was quick to ignore you once more, “Got it. I started in Milan…” 

Twirling your index finger around the glasses rim, you had unknowingly prompted Harry to finally reach for his own wine, taking a curious sip. Wine was something he hardly humoured, even during his previous stays in Italy. His eyes lit up with adorable surprise, and a wave of endearment washed over you, the familiarity of Harry reappearing for the first time since even before your… incident(s),

“This is good.” He praised, lips glossed over, reattaching to the glass for more.

“I know.”

“No, like, really good.” He tried to emphasise entirely

“I know.” You sent him a cheesy smile, reciprocating the need to completely confirm that you two were on the same page.

“If the wine back home tasted this way,” his eyes still wide, going in for a third sip, “I’d have stopped with the scotch years ago.”

“Please, you love your Johnny Walker too much.” You tried your best not to pay attention to the stray droplets staining his bottom lip- it would be too easy to kiss away all remnants.

“Fuck, this is so good though.” Harry felt unnecessarily revolutionary, “made in Italy?” putting his glass down to reach over and grab the bottle, 

“I would hope so.” “Siena. Thank fuck.” 

“With this many vineyards nearby, it would be criminal to drink anything else,” you engaged your own glass, taking savoured sips, lashes unintentionally fluttering their way into the crevices of his heart.

“Been to any good ones so far?” Harry asked, leaning nearer with the excuse of the restaurant being a little loud, looking at you like he had loved you far too long- something you mistook for boyish fascination, it had always been just that, right? 

“Wineries?” You asked for confirmation he granted with a soft nod, “Oh, of course. Did a tour from Modena down through Bologna. At some point the trip did turn a bit blurry… but from what I recall, the wine just kept getting better and better.”

“I’ve never done a wine tasting before.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“No?” he had never even thought about it before.

“Too much business, not enough pleasure?” You prodded, and as usual, you were correct. Harry had definitely spent plenty of time travelling- for the purpose of work. 

You knew this without him ever needing to tell you, though you typically minimized the importance of his career, you were one of the only people who understood this- and he wasn’t sure why you did… but it only helped reinforce the certainty he felt about the two of you, you just understood him, and you would never, ever admit that you knew he understood you too. 

“Exactly.” He agreed with subtle satisfaction, and a settled silence grew between yourselves, as you took another sip, swirling the rouge for a moment more.

“…Better change that then.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s entire body perked up, hoping you would lead him directly in your trap, and everything in you wanted to go with him, to spend time with him. An invitation ached to slip from your tongue, fighting contradiction, just dying to tour wine country with Harry. But in true fashion, you tracked back on every feeling of affection and offered.  

“I’m sure Jeff would love to go.” 

And Harry was lured straight into disappointment, having already indulged in the idea of spending time with you- ideally at your own suggestion. He was sure it looked like you were willing, if not pretty eager, but there was no way the frown accompanying your conflicting thoughts could go unnoticed. Harry knew this face well enough; you had sported it through most of senior year. Every time it seemed you were about to reconsider, to give in, a sudden reality check seemed to pull you back, retreating into nothing but a bowed head and twiddling fingers. 

The aroma of the appetizers finally arrived, scattered across the tabletop with the threat of mouth-watering bite-sized pieces of heaven. The conversation is almost completely forgotten to you, your senses elated with the promise of food, and your hands are moving every which way, grabbing one of everything, piling your plate plentifully. 

And even though the sight of your eyes rolling back, lips parted, as you taste a spoonful of, clearly entices him to try some for himself, Harry still thinks back to your last words, taking over your habit of overthinking. He can tell his brows are furrowed, can’t help himself from shifting his chair to face you, his arm resting across the table,

“How long are you gonna keep this act up?” 

You glanced up at him, Arancini half-chewed, eyes wide and heart thudding. Taking extra time swallowing, pushing it by reaching over for a sip of wine, you felt scorched by his stare and attempted another aversion, 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about...”

“We both know you’ve done damn near everything in your power to avoid me.” 

“Now that’s just not true.” You try. 

“Oh, really?” His forehead raised. 

You were trapped in a stare-off; Harry was clearly keeping you there by the challenging glimmer of his pretty green eyes. But, you don’t lose, 

“I haven’t done everything in my power…” 

“Oh my god, you’re infuriating!” Harry has to stop his hands from flailing around dramatically, 

“And you aren’t?” You defended, unable to commit to keeping your hands at bay, and Savina glances over with a brow raised in suspicion. 

Quickly detaining your outward display of displeasure, your hand finds the wineglass once more, taking a hefty gulp as Harry obtains the opportunity to get closer, eyes darting to the two diners across the table, engaging in a mild debate. His voice lowers, 

“At least I didn’t almost get hit by a Vespa trying to run away from you.” 

Almost choking on your wine, withholding a cough, spluttering out in utter surprise- and undoubtedly shameful understanding, 

“You know about that?” 

“I do now!” Harry exclaims, shocked that his suspicions have been confirmed. 

“I didn’t almost get hit.” 

Attempting to turn your attention back to the act of dining, Harry finally reached out and grabbed an olive and popping an olive between his teeth, crunching down on it, his smile mixed into one both of enjoyment for the food, and sheer amusement for your attitude. 

“What’s your plan, Klutz? To be the cause of pileups all summer?” 

The sheer suggestion of spending the rest of your vacation avoiding him and the ever-increasing fondness you felt whenever in his presence. And looking over at the man who seemed only capable of enjoying your company, you only panicked more,

“You’ll be here all summer?” 

“Well, if my staying will keep you this riled up, I think it’s my obligation to.” He was taking this less than seriously,

“Harry, I swear-”

“Man, my name never sounded so good being chewed out.” He’s met with only sternness, a glare that had him feeling like a scolded schoolboy. And he didn’t like your stare- not when you could be coating him in sweetness, so his features soften, his taunting tone turning tenderness, “We’re friends, Y/n, I’ll make sure I don’t get on your nerves…more than usual.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” you ask meekly, shoulders relaxing and soothed by his surety, but still too sceptical to believe him. And when Harry sees this in the way your eyes stay squinted, he wants to reach over and soothe every frown line with soft kisses, 

“Trust me, I would hate to see your arms and legs covered in bandages…would be such a shame.” 

He takes a long sip of his wine, savouring the way it tantalizes his senses, before reaching over and popping another olive into his mouth, chewing and talking consecutively, 

 “Besides, I have plenty of sweet nothings lined up for you… can’t bear to keep them all in.”

“Bet?” you fail to resist falling for his promises of future-fondness.

“Might fuck around and writing another song about you.” He shrugs candidly.

“Another?” 

Head racing, hurriedly scanning through the roller deck of songs and memories that pertained to Harry, you couldn’t begin to highlight a moment or song worth writing for your sake. You want- no, need- him to say more, to give you something to soothe the idea that Harry might have been right about his feelings all along- that this ‘thing’ between the two of you was nothing new, only brushed aside. 

“Y/n, Harry. Are you guys ready to order the main course, or do you need a moment to finish flirting?” Savina interrupted, amusement showing in both her tone and her taunting smile. Your defence was back and bigger than ever, and you bit back with dismissal,  

“We were not flirting.”

“Well, one of us was.” Harry mutters.

“That’s your problem.” You shut him down sternly, sliding your chair an inch further from his intensity, you focus all attention on the question at hand, “I’m ready to order.”

🍷

Wine glasses are empty, the bill is taken care of, and you can finally admit that relaxation has set in. With no further incidents during dinner, there was finally space to enjoy Harry’s company. Though that only reminded you of how fond you were of him, the night was young, and Harry was sure to resort to naughtiness. 

Glancing between the group, Savina made certain her next suggestion wouldn’t result in you retreating to a coffin. And with one more smile of endearment from you- directed at Harry’s detailing of an event he attended- she decided it was a safe bet, 

“Should we check out some of the bars?” 

With a collection of cohesive nods, the restaurant was left behind in search of a place with dimmer lighting and louder music. 

Standing on the sidewalk, the air was warm, but when Harry’s boot accidentally knocked your own, your skin had an eruption of goosebumps. 

“I remember this little one on the corner of Regazzi. Very nice for dancing.” Saved by Savina, you had an excuse to take a step away, ensuring no further bump-ins with Harry. 

“Lead the way.” Jeff agreed, and with that, you were all headed off down the street. 

A quaint but bustling location, already filled with enthusiastic guests grooving along to a song you faintly remember playing in a nightclub in downtown Rome? The energy was infectious, bobbing and weaving between those dancing. It took a moment to source a small table for the group to gather around. Instead of occupying the seat next to you- which you swear you hadn’t hoped he would select- Harry stayed standing, addressing the collective, 

“What are we drinking?” 

Savina was quick to name Sangria, Jeff offered to join Harry, and you were about to order your classic Gin and Tonic when the memories of Harry taking care of it for you came flooding back, and your feelings of bashfulness were asking to be fed once more,

“Surprise me.” Batting your lashes, his eyes lit up, confirmed with a nod; Harry, with Jeff in tow, made their way through those dancing in search of the bar.

They were hardly out of earshot when Savina gently grasped at your wrist, giving it a shake, her smile growing,

“He’s fabulous!”

You scoff as the last person on your side seems to be switching teams, leaving you open to feeling crazier than you already did. He was fabulous, but you swear you aren’t wrong in finding him aggravating,

“You’re just saying that because he’s Harry Styles.” 

“You know I don’t care about that.” Savina dismissed.

“Yeah, well, I wish you would.” She was right. You knew there was no reasoning. 

“C’mon, he’s cute! A little puppy!”

“I don’t want cute.” Griped through gritted teeth.

“But you do want him?” She already knows the answer.

Who were you fooling? Either you were miserable at hiding your attraction for Harry, or it had gotten so strong that the mere energy between the two of you was telling. Probably both, and neither would gain your admittance any time soon, 

“No. I told you, it was a lapse in judgement.” 

“No such thing.” 

“He’s annoying. He’s famous- and childish- and he’s fucking everywhere I go! Can’t close my damn eyes without his pretty little face popping up like a Jack-in-the-box.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Jack-in-the-box.” That cleared up nothing. Savina’s gaze is perplexed.

“… Your brother is in a box… in your head?” 

“No. Those boxes that sing when you wind them up,” You used your hands in an attempt to describe the boxes shape, “and then a clown pops out of nowhere, and you’re like, ah! Why didn’t I see it coming?”

“Oh my God, yes!” Savina almost cheers with comprehension, “My cousin loved that thing… what is this universal fascination with clowns?”

“Like, who is their demographic?”

“I’ve never met a child who likes clowns.” This was taking a real detour, 

” Plus, they don’t have the greatest rep.” 

“Always trying to eat children… yeah, kids are definitely not the demographic….” Savina thought about it a moment, and you were sure you had successfully managed to divert the conversation from Harry until Savina did a one-eighty, “Anyways, stop running. Let him take you out. It could be fun.”  

“That would make me a clown.”

“You’ve been acting like one since he got here, no?”

“No.” You had been acting nothing but rationally; hiding behind a tree was perfectly normal under the circumstances… right? Or did you really need to run when you saw him from the sidewalk? There’s no way he would have spotted you. Turns out, you had been acting anything but rationally, “Oh God. I have, haven’t I?” 

“A little.” Savina smiled sympathetically, grateful you were finally catching on to the bizarreness of your behaviour these last few days. 

“I almost died trying to avoid him!” Your eyes were wide with embarrassment, absolutely mortified. 

“I, for one, would like to see you relax.” She confessed, “It would help me do the same.”

“You took two naps today.”

“Because I needed to relax.”

Across the restaurant, Harry waited anxiously for their round of drinks, trying his best to seek you out within the movement of other patrons. He was granted quick glances before bodies moved to the beat and blocked you once more. 

“You really like her." Jeff observed, 

“Obviously.” Harry thinks anyone who spent even five minutes with you two would be able to see the wishful fondness he felt for you.

“Why am I only finding this out now?”

Harry really didn’t want to get into it- especially since you clearlydidn’t want to. 

“Because I’ve barely seen her the last five years.” He concedes, and when Jeff only looks at him like he’s speaking gibberish, Harry is forced to go on,

“It’s like she’s suddenly everywhere. I mean, she’s always been everywhere, but now she’s like… everywhere… y’know?” 

“Sure…” It’s becoming rather evident to Jeff that Harry isn’t sure when he stands with you, and as the conversation hits a dead end, the drinks arrive, and they busy themselves with making their way back to the table.

🍷

Your drink- long finished- forms a large part of being the reason you wanted to dance- so badly that your boots basically stood up on their own and made their way over to the make-shift dancefloor, slipping in between bodies vibing along to the beat.

It felt good to relax- as Savina would suggest- and you felt the release of all pent-up frustration as it left your body and disappeared into the crowd, no longer your burden to bear. The rest of the group had scattered, and for a while, that went unnoticed as the dancing held your undivided attention.

Harry was simply a thing of the past until you did a little twirl, and unbelievably, he was in your direct eye line. Leaning against the wall, an almost empty scotch in his hand, he seemed to be comfortably observant. 

The checked overshirt he donned was doing a half-hearted job at covering his chest- most of which was on display due to his choice of a low, low-cut white undershirt. His pants were a peachy-pink hue, not unlike your skirt, and like you, his sneakers were white to match. He’s dressed good. So good that you aren’t surprised when a girl starts to approach him. That doesn’t stop you from almost choking, insecurity suddenly invading your free spirit, and it killed you how much it bothered you to see him tilt his head to hear her better, a smile as she spoke, leaning in even closer.

Determined to stay sane, you continued to dance, looking anywhere but the scene of what you deemed a crime. But when you were about to explode from the need to let your eyes wander back to him, you looked over, heart sighing with liberation, when it became clear he was alone again. 

That wasn’t enough, though, your target had been set, and the need to dance was done and gone. Your body didn’t want to sway; it wanted you across the room, trapping Harry against that stupid wall. So, you let that ambition carry you across the dancefloor, dodging dancers, focused on reaching his unsuspecting figure. 

Harry followed the trail of your shoes up to the determined look plastered across your face as you seemed to be suddenly bounding over. He hadn’t managed to spot you, searching the crowd for as long as he had been standing in this corner. 

Before he could blink, you were before him, slotting your feet in the space between his own. The gap between you was small, but you gestured to it anyways, finally acknowledging the fact that you happened to be dressed similarly,

“I like the way you dress.” 

“I get it from you.” His head bowed to see you better, smile beaming down at you like you were the only person in the world. 

“I thought about the bet….” You started, chest tilting into his own, brushing up against him. 

“Ready to put money on it?” 

“No.” 

“Then?” He wondered, hands finding their home on your hips, tugging you a tad closer, his eyes flickering back and forth across your features, loving the fact that you looked like you wanted him.

Your palm flat against his chest, the other resting on his forearm, only seemed to confirm Harry’s suspicions. Pushing up on your tippytoes, lips lining with his ear, your voice, low and sultry, threatened to turn Harry to mush. But that wasn’t your plan, 

“If I win, you have to stop with all your little flirty remarks-”

“Why would I agree to-” His eyes augmented with horror.

“If you win, I’ll go on out with you... on a date.” 

Harry wanted to laugh. You had stumbled into a trap he hadn’t realised was set the moment he had phoned Jack last night. But his body was in a shamble of shivers and goosebumps, hands pressing into your hips, pulling you closer, your chest bumping into his own.

“Do you hate my compliments that much?” He cooed, hoping to charm you closer.

“No. I just want to wipe that smugness right off of your lips.” You slide your hand out from the trap of his chest and your own, wrapping it around his shoulder, nails raking across the back of his neck. 

“Deal.” Harry hardly held back his enthusiasm, pupils swallowing the swirls of mossy-green whole. 

“I’m sticking with one week.” You ignored the way his reaction sent a rush of encouragement straight up your spine and instead indulged in the feeling of him melting under your touch- like a magnet to your presence.

Harry’s face was closer now, his forehead threatening to brush against your own. Your grip tightens, hanging on to anything he might say next.  

“Three days… max.” He was almost aching with adamance. 

“Better get the last of those compliments in, Styles. Make ‘em count.” You tried to warn, putting all available energy into maintaining control, but it was hard when he was still inching closer, his voice husk and for your ears only, 

“Even if you win, I have a feeling we would both miss those compliments terribly.” 

Unfortunately, he was far from wrong. This was a last-ditch attempt on your behalf- and you knew that going into it. You could have easily dismissed the bet altogether- easily dismissed it even now, instead of pushing on with fervour.  

“You don’t know that.” You swallowed, trying to remain factual- hating the way he made you feel so submissive. Your comfortability of being the older, mature one was almost non-existent the moment he opened his mouth. Cursing yourself for this sudden willingness to let him take the reins. 

“I’m almostcertain I do.” he wouldn’t budge. It only made you want him more as you unconsciously lilted into him, leaving no gaps to be found, 

“You’re far too hopeful.” 

“Only when it comes to you.” 

“Cute.” Sarcasm masking the way your heart did a hurdle- threatening to jump right into his arms. 

“I know you are, but what am I?” Harry’s words brush over you with a mix of musk and mint, breath fanning over your cheeks, making your eyelashes flutter,

“Annoying.” 

“What else?” He’s so close now, jaw tilted and taunting you to reach out and grab at him.

“Insufferable.” 

“And?” His eyes are blown-out, one of his hands slipping from your waist and wrapping around your lower back. Trapped in his hold- and never wanting to leave- your former frustration was nowhere to be found, nudging your nose against the nape of his neck, lips brushing the warmth of his skin,

“And, sometimes, I want to just fuck the brattiness out of you.” 

Pretending the words that you had uttered were ineffective, Harry struggled to breathe; his brain scrambled, ready to be seasoned and served on a platter. His grip only tightening at your tantalizing warning, ready to do whatever it took to make it a reality,  

“Might take a couple tries….” 

You breathe out at his suggestion, soft laughter tickling at his neck. You’ve never enjoyed being in the arms of someone more- and you ensure it stays that way, arms wrapping around him with warmth, pulling him impossibly closer. You press a soft kiss to the slope of his jaw and inform, 

“Would be worth it.”  

🍷

Jack doesn't mean to, but he sneaks up on you- consumed in overwhelming thought, staring blankly at the copy of Crime and Punishment strewn across your lap.

“Miss me?” His voice was sharp, slicing through the silence, sending a shockwave your way. 

Your legs jolted- gravity dragging the heftiness of Dostoevsky off of your lap and onto the floor. But it was long forgotten, bent askew atop the tiles.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You spat, seething at your brother as if you were sure that he was here just to spite you.

“I’m here to make this the best summer ever!” He hollered, embodying the energy of a teen on spring break.

“Does Harry know you’re here?” 

“I’m not digging this lack of enthusiasm…” He half-pouted.

“Jack, respectfully, I will pay you to leave.” You bargained with the panic within, threatening to trap your tongue between teeth.  

“Keeping the bit going, I love it!” Jack was hardly listening to you. Instantly falling into the routine of sibling comradery.

“I’m not doing a bit. You have to leave before Harry sees you!”

“Well, it’s too late for that.” His creased brows met in the middle, looking at you as if you were suddenly alien.

“What?” Panic was fizzling over, foaming at the gums.

“I called him before my flight, and he gave me all the details.” He shrugged.

“Details?”

“Yeah. I’m staying with him. He said he thought you wouldn’t be overjoyed having to host me, which is rude, by the way.”

It was as if you were simultaneously thinking and not thinking at all. The inside of your head was suddenly a jumble of letters, an amalgamation of nonsensical emotions. The rug had been ripped from right under you.   

“So… he knows that you’re here?” 

“Gee, Jack. It’s so good to see you. I missed you too…” He mocks, having expected better reception. Whatever was brewing between you and Harry was not going unnoticed. 

“I’ll deal with you later.” You huffed, turning on your heels.

Your head was a pot, thoughts bubbling and boiling over, steam surely sputtering from your nostrils as you stormed out of the house and onto the sidewalk. Taking two steps at a time, almost tripping, shoes scuffing the paving as you muttered your frustrations aloud. 

The day was joyous- and you hated that – raindrops swirling within a cloud floating atop your head just as a crown would. It was more than obvious that Harry had been playing you all along. The part of you that felt mortified had rushed all heat to your blushing cheeks, and the part of you that felt so silly- so gullible- had you picking up your pace until abruptly arriving.  

“Harry!” Fists thumping against the hardwood as if it was personally responsible, 

“Harry.” Louder- thudding harder- indisputably sending your frustrations his way.

He took his time, bare feet strolling along the porcelain tiles. Running a hand through his hair, he unhooked the latch and smiled as your flared cheeks and kissable pout finally came into view. 

He smiled knowingly, opening the door fully before leaning lazily against the frame, eyeing you up and down with endless patience, noting how lovely you looked in lilac; skin soft and shimmering under the sun, hair pulled back and certainly warm to the touch. He thought for a moment more, lips spreading into a smirk, and then shrugged,

“There were no rules stating I couldn’t make use of the information Jack provided.” 

“It’s- that’s- what you did was totally unethical!” You reasoned, pushing past Harry into the villa, arms across your chest, owning the entire entrance hall. Harry only looked more entertained, enjoying the flashes of frustration in your eyes.

“Unethical?” 

“Yes!” you settled.

“I won fair and square-”

“Not fair. Not square.” You all but whined, and a shiver shook at Harry’s spine; scenes of you pressed up against him, pleading for his affection. 

“Wow, Y/n. I’ve never known you to be a sore loser.”

Harry was pushing buttons for sure, seeing how much closer he could bring you, guiltlessly loving the attention you were paying him- even if it was lacking positivity, if it was all you were willing to give, he had to have it. 

“I am not a sore loser.” You defend, accusatory finger pointing directly at him, “You tricked me.”

“I hardly tricked you.” He scoffed, eyes rolling fetchingly.

“You omitted very important details.”

“We both knew he was on the brink of leaving.” He rationalised, “I simply gave him a little nudge.”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

 “I could say the same about you.” He challenges.

“This is like blood money or blood diamonds, I don’t know.” Coming to terms with the catastrophic choice to indulge in this bet, you hadn’t thought this far ahead- you hadn’t actually thought about it at all. What happened next? 

“Oh, please.” He mused. But when you only seemed to look more upset, Harry softened, guilted and regretted putting you in this position, “If you want to back out, I won't judge. We can forget the bet ever existed.” 

He meant it with all sincerity, but the words whisked over your head, hopelessly mistaking his sympathy for torment. This man had to be up to something. There was no way he would give you such a hard time only to retreat at the first sign of resistance. So, instead of taking him at face value, you switched up your tactics- whatever they were and tried a different defence, 

“Ha. You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, I would not, missy.” 

Harry laughed the words your way, arms folding atop his chest, almost totally distracting you as his muscles constricted against his flimsy t-shirt as it threatened to shift and expose the pleasing sight of the soft skin belonging to his hips and pelvis. Taking a step nearer, your next sentence would send Harry into a world of excitement,

“We’re going on that date,” You said it straight, but when Harry shifts, and his stomach peeks past the thin cotton, you add for your own sake and reminder, “and I’m gonna make damn sure you regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” He tries to move even closer, but you take a step back and then another, preparing to turn on your heels and put him behind you. 

“Yes, Harry Styles.” 

It’s time to get out of here before you say more things you can’t retract, and there’s plenty of leftover angst you can project onto Jack, whom you only now acknowledge is probably still aimlessly wandering the grounds of your villa, waiting for an explanation.

Nodding your head with finality, this was your chance to finish on a high. You were already out the front door, sneakers angrily scraping the gravelled pathway, when Harry swung himself around the door frame- holding onto it the way you would wish farewell by hanging from the side of a moving train- projecting unnecessarily, and sending you home with some wise food-for-thought, 

“It would take a miracle to make me regret spending time with you, Y/n.”

---

🍷Reply if you wanna be added to the taglist!🍷

Lord have mercy, I am so nervous and hope you guys like this! This series is near-and-dear to my heart, living in my head rent free for the past few years lol. Anyhow, thank you for reading! I know my updates are less-than punctual, but I really do appreciate all the love and support 🥺 -Emmy. xo 💞

[messyemmy]

So, to my biggest surprise I have suddenly found the inspiration to finish Grapejuice part 4 (Genuinely thought I'd never get back to it, but it's my baby so I'm super excited to share!)

But so far it's super fluffy and has a lot of character development and idk if I should up the smut count. It was originally supposed to be max 6 parts, I just can't stop myself from adding more. Maybe I'll weave in another chapter or two... tough decisions, my dudes.

Anyway, Grapejuice Pt 4 will be out by Thursday latest! Yay yay yay!!!

[messyemmy]

hiii did you use to have a different blog name on here? xo

Hi!! Yes I did, I was @elioslover before- but I needed a fresh start, so here we are!

I've been updating all my writing links, etc, and hopefully when that's done I'll be writing some more here! 💞

Masterlist

[messyemmy]

Baby Fever- Harry blurb in honour of him becoming an uncle!

More Dadrry / Other Writing

Harry just got back from spending the day meeting his new, teeny tiny niece, and he'd hardly been able to look away- absolutely besotted by her wide and curious eyes, soft hair, and total newness to the world. His heart feels so full it could burst and all he wants is to sprinkle this overwhelming love with those most important to him.

Even on the drive home and for a good hour after arriving home, Harry can't shake the stirring of paternal possibility- especially in the presence of his wife, so lovingly and endearingly sharing supper with him. He's so infatuated with the wholesomeness swelling within, fascinated with these sudden fantasies of bringing home his own baby- a teeny, breathing product of a love so strong- being blessed by the gift of his wife, whom herself, was enough of a gift as it was.

She notices Harry's struggle to focus long before he- chalking it up to the overwhelming excitement of the day, certain that her husband was just as giddy at the arrival of his niece as she always predicted he would be. It was hard enough walking past a cute toddler without his desire to stop and coo taking over.

When asked about it, Harry sighs out contently and simply reassures, "'M just thinkin'..."

Oh, but this type of thinking isn't so easy to shake and follows Harry all the way to bed, burying itself beneath the covers beside him, tugging at his heartstrings with sweet scenarios where he cradles a sleepy infant to his chest, soothed by the softest of snores, watching his wife giggle along to incoherent baby babbles, celebrating milestones, watching them grow, and growing alongside.

Even as the next three days drone on, Harry feels like the universe had 100% overheard his secret daydreams- taunting him with anything and everything resembling children- every where he goes, every thing he does is sidelined by the aching feeling of starting a family.

After what must have been the fourth stroller rolls past, Harry cuts his run short. Realisation that this stirring within will not be going anywhere, solidifying into the desire to say it out loud, to announce and welcome this want- need- to start the next chapter of his life.

He practically bounds through the front door, sneakers squeaking along the hardwood as he urgently calls out in search of his wife., though by the time she sings back a greeting and says "In the nook" Harry has already found her- the same place she usually hides- a book balanced between her fingers, wedding ring flickering from the rays of sunset, luring him closer until he's standing right before her.

Harry drops to his knees before she has the chance to give him a proper greeting, his palms splaying out atop her thighs, and though his eyes are aflame with desperation, a hopeful smile continues to creep up and spread along his lips until his cute dimples are on full display.

Discarding her book to the side, his wife's hands find a home in his curls, gently kneading stray tufts of his silky curls, and Harry's head dips on instinct, forehead resting against her exposed leg, pressing his cheek into her fleshy skin- this only evokes a soft chuckle that slips past her lip as she smiles at him with enamoured curiosity, "What's gotten into you, huh?"

He mumbles against her skin, breath tickling and pricking goosebumps along her thighs, his hand reaching on and wrapping loosely around her calf- thumb stroking circles into her skin.

"Speak up, sweet boy," she coaxes and even after he projects, his words are still muttered into incoherence, her legs bouncing along with her chuckling chest, waiting for him to find the words.

Harry wallows in her patience for as long as it takes to just build up the confidence to match his certainty, unable to soothe all of his nerves, even by the time the rest of him has conjured up enough bravery, his statement is so soft, so vulnerable,

"Wanna have a baby." He still can't muster the courage to look her in the eye.

"Is that so?" The giddiness coursing through her is present in her tone, hiccupping her sentence, hands continuing to play with his curls, "You wanna be a daddy?"

His face feels flush with bashful excitement at the mere sound of 'you' and 'dad' in the same sentence. Harry enthusiastically nods once more against the expanse of her thigh before his face finally tilts back up to meet her fond gaze, she's beaming down at him with newfound hopefulness.

"I wanna be a dad," he finally admits aloud, and it feels so fucking good to say it, "really really wanna have a baby with you."

The sweetest smile creeps well past his wife's lips and crinkles the corner of her eyes as they twinkle back at his own with wonderment. Her nails massage along the nape of his neck before her palm gently cradles his blushy cheek and she hums contently, "Well, that's the best idea you've ever had."

[messyemmy]

Routines (Harry Styles x reader) dadrry!

Premise: Harry is stirred from his sleep by the best little surprise.

[I could not help myself!]

Word count: 1.4k.

Warnings: . Other writing / More dad!harry

🧸

The sun is bright-even brighter than the curtains shielding it from the sleepy owners tucked away under soft and fluffy white sheets. Speaking of, Harry has been in a deep sleep, swimming across dreamland with gills and a tail. An extremely enticing activity that only has him lulling further into unconsciousness. 

But it doesn’t take long for his dreams to start turning foggy, a soft and cute voice cooing out to him, coming from the sky above him, demanding his attention. He knows the voice well- knows he will be awake in a few moments. And how could he resist when the voice is so loving, a mumble of half-formed words and little giggles. 

He can feel someone starts to stir beside him, a soft grumble threatening to roll over and tend to the little voice calling for your attention from the other side of the bed. Harry needs to stop you before you are fully awake and can't convince yourself to fall asleep, well aware that letting you rest will be one of the only graces he can still give you. 

Blindingly reaching his arm out, Harry gently rubs his palm along your back, swirling circles along your skin, signalling your nearing return to slumber. Sighing out with relief, you shift and snuggle back into the plush sheets. 

The giggling goes on, closer to his face now and Harry can't stop the sleepy smile that creeps along his feature, excitement for his eyes to flutter open so he can greet the needy little one who is only moments away from wrapping their chubby little fingers around his nearest curls, threatening to tug if he waits much longer. 

This is a guarantee after a repeat of the same wake-up routine for weeks in a row- a tiny tot, reaching no taller than his knees, the perfect place to wrap around him to stay as close as humanly possible. A little baby, well rested, waking up with the sun and ready to sing their little songs for mummy and daddy. 

She had stayed snuggled beneath her lilac and unicorn duvet for as long as her little thoughts could keep her company, but after a good moment of fiddling with her fingers- raised above her and aimed for the ceiling, creating wonky hand puppets- she is determined for only one thing; the company of the tall, all-knowing parent. 

Her soft feet, devoid of creases, new to the whole living thing, pad along the hardwood floor, navigating from the safety of her bed in search of the main bedroom. The journey from one room to another is hardly existent- less than five footsteps away, and with the door already slanted, she is welcome to wander and waddle along to the king-sized mattress. 

A smile turns to a little grin, baby teeth peaking past her gums as she makes her way over before coming to a clumsy halt at the foot of the bed. Both parents are buried between a mountain of sheets, heads pressed into the pillows, soft snores emitted in intervals, and she frowns with little furrowed brows, longing for them to wake up and smother her with lovies. 

Harry obliges with another little smile, sending it her way from behind closed lids, taking a last second to enjoy the feeling of darkness before slowly squinting his eyes to open, slowly separating and embracing the harsh shining of the sun, peaking through a sliver of the crumpled curtain, bouncing along and illuminating the bedroom. 

With one eye more open than the other, his vision blurs to clarity, he is met with the wide and gleeful gaze of his favourite little gremlin. She has him grinning from her mere presence, partially satisfied that she has managed to persuade Harry to escape slumber, giddy for the gush of greetings she is guaranteed to receive. 

His voice is gravelly as a toothy grin spreads along his cheeks, shiny teeth cheesing up at the little lady looking over at him with the widest most innocent green eyes, thick black lashes fanning and framing her stark, fiery gaze,

“Good morning princess.” 

He can hear you shuffle with surety and satisfaction, digging deep into the mattress and delving back to sleep with the reassurance that your little one is taken care of- for the moment, at least. Satisfied with his success, Harry turns all of his attention to the little girl currently clapping her hands together with anticipation as she answers, 

“Hello, dada.” 

Each time she chooses to verbalise her thoughts, Harry feels like it’s the first time- the first time he’s heard her little voice. Even if she’s only been absent for a couple hours, he cannot help the surprise that stirs in his heart, butterflies batting against the walls of his stomach, filled with excitement over his little creation beaming up at him with such pure adoration. 

Harry rolls over fully, resting on his hip, one arm raising to cradle his head and the other reaching out in an attempt to reel her in closer. She obliges in an instant, bouncing up and down on the balls of her chubby little feet, bounding over to him, her hand wrapping around his own extended palm. 

With her hand in his, Harry is always amused at how tiny she really is- with such a rambunctious and animated personality, it's hard to believe her third birthday is yet to pass- fitting in his palm like that of a petit flower, her half-scrunched fist sitting right in the middle of his hand like blooming petals. 

“Did you have a nice sleep?” Harry ponders, a warm feeling melting his heart as she begins nodding avidly. She had no dreams, despondent to the world, wholesomely welcoming the darkness, and Harry longs for the days when his sleep was the same. 

She is inching closer, clambering over in an attempt to settle into his custody, and Harry is more than willing to comply as he gently guides her closer with his grip, encouraging her to continue her climb up onto the mattress, 

“Wanna snuggle with mummy and daddy for a little?” He already knows the answer, but he loves the way her eyes light up with excitement. 

“Absolutely.” That’s a new one for her, replacing the repetitive answer of yes, Harry is reeling with amusement, in awe of her apparent skill in picking up and copying the words she has heard both you and Harry saying at some point or another. This is absolutely his contribution- he had said it a couple times just the day before. 

“C’mere, clever little one.” He helps her crawl up, the mattress dipping so minimally as she cuddles closer into his hold. 

Harry shifts further back, careful not to bump your body, but soothed as one of your hands sluggishly holds onto his shoulder, your own body squeezing closer to his until there is no space and Harry is being spooned by his sweetest companion, back slotted between your chest. 

He provides enough space for his little one to snuggle over into him, her entirety curled into a half-moon, legs curled up and little arms scrunched against her chest. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she is starting to settle, little eyes struggling to keep from swelling shut with the promise of extra sleep. Harry knows it will be mere moments until she slips away with melatonin, leaving him with the promise that he will soon join her. 

His eyes flutter shut as she snuggles in even closer- if possible- and his arms curls around her with comfort and security, making certain she knows she is always safe in his company. And it seems like seconds before her body stills, and relaxes into the bundle of sheets, little breaths evening out until Harry is sure she is asleep. 

With sleepy eyes and a wholesomely swollen heart, Harry is wrapped up and warm, surrounded by the most important loves in his life, wondering how he got so lucky as slumber slowly seduces him back into darkness.  

[messyemmy]

Worst Wingman - Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry is a shite wingman... or is he?]

Prompt Requests- send a couple numbers and a trope or dynamic! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35).

"No goodnight kiss for me? " // "Are you daring me to kiss you?"

Main Writing

Word Count: 2.3k.

🫧

Harry doesn't even have a chance to pull up the handbrake before she has the door open, clutching onto her bag and stepping out into the brisk autumn air, her shoes swiftly scraping against the concrete, hardly caring if the door shut (or if Harry was following) behind her. 

She is aggressively rummaging through a cluster of items in pursuit of house keys, huffing at the incredulity of the man she can almost guarantee is hot on her heels, ready to grovel his way back into her good books. 

By the time she comes to a stop at her door, it’s difficult to ignore the sudden invasion of Harry’s presence nearing her own. 

He keeps a small space available in favour of her comfort, but his confident energy is so palpable that she feels he might as well have his lips pressed against the crook of her neck, it felt as if his hands were already ghosting around her waist, holding her with soothing security. 

The key takes far too long jingling as she repeatedly misses the lock, her hands start to subtly shake with nervous frustration, and though Harry- already peering over her shoulder- wants to chuckle, he pretends not to notice, and that’s an easy feat when his gaze dips to observe the divets of her collarbone and shoulders- almost bare of materials- dedicating his attention to the scatter of sunspots and freckles along her skin.

On the third and final attempt, the keys twist with triumph and the front door clicks, unlocking, and instantly she turns the knob and pushes the door ajar- just enough to slide a shoe- perhaps a leg- through. 

Harry waits in anticipation as she readjusts her bag and slants the door wider, making sure not to leave any space for Harry to follow her through. 

He softly chuckles at her petulant stubbornness, staying put as she slips through the cracks and peers back at him from behind the wooden barrier with a stern frown, secretly living for the feelings of empowerment that surge up her spine. 

But, Harry is only amused, and it only increases the longer he studies the dramatism painting her wide eyes, blushed cheeks, and bushy eyebrows with adorable misplaced anger. Well, he seems to think it’s misplaced. 

She does not. She and Harry have had a simple and seamless relationship up until the past couple of months when he suddenly started acting up. 

An agreement of ‘we’re thirty, time is running out, we should be each other's wingmen’ has turned into a blurred line of kisses and touches behind closed doors, and her focus is now wavering from setting Harry up with someone else in favour of keeping him all to herself. 

The entire agreement hinges on the fact that they're both looking for different things and as far as she’s aware, Harry’s mind hasn't changed, even though they have evidently adjusted the rules- romance definitely wasn’t initially part of the deal- her fears of rejected reciprocity help refrain her from fully indulging in the fantasy of what life could look like if they just chucked the plan and chose each other. 

But Harry thinks he’s made himself quite clear- at least he thinks it’s quite obvious after the numerous times he has interrupted or completely compromised any of her recent romantic prospects. 

He couldn’t recall the exact moment or reason why, but this little ‘agreement’ between the two had rapidly turned into something more for him, and he hoped that she felt it too. 

Sometimes he’s sure she does- that she enjoys each touch and giggle with as much endearment as he does- but then moments like this have him questioning it all as she works her hardest to create distance, visibly frazzled and very disappointed. 

Harry doesn't challenge her defence, he doesn't make any attempts to step forward or push back, only leaning his shoulder comfortably against the wall, cheekily smiling in light of her next move. 

Naturally, her chest tightens at his borderline childish nonchalance, but, resisting the temptation to chide him for every single thing he does that irritates the life out of her, she takes a deep breath and puts on a sickly sweet smile,

“Thanks for the ride, Harry.”

As quick as the words leave her mouth, she uses her palm to weakly attempt to shut the door, hoping to leave Harry as confused as she currently is. 

But he’s been expecting it- actually amused that it took her this long to formally dismiss him- and as gently as he possibly can, Harry uses his own palm to stop the door from swinging shut, ensuring her grouchy face remains on full display. 

She is in no mood for games, and they both know it, but Harry cannot resist the electric currents of endearment surging through him as she scowls and scoffs with impatience, foot tapping in anticipation for his next- and sure to be audacious- action. 

His chosen tactic is to smirk lazily, leaning further- if possible- into the wall, his arm still extended, holding the door ajar, head tilting, eyes enamoured and practically pouting along with his plump lips as he ponders, 

“No goodnight kiss for me?” 

“You’re incredulous!” Her voice raises, mortified, as she makes a final attempt to shut the door. 

Without even confirming, she turns on her heels- ironically immediately starting to rid herself of this evening’s chosen stilettos- but by the sounds of it, Harry has followed after her, just barely standing in the entrance hall, his eyes like a magnet to her bent body as he mutters,  

“You like that about me.”

Levelling on the ground, she whips back around to face him, arms angrily folded across her chest, and currently she has to crane her neck to address him directly, 

“Right now, I don't like you at all.” 

“Don’t be mean.” He whines. 

“Oh, but it’s okay for you to be mean to me?” She huffs. 

Harry feels slightly stumped by that one, his arms absentmindedly straying up his chest, crossing sternly with sudden defensiveness, frowning, 

“When have I been mean to you?” 

“When you kiss me!” 

Her arms flail, brows furrowed with such frustration that Harry feels a new level of confusion, mostly focused on her plump, peachy lips as he asks,

“Are you daring me to kiss you?” 

“Are you daring me to punch you?” She threatens. 

“Ooh, kinky.” He mewls. 

“You make my blood boil!” She all but tosses flames his way, pairing her verbal threat with a hearty step forward, entering his personal space.

“You make me happy.” He takes a mirroring step, meeting her in the middle, his features slowly sinking from jovial into a clusterfuck of perplexion.

But this only seems to make things worse, she seems close to fuming and Harry swears he can see steam spewing from her ears and nostrils. 

And she only creeps nearer, one arm collapsing to her side, the other raising to press a stressed palm to her flaming forehead. 

After what feels like an eternity, she has soothed her twisted stomach and the thumping in her chest has lulled enough for her to huff with unmistakable disappointment,

“What the hell are we doing, Harry?” 

Harry’s stare swells and steals his confident security as he tries to sort through the clues she so sternly requires, 

“Well right now I’m trying-”

“Not right now. In general.” She demands. 

“What do you mean?” Harry- definitely discouraged- concedes and asks for her aid. 

It’s a sting to his heart when her face only surges with what he sees as sorrowful hatred. 

“I mean,” Her tone has lost all patience as she gestures wildly at him, “What the hell is this?” and then her body slumps sadly, “Us.” 

“I dunno. Guess I thought we were having fun.” 

Harry’s head bows, his heart has a headache, and all he really wants is to reach out and smooth out the furrow in her brows, rid her frown with reassurance.

But as soon as he attempts to get nearer, she furthers the distance,

“My wingman constantly kissing me and ruining my dates is not fun… For me, at least.” She hopes the severity of her hurt stays hidden. 

“I haven't been ruining your dates.” Harry pouts, still puzzled. 

“Oh c’mon. You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her eyes roll at his ridiculousness.  

“I don’t!” He hadn’t consciously considered it until this current crisis, and… she’s right. He’s been actively sabotaging the same opportunities he so sweetly sent her direction. He concedes, “Okay, I do, but-” 

“But?” 

“I thought you liked kissing me.” With honesty, Harry shrugs weakly. 

“I do! That’s the problem.” She can hardly stay still, dragging herself deeper into the depths of suffocating frustration. 

“Okay, now I’m really confused.” He can’t conceive of what she’s trying to communicate.  

Suddenly, she’s the one closing the gap, walking straight for him until the only thing separating their chests is an arm's length, peering up at Harry with a gaze he recognizes from brief moments in between the sheets, his head resting in her lap, and after midnight goodbye kisses.  

“I like kissing you. And I like spending time with you.” She announces with certainty, “But I don’t think you want us to be more than… whatever this is.” Her shoulders slump as she weakly gestures once more, “The least you could do is be the wingman you promised to be.” 

“Then I don’t want to be your wingman anymore.”

Harry says it with such simplicity that it seems like a total throwaway comment- like none of this meant anything more than a verbal agreement- like this whole thing was nothing to him from the very start. She feels a lot of things, but the shame of it all is sickening.

“Okay, fine! You could have just said that!” Her voice, booming- cracking on impact, “Didn’t have to pity me.” 

Teary eyes trail down to stare at her shimmering toenails, blinking at a rapid rate to avoid any falls, she hopes to the heavens above that a miraculously giant bird would just swoop down and carry Harry away from this catastrophic nightmare so she can cry in peace.

He doesn’t wish for the same- in fact, he just wishes she would look at him- he needs her gaze to reassure his entire existence, for her eyes to confirm the words slipping past her lips. 

So, with the softness of a summer breeze, Harry nears her and though she still won’t look up, he feels it okay to assert,

“I’ve never pitied you, and you know it.” He tries to sound void of accusation,  “Just wanted to help you out.” 

“Well, no need to worry, your job is done.” She spits, finally looking up. Harry almost wishes she hadn’t.

“Fine.” He scoffs.

“Fine.” She mocks.

They stay locked in a stare-off of lust and maybe love all wrapped up in a bow of a fiery gift box about to blow open and burst their bubble. 

Harry’s chest huffs and his next exhale is as childish as the last, 

“Good.”

“Great.” She grits through a sarcastic thin-lipped smile. 

Harry loves the little strands of hair that have stuck to her skin with sweaty fervour, the promising taste of her peachy plump lips, chubby flared and blotchy cheeks.

Her eyes- tinted red and swooping lashes slightly damp- are as comforting as always and they give Harry the last little push he so clearly needs,

“So, can I finally ask you on a date now?”  

“Excuse me?” She actually wants to ask, ‘What the hell is happening?’.

“I like kissing you. I like spending time with you.” His voice is as certain as his words, “I’d really like to take you out, properly, and I’d love to be yours completely.” 

Timidly, she peers up at him and after a moment of glancing his gaze to seek out any reason for Harry to be lying. But, there’s nothing more than the glimmer of adoration swirling around amorously in the forest of green. 

Then, shyly conceding with insurmountable relief, she somewhat cautiously asks, 

“... Really?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Okay…” It’s becoming impossible to hide the smile creeping at the corners of her mouth, “I’d like- love- to go on a date with you.”

Harry sighs out and releases so much untended pressure that he feels momentarily lightheaded, or it has something to do with the words- he had unknowingly deemed a necessity- coming out in a silky ribbon of a sentence, sung like a prayer from the prettiest of lips from the prettiest of people. 

He ignores how silly and giddy he must seem as he eagerly removes the remaining distance between them, shoes gently bumping against her toes. One hand makes a home on her lower back,

“How does tomorrow sound? Pick you up around 7?” 

“Sounds good…” 

“Good.” 

Harry concludes as her palms tentatively press to his torso, lashes batting lusciously as his face boldly leans closer, mouth glistening, garnering full attention as his free hand comes up to cup her jaw. 

She can feel her toes trying to leave the floor, ankles stretching to get closer, hand leaving his chest in favour of the nape of his neck, her fingers faintly brushing the base of his hair. 

Harry’s thumb slowly strokes at her cheek, then trails along her chin and lingers along the pillows of her lips, 

“Now, would it be cruel to ask for that goodnight kiss?” 

💞

[messyemmy]

Friday Nights - Harry Styles x reader. (Dadrry Oneshot).

[The polls revealed that you sweetpeas wanted more dadrry and my ovaries agreed. Hope you guys find it as cute as I do! 💞]

Premise: Harry can't wait to get home to see his favourite girls.

More dadrry / Other writing

Word count: 1.9k / Warnings

🧸

Harry has the entire weekend off- not just a lucky Saturday afternoon- the entire weekend. And he has spent the first 18 hours without empty hands, but the fullest of hearts.

His baby girl- who has long surpassed gaining the skill of walking- has been carried and coddled from the second Harry’s boots hit the hardwood of the entrance hall early Friday evening. The sun has yet to fully set and his whole body is whisked away with excitement at what awaits on the other side of the front door.

At the familiar sound of keys dangling from their slotting in the keyhole, his little petal has dismissed her activity of creating a colourful artwork, crayon still squished between her chubby fingers as her wobbly feet bound over to the front door in pursuit of the mysterious person attempting access.

With the patience she has surely learned from yourself- not Harry- his little 3-year-old is standing in wait, eyes wide with curiosity, her posture still shy and weary of who might enter in a moment.

And when the door becomes ajar, a familiar worn-down leather Gucci boot comes into vision, and then she can see the other boot too- her features prettily framing a painting of the unconditional love she has for her daddy. Those silly boots older than herself are the surest sign of one of her favourite humans stepping into the house.

Giddily, she beams up at him, her chubby ankles balancing her soft feet as she bounces up and down, her body swaying with enthusiasm, her eyes shining with pure excitement.

Harry isn't even halfway through the door when he is confronted by his cute, cheery, tiny toddler, and he feels his shoulders soothingly shrug at the mere sight- unaware of just how happy he is at the blessing of ending his stressful days in the comfort of a home life he never considered a possibility.

Taking a full step into the hallway, Harry is reminded of your existence whenever his babygirl wistfully looks at him. She is the combination of he and your love, and so much more.

Her hair is a little damp, presumably from just having had a bath and some supper. Harry thinks he must have caught her amid playtime, and he hopes tomorrow might offer the opportunity for him to partake in these activities.

And he will, sternly telling you that he hopes you'll take the opportunity to make the weekend your own; tending to tasks, catching up with both friends and binging series, even just using the time to extend your naps, meals, and self-care.

But right now, the bag slung across his shoulder is dropped to the floor, he brushes the edge of the door in an attempt to shut it but cares not if it shuts completely, because a three-year-old- dressed in a pale blue set of jammies decorated in her favourite dinosaurs- is exclaiming, "Daddy" through a burst of enthusiastic giggles.

He takes a step forward, but she is more than willing to meet him in the middle, her tiny toes coming into contact with his boots before he can blink and she tightly wraps her arms around his leg- she only measures up to below his knee- adorably squeezing as tight as she can.

Harry's heart swells so big, he fears he is a balloon filled with so much helium it's begging to burst- but if it bursts, he knows his entire body will become a firework exhibition centred around the theme of how much he unconditionally loves his baby girl.

He does his best to bow closer, wrapping his arms around her, and in true tradition, Harry then lifts her little-ness, helping her balance her feet on the tops of his boots- Harry would have thrown these scuffed, barely stylish boots away if it weren't for the undeniably heart-warming reaction he receives when arriving home.

She now stands atop his shoes, her arms extending up so her hands can be clasped by his, and they are swallowed like a small petal in his palm- so small, he has never seen something-someone- so dainty. Harry slowly takes dance-like steps around the hallway, enthused and cheered on by the cheeky giggles of his daughter enjoying their little 'dance' along the hardwood.

Still humouring and guiding her around, Harry calls out, "'M home, Lovie," seeking out the location of his gift-giver, yourself.

"Hi, Bubs!" You call, and by the distance in your voice, Harry knows you're probably in the kitchen- which is confirmed mere seconds later, "'m in the kitchen", you coo, "felt like making spring rolls…", you pause, "It's still undecided if I'm succeeding or not."

Harry chuckles softly, eager to enter the kitchen and see exactly what you're on about, and by now, the easily distracted toddler has released him, bumbling on about wanting to show her daddy the latest masterpiece she will soon add to her collection.

He certainly will, "How 'bout you show me, and then we can draw another one together?"

She sillily but seriously considers it, her hand stroking her chin as if the fate of the world is balancing atop her ten fingers. Harry thinks he sees himself in her, he thinks he sees himself in you, and loving you has surely rubbed off on him.

Eventually, his sassy three-year-old tells him- with humorously, adorable certainty- "Yes."

Harry's chest lulls with love as he tells her, "Need to say hi to mummy first, okay?"

She nods avidly, "I'll start without you." To which Harry laughs aloud and begins the task of removing his boots.

Harry trails down the hallway, his sock sliding along the hardwood, his eyes glancing over the array of framed photographs- ones of himself and you, of the baby, pets, family and friends.

As he rounds the corner, the aroma of freshly chopped cabbage and carrots invades his senses, and said senses go into overdrive as his eyes land on the loveliest of things; his partner, partially hidden as you stand behind the kitchen island, slicing an avocado, humming along to soft sound of 'Hand Me Downs'.

He finds himself behind you so fast, like a fugue of neediness had taken over and he had to tend to it. You hum in contentment, body sinking back into his chest, still chopping with nonchalance as his arms carefully, but desperately, wrap around your waist, his hands mindlessly shifting the material of your clothes to ensure skin-on-skin contact.

He wants to be near- just for a moment- softly peppering kisses along the nape of your neck, and when you shudder, he huffs out with an overload of admiration. His little pecks seem successful as you finally discard your dinner prep, placing the knife on the counter before twirling your body around to face Harry.

His smile is bright and matches his eyes, unintentionally encouraging your features to mirror his as you tilt up onto your toes in favour of giving him a good smooch,

"Hello, my Darling." You address, pressing your lips to the corner of his own.

"Missed you, Lovie." He says before going in for a proper kiss; pecking you one, two, three times before he is smiling so much that it becomes hard to call this kissing.

You giggle against his lips, giving him one last kiss before tilting back less than an inch to let him know, "Missed you more."

"Liar." He chuckles, tilting his neck to the ceiling, giving you the opportunity for a cheeky nip of his chin. Harry's body jolts with pleasant surprise, hand sliding down your lower back to give your denim-clad bum a good squeeze.

And then perhaps the sassiest and cutest demand comes echoing down from the room over, "Excuse me!" which only has the pair of you a soft chuckling mess.

You gently stroke the nape of Harry's neck, nails scraping the nearest tufts of his hair, "Y' better get going." a final kiss to both cheeks and his lips before you remind him, "Your Highness awaits."

Harry nods along with a swift tap to your bum cheek and a kiss to your forehead as he leaves the kitchen in pursuit of the art gallery that is guaranteed to be covering the walls of the games room.

She is already seated at her little yellow table, her collection of colourful markers, pencils, and glitter pens are all neatly lined up on the right, and she has a pile of complete artworks stacked on the left. In the centre is an A4 pink piece of cardboard already covered in streaks of black marker.

Continuing to scribble, she makes a small gesture for Harry to pull up a seat next to her. He does so, untucking the chair he knows will do a useless job at holding his height, nevertheless, he settles in easily- a product of this being a recurring event- turning his body to signal his attention is entirely hers.

For the next twenty minutes or so, Harry enthusiastically reacts and admires his little one's creations, and then he follows her to the puppy's bed, letting her show off the new toy she chose for their golden retriever to sleep with this evening, then Harry helps her up the stairs, gently hoisting her up, her legs wrapping around his hips, her head curling into his chest.

She instructs him to go to her bedroom, only loosening her grip as he slowly dips to place both her and himself upon her bed. Out of his hold, her little legs crossed, feet wiggling with excitement, patting the spot next to her for her daddy to occupy.

Harry could never say no to that- for starters, it was challenging enough saying it to you- his body shuffling closer, shifting to suit her wishes until she is happily cradled across his chest, his hip awkwardly pressed into the mattress, shoulder twisted unpleasantly, but he has no cares to give.

She wants him to tell her a story. Sometimes she wants to hear about him having fun with his friends, or how he and mommy met and fell in love, other days she wants him to make one up tonight, she wants to hear about his singing.

She asks simple, scattered questions, mostly unrelated to the one before and after. Slowly they delay and his answers add an extra drone, she is getting rather comfy, cuddling up into the crook of Harry, sharing this contentedness with such sleepiness that he knows he is sure to follow.

Downstairs, admiring your dinner, you are quite proud of the final results of your spring rolls. Patience and persistence certainly has its perks. If your phone were nearby, you would be tempted to take a picture, but you have something better; a handsome husband who will soon praise you in wonderment as he scarfs down your proud work.

After a brief stroll through the living room and the games room, you patter your way up the staircase and make a beeline for her bedroom. As expected, you find your favourite duo, but what wasn't expected was the sigh of Harry cradling a sleeping toddler.

She is sleeping soundly, her little wrists and ankles scrunched, her face with a naturally concentrated brow furrow- just like her father. Harry has one arm wrapped around her, his head tucked behind her own, laying obscurely but looking cosier than ever.

[messyemmy]

Ray of Sunshine - Grumpy!Harry x Reader.

Premise: Harry has a tendency to be moody, but what happens when he meets his match? this one's especially for @harrysonlylover 💞

Other Writing

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: She/her pronouns. 3rd person.

⛅️

Harry’s car skids recklessly into the almost-full parking lot, dismissing the concept of carefulness in favour of confronting the driver behind the wheel of a sunshine-yellow ‘60s VW beetle, who had pulled into the lot moments before- which should have never happened because it had been behind him, to begin with. 

As if his mood hadn’t been less than pleasant for the past month, what really set him over the edge was the lack of apology from the said sunshine yellow driver, who only honked his way and proceeded to turn into the parking lot as they seemed to have always intended. 

With agitation, Harry neatly swerves into the nearest parking space, barely managing to stay in the lines as he reaches over and snatches his work satchel from the passenger seat, slinging it over his shoulder as he slides from the seat and exits his vehicle. 

In hot pursuit, his long legs help him catch up to the sunshine car just in time for the driver to exit, her back turned to him, leaning in through the open door to collect her items. 

By the time she turns around and lazily swings the door shut Harry is peering over her, wearing a black hoodie, brows furrowed, his body tense. 

She recognises him in an instant- it’s hard not to remember the face of a man who is scowling so sinfully as he hit the hooter for an unnecessary amount of time- all because he couldn't be bothered to indicate. 

“Did you not see my blinker?” He grumbles. 

“Clearly not.” She torts, her face still and expressionless. 

“You’re a moron. It was on.” Each word is more annunciated than the last. 

“It wasn’t.” She shrugs, slinging the straps of her bag over her shoulder. 

“You clearly need glasses.” Harry huffs in disbelief. 

“Maybe if you weren’t blasting your music so loud you would have heard that it wasn’t on.” 

Harry feels a wave of shame wash over him at the idea of her seeing him getting a little too into his playlist, in turn, his chest simmers with defensiveness and deflection, 

“Your driving fucking sucks…” He says, getting no response only encourages him to rant further, “And your car looks like it’s hanging on by its last thread, no wonder you’re a bad driver.” He gestures to her car with a look of distaste, “It’s a piece of junk.”

She adores her car, it is not only special but holds the heart of many fond times, adventures, people, and sometimes just conversation. The car sure has been through the wringer- in age alone- but she can hardly afford another, and she certainly doesn't want one. 

So, she tries not to find offence in this grumpy strangers declaration of her ‘piece of junk’ and does her best to take a deep breath before responding in concession- though her agitation has morphed into sarcasm and it seeps through your sentences,

“Okay, sorry Mister Mercedes. Guess I’ll be more careful next time.”

Harry didn't know what he wanted her to say, but it certainly wasn’t anything along those lines. So with an eye roll and the reminder that he’s close to being late for work, Harry starts to walk away and points out matter-of-factly, 

“Yeah fuckin right, you’re an accident waiting to happen.” 

“Asshole.”

“I heard that.” 

He turns on his heels to see her as calm as ever, an amused sparkle in her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips,

“What ya gonna do? Chew me out some more?”

Harry stared seethingly at the rude and reckless driver who couldn't care less about his mood, her focus was on gathering all the necessary items for whatever task she so desperately had to complete that she was willing to almost kill him. 

He meanly mutters, “Have a fantastic day," before walking off for good, dreading work and in a worse mood than ever. 

⛅️

Harry has an hour for lunch, grateful for the assortment of cafes and restaurants scattered within the city square, along with plenty of boutiques, art deco, and antiques to name a few. 

Most days, he is likely to grab a sandwich or coffee- or both- from the restaurant directly across from his office block, but that would be the third time this week and Harry can’t fathom facing any of the staff in fear of becoming a ‘regular.’ 

He meanders around the centre and stakes out the array of food options displayed in each glass window. 

Just when he thinks he may settle on some early afternoon sushi, Harry spots a bright object from the corner of his vision, his head snapping with such haste he must have strained a muscle. 

Parked directly in front of a shoe boutique is his notorious enemy; the sunshine car. And leaning back against a pillar just outside of the store is the bad driver from behind the wheel. She is halfway through smoking a cigarette, her other hand occupied by scrolling through her phone. 

As if his scowl was so strong that it was sent straight to her, causing her to sense his presence, she looked up from her phone and smiled mischievously at the realization of her new enemy's arrival. 

She tucks her phone into the pocket of her black slacks, taking a puff of her ciggie, a cloud of smoke mixing in with her greeting,  

“Ah, Mister Mercedes.” 

Harry nears but notices his frustration thicken with each step into her space. He crosses his arms across his chest, 

“I recognised your car.” 

“Oh, that old piece of junk?” She asks with nonchalance. 

“Yes.”

“Bothered you so much that you decided to come over here?” Her pout is melting with pure mischief. 

“I’m sorry, okay.” Harry concedes, but it doesn't come off as anything but frustrated so his tone softens in volume and intention, “It was a rough day.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His brows furrow.

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Fucking insufferable.” He mutters.

His frustration slips over like that of water on a duck, her mood has been calm all day, and his attitude wasn’t likely to spoil it- right? With another puff, she ponders aloud, 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

There is a moment where Harry almost ponders the purity of his intentions, but dismisses it and chooses to interrogate her- he is far too invested in finding out more about his enemy,

“Do you work here?” 

“Obviously.” She shrugs with the softest of scoffs. 

“Hope you’re a better employee than a driver.” 

Now he’s starting to get under her skin. this is her hour for lunch, why can’t it be spent in peace? She does her damndest to maintain a cool demeanour as she asks again,

“Why are you still here?” 

“To apologize, Jesus.” Harry doesn't mean to snap, but neither of them is surprised when he does. His juxtaposition of words and tone render his sorry useless- they both know it.

He tries to reason with her, explaining his frustration, “And all you said was okay.”

She peers over at him incredulously, repeatedly intrigued by the attitude of this man who has gone out of his way to make an enemy out of her, 

“What do you want me to say,” her tone facetious and fiery, “I forgive you, we all have bad days, sometimes we take it out on strangers to avoid hurting those close to us, you’re probably actually a great guy?” 

“I- yes.” 

“Well now that I’ve said it, you can go on your way.” 

Harry feels stunned like she just let him walk out into the snow knowing that there was soon to be a blizzard, he can’t reason with her- nor does he care to at this point, 

“Jesus. I take back my apology.” He grumbles, hands raised in defeat, his head shaking as he scoffs sourly, “Such a mature little thing, huh?” 

She ignores everything but the last sentence, slowly enjoying the opportunities he’s giving her to indulge in going out of her way to increase his already extreme grumpiness. 

Once more, Harry curses out under his breath and with zero intent to say another word, begins to walk away from her. 

Pulling the phone from her pocket, ready to continue her prior activities, she chuckles and calls over his shoulder,

“Bye, Mister Mercedes.” 

⛅️

It has likely been less than a week since their last interaction and Harry’s enemy has decided to treat herself to a proper lunch- sitting down at an actual table in an actual restaurant for a change. 

However, she underestimated her fitness levels and loosely accounted for a good portion of the time her lunch break consisted of. By the time she arrived and got back to her own store, there would be less than twenty minutes left to sit at a table. 

Takeout would have to do, and once she has placed her order, she waits off to the side of the main counter, waiting to both pay and be gifted with grub. 

The food comes quicker than predicted and with excitement she thinks can't be topped, she reaches for her wallet, but the hostess stops her in her tracks and gestures to one of the tables scattered throughout the eatery and informs her, 

“The man at table four already paid for your order.”

It’s her sworn enemy, packing up the contents of his belongings before taking a final sip of his nearly-empty Americano. Harry doesn’t acknowledge her.

“What’s with this guy?” She ponders aloud before making the swift and frustrated decision to go over to his table.

He is already standing up to leave, still not looking her way, and with a bough of confusion, she finally speaks up, 

“What’s this about?” 

“Strange way of saying thank you, Sunshine.” 

Harry frowns and she doesn't enjoy the way it makes her feel, giddy and begging for more opportunities to bother him, 

“Thank you.”

“Whatever. You’re still a pest.” He grumbles, almost bumping his shoulder into her own as he slips past and hastily exits the restaurant.

⛅️

Harry walks into her store with a better attitude than he has in a long time. Things were starting to look up, but one little thing was still bothering him, and she was staring right at him with a scowl that gave him a run for his money. 

Anyhow, he’s here for a reason; an attempt to smooth over the rocky start that was more than likely his fault. And he hopes she’ll take his apology this time. 

Harry approaches, and with each step, he gets a better view of her distinct frown, lips turned down, eyes quickly turning to loathsome slits. She is no longer leaning across the front counter with laxation, her body stiffening to attention, her hand pressed firmly to her hip. 

She couldn’t fathom anything could have worsened her week, and here he was, presumably planning on sucking away whatever remained of her soul for his own sick gain. With a chest simmering with chaos, she asks with incredulity, 

“Seriously?” 

Harry blinks back, a little awestruck, ignoring the pang of disappointment that greets his heart when she seems to confirm her distaste for his presence, he embraces his mildly peppy mood and remarks playfully, 

“Well hello there, Sunshine.” 

“This is not the time.” She snaps.  

“Aw, is Miss Ray-of-Sunlight in a mood today?” He coos. 

“Mmph.” 

She huffs, hardly meeting his eyes, and Harry quite likes how well she emulates his usually grumpy demeanour, he wonders how similar they might be, decides to find out, 

“What happened?” He meets her at the counter, lazily resting his body against the counter courtesy of the elbow he balances on. He leans a tad nearer, a tantalizing smile playing at his lips as he teases,

“Did you almost crash into someone with your junkyard on wheels?” 

“I’d rather drive this than parade about like an absolute dick in an overpriced German car.” Her tone drips with what Harry feels is both disappointment and disgust. 

He feels frozen under her words like his Sunshine had just revealed herself to be Medusa, a sly Succubus. 

Now what does he do? His confidence sits on the floor with his converse, his sentences have turned to slosh in his skull and she is staring at him with such distaste that Harry certainly won’t be saying a word. 

Stunned to silence, he leans away from her, settling a safe space between their bodies as his features morph from friendly to confused. This only seems to increase her frustration and she fiery snaps, 

“Why won't you stop fucking pestering me?”

Harry subconsciously steps back, straightening up and stacking his defensiveness around his skin like a shield. He has no power to prevent a petty eye roll, 

“Oh, please. This is no treat for me either, Sunshine.”

“Are you kidding?” She gets ready to leave him standing alone in the middle of her own store. 

Harry panics and blurts, “Hear me out!” It comes off more desperate than he would have liked. But she has stopped and addresses him with crossed arms, waiting for his next words. Harry is in autopilot mode, more nonsense spilling from his lips, “I- want to make it up to you?” 

“Why, so you can clear your conscience?” She scoffs with sass. 

“Sure, whatever you say, smart mouth.” Harry has regressed and reflects her unpleasant temperament.

“Go away.” 

Their gazes are glued by the calamity of their conversation, tied together with frustration that feels impossible to unwind. 

Harry just wants to tell her why he’s here in the first place, but what’s the point? His presence is evidently worsening her day. 

And though the soft curiosity in him wants to know why she seems so down, Harry’s focus is returning to the ruin of his afternoon. So, in true fashion, he flails his arms in disappointed defeat and turns his back on her with a wonderful version of goodbye,

“Fine. Fuck it. Have a miserable one, Sunshine.” 

“Likewise, dickhead.” She dismisses, grateful his mood is now as miserable as her own. 

⛅️

When Harry finally exits the glass entrance to the bottom floor, relief rushing over him now that work is over, he’s hardly paying any attention to anything or anyone, already scanning his phone for notifications. But then he sees his cloudy sunshine leaning against a wall, arms crossed, no car in sight. 

He ponders pretending to not have noticed- walked away and gone about his eve. That would never happen though, he wants- needs to see her again- his stomach stays unsettled the deeper their discourse divulged. 

He heads over to her with unnecessary haste, scolding himself as he comes to a halt in front of her. She has been aware of him from the minute he exited the building, already prepared for his arrival. 

His body waits expectantly as she eyes him up and down, a cheeky glint in her eyes and when Harry understands that she is in no rush to speak up, his undying impatience rears its head, 

“What do you want?” 

“For you to stop being so grumpy.” She shrugs.

“Rich coming from you.” He mutters, but when she attempts to turn her back on him as they had done so many times before, more words rush out, “Okay, okay. What’s up?”

“I’ve decided to hear you out.” 

“Gee, how kind of you.” 

“I cannot imagine how anyone deals with you on a daily basis.” 

Harry doesn’t take it as an insult, he is fueled forward by the fact that she might be willing to listen,

“I’m actually very likeable.” 

“Do you want me to hear you out or not?” 

He thinks for a moment, leaving her to ponder what in her right mind caused her to take a walk to see him in the first place. 

But, he wants to do this as… right as their attitudes might approve of, so he bravely wraps his palm atop her own, gently gesturing for her to follow and she allows him to drag her along. He encourages, 

“C’mon.” 

“What?” She asks but proceeds to let him guide her. 

“It’s almost six, let’s go eat.” He informs, one step ahead of her as they take the short trip to his regular restaurant

“That is the last thing I want to do with you.” She grumbles. 

“I’ll pay.” He soothes. 

“Fine.” 

Harry keeps her hand cradled in his own, even as they enter the restaurant and he asks the waiter for a table for two. In fact, he only lets go to pull out a chair for her. 

He asks what drink she prefers and if she’d be open to splitting a plate of fries with him. 

But she has been eyeing him with suspicion, and once it’s clear that this won’t waver until she confronts it, the waiter leaves and allows her to question, 

“Why are you being nicer than usual?” 

“Can you stop being snarky for even a second?” He nearly snaps. 

“Ah, Mister Mercedes is back.” She nods as if it were what she had expected all along. 

“No,- Jesus fuck.” Harry feels desperate again, scooching his chair forward, his arms folded across the table, leaning in to ensure her unwavering attention,

 “I- almost got into another accident the day we met.” He sighs out with shame, ready to be met with warranted ridicule. Her expression has already turned to one of bemusement. But he’s not done yet,

“Turns out my left blinker bulb burned out... so...”

She tilts back and finally relaxes into her chair, a gleeful grin spreading to her sparkling eyes, 

“Sweet vindication.” 

“Brat.”

“Dick.” 

Harry has little confidence to spare, now that his confession is out in the open, he is in the dark. 

Her demeanour has slightly diverted swells of amusement and satisfaction dancing along the tabletop.

“Just wanted to try and make it up to you.” He shrugs earnestly, unfortunately having to rely on her newfound information to dictate her next reaction. 

“Make it up to me?” 

He can’t convince himself to meet her eyes, his lowering to study the rings donning his fingers, fearful of humiliation, but not enough to waste the opportunity sitting across from him, looking overjoyed with sweet satisfaction, and far too endearing for him to resist,

“Mm. I didn’t want you to think I was just a grump but…” Her face seems to soften and he feels it safe to continue, “Been tryna ask you out on a date. since.” 

“A date?” 

“Yeah, a date.” 

“Are you crazy?” Her features return to one of confusion, bewildered at his seemingly sudden turnaround, “I don’t like you.”

“Well, I like you.”

“Forgive me for finding that hard to believe.” 

It’s true- that he likes you, and that it’s hard to believe. He likes the surprise shifting his statement. 

“I do.” He nods as if it’s been obvious from the start, “And your attitude, and your silly yellow car.” He admits with bashful fondness, “Guess I hoped we could start over?” 

“Sunshine.” She says. 

“Hm?”

He ponders aloud and it’s her turn to lean forward, stretching her arms across the table. Her gaze has returned to one of sternness, 

“My car. Her name is Sunshine.” She allows Harry a moment to soak up the coincidental information. “She is a piece of junk, but I love her, so shut up about my baby.”

Harry’s head tilts back when a bough of laughter suddenly leaves his lips- amused and even more attracted than he thought possible, he nods along in agreement and chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

There is an elongated pause- at least Harry perceives it to be- as she thinks over the oddly pleasurable past few weeks of finding herself in the presence of a grumpy but playful man. 

So, she gives him one last good look over before deciding to openly give in, 

“You have been a consistent pain in my ass.” He pouts cutely, and she goes on, “Guess we’ll have to find out if there’s more to you.” 

He smiles at that, his head and heart finally settling at the promise of better nights of sleep to follow. Moreso, he’d like to find out more about this so-called Sunshine who seems to simultaneously rile him up and calm him down with ease, 

“‘M name’s Harry, by the way.” He extends a hand.

“Y/n.” Her palm meets his eagerly.

-

Here we go children, this one was really fun to write, I hope it meets your expectations! - Em. xo 💞 this one's especially for @harrysonlylover 💞

[messyemmy]

Afterparties on Tour (One Shot- Italrry x reader).

Premise: Love on Tour is over and Harry needs to tell you how he feels.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: / Other writing

[I'm a little late to the party but here's a little snippet of Love on Tour ending and Harry's vay-cay in Italy. Obviously Italrry! is my favourite, I have a whole fic about it lmao.]

🪐

The moon bounces across the gentle but choppy waves, coming to a crash against the scattered rocks before dissipating and retreating from the shore. It must be loud considering the celebrations behind you, a chorus of cheers and booming base. 

Feet devoid of shoes, toes buried in the cool sand, nursing a drink and gazing out at the ocean, all that dancing has rendered you an unfit kid in gym class. It’s taken longer than you expected to even your exhales, and once it had settled, the feeling of your skin enveloped in the sand has you staying put. At least a moment longer. 

It would help soothe your thoughts about that succubus dressed in only a pair of short-shorts and a loose-fitted button-up, dancing far too close, eyes far too bright, glimmering under the ultraviolet strobes. 

He is so unaware of how unhinged he makes you feel, it seems like he only aims to pull you in further- so unaware, that he couldn’t begin to comprehend the concept of needing space and is already making his way over to your hunched figure. 

You hear him long before you see him, his steps are heavy and uneven, you can just picture the way he fumbles about, a faint and fond smile soothing your frown.

Once he is only a foot away, he announces his presence, 

“Oi! I’ve been lookin’ for ya.” 

He comes to a halt, and as you tilt your head to acknowledge him, your face is levelled with his thigh, bare, unnecessarily thick, and begging to have teeth sunk into its fleshy skin. 

Your brain is buzzing with profanities, ‘Jesus fuck’, ‘fuckin’ unfair.' 'fuck, fuck.' But you hold it together with perseverance, patting the empty spot in the sand beside you an invitation, 

“Hi, Lovie. Have fun?”

He obliges with a loopy, and cheesy grin that obliterates your sense of composure. He is so clueless as he drops to the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, arms stretched out to keep balanced. His finger brushes against your thigh, and you are furious with how easily your skin flares with fireworks. 

Harry takes a deep breath, craning his neck and tilting his face to fix his gaze on your own, his eyes sultry, pupils swollen with celebration. His smile only widens, 

“Much better now.”

He has to know what he’s doing. Surely. You cannot risk looking into his eyes for even a moment, fearful it will end with your lips trailing along his neck, tongue lapping and nipping at the nape. And for obvious reasons, you cannot look at his mouth, instead diverting both your gaze and the topic,

“I like the hat.”

“I’ll give it back, I swear.” He doesn’t want to. 

“Don’t. it looks better on you.” You want him to keep it forever. 

There’s a hopeful look that flashes across not only his green gaze but the crinkles of the corners of his eyes, swelling dimpled cheeks, and dramatically raised brows.  

You don’t like that look; it makes your insides melt into one big ball of overwhelming happiness and hopefulness. He could set you alight with one facial expression, just imagine what would happen if he did even more. 

You cannot will yourself to find out, choosing to commend him instead,

“You’ve been dancing up a storm.” 

“Mm. Wanted you to dance with me.” He nods, eyes lulling shut, his chin tilted to the stars.

“I did. For a good three or four songs.” 

He seems the opposite of satisfied, bushy brows creasing into a furrow and crinkling his forehead,

“Want you to dance with me all night.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You take the risk of brushing your shoulder against his own.

“And you’re beautiful.” He instantly retorts, tainting your skin with blushing berries, thankful that the moon reflects on the ocean instead of your cheeks. 

You’re even more thankful when Harry moves on without your help, inquisitively pointing at the cup still clutched in your palm, 

“Whatcha drinkin’?” 

“I think vodka and cranberry.” You ponder, glancing down and swirling the cup, liquid sloshing against the glass. 

He motions for it, holding his hand out, and you are more than tempted to drop the drink and wrap your palm in his. But he waits with anticipation, and you can only oblige and pass him what he wants, settling for a swift moment of your fingers brushing against his own. 

Tilting back, neck mercilessly on display, Harry takes an unintentionally large sip, swallowing with sudden unnerving panic. His mouth is an explosion of sugar sticking to his gums, sending electric charges straight to his brain, 

“Christ that’s sweet!” He exclaims, eyes scrunching with distaste, his hand blinding stretching out to return the concoction to your custody. 

“Just like me.”

“Just like you.” He mirrors. And he’s looking over at you now, eyelids swelled and intoxicated, lashes wisping, irises flickering in the moonlight. His expression slowly morphs into one of soft sorrow, and he can’t stop himself from speaking the silly truth, "'M gonna miss you, y’know.”

“You’ll still see me.” You attempt reassurance, but you’re almost certain Harry can hear the way your words stay trapped between your teeth, squeaking out with disappointment. You are disappointed if that even begins to cover it. 

“Not every day though.” He whines but before your heart can skip a full beat, he panics and presses on, “You’re the best assistant.” This is partially true- you are the best assistant, but Harry will definitely miss you for much more than that. 

You scoff softly, lacking the courage to take his words as anything other than platonic banter, a culmination of spending a prolonged period together- over two years to be precise. 

In honesty, you hope Harry shares same ache as your already-churning stomach at the thought of spending the unforetold future apart. It's embarrassing, though, knowing you feel far too much for a boy whose only obligation is to be shared with the world. 

“Oh, please. You’re just gonna miss being waited on hand and foot.” 

“That too.” He teases, hardly able to hold any sternness in his words, more focused on proving his feelings of fearing the distance from you. He needs to make sure you know. Before it’s too damn late, “But I'm gonna miss you more.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” You try to rationalise and lighten the mood for both of your sakes. 

“Hardly! My heart’s been breaking for days.” He flails his arms with a flair of dramaticism, even stomping his foot into the sand with extra emphasis. Dramatic display aside, Harry means every word, just the statement has his chest closing in. 

“I think that’s all the Scotch talking.” You say in an attempt to stop your own chest from aching the same. 

“I’m serious!” He defends, frustrated that you seem to have mastered the art in denseness… or diversion… which is worse?  

It’s obvious to Harry that you’re gonna need a little more convincing, and he is happy to oblige, turning his torso to face you, eyes fixed on your nerve-ridden ones, 

“Gonna miss your clumsiness, and your positivity,” he likes the way your face tilts down with shyness, lips pressing together bashfully, “and your sweet laugh.” He’s heard it once, he wants to hear it on a loop for all of eternity. 

His truthfulness is almost believable, but even if it was, you aren’t sure what to do with the information. He’s just begging for you to smother him in kisses at this point, and the conviction that he is simply unaware of the effect his words have on you is encouraging you not to indulge. Instead, you are rerouting the conversation again, 

“None of that has to do with me being your tour assistant.”

“Still.” 

Contradictory to his tongues distaste, Harry wants to touch your hand again, even for just a second, so he reaches for the glass of reddish liquid, skin sizzling when your hold lingers, taking an extra gulp for good luck, a small droplet of cranberry slipping down the slope of his bottom lip. 

The silence, though comfortable is deafening, and Harry needs to hear your velvety voice again, 

“Say it.”

You turn yourself to accept his authoritative switch, eager to see where he plans on going with this. Ignoring the desperate temptation to rub your thumb across his peachy, puckered lips, absolving him of the merciless sweetness, you take back the drink and finish its contents with one swift, throat-swelling swallow. Eyes crinkling from the candy cruelty, you discard the glass and give him your all,

“Say what?” 

“Say it!” 

He persists, looking at you with the most darling of pouts, a glimmer of mischievous knowing- wanting you to confirm his wishes. And, who would you be to deny him such an obvious confession?

“I’m gonna miss you too, Harry.”

“How much?” 

“You really are ridiculous!” Your eyes roll in sync with the huff that slips from between your teeth. 

“And you’re beautiful.” He says like it's old news, “We’ve been over this, how much are you gonna miss me?” 

Your stomach is in your head, your head is in your heart, and your heart is in Harry’s hands, unsuspectingly holding your entirety between the creases of his palms. 

He cannot know. So, you gesture your thumb and pointer finger together in matrimony but leave the tiniest of spaces in between- the false space in which you hold your sorrows for his soon departure, 

“This much.”

“So little?” He playfully pouts, and unbeknownst to you, his pupils are swelling with desperation for you to miss him as much as he, you.  

“Hmm, maybe this much.” With little leeway, you expand your two fingers as far as they will stretch, allowing your longing to settle in the gap. 

Harry's eyes light up with some sort-of satisfaction, his forehead raising, creases disappearing as his dimples swell from the force of his fiery smirk,

“Just as I suspected.”

“What’s that now?” 

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that… I win.” He concludes, boyish grin only growing- if possible- and with as much grace as one could have after two Scotchs, Harry stretches his arms out, swerving to miss you, his muscles spanning like that of a proud swan, “Cause I’m gonna miss you thisss much.”

His body is starting to stiffen and then loses all rigidity, he can’t stop- well, even if he could, he wouldn’t- his arm from wrapping around your shoulder, tugging you down with him as his body starts to tilt back, threatening to sink into the sand. 

“Harry!”

And your bodies are pressed to the trillions of pearly grains, giggles escaping through your parted lips. Your hair is surely sprinkled with sand, as must Harry’s, bodies awkwardly pressed together, his chest criminally close to your own. 

“Y/n.” He mocks, confirming his cheeriness over pulling you into his grasp, your back balancing on his stretched-out arm. 

The party plays on in the distance, the sea is still singing, and you can hear the soft and stable breaths of the prettiest boy on earth, his face tilted towards your own, freckles flickering under the silver sky. Harry is looking at you with an unreadable gaze- one that you have curiously noticed the past couple of months- it may be fondness... But whatever it is, it quickly dissipates into a woeful stare, and he glances away from your wondering gaze in favour of the sky. 

It's quiet for a moment- theoretically only a minute, but it feels like an eternity. Your eyes are tracing the curves of his chiselled jaw, swooping cheekbones, softly kinked nose. He seems miles away, leaving you alone on the beach just as you feared the future would be. 

But he is back on earth, and his eyes are back on yours right before your body threatens to rip itself apart. His brows are furrowed, and his chest hurts so carelessly that he wonders if you might feel it too,

“’M a little sad, y’know?”

“Would be weird if you weren’t.” You reassure, from a practical point, this is true. But from an in-love point, you need to ensure he understands you mirror his melancholy, “I am too.”

“Cause you’re gonna missss me?” Harry coos.

Harry wants to hear you say it in your own words, and the only way he knows how is to sugarcoat his words with a sweet and playful demeanour, scared of what might happen if it turns out that his feelings truly are one-sided. You wish he had said it seriously; you want to tell him that you’re being more than serious, that you will miss him, and that you’ll spend the rest of your life missing him, everything about him, everything he makes you feel, 

“Have you always been this annoying?” 

“I think you’re mistaking annoyance for attraction.” He tries a new tactic. 

“Even so…” You concede. 

“Even so…?”

“You’re both, alright. And you already know it.” Perhaps you’re giving away too much. 

To Harry, not enough. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to happen; did he really think you would confess your devout attraction for him? Did you even feel the same way? You give him the tiniest of hints, always so cautious and thoughtful. He knows this; he feels your fondness, feels the fiery connection… there has to be more, and how much longer can he wait? Threatened by the reality of the two of you going your separate ways, Harry is fighting this obstacle, fearful that this is his only and final opportunity, having to give you something more, some sort-of encouragement,   

“Just like to hear you say it.” 

What are you supposed to say to that? It has to be obvious that you feel so much more for him than mere attraction. Stumbling on words, a blushing mess, tripping over your own toes whenever he expressed his endearment or wonderment. 

It was certainly easier to chalk his affection up to close proximities, homesickness, and maybe even pining over another woman. Theoretically, Harry had more on his mind than spending his time seeking out your affection. 

Your lips are sealed, unwilling to separate and spill your secrets- the only thing stopping you from saying every little thing you love about him.  

But Harry is watching and waiting, carefully checking out the way your forehead furrows, eyes darting with some deep thoughts that he just wishes you would share with him. He’s seen this look before- sometimes showing up during difficult days on tour when you were challenged with a particularly gruelling or complicated task, and on occasion, Harry had noticed this conflict in your eyes during the duet of late-night conversations. 

He knows you’re stumped for words. He knows you don’t plan on speaking up. He needs to know what you’re thinking about, his face leaning forward, trying to close some of the merciless gap preventing him from being able to peck your cheek,

“Tell me a secret.”

“Yeah, right.” You can tell this is a trap. 

You’d be a fool not to know what he was trying; this was his last resort in deciphering your hidden agenda, and the last thing you need is the humiliation of finding out that this little thing going on between you two would remain just that; a thing of the past. 

“Tell me, and I’ll tell you one in return.”

He insists with such sweet innocence that could surely coax you into doing whatever he wanted,

“Okay.” You’ll go with the thing that’s been torturing you for weeks now, “I think you should grow out your moustache.”

“Done.” He answers so quickly, with such authority that your heart is doing somersaults. Before you can overthink his hastiness, he continues, “Tell me another.”

“Hey, that’s not how this goes.” 

“I make the rules. Tell meeee.” He’s a needy little one and he has you trapped, nowhere to go but nowhere you would rather be. 

What’s the point of keeping anything from him when it’s clear his persistence will only be soothed by your obligation? 

Harry is as Harry as ever, so welcoming and understanding before even hearing what you have to say. As far as you’re concerned, he’s been seeking you out for a reason, wanting to make sure that this ending isn’t eating away at you. 

It is eating away at you, though. You both know without verbalising it. If it remains unaddressed it may very well result in severing the ties you so tenderly share, 

“I’m nervous about going home.”

“Had a feeling.” He needs you to know that he knows. “‘M sorry, darling. Promise we’ll see each other, okay?”  

“Pinky swear.” Your eyes are like a puppy dog. 

“I’ll come over, and we can watch Normal People and… pretend we are.” Harry wants that more than anything.

“I’d like that… a lot.” Your eyes lull with the promise of his loving presence, “I’ll make you a warm cuppa.”

“You’ll have hot chocolate.” He notes proudly. 

“And I’ll let you use my fluffy blanket.” You do the same. 

“Ugh. I love you.” 

He whines dramatically, eyes rolling back, deliciously biteable lips parted and glossy. He really does though- love you. You loathe the flippancy with which he uses these words, substituting playfulness for the failure of his reciprocating your feelings, 

“It’s hard not to.”

“That cranberry’s giving you a big head, huh?” He nudges himself against you.

“Don’t be mean.” Also nudging against him in an attempt to reprimand his cheekiness.

“I could never be mean to you.” He pouts cutely, hoping you can tell that he certainly means it.

He’s close- too close- churning your common sense into a spiral of neediness to nearer his face, scatter kisses wherever his skin forfeits. Shuffling back slightly, you miss the way his brows twitch with misunderstanding, and you misdirect the conversation once more,

“Did you see the video I sent you?”

“That puppy was so cute I could have cried.” His features turn to mushy lovability.

“Don’t cry, you’re too pretty.” You tease. 

“Too late.” He tries to add a convincing pout. 

“Such a crybaby.” A cute, fuckable little sulk. Your diversion has certainly worked, but now you long for the back-and-forth of will-they-wont-they, and you cannot resist letting the words come out, “So, what’s your secret?” 

“I already told you.” He says it like it should be apparent. 

“You did?” Had you missed something? 

“Yep.” 

Harry’s certainty is cast-iron, peering over at you with palpable perceptiveness. If his secret was that he planned on growing a moustache, then he had done a marvellous job at fishing you onto the hook. A simmer of frustration bubbles in your belly, shyness and foolishness teasing you for falling into his trap with such ease. Your tone reflects this, retreating to the sanctity of defensiveness,

“Your secret is that you’re a crybaby? We already knew that.”

“Not that.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, well, tell me again.”

“Ask me nicely.” He keeps you baited. 

“Y’know what, I don’t even wanna know.” You tilt your nose to the sky, giving him the perfect sight of your neck craned, cheeks like apples, lips pouted and puckered. 

“Yes, you do.” He informs.

“Nope.” Your lips pop at the P. 

“It’s gonna eat away at you.” He sing-songs. He’s right. 

“Glad to see you’re getting off on this.” Grumbling, you avert your gaze. 

“Would rather get off with you.” He torts, muttering, sudden arousal slipping from his lips and settling anxiously in the already-small gap separating your bodies.  

“Filthy boy.” You friskily reprimand.

“And you haven’t seen the half of it.” He promises.

“Is that your secret?” You press on curiously, “Not a surprise. I’ve seen your ‘fuck me’ eyes before.”

“When I was looking at you?” 

Harry knocks the breath out of you, not even out of you- it’s trapped if your throat, body stilling like a statue, tied and bound by the predicament he seemed to so blatantly provide,

“Not me in particular…”

“Apparently I have two secrets then.” He muses. 

“Just tell me!” You are clearly too focused on secret number one to notice that he just revealed secret number two.

“Hmm… Maybe.” Since you seem so clueless, Harry thinks he should drag this on a little longer, becoming more-and-more discouraged by your blatant dismissal of his attempts to express his affection. 

“Harry, I swear-”

“Alright, missy.” He can hold out no longer. “I love you.”

“I know that-”

“Love, love you.” 

“Oh.” You finally let the realisation sink in, and it sinks in slowly whilst Harry patiently watches the way you process both his feelings and your own. 

The fear of rejection humidifies the air around him, but the relief of having you hear him say it aloud is something he had not known he needed. 

Your entirety is like electricity escaping a plug socket, shocking you with such passion that the only thing left to do is give in,

 “Well, I guess I have another secret, too.”

“Tell me.” He need not know because you have said it in your own words. But, how nice would it be to drizzle your ‘I love you’ like honey across his aching heart. 

You will; coat him in so much caramelised molasses that he will have no choice but to understand that you love him... Right after you make him play a round of his own proven-pointless little game,

“Hmm. Maybe.”

—

[messyemmy]

Harry with his newborn baby, like their morning routine 🫂

Okay lets fuckin goooo!!

Word count: 1.5k (I got carried away, oops.)

Other writing

Admittedly, Harry may have been a tad on the cocky side in assuming that his years of experience in the art of packed-schedules and odd work hours would give him a leg up on most newborn dads.

He had failed to factor in the hours that would soon be dedicated to periodically interrupted naps and enough activities to keep a man busy for eternity.

Upon seeing his precious petal for the very first time- her face scrunched and the shade of a sweet red rose, she was so tiny that it seemed almost inconceivable, sleeping peacefully in the cradle of his arms, a perfect display of everything right in the world.

And though she was in an ideal slumber for long enough for Harry to start thinking he definitely had the hang of this, it becomes clear from the moment they walk through the door that this'll be harder than it looks.

She may not be a fussy little one, but she is still a demanding newborn, living for very few things other than sleep, snuggles, and food. On their first night home as a new trio, the couple tend to and tuck in Petal before crawling beneath their soft sheet but it feels like mere moments later when Petal starts to cry- Harry both dreads his choice not to sleep since the eve of her birth whilst sudden anxiety stirring beneath the surface of his skin at the cluelessness of what happens next.

Like a fresh breeze of favour, his partner has already shifted along the bed, their feet instinctively and sluggishly sliding along the carpet to reach the crib. With ease, his Petal expresses her hunger and just as quickly as it had started, she is silent and satisfied, instantationally lulling back to sleep.

Harry is in a state of slight awareness as his mind and body signal the safety of finally falling asleep. His thoughts are starting to slur into incoherence, welcoming the warm embrace of slumber when what sounds like the preparation of crying is coming from Petal's crib. Now Harry feels a little sick, stirring back to alretness with sharp anxiety sparking his heartbeat- she is surely not hungry, and Harry has regressed to a child taking a grammer test; all of the information he meticulously curated evaporating in an instant.

His mind is a blank, and Harry cannot think of a single thing that would be benefitial for his baby girl. Every detail, every tip and trick dissipates with the increasing fussy grumbles so near, Harry is out of that bed so fast, the sheets flung in his wake, as he hastily follows the instructions of little Petal, his feet padding along the carpet as she cooes and coaxes him closer.

And it's only after he has bowed over the crib, transfering Petal from her cave of a crib to the safety that is his arms and chest, pressing her neatly and carefully against his warmth- unknowingly soothing her with his steady heartbeat- Harry relaxes so suddenly that a wave of relief almost swallows him whole, perhaps his instincts were kicking in afterall.

Silence and the soft snores of his wife is the only sound to be heard as Harry finds himself swaying back and forth, left to right, gently turning a human-rocking chair as he stands in the middle of the bedroom, his attention entirely on the tiny, chubby-faced tot attached to his chest, her nose scrunched, brows furrowed in a focused frown, just like Harry knows he looks amidst slumber.

He doesn't know how long he stays in this position, it doesn't matter as eternity is easily deemed the amount of time Harry is willing to spend standing right here. Eventually, his muscles start to complain, begging him to come home to his comfy bed, but it's only when the throbbing in his calves and ankles becomes so unbearable that Harry knows it's time to put Petal back in her personal paradise- more than grateful when she does not stir and lets him transfer her with ease.

The evening continues on this way, and Harry wishes he could insist on tending to Petal in every way possible, but lacks the means of feeding her, so he resorts to keeping his two gals company, setting comfortably on the edge of the bed each time the newborn routine resets. He fights the temptation of deep sleep, fearful of missing out on even the minutest of moments.

Honestly, nobody can confirm as to when Harry finally falls into a lenghthier sleep but he doesn't care- still thriving off of the adrenaline, excitement, and newness of the past three days. He spreads out the desire to spend time and help out with Petal- he just wants to be with them, just wants to love up on his girls.

Trying his hardest to rely on his lengthy experience of fast-paced and often sudden changes in plans, Harry struggles but perseveres- embracing the fact that things may alter in an instant and he may be needed just as fast, he takes each second as it is and nothing more, prepared to move and participate whenever need be. 

On occasion, he still finds himself in a frenzy of not knowing what to do, but with the patience of his partner, their gentle words of reassurance and soft touches always encourage him to remain calm, reminding him that this newness is challenging, but so, so rewarding. 

At least once a day Harry definitely still regrets the fact that his certainty had been wrong, rueing the days that could have been used to prep more, but with a little reassurance, he knows that nothing can truly prepare you for the real thing. 

He tries his best to fit in and help wherever available, spending every opportunity admiring the soft, oft-sleepy baby who seemed extra tiny in her babygrow. Soon, he is even able to help feed little Petal and does his damnedest to perfect it, just like his partner had. And now, Harry is finally starting to feel like he's getting the hang of things- his worries are washed away and replaced with relaxation and excitement for all the things yet to come. 

And then... It's Harry's first time being alone- alone, alone- with his little one. It won't even be for more than a couple hours, but his throat is dry, his chest thumping, and forehead seeking to start sweating. He knew the day would come eventually, and just as before her birth, Harry overestimated his confidence and felt like a clueless clown once again. 

He dares not bring it up in the hours leading up to the moment the front door would shut- fearful that his nerves would only cause his worry to transfer, perhaps even jeopardising the plans for the day. Instead, he is quieter than usual, and stays as close to his partner as possible, nuzzling and loving on them until it is finally time for departure. 

Still, with his little Petal cradled in his arms, blowing little spit bubbles and blinking curiously, Harry follows his lovely all the way to the door, giving her three extra kisses before she has the opportunity to place a soft kiss to Petal's forehead, and, once she does, she is out the door, leaving a nervous Harry and a sweet, tiny, none-the-wiser baby in her wake. 

But, to his utter surprise, as soon as the trio becomes a duo, Harry discovers nothing is different than before. With such revelation, his unknowingly tense body relaxes, and his feet begin to instinctively rock back and forth- just like always. 

Petal is just the same as before, too snuggly and in her own little world to care, large eyes blinking up at him, cheeks rosy and chubby. 

When she is hungry, she lets him know, and Harry does exactly what he has for the past couple of weeks by warming up the stored milk, sitting himself down on his favourite lounger as his left arm cradles her with care and his right hand comes up to offer her the bottle. She seemed as satisfied as usual, cooperating with his task of burping her before the drowsiness rapidly kicked in and had her in dreamland before Harry could move her. 

He's comfy. He can't imagine a place he would rather be than in this very moment. His body sinks soothingly into the cushions, cosied up, and soon he finds himself struggling against the sleepiness inviting him to embrace and enjoy, something he can only escape for so long before the battle is lost and he is lulling into slumber. He knows the routine will repeat, and he knows that these have been the most challenging yet euphoric days he has ever experienced, but for now, he is falling asleep with his entire world wrapped in his arms, and it's hard to imagine a better place to be.

[messyemmy]

Still taking requests for drabbles/blurbs about how Y/n would interact with different Harry tropes. Send me a trope!! - Emmy 💞

How would y/n be around a very soft and shy Harry?

"SOFTBOY HARRY STYLES DRABBLE/BLURB"

(... So I fucked up, got carried away... H turned from very soft to sometimes soft-mostly shy, slutty boy. I apologise for my filthy brain!)

Other Writing

🍭

Ooh, an opportunity for the energetic, boisterous Y/n to tease and dote on him?? 

How could she turn that opportunity down?

Especially since this handsome and aloof specimen- all wrapped up in soft curls and a new knitted jumper each day- is the most interesting thing to happen at their workplace for god knows how long. 

Shy Harry who Y/n finds just so very cute- whenever she catches his gaze, always doe-eyed and seemingly caught by surprise, whenever any attention is sent his way, and a strong rosy blush creeps across his sweetheart face- she thinks he is simply adorable! 

Her coworkers are just as intrigued as she- fascinated with the new data analyst and his standoffish demeanour. He keeps to himself, mumbling greetings and questions with a shortness that leaves most wondering who the hell his deal is. 

Especially when he always declines invitations for lunch and drinks after hours, even after almost six months of employment, he seems to be as curt as day one. 

So, naturally, it becomes Y/n’s mission to win over his affections… and with the knowledge of his favourite bagels and preferred coffee, it’s not hard to soften him when she delivers them so casually to his desk each morning. 

Well, ‘soften’ means that he no longer jumps when she sweetly sings, “Mornin’ Harry!” and now, he even smiles timidly and thanks her. 

So she starts to add in little quips, jokes about the weather, and Pete, the worst secretary of all time.

Then it turns to offhand compliments, "those glasses really frame your face", "you have such nice handwriting!", "Where'd you get such pretty eyelashes, huh?" Anything to get his juicy cheeks to swell with basfulness.

Harry’s unsure of what to do in these situations- no matter how many nights he’s thought over how and what he could do in response, every single time Y/n greets him- her eyes as bright as her personality- he feels the words slip from his tongue, too busy revelling in her crooked smile. 

There’s gotta be some way for Harry to show his appreciation for her gestures… he has ideas of simply buying her favourite coffee, or perhaps asking how her day’s going… and he has ideas of grandeur, gently squishing her chubby cheeks between his palms and planting the most grateful of kisses on her always-glossy lips… or getting on his knees for her, saying thank you like the goodest of boys. 

It’s only late into the end-of-year corporate party when Harry is a glass and a half down the finest whisky that’s ever graced his tongue- and Y/n is over there by the fireplace, the back of her legs bare, facing the fireplace, greatly engrossed in a conversation with a colleague- that he finally finds himself in her hold.

Maybe it’s the fact that they’re no longer in a ‘work’ environment, or perhaps it has to do with that sparkling silver draped so perfectly across her curves… What ultimately encourages Harry to make his move is the anything-but-subtle glances- even winks- she keeps sending his way. 

He finds himself unable to stop the gravitational pull that lures him straight into her arms, which are quickly slung across his shoulders. 

Once he has her slotted between himself and a wall, she’s too receptive for his shyness to regain control, pressing such sweet, sloppy kisses along his clavicle, up his neck, behind his ear- a quick flick of the tongue to his lobe. 

He’s a shuddering mess, but he can’t feel an ounce of shame as her skin so easily goosebumps under the strokes of his wandering hands. 

Her little sighs and near-moans are like a melody, it has Harry forgetting about anything and everything outside of the feel of her leg hooked to his thigh, the tantalising tugs and scratches her nails leave at the nape of his neck. 

What Harry is most grateful for is her lack of questions. She doesn’t bring up their ‘awkward’ encounters, too fixated on the excitement of his sudden surety to mock his switch in demeanour.

So, even when the drive back to her apartment is rather quiet, the scalding pressure of her soft palm in his own is surety enough. 

 It’s like she knew without words and soothes his racing thoughts to a silence that leaves him rushing with arousal and endearment. 

And then, oh boy. 

Nobody said Harry was shy in the bedroom. 

The opposite couldn't be more true. He’s a chatty little thing- while he slowly unzips and strips her of her dress, in between hasty kisses, praising her each time a new part of her stands exposed to him. 

Y/n revels in the way his eyes are devoid of their usual doubt, oozing dark desire at the mere sight of her- the only thing he questions is where to start- where to lick and nip and squeeze at first. 

Y/n underestimated this- but she shouldn't be surprised by his eager and ambitious desire to please. To do a good job- the best job. 

He has her everywhere- bent over, back arched, his hand curled in her hair; his expansive palms squeezing her hips as she bounces above him; her thighs clamped around his head; fisting the sheets and suffocating him with both her thighs her moans. 

And he’s all, “You’re such a good girl”, “Taking me so well, “Like it when I make you squirm, sweetheart?” 

So, naturally, Y’n’s all, “Please please please please”. 

In the break of day, waking up to the gentle rays of sun, the faint snores of Y/n snuggled against him, all of that anxiety comes rushing back to Harry and he’s close to exploding with embarrassment, thoughts spiralling of what a huge mess he’s just made. 

But Y/n unknowingly soothes him- moments away from a panic attack- with the promise of freshly brewed coffee and brekkie. She only comments on his verbal enthusiasm once, simply stating that she liked his voice. 

Back at work on Monday, Harry can’t help himself from slipping back into his comfortably isolated bubble. 

It’s not like the world changed- even if the only thing he can truly be certain about is how much he’s come to like Y/n, and how badly he wants to spend more time with her- to let her listen to him ramble on… about anything and everything. He’s sure she’d listen… maybe even enjoy what he has to say.

When he greets her the same as every day before, it leaves a little sting in her heart, and for the first time, she feels doubtful about how Harry sees her. 

Y/n is elated with the new developments between her and Harry- she likes that he trusts her enough to break his vow of silence, even if it did take some coaxing. But she’d be silly to think he would suddenly do a 180 and turn into a chatterbox. 

During lunch, when Y/n finds herself frustratedly fighting a fruit juice bottle for access, her mind is a mess of questions upon questions. 

But just as she never left Harry to feel insecure for long, he does the same for her as he quietly slinks behind her, reaching out for his own OJ, his upper body bowing so his strawberry lips press to the shell of her ear, cool and minty breath fanning her features as he mutters lowly, “Been thinking about you. A lot.” 

And then he’s gone and she’s a fireball of relief and thick desire. 

This becomes his new thing; Soft and shy Harry catching Y/n alone whenever the chance permits, whispering filthy, tantalising, sweet nothings for only her to hear- sometimes letting his fingers sweep the curves of her jaw, or her lower back, once he even risks a kiss to the corner of her lips- which are always parted in surprise around Harry. 

And now, Y/n's the blushing mess… it’s only fair. 

🍭

(You can send me more requests/suggestions for how Y/n and *insert trope* Harry would interact! -Emmy 💞).

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part One

Premise: Harry has been pining over Y/n - his best friends slightly older sister - for as long as he can remember. But she still refuses to see him as anything other than her brothers goofy obnoxious bestie omg omg loads of pining and sexual tension (even more sexy sex) and ofc angsty angst.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: Smutty suggestions, drug/alcohol use, mind-blowing banter.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist

Other Writing

---

The soft thumps of music muffled behind the apartment door were audible the moment you reached the last step of your ascent, arriving on the third floor of the new apartment block your brother, Jack, had recently moved into. It was sweet of him to wait until you were back in town before hosting the house-warming party.

You stopped briefly, taking one final look in the grand, gold-framed mirror- touching up your cherry gloss as an afterthought. The building was impressive- completely out of your price range, and quite a statement buying the penthouse- well you thought so anyway, but as you had reminded yourself, at least it wasn’t your money.  

The hallway was empty, aside from a small hardwood table, elegantly decorated with a vase of marvellous, and surprisinglyrealwhite lilies. At the end of the lengthy passageway- walls tiled in deep ocean green, marbled floors- was an elevator, complete with an old-school golden gate, and totally unnecessary.

“Just take the bloody stairs” you mumbled, approaching the front door.

You had hardly knocked once before the heavy wood swung open, your brother- cheeks rosy, eyes glassy but glimmering- was standing on the other side.

He let out a sort-of cheer, arms raising before he fully engulfed you, lifting you off of your feet. You had seen him only a month ago, but if he had had it his way, Jack would have you both remain attached at the hip- as you had been almost your entire lives.

He put you back down, pressing a brisk kiss to your forehead and thanking you for coming,

“It really wouldn’t have been the same without you here,” he said, slinging an arm loosely across your shoulder, pulling you into the entrance hall of his…penthouse.

Your eyes were darting across the room, taking in the style, size and of course judging his choice of paintings- hung on almost every available wall. Jack led you through the house, giving a half-hearted house tour on your way to the kitchen.

It was by far your favourite room so far, decorated in pale baby blue with white cabinets and an island that was, perhaps the size of your entire kitchen put together. Nevertheless, it was the bar that really caught your attention- though it was barely visible under an array of what looked like crystal-glasses, a variety of expensive bottles and fresh-cut fruit.

Before you had even fully stepped into the kitchen, your brother was whisked away by the mention of the delivery guy arriving. “Make yourself at home,” he called over his shoulder, and without hesitation you made your way over to the countertop, fixed on the idea of a G & T complete with those irresistible blueberries.

You had all but finished the final touches on your mix, humming along to a familiar song spilling through the speakers- when the sudden warmth of something- no- someone’s breath on the back of your neck sent contradicting goosebumps up your arms and spine.

“Fancy seeing you here”, his voice was deep and familiar, fresh mint filling your senses.

He leaned into you slightly, bringing you to your senses. You intended to remain unbothered, going back to garnishing your drink with juicy berries. You took a lengthy sip, closing your eyes momentarily before turning around to face him.

He took a small step back in order to see you better, letting his gaze flicker shamelessly over you, taking a second to admire the way you looked,

“I could say the same about you” the mere sound of your voice drew his attention back, a cheeky smile growing wider by the second,

“Is this the part where you make fun of my lifestyle? Y’know, rag on me about drinking too much… smoking too much…. fucking…” he was beaming proudly now, eyes never leaving yours in anticipation,

“…too much? I would never,” you feigned disapproval, adding an eyeroll as you took another sip of your drink, hummed with satisfaction.

He tilted his head back with a slight chuckle, the corners of his eyes creasing with pleasure,

“Oh, how I missed this,” he teased, “Always good to see you, Y/n” he meant that part.

“Likewise, Harry” you tended to your drink once more.

He mimicked, taking a long sip of the glass of scotch wrapped firmly in his hand and you took the opportunity to actually take him in. He had been dressing better lately, and thank god for that you had thought. Harry had even started to impress you with certain ensembles- not that you would ever make him aware of that.

He wore a tight, but comfy burnt orange and purple tee-shirt. He paired it with a pair of low-rise, faded denim jeans that flared at the calves, and were rather well-fitted. His classic trademark of several rings decorated his hands, and a gold, tennis-link necklace lay across his chest.

He looked good. Annoyingly so.

It had become one of the things you dreaded about coming home- the confusing thoughts plaguing your clarity over the last couple years was well, sheer madness. What had he done differently to his hair? It suited him, short overall but slightly longer at the top, styled up and out of his face. It framed his eyes... his jawbone… his entire face really.

None of this made him any less annoying though, which was the only saving grace. You feared what would have already happened between you two otherwise.

Harry was your brothers oldest, and best friend- they met the afternoon your family moved next door to the Styles’ and the two had instantly bonded over their love for football. And even now, though they lived very different and separate lives, they were as close as ever- annoyingly close. Unfortunately for you this meant dealing with your brother- times two- and there was rarely an occasion where Harry didn’t turn up at one point or another.

Though he was terribly sweet, the Harry from your childhood lacked a filter, and had far too much energy to spare. You were only a few years older than them, but Harry seemed to have no off-switch, and it was hard not to engage in trivial arguments with him. Jack was no help either, always encouraging and taking pleasure in seeing you get so riled up.

When you got older things had changed slightly, and Harry was far less insufferable than before- though he still showered you in attention, most of it stirring the same negative reaction you expressed as a child.

To make matters worse, Harry had never kept quiet about his attraction for you. You were his best friends’ hot older sister after all. In Harry’s opinion, you got prettier each year- and he rather enjoyed making sure you knew this. And you always responded the same, with a scoff and an eyeroll.

Your thoughts had already started to wander and you were somewhat grateful Harry broke the short silence before you could continue,

“How long have you been back in town?”

“Since Sunday,” you swallowed another sip of your drink.

His brows furrowed slightly, “Jack didn’t mention you were back.”

You shrugged his statement off, “Speaking of Jack, I have my reservations but overall, I do quite enjoy the apartment,” his slight furrow warped into raised curiosity, “though I can’t imagine the size makes sense for one person” you added as an afterthought.

“Then it’s a good thing he isn’t living alone,” he said simply.

It was your turn to let your brows furrow, motioning for him to elaborate.

“I’m living here too. There’s three bedrooms, it made sense,” he shrugged before sipping his beer.

You straightened up, “And I assume you stay here when you aren’t out galivanting across Europe, or LA or whatever?” you were being testy.

He placed his hand over his heart, “Ouch klutz, you know it hurts me when you trivialise my profession,” he was only half joking.

You rolled your eyes, “Well don’t take it to heart, apparently Jack doesn’t tell either of us much.”

Harry was full of mixed emotions - he had been from the moment he stumbled upon you in the kitchen, your back to him. He almost walked straight past you, stopping in his tracks the moments those familiar custom black and white Docs adorning your feet caught his attention.

His frustration only grew when he finally got a proper look at you. You wore straight-legged black jeans that you paired with an abstract black and white knitted sweater. A couple silver chains lay across your neck- they matched perfectly with the pair of large, hooped earrings and bracelets you wore.

Your hair was pinned away from your face, lest a few loose strands. Harry liked you this way, he could see your face with clarity, and he was certain you were nothing short of beautiful. Your lips were slick and glossy from the remnants of gin and tonic, and they looked awfully tasty.

Longing was mixed with confusion now, disappointed that he felt so ill-equipped in your presence, completely unaware of your attendance this evening. Harry’s mind was beginning to race, thinking about all of the things he could have- would have done differently. For starters he might have put more than two minutes into picking out an outfit. A sudden wave of insecurity flushed over him and he was praying you wouldn’t notice.

Any sign of confidence had momentarily dissipated, and Harry felt like a foolish teenager all over again, hopelessly pining over a woman who hardly ever paid him any attention.

He was more than grateful that Jack chose that very moment to reappear, going on about how the delivery guy had attempted to short-change him, before he grabbed a new bottle of beer and took a large gulp. Within a moment Jack was mid-discussion with you about his experience in the new neighbourhood so far.

Harry tried his hardest to keep his gaze from focusing on your features, letting his eyes roam the many familiar faces of guests nearby. But he faltered several times, settling on the way your eyelashes fluttered, or how the chunky ring on your thumb fit you just right.

He was so distracted he almost missed Jack asking him if he had heard what had just been said, for the second time now, mind you.

“I was saying it completely slipped my mind- forgot to even mention Y/n would be visiting this week.”

Harry mustered up a scoff before finishing off the last of his drink,

“Absolutely guttered over it, honestly mate” Harry feigned disappointment while glancing over at you,

“You know the ache in my heart for Y/n needs to be soothed, it’s simply selfish you would attempt to keep us apart.”

Jack only let out a bellowing laugh and nudged your shoulder with his own.

Though you found Harry more than attractive, you were also aware that the same thoughts always followed your admiration, you still saw him as your baby brothers’ best friend, goofy yet cocky, but all bark and no bite- surely.

The idea of him being a compatible lover was to a large degree, incomprehensible. Nevertheless, you did thoroughly enjoy Harry, at times, grateful that age had brough him more stability than just good looks.

“Oh, but Harry, as I’ve told you on numerous occasions, you would hardly be able to handle me.” You were playful, familiar teasing, but some truth still rang through.

His face changed, and then his stature followed suit. He leaned forward, his voice deepening, and his gaze remaining on you and you alone,

“I think we both know that’s not true.” And there he was again, as annoying, and full of cheek as ever.

Your eyes quickly darted over to Jack, his attention already straying elsewhere, then you turned your attention back to Harry, scoffing but working hard to remain unbothered.

“Well, uh, this is my… cue to mingle… I guess,” you nodded in their general direction before turning on your heels, leaving Harry with the same view of your back as before.

🍷

Harry remembers the first shot, and the second, but things were becoming less coherent after the third and fourth. He had a habit of overthinking these days, somewhere between the last breakup and the new album release, it had become far too easy for his thoughts to start spiralling- and by cruel repetition, you were once again the reason for his head being a million miles away from this party.

Speaking of, Harry had yet to see you again since your brief encounter in the kitchen- granted this is where Harry had remained the entire evening so far. He assumed you had to return, eventually, for a drink top-up, at the least.

He let the tequila slosh in his mouth for a moment before allowing it to burn its way down his throat. Still in his own head, no plans of leaving any time soon.

“Harry!” he could hear Jack calling from somewhere in the apartment.

He began following in the general direction, stepping into the crowded living room. Jack’s face lit up in an instant, pushing gently past a few people to get to him.

“Hey, where did you disappear to?” he asked, but hardly gave pause for Harry to respond before he was guiding the two of them through the mass of people out towards the balcony.

At first, he was resistant, but that was soon replaced with a hundred different feelings all at once when he spotted that you were already outside, your back leaning against the balcony’s railing- a Marlboro perched neatly between two fingers.

He was indulging in the idea of you once more, thinking back to the several fantasies he had always so ambitiously cast you as the main character in. You were always so cool, so calm, and collected, and well-defined. He had wanted to be more like you, to be with you.

Harry had always looked at you like he knew your secret- like he was somehow aware of how naughty your really were- hiding under the sly juxtaposition of a hard-working, put-together, golden-child. He could hardly recall this version of you nowadays, after the things he had heard you say- to him and about him.

Harry was more than grateful that Jack had already started walking towards you, giving him the needed excuse to speak to you again. He was hardly subtle with the way he was looking at you, so much so that you felt the need to draw attention to the man standing beside you.

Had he always been standing there?

Harry hardly flinched though, and if he had felt some type of way about it, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he took another step forward before directing you,

“Looks like some things never change,” he knew you weren’t fond of his constant referencing of the past.

“Fuck off,” You responded with an eyeroll, taking a drag as he continued,

“You’re the splitting image- I mean minus the septum piercing, and the douchey boyfriend… well…” he glanced briefly, but noticeably at the blandly dressed guy still lingering by your side.

“Fuck you,” your tone was still playful though.

“Yeah? Been on my mind since I can remember.”

“Bet?”

“On my life,” he was careless with the wink he directed at you.

Harry would be lying if he said the thought of you being disinterested in him still crossed his mind, you were clearly humouring someone else this evening. The man next to you looked to be older than Harry, and like he worked some preppy nine-to-five. Surely nothing that could possibly catch your interest.

You were full of personality, intrigued and interested in so many things – Harry often accepted he could hardly keep up with you, but he was still certain the two of you had potential -not including the things he would let you do to him should you pay him even the slightest bit of attention.

He wanted to make a move, he always wanted to- but you were so beyond his reach- older and completely unwilling to acknowledge the fact that yes, he may still be irksome, but he was definitely not a young boy anymore.

Harry no longer wanted to get under your skin, but he would gladly settle to at least get under your garments. He was certain that if you were to, for just a moment, entertain the idea of you and him, he was sure to change your mind.

The guy to the left of you was particularly unmemorable, at least in your opinion, but it was better than standing and smoking alone. And you knew the tiniest part of you had been relieved, but only because you were aware it would annoy Harry - and you took almost any opportunity to do such.

Harry- who you hadn’t seen the entire evening - and don’t think you hadn’t acknowledged how bizarre it was of you to even notice that.

 Naturally, you could and would never go looking for him- what reason would you even have to talk to him?

Nevertheless, you reached over and passed him your cigarette, an old habit that only registered when he met you in the middle, accepting your offer in a heartbeat.

 Harry could hardly forget your little routine of bumming smokes together, hiding behind walls and bushes, afraid someone would catch you two in the act. There was a mutual sense of mischief and fondness- it was a time Harry could say with certainty that you definitely enjoyed his company- even seeking him out before sneaking through the back door, always ensuring he was by your side.

Everything about this evening was so out-of-character, from how calm Harry was - usually so full of boyishness fuelled by alcohol- down to how attractive you found it when a thick cloud of smoke slipped past his puckered lips, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion- what the fuck was happening?

You definitely needed another drink, suddenly remembering the half-empty bottle of Cirocque your date had pinched from the kitchen long before starting a conversation with you.

You had long forgotten the need for a glass and were already on your third sip, careful not to let any of the expensive liquid slip past your lips.

“Classy” Harry all but scoffed.

You stopped, the bottle leaving your lips with a soft squeak,

“Suddenly you don’t enjoy the idea of me being sloppy?”

You didn’t even bother looking at him, moving instinctively closer to Nick... was that his name? If Harry had wanted to say something he didn’t, thoughts of you being sloppy, slobbering for him were far too much to ignore.

Jack was filling the awkward silence by asking your ‘company’ several questions, which to Harry’s dismay, Nick was rather eager to answer.

­“I actually bumped into her tonight, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to strike up a conversation, and thankfully she didn’t seem to mind,” he laughed, but it oozed gawkiness, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted towards you looking for confirmation.

You forced a soft laugh but felt nothing for the man in general, he was good looking enough, and money probably wasn’t an issue for him, but saying you found him boring would have been an understatement.

Still, Harry was quick to resume irking you. He got under your skin in almost an instant, and you were always left a frustrated mess. He opened his mouth, ready to share a snarky remark, when the guy’s phone started ringing. He apologised briefly before stepping aside- but not before saying- and Harry couldn’t believe it,

“Ex-squeeze me for a moment.”

Your eyes went wide with the ick, and Harry was hardly subtle when he giggled and stole the empty space next to you.

Harry shifted to face you, meeting your side-profile before stating matter-of-factly,

“I couldn’t imagine you putting up with that kind of boredom, you should quit while you’re ahead.”

“And what exactly does your opinion have to do with anything? Considering you can’t speak from experience,” you huffed.

“Not from a lack of trying-”

“-but rather from my lack of interest,” you finished for him.

Harry was grateful that Jack had lost interest the minute it looked like you guys were starting to squabble, he wasn’t even facing you anymore.

“Think you’re missing out though.” Harry was uncertain about almost everything in life, but not about the idea of being with you.

“Have we not had this conversation before? And didn’t it end with me saying something like, ‘No Harry, I’m not interested in one measly round of missionary that leaves me nothing but dissatisfied.’”

Harry wanted to disagree, to give you a vivid idea of the things he would do to you right now just to prove you wrong- he would ensure he fucked you so good there could be no round two. But he knew that wasn’t the way to go about things.

Instead, he simply said,

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions.”

You rolled your eyes, and stood up straight now, turning to him sternly,

“For your sake, I surely hope assuming is as good as the real thing,” tapping his chest condescendingly before you turned on your heels and headed back inside the party and away from Harry.

🍷

You hadn’t seen Harry so moody in years. He seemed to have no interest in partaking in the ongoing festivities. In fact, he was brooding in the corner of the kitchen, back pressed firmly against the wall. He was deep in thought, brows furrowed, jaw slightly clenched.

His hair was starting to look slightly dishevelled, from all the times he had ran his hands through it. He was looking good though. You decided he would look perfect underneath you, or perhaps even looking up at you.

But you quickly, and aggressively, shook your head, trying to eradicate these inappropriate thoughts, almost scolding yourself aloud before quickly accepting a tequila from an old schoolmate you had been catching up with in the kitchen.

You called out for Jack, looking at the shot glass sitting on the countertop filled to the brim. You were starting to feel good- really good, buzzing slightly. That familiar playfulness you always felt after indulging in vices was making its appearance.

When he failed to respond, you only shrugged before taking the shooter on his behalf, tossing it back with little regard before turning to look back at the living room, eyes finding their way back to Harry- who was still brooding in the corner all alone.

Without coherent rationality you found yourself heading towards the bathroom having to pass him in the process.

Maybe you did enjoy the attention Harry gave you- or perhaps this was just another attempt to reciprocate the frustration he had left you with just earlier.

As you began past him, you slowed to a complete halt- his head snapping up, the surprise evident on his features as two of your icy fingers reached up and hooked themselves onto the collar of his shirt. You tugged it down and to the side- exposing part of his collarbone and bird tattoo. With one finger, you gently tapped his skin twice before releasing the shirt altogether,

“Hm,” your gaze slowly lifted and met his- he was too scared to blink. You leaned forward,

“Swallows,” you paused and thought about it for a moment,

“Your tattoos and I have that in common.”

You didn’t wait to see his response, stepping back and heading towards the bathroom. His skin felt scorched in their wake.

Harry was stunned, naturally, his thoughts in an absolute frenzy. He had been angry, actually upset after you had belittled him so effortlessly just earlier- this evening was quickly turning nightmarish. And now, you were teasing him- taunting him, actually. Harry hadn’t stopped thinking about you the entire evening. Why was he so fixated? This couldn’t be healthy.

He hadn’t - and didn’t feel this way about any of the other women in his life. There was just something about you. He liked you. Always had. Harry had a feeling there was still more to you and he had the aching desire to find out.

He had been back home for a while now, so focused on his album that his personal life had ended up on the backburner without a second thought. Tonight, in the comfort of his new home he could no longer ignore his thoughts veering astray. Particularly the thoughts entailing your thighs, bare and wrapped around his waist.

He stood there for a moment, your words swirling around, getting louder until he could hear nothing *but your sweet, sweet voice. And though you were probably just fucking with him, Harry was no longer thinking clearly – a man on a mission as he left his spot by the wall and followed after you.

You were just stepping back into the passage when you spotted Harry walking toward you with what looked like determination- and possibly certainty. He was just feet away from you within an instant, and you hardly had a second to comprehend before he pressed his chest to yours- pushing you back softly into the silver and white wallpaper.

You looked up, gasping as he pinned you between his arms, both hands pressed against the wall just above your shoulders. His face was closer to yours than ever before and your eyes darted back and forth, studying his soft frown, forehead crinkling, and brows furrowed. His frustration was blatant, but the lustful sparkle in his eyes was unmistakable.

“What-” you started but Harry was quick to cut you off, leaning that much closer,

“-give me a chance,” it came out in one breath, fanning across your face.

You blinked back. He was incredulous. This was worst-case-scenario- you had been avoiding this type of interaction the entire night, and with one sentence you had thrown it all down the drain. And now here he was, so close. His chest pressed against yours, leg slotted between yours, brushing against your skin, breathing fast, and heavy, he smelled good, and looked better.

The fluttering in your stomach was unfamiliar- intrigued and excited. You wondered what exactly he had in mind if you were to in fact give him a chance. Something told you that there was more to him; that he might be anything but all-talk. The way he looked at you, how filthy he spoke to you, even the way he touched you when permitted.

You were concerned about losing control, leaning into him, touching him- but concern wasn’t enough when you slung your arm around his neck, nails scratching the base of his neck. Harry’s eyes dropped, head tilting closer, your foreheads brushing.

His words still echoing, “give me a chance, give me a chance.”

“I said, I don’t think you could handle-” you tried,

“-I think you’re bullshit,” he interrupted, and you let out a soft gasp,

“That’s mean,” your other arm linking around his shoulders,

“You’re mean,” he muttered just above your ear, before a soft kiss was pressed below your lobe,

“Matter of opinion,” you sighed, raking your nails along his jaw,

“I disagree,” a chaste kiss to your jaw,

“You always do,” thumb sliding along his bottom lip,

Harry dropped his arm, hand coming up to hold the side of your jaw, tilting you upward until you were blinking up at him. He had never seen you like this before; it felt so natural and surreal, seconds away from rectifying the last twenty plus years.

You were ready to meet him in the middle, shutting out everything that wasn’t him. You were at his mercy, foolishly waiting on edge for him to finally kiss you. His thumb copied yours, brushing against your lip before slipping slightly into your mouth, grazing your teeth.

You rose off of your heels, leaning up to impatiently close the gap, his hands moving to cup your face- he was looking at you lazily, lips slick, plump and puckered just for you,

“Let me kiss you,” he whispered,

“No.”

“Please?” so softly, your eyes fluttering shut - when out of nowhere,

“Harry?” it came from far at first, but was quickly followed by another, “Harry!”

It was Jack- drunk and loud- bellowing from the kitchen and heading straight for the hallway.  

As if you had been set alight, you removed your arms and gave Harry a harsh shove until he stumbled back and looked at you with a mix of sheer shock and confusion. Before he could speak, Jacked turned the corner and cheered,

“I found you!” he was drunker than when either of you last saw him, stumbling around, eyes barely open.

Harry was so startled and full of disappointment he could barely comprehend. He was seconds away from kissing you- and now, when he glanced your way, you were a blushing mess, averting eye contact, arms wrapped firmly across your chest.

He managed to come to a stop, leaning his shoulder and head against the wall,

“I’m so sleepy, have I spent enough time mingling? Can I go to bed without saying goodnight? I don’t think anyone would care and I mean, like I said, I’m really tired.”

Jack was pouting and the eyeroll Harry sent his way could hardly convey his annoyance.

It was then that you coughed softly, Harry’s head snapping your direction in an instant,

“Good plan. I think I should get going anyway, been a long day,” you shrugged, looking anywhere but in Harry’s direction.

You were mortified- and you weren’t sure if it was because of Jack, or Harry. Either way you were still fully to blame, and it was time to make a run for it. You could feel Harry’s unwavering gaze, so strong it made you ache with awkwardness.

Jack nodded along, head droopier, eyes drowsier, “Y/n, you rock!”

“Facts.” You chuckled.

“True rock n’ roller babyyyy!” he sung out, and it seems both you and Harry took that as a cue,

“Alright Jack let’s get you to bed,” Harry took him by the shoulder, taking one last longing look at you. You glanced up for a brief moment, eyes wide. And then you were mumbling your goodbye’s and heading for the front door.

As the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it and let out the longest sigh, pressing your face into your hands, pushing harder and harder, forcing all fuzziness to disappear. The embarrassment was seeping from your everywhere, and worse- you knew you would have to see him again.

🍷

Jack had not stopped moaning and groaning from the minute you both sat down across from one another. The breeze directs the sun’s glare directly above the table, and whilst you are most grateful for this marvellous weather, Jack does not seem to agree. Though, you could chalk that up to the hangover he was currently nursing.

You two had made plans for a brunch catch-up after the housewarming, but apparently you had failed to consider that your brother was obviously still a man-child. Did he need three-to-five workdays to recover?

After all these years, you would have hoped that Jack might have learned to handle his liquor, swap a few tequilas for a sip of water. He truly was a baby, looking devoid of sleep, hair sticking up in all directions, and after what felt like the millionth grunt, you finally looked up from your phone,

“Dude. It’s already midday. Is this going to be another one of those full day recoveries? Because we are not teens anymore; I am no longer obligated to take care of you-“

Harry interrupted your train of thought as he seemed to pop-up out of nowhere, towering over you and stealing the sun in the process. He’s sporting a chunky-knitted sweater, the black tank top peeking out matches his flared pants and boots. He looks cosy.

But he is soaking up all the warmth, stealing it for his own, peering down at you, green eyes half-hidden behind his ray-bans.

“For the love of god, sit down already.” You groaned, wrapping your favourite blue, corduroy overcoat across your chest as a small shiver took over your arms.

Harry chuckled, looking at you curiously as he slid out a chair and sat himself down next to Jack- who whined meekly when his and Harry’s elbows briefly touched.

“Christ. What is with you two today? Is this a Y/L/N thing?” he was amused, settling back further into his seat, removing his shades, and running a hand lazily through his hair.

Jack, whose head was now resting directly on the table, lifted up slightly and attempted to get out a coherent sentence,

“M’just alitt wreckddd is’all…” he tried.

Harry looked at him incredulously, turning to you with a smile so wide it reached his eyes. And he looked warm- warm and snug and somehow radiating an energy that quickly became contagious. It made you smile softly, and then you were chuckling along, happy be in his company.

“Last time you mix drinks, huh Jack?”

He whined once more.

Harry shifted towards you, elbows stretching out across the table, he let his stare linger for a moment longer than you both knew was necessary. You felt hot under his gaze, observed and uncomfortable with the sudden shift of attention. But before you could settle into this unfamiliar feeling, he sent a swift wink your way.

“See something you like?” your brows arched.

“More than,” Harry nodded in satisfaction. “I don’t want to do the things I want to do with you with people I just like.”

Now you were red in the face for another reason, eyes desperately darting over to see if Jack heard, unsurprised to find that he was almost fast asleep.

And you hope your eyeroll and lack of response will come off as a tactical choice- Harry didn’t need to know how he made you feel. Flustered and confused.

“Did you have fun at your little housewarming?” you attempted to deflect.

He nodded, “My favourite part was when you were about to let me kiss you… pity about the interruption,” eyes glancing over at Jack’s sleepy figure.

Now you were blushing for sure, steam threatening to spill from your ears and nostrils. You couldn’t have regretted coming home more than in this moment.

“I wouldn’t have kissed you. Interruption or not.”

“I believe otherwise.”

“I believe otherwise about your believing of otherwise” you huffed out quickly, brows furrowed.

Harry laughed fetchingly, arms sliding across the table until they were almost bumping your own. His stare was unwavering,

“You’re in such denial. If it weren’t so painful, I’d find it that much more endearing”

“All I heard was endearing.”

“Well, you are,” he leaned closer, “extremely endearing.”

Before you had a moment to react, Harry brought his hand down against the table, startling Jack awake. They looked at each other sternly before Jack scoffed,

“Dick.”

You took the final sip of your coffee before turning towards the two men; Jack was a sight for sore eyes, and if you spend any longer around Harry, your head might explode in confusion.

“Jack is it safe to assume we won’t be going to the market anymore?” you barely finished before he started protesting. Typical.

“Market?” Harry interjected?

“Some little art thingy Y/n heard about”

“On 4th street” your eyes rolled.

“Sounds fun” Harry shrugged.

“That’s what I thought” you mimicked.

Jack was already standing up when he got a bright idea,

“Harry, why don’t you go with Y/n? Let me get some damn sleep while she talks your ear off.”

You were a mess of protests, assuring them both that there was really no need. But Harry seemed married to the idea.

“Sounds perfect. 4th street you said?” Jack nodded.

“Really Harry, it’s not necessary- “you tried but he only shushed you,

“-Don’t worry sweets, I’ll gladly let you talk my ear off.” Winking, he joined as you all stood from the table and regrouped outside the entrance.

After a brief goodbye, Jack started heading home. And within a minute, Harry had wrapped his warm palm around yours, tugging you forward until you stumbled into line with him.

“It’s close by, lets walk.”

Harry didn’t even look your way as he moved you both forward, weaving past cars and a woman walking her Labrador. You take two steps at a time, trying desperately to keep up as you both made it safely across the road.

“Harry- “you tried, losing your footing for a moment as he powered forward, “For fuck’s sake Harry, slow down.”

He stopped abruptly, his back creating a wall for your chest to bump into.

Harry didn’t say anything when you protested, didn’t let go of your hand as he started walking forward again. He took small steps, making sure you were able to keep up with him.

Your hand felt warm and smothered within his, a fireball sparking and crackling between your palms; ready to set off an explosion that may swallow your head and heart whole. You try to focus on otherwise, taking notice of the shop windows blurring past.

Harry squeezed your hand gently, bringing your gaze to his, “Let’s go here.” he motioned towards a little bakery stand, guiding you both to the warm glass protecting a sweet collection of muffins, cookies, pastries galore.

He refused to let you go as he caught the attention of the server, “Everything smells so good!” he complimented her before continuing, “Could we please get a couple custard slices and a chocolate croissant?”

Your heart leapt as she nodded along enthusiastically and began bagging the pastries, turns out your croissant-obsession was so strong even Harry had caught on.

Nevertheless, you gazed up at him curiously, and he only smiled back sweetly before finally releasing you from his grip, fishing into his pocket for his wallet.

Your hand missed his- and you hated that, dismissing the thought completely as he handed you the warm paper bag; the sweet smell of fresh pastry had you almost burying your face forward, and Harry laughed, motioning you back towards the bustling street.

You were already stuck into the croissant, flakes fluttering everywhere- some even settling on your chin. Harry noticed you were no longer keeping up, looking over his shoulder before halting completely. You caught up; eyes still glued to your pastry, and you barely even noticed him, continuing forward- and now he had to take a long stride to catch up.

He was eyeing you intently as you devoured the remains, crumpling up the bag with a satisfied sigh. You hadn’t noticed his gaze, turning absentmindedly,

“What?” Your brow raised quizzically, using the back of your hand to dust off any excess crumbs.

“Nothing,” he mused, “you’re cute, is all.”

“Stop.” You huffed. Thankfully, the two of you had finally reached 4th street and there were stalls set up everywhere, bright colours of multiple mediums decorating the walls, the streets- the people.

Harry stopped next to you, unnecessarily leaning against you,

“Wow.” He sighed, “This is… amazing.”

You nodded along, “haven’t been to one of these in years.”

He looked over curiously, “Used to come to these things often?”

“Whenever I had the chance, yeah” you made your way to a stand nearby, getting lost in several lino-print’s, deep blue’s melting into mustard yellows and burnt orange. Harry joined you, leaning forward to get a better look.

After a few moments, you turned your attention to another stand displaying bold psychedelic canvases, varying in shapes and sizes. They were so beautiful, telling thousands of stories all at once. Harry was peering over your shoulder, studying the blotches of colour with deep curiosity.

“This one… is so… interesting.” He pointed slightly, eyes never leaving the artwork. Harry was often quick to forget the other arts. Music was now full-on lifestyle and left little time for much else these days.

“Hm,” you replied curiously, continuing to scan the other pieces.

Eventually, Harry stepped away, starting to head towards a stand further down the street. Clay ashtrays, figurines, jewellery, and other accessories decorated the table, and by the time you had caught up, he was already in the middle of purchasing several necklaces and bracelets ranging from royal blue to candy red.

“I like this one,” you pointed to a lime green bracelet, peeking out of the other beads strewn across his palm.

“I do too,” he agreed with a large grin.

You waited for Harry’s new purchases to be paid for and placed into a paper bag. He bumped his hip into yours, motioning for you both to continue down the street.

Harry was keeping as close as possible, ensuring his arm brushed your shoulder with every opportunity. As you turned the corner onto another street, and before you could hold yourself back, you were power walking towards a stall displaying, what you would later refer to as, a masterpiece.

Considering you were often surrounded by art; it wasn’t often that a piece had you this fixated. Harry had never seen you so engrossed in something- few had.

And Harry was patient as you observed, taking your time asking the artist questions- throwing around words that sounded so foreign to him, it only made you that much more attractive, seeing you in your element.

When you were finally content, you said a sweet goodbye, and gestured Harry to continue on down the street. A comfortable silence often fell neatly between the two of you, every now and then pointing out something, asking for one another’s opinion, preference.

“How’s work?” he asked,

“Loving it, actually. I was kinda nervous the job would be as trash as the one I had here…” you really hadn’t enjoyed the hustle-and-bustle of being smack-dab in the metropolitan area. Every other person was a cut-throat, a cry-baby, or just a complete asshole. It had drained almost every ounce of your passion and drive, if you had stayed a moment longer you were sure to have slipped into another bough of melancholy.

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said genuinely- Harry had hated seeing you so stressed, always seeming on the brink of tears.

“I liked the new album, by the way.” that sparked his attention,

“Yeah?”

You nodded, “Don’t let it get to your head now,” you were teasing, but wanted to make sure he knew you were being genuine, “I liked it- I loved it.”

🍷

Harry was now running late, in his own home, spending an excessive amount of time deciding between which of two shirts to wear. As soon as he had settled on a loose, black cotton button up - which he had left partly-unbuttoned and had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows – he immediately decided to change his pants and shoes.

After slipping into his new silk, embroidered-lavender slacks, he paired the outfit with shiny, point-tipped black boots. Harry was putting on the last of his jewellery and spritzing his favourite cologne while the music droned through the gaps under his door- the number of voices growing by the minute.

Harry found himself rather nervous, palms threatening to clam up as he thought about seeing you again. He knew these feelings he was having were getting out of hand. He hadn’t been in such close contact with you in years- the last time was possibly after you graduated college.

And back then, you were wrapped up in your then-relationship, dragging him along to all events. Harry was sure he had only seen you on one occasion without them. It was an important night for him- when you two were temporarily alone again.

He was sure he was in love with you back then. You consumed his every waking thought. Harry would, and did, do anything to be near you – to make you laugh, to pick your brain, sometimes just to be in your presence.

Then life hurled forward, days turned to weeks, and suddenly it was at least a year before he saw you again. You had since abandoned your relationship- and were about to ditch your home and career here in London. Harry saw you a couple weeks before you left- he didn’t have to persuade you much when he offered to come over with Jack to help box up your apartment.

But by then, he was already hot in the middle of making albums and touring arenas, he couldn’t designate the time to properly mourn your departure. It only occurred to him that you were no longer home when he came back after the band’s final tour.

Every now and then he’d hear updates or see a few photos courtesy of your mom and Jack. For a moment his heartrate would pick up, thoughts becoming a jumbled mess – what does your new home look like? What do you do in your spare time? Are you having fun?

And now here you were with all your friends, celebrating being a decade older, in his house. If he thought about it too long, his nausea would resurface. All Harry could do now was take one final look in the mirror before leaving his room, making his way towards the party.

He couldn’t believe how many guests had already arrived – had he really spent that long getting ready? A small sea of people had already formed, mid-conversations, mixing drinks, having a smoke on the balcony.

His eyes scanned the room, acknowledging people he knew as he searched desperately for you. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure if you had even arrived yet.

He was about to give up and head over to the bar when he spotted something sparkly bobbing behind a group of people near the door to the balcony. He followed the shimmers, greeting guests as he wove through them. He stopped at the glass door.

Harry’s head, as well as his heart, had melted into a puddle as his gaze landed on you, leaning against the balcony with a cigarette perched between your cherry-gloss lips.

He couldn’t hear over the thumping in his head, the only thing comprehensible was how incredible you looked. Which was an understatement of note.

You had chosen an extremely well-fitted, watermelon pink dress. It settled neatly across your upper thighs, cinching in at the waist, white frill accentuating your cleavage and connecting to two delicate bows that worked as straps strewn across your shoulders.

You had swapped out your docs for a pair of white, latex boots (each with a hot pink heart) stopping just above your ankles, as well as white fishnet stockings.

And to top it all off, your head adorned some sort of princess tiara covered in sparkly glitter- the beacon that had just led Harry directly to you.    

Harry still hadn’t moved when Jack, who he hadn’t even noticed was standing beside you, caught his attention. And as soon as Jack lit up with eagerness, your focus shifted too, almost dropping your cigarette as you sent a wide grin his way- eyes beaming with excitement.

“Haaarryyy!” you enthused, arms waving as you did a little hip wiggle.

Harry felt like he had just stepped into a fever dream. But he was quick to reciprocate, matching your grin as he made his way over.

You were bouncing on your toes, and he had barely come to a halt before you lurched forward, flinging your arms around his shoulders for a boisterous, but doting embrace. Harry’s arms wrapped around your upper back, pulling you close, stumbling, and living for the sound of your giggles.

“Happy birthday, klutz.” He said in a sing-song tone, rocking you back and forth.

You pulled away, singing back a sweet “thank you” before leaning up to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. Harry prayed it was too dark out- hoped you wouldn’t notice the way his face turned so red.

And you didn’t, bouncing from heel to heel back to your spot next to Jack. You picked up and sipped at a drink that was almost spilling from your glass, and as your lips met the sweet liquid your eyes widened with something else in mind.

“Shots.” You stated seriously but couldn’t help it as you began smiling mischievously.

“Shots!” Jack matched your energy and suddenly Harry was reminded that you and your brother were a deadly combination.

Usually, it was you who would end up responsible for reeling Jack and Harry in when they got too rowdy- chasing after them in a weak attempt to corral their belligerent bodies into whatever vehicle was on standby. But courtesy of making it another trip around the sun, you were two steps ahead of the boys, slipping past friends who all took turns attempting to halt you for a chat.

By the time the two men had caught up, you were already lining up four luminous shot glasses- they hadn’t noticed Nova [one of your nearest and dearest friends from school] had already joined you. The two of you were now chatting away, paying no mind as Jack took over the shot-dispensing duty.

In between enthusiastic exchanges, Harry greeted Nova and managed to get in a few catch-up questions before you completely distracted her with something so out of context he didn’t bother trying to keep up.

Thankfully it wasn’t long before a glass of Don Julio was being passed his way, your fingers brushing against his in the process.

Before anyone even attempted to take a sip, Jack was calling everyone to a holt, “We have to toast!” and everyone groaned. But he was unphased,

“Despite being the greatest pain in my ass, you’re also the greatest person I’ve ever known. You’re a real grown-up now, shithead, and I can’t wait to see what thirty has in store for you.”

You pouted sweetly, eyes bashful as your three friends started saying cheers, clinking their tequilas together. Harry tapped his glass against yours, seconds away from lifting it to his lips-

“Hey, hey- “you scolded, and he held back any panic, “You have to look each other in the eye before you cheers.”

Harry smiled in relief, locking your gaze as he brought his glass back to yours,

“Definitely don’t want seven years of bad sex,”

He sent a wink your way as your glasses separated, tilting his head back, swallowing quickly.

“Especially when you’re finally back in town.”

Jack spotted Mitch and Adam mingling nearby, quicky motioning them over. Harry wanted to keep talking to you though, his mind hadn’t strayed from you, nor had his gaze. But you were all amped-up, swaying from side-to-side, cheesy grin, eyes crinkling as you reacted to something Nova said.

Thankfully, Harry was gifted with an opportunity when Jack suddenly realised Nova hadn’t yet met the other guys. He called her over, leaving you leaning across the bar, perched on your elbows.

“Care for a drink, senorita?” your ears perked up at that, Harry was already pretending to roll up his sleeves, gently bumping his hip with yours. You turned, leaning your back against the counter now as Harry reached over and grabbed a cocktail glass. He got to work, grabbing an assortment of drinks and ingredients and you found your eyes wandering to his arms and hands.

Harry must have felt you staring, looking over at you in between mixing ice and some pink concoction,

“You look incredible, by the way,” he busied himself, grabbing different utensils, glancing back to reaffirm his statement.

“You reckon?” standing up straight, you did a good job doing a little show for him, making sure he got a good view of all the frills and your figure.

He stopped in his tracks and nodded profusely, “Incredible. Definitely designer right?”

“You’ll die,” you stepped closer, straight-faced. He waited,

“Lacroix, ’91. From their spring collection.”

Harry was impressed, excited to finish off this marvellous drink with raspberries and strawberries,

“Christ. What did you do to get your hands on it?”

“Sold my soul.”

“To the Devil?”

“No, her name was actually Giovanna- bitchy creative director from Milan. Love her to death.”

Harry found you more endearing by the second. He added a finishing touch of white sugar, turning to you proudly, his creation on display,

“Voila! Special birthday cocktail for the special birthday girl.”

“Ooh! It’s pretty,” you marvelled,

“Matches your dress,” he pointed out as he placed the drink in your hand.

You took a sip, eyes widening in delight. It was simply delicious, and you couldn’t be sure if Harry had even known what he was doing when he made it.

“This is incredible,” you whined, taking another long sip, “Do I taste watermelon?”

“And litchi, with vodka- which I recall is a personal favourite of yours,” he had hit the nail on the head, naturally.

“Thanks Harry,” you said sweetly, “I don’t think I’ve tasted anything so good.”

Your eyes widened in an instant, as did his, and you were more than thankful when he chose to substitute a snide comment with a cheeky smirk and wink.

Nova returned to your side, making a few remarks about how sweet Adam seems, asking Harry where he was from. She suddenly remembered something and excitedly tapped you, almost causing your drink to spill.

“- She’s here? No ways! I haven’t seen her since the debauchery of Nina’s baby-shower” you enthused, eyes hastily shifting around the room for this so-called friend, gasping softly when you spotted her in the near distance.

With eagerness you wrapped your hand around Nova’s, dragging her off into the crowd. Harry turned his attention to Mitch and Adam- who had already struck up a conversation - only catching a glimpse of your back disappearing amongst the guests.

Harry was starting to feel frustrated; confusion and longing were swirling around his head with such fervour it was moments away from eating him alive. It was time for him to make a conscious effort to stop thinking about you and to start enjoying the party in honour of… well, you.

But he was determined, fixing himself a straight scotch, sloshing it back before quickly refilling and joining in the heated football debate that was escalating by the minute.

🍷

With your absence, Harry found himself mingling with people he hadn’t seen in years – some of these exchanges even being rather pleasant. He was on drink three, Jack seemed to be on at least double that. Speaking of Jack, he had been itching for a cigarette, his favourite drunken-accessory, and Harry gladly followed him out- finally feeling relaxed and frankly, almost buzzing.

The balcony, though large, was crowded. The air was perfect, spring in full swing. To his surprise, Harry spotted two empty chairs off to the side, dragging Jack along. They were going back-and-forth, trying to figure out the names of several guests.

“I think our twelfth-grade English teacher is here, what was his name?” Jack clicked his fingers searching his thoughts for the right answer, “Mister… I wanna say Twat?” he pondered, “No, that can’t be it… Twatman?”.

 “Watman. Mr. Watman.” Harry scoffed, “I’m surprised you remembered him to begin with. I don’t recall you attending a single class.”

“You’re just jealous I was skipping class to make-out with cheerleaders.”

“Which cheerleaders?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

Harry lips parted to respond, his head snapping instantly at the sound of your melodic voice bellowing across the balcony. You were on your own, a small, abstract clutch in one hand, and now you were bounding over, calling out,

“I was wondering where you were.”

Harry wasn’t sure who of the two you was addressing, but his heart couldn’t help but jump at the possibility that you may have been seeking him out after all.

You stopped before them, scanning your surroundings before suddenly, and shamelessly, you plopped yourself down horizontally across Harry’s lap. In utter shock, he peered over at Jack who not only ignored the fact but sparked up a conversation.

“Do you remember that strange professor? Taught year twelve English lit, I think.”

You thought about it, further settling into Harry’s lap, paying zero attention to him as you began unzipping and searching through your clutch. You pulled out a dainty container of weed, blunt-wrap, and a tube of cherry lip gloss,

“Yeah, yeah. Twatman right?”

“See, Harry!” Jack exclaimed, pointing your way.

But Harry’s head was miles away, his entire body heating up, your skin burning against his thighs. Every time you moved, breathed- he had to calm his own, but he was more than thankful for the permanent view of your side profile- cute nose and all. You started rolling, telling Jack some bizarre information about their old teacher. You both theorized about a secret relationship, while Harry sat idly by, adamant on being your ideal chair.

It was only a couple minutes later when you finished up, poking your tongue out as you ran it across the length of the joint. You could feel Harry’s eyes on you, choosing to ignore them as you returned to your clutch to fish out a lighter.

You crossed one leg over the other, adjusting and taking subtle notice of Harry’s squeamishness before placing the joint between your lips, starting to light up.

Harry’s head was foggy for two reasons now, a thick cloud of smoke leaving your lips and fanning out across his unsuspecting face. He blinked back a few times, trying hard to maintain stillness. After taking another quick drag, you leaned forward, thighs momentarily pressing further into Harry’s as you passed the joint over to Jack.

The joint had barely touched his lips before Jack was coughing and spluttering, eyes watering as he hunched forward and put his hand across his forehead.

“Jesus, Y/n- “he was trying to laugh but it came out sounding like a failed-beatboxer, “-fucking strong. Where did you get this?” he attempted to swallow residual coughs as he stretched over and handed the joint back to you.

“Same place I usually get it,” you paused and took a lengthy drag, sharply inhaling before letting the smoke slip through your lips,

“Purple haze. She gave me extra courtesy of the big three-oh.”

“Seems your senior citizen discount has already come in handy,” Jack mused, still holding back from coughing.

“Get fucked,” you huffed, turning your attention to Harry, who instantly felt hot under the collar,

“Still up to no good?” your lips turning upward as you gestured to the joint perched between your fingers.

Harry nodded up at you, his doe-eyes blinking bashfully. With that, you lifted your hand and as he parted his plump lips, you slotted the joint between them. Your fingers brushed against his chin, nails grazing his lips as you held him in place, letting him take a lengthy inhale as your eyes trained the freckles scattered across his face.

Up close, he looked soft, and raw - your eyes felt like they had turned into magnifying glasses, noting the stubble scattered across his chin, the crinkles between his focused-brow, the stray curls slipping across his forehead- and before you could stop yourself, you had concluded that he was beautiful, and that denying your attraction for him was at this point, futile.

He looked up at you through his thick, fluttering lashes, leaning back slightly and you pulled your hand away, bringing the joint back to your own lips. You were still looking at Harry intently when the corner of his eyes crinkled, his lips parting to expose a pearly grin,

“See something you like?” he asked.

And you did your very best to remain unphased, inhaling sharply before you tilted towards him, speaking just above a whisper,

“I don’t want to do the things I want to do with you with people I just like.”

Your voice mocked his deep and slow tone, taking pleasure in exaggerating each and every syllable.

Harry gulped. You pushed the joint towards him, and he bent forward- more than necessary- gladly accepting anything you had to offer. His head was still swirling, convinced you were emitting a vibrant glow, aiming it directly at him.

Harry bravely tapped his fingers along your shin, feeling lulled and content. You had fully relaxed now, leaning your shoulder against his,

“Having fun, birthday girl?”

“Yes sir,” you rested your head- just barely touching his shoulder,

Harry must have been dreaming- stoned and hallucinating, either way he let his hands trail up and down your leg, tapping his foot side-to-side, humming almost inaudibly.

And then in the blink of an eye, you were standing up, leaving him cold and longing once more. You looked over at Jack who had finished coughing and was now staring directly up at the sky. His eyes were darting back-and-forth, acknowledging each star.

You let the joint slip from your fingers, using the toe of your boot to put it out,

“Well boys, I’m off to get a refill,” you tapped Harry’s shoulder gently,

“Glad you can still keep up.”

He looked over at Jack - who was still looking up – and without a word, Harry was out of his seat, hot on your trails. If tonight had taught him anything it was that you were quick on your feet, already at the bar as you scanned the scatter of bottles.

Before he could announce his presence, you turned to him briefly in acknowledgement, “do you still have that photo album I made for your eighteenth?”

“Random.” He said curiously, watching as you turned back and continued examining the bottles.

“I know,” you nodded your back still to him, “I saw a bunch of albums in the living room, just wondered if you still had it.”

Harry thought about it for a second, “I do.”

Thousands of memories flooding back to him, “It’s in my room actually.”

“Is this a just ploy to get me alone?” You turned to fully face him now, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Yes.” He teased sternly.

You nodded, turned, and grabbed an unopened bottle of 1982 Bordeaux, and motioned towards the direction of the bedrooms,

“Lead the way.”

You stayed close, following Harry down the hallway to the foot of his door. It was already ajar, and he used his foot to push it open fully, flicking on the light switch before stepping aside to welcome you in. You took a couple steps forward before he shut the door and walked off in search of the album.

You took in the room, pleasantly overwhelmed by how much it still screamed Harry. You remembered his last room and even spotted his old record player, his rustic bookshelf, a framed poster of Doctor Frankenfurter, and of course his first guitar- dinged-up and faded- just the way you liked it.

Harry was shuffling through one of the draws of his dressing table, his back to you, as you crouched down and began unzipping your boots. The carpet beneath your fishnets was thick, white, and fluffy- and before you could help yourself, you were now fully sitting down, legs crossed, arms working to remove the bottles cork.

Harry cheered softly as he found what he was looking for, grabbing the album- blue, with a hand-painted portrait of himself on the cover. When he turned and noticed your current position, he slipped off his own shoes and plopped down across from you, crossing his legs.

He dropped the album between the two of you, pairing a cheery, “ta-da” with jazz hands.

You did a little dance- what you could manage from your position- as the cork finally popped off and you took a swift swig before passing it to Harry.

He gladly accepted, and as the bottle reached his lips, Harry suddenly acknowledged the situation he was currently in. nerves rushing in from all directions, and he took an extra couple sips on account.

You were already flipping through the first few pages, grinning sweetly, and pausing to take a better look at some of the pictures. Harry was looking too, but mostly at you. He liked how you focused, how fondly you smiled, and he was only seconds away from getting caught staring.

“Oh god, do you remember this day?” you leaned forward, fingers tracing a photo of Harry dressed as a cowboy, sporting a fake moustache, and aiming a water gun at the camera. He nodded fondly, reminding you that shortly after the picture was taken, you threw up all over a rosebush- fully dressed as a brothel-lady - bonnet, and all.

With that, you flipped the page with haste, scanning some of the others, stopping to think- sometimes to reminisce. And then you came across the one picture Harry would have traded the world for. The two of you were sat on a couch, your legs draped across the armrest, your head Harry’s lap. The sun was setting, creating a silhouette of the perfect tableau. It was the beginning of one of his favourite evenings to date. Whoever took the photo hadn’t stuck around, the most important part of this memory was that it was just you two- an anomaly.

Before he could stop himself, Harry pointed down at the photo, “This one is my favourite.”

You followed his hand, looking down intently at the little moment caught on film,

“We drank so much wine that night,” you giggled fondly, careful not to give any feelings you may have harboured away.

“You sang,” He said,

“For you,” you emphasised,

“For me.” He nodded.

A silence settled and Harry took another sip, remembering your twirls, drinking, spilling from the bottle, the way your hair fell, the way he felt. The night way playing out on super speed, too many moments jumbling together, and then he couldn’t stop the blush from rushing to his cheeks,

“Oh god. I danced. A lot.” He remembered the moves far too well.

How could you forget? He was clumsy on his feet, creating a brand-new style. And he was so off-beat, no rhythm, moving any which way as long as it caused you some sort of reaction- preferably an endearing laugh, which you were of course currently doing,

“Yeah, you danced a lot.” You smiled innocently, “For me.”

“For you.”

Harry caught your gaze, the air between you thick with tension and lust. He wanted crawl right on over, grab your face and smother you in kisses. And the way you were looking back at him, Harry was almost convinced you might actually want him to do that too.

Neither moved, hardly blinked, and you were so hot under the collar it was torturous. You felt completely trapped, losing all self-control and about to slink straight into his lap. In sheer panic, you turned back to the album, flipping through pages at a time.

There was a photo of Harry, Jack, and an old friend of theirs from school. They were dressed in football attire, getting ready for a match.

“Oh, I remember this guy. Andy, right?” you taunted, glancing up to gauge his reaction,

Harry couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching, eyes rolling.

“He was cute,” you tried, “Didn’t he have a thing for me?”

Harry scoffed. Of course Andy had fancied you- Harry almost lost his mind every time he made any comments expressing crudeness or adoration for you. He had bitten his tongue so many times it was habitual when he found himself doing it now.

He still hadn’t spoken, you were fascinated as his pupils dilated, angst creeping up across his features. You took another sip of the wine, eyeing him before pushing once more,

“Maybe I should have given him a chance…”

Harry barely let you finish, “He couldn’t’ve handled it.”

You laughed harshly, absolutely amused, and horrifyingly, extremely enticed. So, you uncrossed your legs, splaying them out in front of you, toes tapping his crossed ankles,

“You really think you -”

“- Yes.” He finished for you.

In your opinion, his certainty was the most attractive thing he had ever done. He suddenly wrapped his hands around your ankles and gently tugged you forward.

You let out a small gasp as your bum slid forward, Harry unravelling his legs, all the while dragging you further into his grasp. You were lured straight into his lap, naturally wrapping your legs around his waist, settling atop his hips.

You were face-to-face now, chest-to-chest, and his hands came to rest on your waist. His breath was warm, eyes oozing with intention as your hand lazily draped across his shoulder, fingers finding their way to his hair.

“I don’t believe you,” you muttered.

“I’ll make you,” he persuaded, hand sliding up to rest on your lower back.

You were on the brink of total surrender, leaning closer until your noses were brushing, his other hand leaving your waist to cup your jaw, securing around your throat.

“Prove it,” you gave in.

Harry felt his stomach flip, holding back the urge to shove his tongue down your throat. Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, then another to the corner of your mouth. He took his time, enjoying the way his lips sparked against your soft skin.

And then he kissed you- just barely. So lightly you barely felt it.

He pulled back for a moment, bringing his other hand up to hold your face in place. Planting a soft kiss, and another, and another, and then he finally kissed you- properly.

You were eager to reciprocate, tugging him as close as possible, kissing him with such fervour it could have convinced Harry that this was something you had spent twenty years anticipating.

Your lips detached, and Harry was quick to start scattering sloppy smooches up-and-down your neck. Nibbling and sucking now-and-then, dragging you further into his hold.

It wasn’t until you purposely pressed yourself down against his lap - desperate to ease some of this friction – when you suddenly came to your senses. Before he could kiss you once more, you went still, eyes opening to look at him in shock.

Harry stopped, eyeing you cautiously as you unravelled yourself, leaning back bashfully.

“We should get back to the party,” you suggested, scared to speak above a whisper.

Harry played it cool, nodding along as you climbed out of his lap, following suit until you were now both standing face-to-face.

Neither made any attempts to move, you watched him, shamelessly. Trying to figure out your next move, how to act, how to respond.

Suddenly Harry’s eyes lit up, surprisingly sending a wave of relief rushing through you.

“I got you something, for your birthday obviously.” He didn’t wait for your reaction, walking over to his bed before crouching down to reach for something hidden beneath.

You were eyeing him curiously as he started to reveal this surprise. The moment you caught a glance of what it was- that familiar blend of whites and purples, the abstract scatter of shapes and lines, the same feeling you felt the first time you saw the painting.

Your heart caused your ears to ring, a swell of emotions- aghast, amazed, admiration- and you were quick to realise that those feelings were for Harry.

He had barely finished revealing the artwork, not even fully standing straight as you came bounding over, causing him to drop what he was doing, only moments before you were grabbing his cheek, tugging him to meet your lips as you pressed against him with a blend of aggression and adamance.

He had no time to react, hands instinctively wrapping you up, pulling you into him, grabbing at whatever you would let him.

In a haze of needy kisses, he gently pushed you back until your bumped right into his dressing table.

You were tugging at his hair, making sure he stayed close. With your help, he used one arm to wrap around the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until you were sat atop the table.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist in an instant, linking your ankles, tugging him closer. Harry was holding back a long overdue moan, hands on your jaw. You pulled back for a breath, taking in him- lusty, dishevelled, eager.

He reached up and gently removed your birthday crown, tossing it over his shoulder, and then his hands dropped to your shoulders, leaning down to press kisses to your collarbone, the nape of your neck, one final one – dragged out – beneath your ear.

Harry softly worked at the bows, pulling them loose, watching them fall, your chest on proper display now. Your hands were roaming his torso, back, his hair and finally, his jaw- leaning back in, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. His mouth parting slightly, and you stole the change to slip your tongue in- giving Harry a pleasant surprise.

You worked to unbutton his shirt, hastily shrugging it off of his shoulders, forcing him to help you remove it completely. Your hands were roaming his torse, lips following suit. Harry couldn’t help the soft sighs he let slip, trying to keep his hands on any part of your skin.

The impatience was growing – neither of you wanted to address it. But after the third time you pressed yourself against his crotch, Harry decided he needed to take matters into his own hands.

He stepped back, softly chuckling at the bratty whine you sent his way. Harry’s hands pressed firmly into your hips; his thumb drawing circles up your thighs. He let a few fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress, pushing it up to reveal your deep red, lacy undies.

Harry tutted, trailing his fingers closer and closer,

“I am very, very fond of these.”

He was inches away from getting exactly where he wanted, patiently dragging out each action. He knew you were certain- your incapability of letting him out of your grasp was proof.

Your hands were still all over him, desperately grasping at any free skin,

“Shut it.”

“Yeah?” he snickered,

“Yeah,” you huffed,

“What if-”

“Harry. I said shut it and put your mouth to good use.”

He blinked, blinked once more, and nodded profusely,

“Yes ma’am.”

---

Get ready for part twoooo! - Emmy xox.

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Two

Premise: In the aftermath of your birthday party, your karma catches up with you, and bumping into Harry seems to be a running theme.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Smutty smut [head, head, head baby!], Alcohol use, mind-blowing banter.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist

Other Writing

-

In a haze of needy kisses, he gently pushed you back until your bumped right into his dressing table.

You were tugging at his hair, making sure he stayed close. With your help, he used one arm to wrap around the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until you were sat atop the table.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist in an instant, linking your ankles, tugging him closer. Harry was holding back a long overdue moan, hands on your jaw. You pulled back for a breath, taking in him- lusty, dishevelled, eager.

He reached up and gently removed your birthday crown, tossing it over his shoulder, and then his hands dropped to your shoulders, leaning down to press kisses to your collarbone, the nape of your neck, one final one – dragged out – beneath your ear.

Harry softly worked at the bows, pulling them loose, watching them fall, your chest on proper display now. Your hands were roaming his torso, back, his hair and finally, his jaw- leaning back in, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. His mouth parting slightly, and you stole the change to slip your tongue in- giving Harry a pleasant surprise.

You worked to unbutton his shirt, hastily shrugging it off of his shoulders, forcing him to help you remove it completely. Your hands were roaming his torse, lips following suit. Harry couldn’t help the soft sighs he let slip, trying to keep his hands on any part of your skin.

The impatience was growing – neither of you wanted to address it. But after the third time you pressed yourself against his crotch, Harry decided he needed to take matters into his own hands.

He stepped back, softly chuckling at the bratty whine you sent his way. Harry’s hands pressed firmly into your hips; his thumb drawing circles up your thighs. He let a few fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress, pushing it up to reveal your deep red, lacy undies.

Harry tutted, trailing his fingers closer and closer,

“I am very, very fond of these.”

He was inches away from getting exactly where he wanted, patiently dragging out each action. He knew you were certain- your incapability of letting him out of your grasp was proof.

Your hands were still all over him, desperately grasping at any free skin,

“Shut it.”

“Yeah?” he snickered,

“Yeah,” you huffed,

“What if-”

“Harry. I said shut it and put your mouth to good use.”

He blinked, blinked once more, and nodded profusely,

“Yes ma’am.”

With that, he squeezed your hips, earning a surprising moan when he suddenly licked a warm strip over your pantie-clad clit. Harry was filled with further encouragement – a desperate need to hear you omit such pretty little sounds again.

He tugged your hips closer, and you were now sitting right on the edge, relying on him to keep you balanced. He did a good job holding you in place; tongue pressing flat against you now, sighing when he felt such dampened lace,

“All worked up just for me?”

He looked so pretty, innocently looking up at you. Looking right through you, knowing he finally had you where he wanted.

And that made you swoon, your stomach in knots, a flush of electricity- a nod of approval sent his way. Harry smiled knowingly, going back to placing sloppy kisses along your inner thighs, ending with a harsh nip before he slipped one hand into the band of your panties. He was ponder-some, toying with the lace between his fingers, looking up at you,

“You’re not gonna miss these are you?” it wasn’t really a question,

“They’re expensive-”

With little to no effort, he tugged the material until it ripped, and slipped from his fingers. You couldn’t decide on disapproval, or endearment, reacting with a soft gasp at your sudden exposure,

“You owe me,”

“I owe you,” he nodded with a soft smirk, spreading your hips further apart.

Harry sighed with satisfaction, slowly taking you in. His right hand left your thigh, his thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing slight circles before his middle finger slipped into you with ease – slick and warm, and Harry bit down on his lip, looking up at you with approval,

“So wet,” he muttered with fascination, “all for me” – that one was under his breath, almost going unnoticed by you. He pushed his finger in further, thumb continuing to work at your swollen clit.

You were biting back soft whines, holding onto any stubbornness you had to spare. But he was making it difficult, pulling his finger out altogether, moving back to your clit, using your wetness to help increase his speed.

Harry both looked like and was in paradise. He removed his fingers completely, leaning back to take a proper look at you. Your face was flush, lip clamped between your teeth, chest heaving. Harry decided he liked you best this way, his cock pushing up against his briefs at the fact that you were reacting this way, just for him.

And then Harry took another moment tell you what a “pretty, pretty pussy” you have, using his thumbs to spread you open, admiring how slick, and wet you were, all for him. You whined above him, on the verge of begging him to do more – touch you, taste you - anything.

He read your mind, leaning forward, curls tickling your thighs as he pressed a soft kiss to your clit, breath fanning over you, tongue darting out to lick you. When you finally moaned, Harry’s motivation only increased, flicking his tongue over your clit once more, sucking on the bud, hand coming up to help keep you spread before him.

His free hand reached out to the back of your ass, tugging you as close as possible- careful to avoid you toppling over. You whined, bucking forward, and Harry almost lost all balance.

He removed his lips, retreating from your thighs and the huff of disappointment you sent his way only had Harry’s heart swelling further.

“Needy little one,” he remarked, standing upright.

“Harry,” you warned, but that was long forgotten when he grabbed a hold of your waist, picking you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, hands rushing to the back of his neck.

He knelt down, carefully laying you flat on the carpeted floor. Legs still attached to his waist, you tugged him closer, luring him in for a kiss. His lips were slick, warm, and inviting- your tongue slipped past his teeth with ease, sloppily trying to find his own.

Harry kissed you back with adamance, tugging at your lips, sucking at your tongue, wetting your lips with his own. You sighed into his mouth, and he grunted, hips grinding down onto your own. His pants material rubbed against your clit, igniting a spark in your stomach.

He pressed down again, desperate for some contact. You hiked your leg up further, needily asking for more- and Harry was smitten with your impatience.

“Want me to touch you again?” he asked in between the kisses he was sloppily planting across your neck.

You nodded quickly, eyes pleading for him to do so. But he only tutted, tongue settling below your ear,

“You have to tell me, sweetheart.” Harry informed, and you awkwardly shuffled beneath him, frustrated but not surprised.

When he pressed himself down against you once more - hand reaching up to squeeze your boob, thumb grazing your nipple – you could no longer resist him,

“I want you to touch me,” you sighed in defeat, “please, Harry.”

He sat back up, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, unlatched your legs from his waist, folding and spreading them out. He worked his way down your body, briefly stopping to flick his tongue over your nipple, before finally settling between your thighs.

He wasted no time, mouth attaching to your clit, hands spreading your lips, tongue dipping inside of you. You whined out, fingers digging into the carpet. Harry began lapping at you, tongue slipping in and out, flicking up to swirl and suck at your clit, nipping at you as your hips bucked forward, pushing yourself further into his mouth.

Harry moaned out, vibrating against you, and you hadn’t even noticed his name slipping past your lips in a soft mewl. But he certainly had, pushing your thighs further apart before flattening his tongue, licking at you with haste.

Your back arched, muttering profanities as Harry slipped his middle finger inside you, curling it upward. Your toes were curling, body wriggling beneath him, and Harry used his free hand to keep you still, pushing his palm against your pelvis.

He slipped his middle finger in, pumping in and out with both, while his lips came down over your clit once more, sucking, and swirling circles. You were a mess, breathing heavily beneath him, eyelids heavy as you watched Harry doing such a good job at making you feel good.

He praised you, reminding you what a pretty girl you are, how good you taste, how much he wanted to fuck you into next Tuesday. Your stomach clenched tighter with each praising, insides tingling. Harry was quick to notice how much it turned you on,

“Such a good girl for me,” he kept rhythm, fingers slick, almost slipping out completely before he thrust them back in, “so, so, good,” he licked and kissed your clit, “just for me.”

You were unravelling, legs threatening to shake. Harry picked up on this, licking you one last time before he pulled back, cool air rushing to your clit as you whined out.

He shushed you, fingers still lingering at your entrance as he crawled on top of you, sweet, sticky lips meeting your own, tongue pushing past, wrestling with yours.

His lips barely left yours as he brought his hand up, slipping his thumb into your mouth, waiting for you to suck on it.

You did, slowly, spit leaving a trail from your lip as he pulled away, reaching down to coat your clit. He began rubbing small circles, taking his time, swirling bigger, smaller, longer, and shorter, you rocked your hips into his hand, and Harry finally soothed you, sliding his middle and ring finger back into you.

“Fuck, Harry, please,” you groaned, head pushing further into the carpet.

“Please what, angel?” he whispered against your lips, slowly pumping his fingers in and out.

“Faster,” you panted, “please, Harry.”

You didn’t have to ask twice, Harry picked up his pace, rhythmically thrusting his fingers into you, curling them upward, covering your lips with his own, kissing you deeply. Your orgasm was bubbling within - threatening to spill over -hands desperately wrapping around the base of his neck, tugging at his curls.

Your hips could no longer stay down, ass lifting off of the carpet, letting his fingers slide deeper into you. A particularly loud whine left your lips, his name dancing off of your tongue, and Harry’s muffled your moans with his own, pumping faster- overwhelmed by the sound of your strained breaths, and his fingers dipping into you.

You were reaching climax, nails digging into his skin- tugging at any part of him you could. Harry could see it in your eyes- pupils dilated, hazy and desperate.

“Want me to make you cum, sweetheart?” he asked so sweetly- with such kindness it made your heart thud, nodding profusely, tugging him closer, chest weighing down your own,

“Yes, please,” it came out so soft - so politely - that Harry almost bust right then and there.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your lips, fingers gliding in and out with fervour, his thumb rubbing figure eights against your clit. “cum for me, baby. Please.” He was so rewarding; you couldn’t stop the wave of arousal- tingling and sparking your insides. Your body was no longer your own, euphoria washing over you – body desperately succumbing to your climax, whining his name over and over, frantically grabbing at his forearm and neck.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, never slowing down, watching the way your body squirmed beneath him, hips rocking against him, your frantic breathing, and all because of him. Your nails were sharp, digging into him in a way he was certain would leave a mark. His name was tumbling from your lips, falling in synch with each thrust, Harry was adamant to help you ride out your high.

Your body started to relax, slipping down onto the carpet, legs still apart- too fatigued to move them. Your hands were still weakly wrapped around him, his finger lazily rubbing circles against your clit, slowing to a halt, before he brought his hand up, sucking both fingers into his mouth, eyeing you contently as he licked off the taste of you,

“Hm,” he pondered, and your brows raised in unnerved curiosity. He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “never knew you could be so polite.”

---

You never thought you’d say it, but you were glad to be leaving London after this weekend; ready to get back home to your nook- your safe place.

Two things needed to happen before you left though: going on this date- with a man you met through a friend at your birthday. And successfully avoiding Harry until you touched down in Italy. So far, you had done a good job, tonight would tick off both tasks on your list.

You had just barely stepped into the restaurant, music a tad too loud, an unnecessary amount of fluorescent lighting- the feeling of total excessiveness was swallowing the place and all of the people in it- you wondered how the two of you would even manage to get seated- everywhere seemed taken, this restaurant was up-and-common; on the map and on demand, and as of right now, you couldn’t understand why.

Still, you scanned the room- hoping to find somewhere that would seat just two. You were already resenting your date, annoyed for picking somewhere so inaccessible. Before you could dwell on it, he seemed to spot a free table in the distance, and he barely looked to see if you were following before walking off.

You worked to avoid bumping into anyone, weaving your way through the maze. You could now see the table, dimly lit, and trapped between other tables and booths. As you neared, the sound of someone calling your name stood out from the pumping music.

Considering the bustling atmosphere, you would have normally ignored it, but something deep within you knew that someone was definitely calling after you.

Scanning the crowd, it took mere seconds to spot the group seated at one of the booths; the entire band, a few faces you had yet to meet, and at the centre of it all; Harry.

You weren’t certain he had been the one calling for you, but it wouldn’t come as a surprise. Nevertheless, they knew you had seen them – walking away would be rude, even for you.

And so, you gestured your date to re-route, willing to at least greet them all – hoping it wouldn’t cost you the other table.

There was a chorus of hello’s; everyone enthusiastically festive. It lightened your mood, until your gaze landed on Harry, who was grinning with what you assumed to be sheer delight. You rushed through introducing your date, after you were asked your reason for being here this evening.

You had had enough now, gesturing it was time to go. But as you woefully expected, your table had been swiped, occupied by another lucky couple.

You knew it was coming before you could protest, a rush of encouragement to join them – at least until another table became available. And if your date knew you better, he would have politely declined, instead of agreeing and immediately slipping into the newly open spot next to Mitch, patting the leathered cushion for you to join.

And begrudgingly, you did so. Your first loss of the evening- dreading it wouldn’t be the last.

As predicted, the rest of the group was extremely warm and welcoming. They enveloped your date in pleasantries, and you cursed yourself for finding it relieving. Your habit of agreeing to go on average dates with the hope of a good time - or at least a good meal – was beginning to feel like more effort than not.

Nevertheless, you feigned interest and joined in the conversation. It was becoming clear that you would be sat here for a while, so you reached across the table and pinched Sarah’s G&T, taking a few sips as she faked a gasp, smiling and pulling you in for a chat.

🍷

One drink in, you were starting to relax – settling back against the booth, crossing your legs beneath the table. And though you feigned sheer ignorance about Harry’s gaze, which was burning a hole through your forehead, it was taking a lot more effort than you liked.

It was only when your date started another story - only when you found your thoughts straying, your fingers started tapping the table, knee bouncing – only then did you finally give in and glance up.

You knew he was still looking at you – you felt it - but it still threw you off guard though when you found Harry was indeed looking at you, eyes slowing switching between you and your date; still acting far too smitten for your liking.

You challenged him, for a moment - refusing to break eye contact, holding off blinking, and even raising an eyebrow before looking away. You turned your attention, as well as your body, to face your date. Resting your head in your hand, elbow on the table. And though you shouldn’t have, you hoped it would make Harry feel some type of way.

But the man to your left was making it so incredibly difficult to stay interested – he hardly finished the first story before diving straight into the next, surely stock exchange couldn’t be that interesting? He didn’t even stop babbling as his arm brashly slid over to rest across your shoulders, keeping you close but still directing his attention to the group of friends all huddled together.

Harry was still looking at you though, a valid excuse he found since your date was the one carrying majority of the conversation. He didn’t get you. And now he was certain that your date didn’t either. Why did you continuously humour these men? You were out of their league – always. From the first boy you had brought home, to the one sitting beside you now, they never brought out the spark within you, never created a podium to elevate your excellence; and Harry could only wonder if he had the compatibility to ascend alongside you.

It didn’t help that you were so evidently losing your composure, slumping further into your seat, fingers still swirling circles into the table. Harry found the man so boring; he had never tuned in to begin with, and he admired your strength and persistence for even trying.

He knew you had a habit of getting yourself into these situations; he also loved taking a backseat, endeared and hot under the collar, watching you huff and puff. Harry would revel in the opportunity to soothe that frustration into something closer related to ecstasy.

And so, your frustration slightly transfers, Harry grasping onto it, and onto the fact that you were right here, in front of him, choosing the company of someone else. Someone else’s arms around you – someone who you were willing to give a chance.

Harry was still smiling slightly though, finding this whole situation more amusing than not. Especially when you gave up, not even trying to hold back your eyerolls, certain your date couldn’t see you doing it. After your third attempt to resist a scoff, Harry did actually chuckle now, all eyes suddenly landing on him.

You were both on the brink of blushing; but relief washed over him when your date only smiled in Harry’s direction, mistaking his laughter for encouragement, and continuing the story where he had left off. Slowly everyone around the table returned their attention to the anecdote, somehow engrossed in this arbitrary relay of the ‘imminent crash of wall street’. Except for you; eyes still lingering on the boy sitting across from you - his own flickering under the dim-lighting, lips sweet and slick.

You caught his gaze with your own, remaining stern-faced at first, luring him in for another stare-off, before sending a cheeky wink his way.

Harry’s head tilted back with a bellow of laughter, your date foolishly chuckling along.

🍷

You were outside now - tucked away- a cigarette the only thing keeping you company. The night was cool, but it was a welcomed contrast to the pulsing atmosphere you had just escaped from.

Leaning your back against the bricked wall, your eyes fluttered shut, slowly letting the smoke slip past your lips. You needed a breather now more than ever- a moment to gather your frazzled feelings back into their box.

At least you could relax now knowing your date was certainly back in there, talking everyone’s ear off. You couldn’t believe he had so much to say – even for you, someone who was willing to speak until hoarse, toppled over with the nagging realisation that you were actually more than grateful that the two of you never made it to your own table.

But as you finally started to feel at ease, and before you could take another drag, your cigarette was cruelly snatched, pinched by Harry- suddenly perched beside you. He took a long, and dramatically slow pull, closing his eyes for emphasis, milking the idea of your current annoyance towards him.

He finally finished, but eyes remained closed, foot tapping along to the muffled beat as he turned, leaning one shoulder against the wall to face you.

You were still looking at him expectantly, quickly soothed when he reached over, placing the cigarette back between the parting of your lips.

Your fingers brushed over his briefly, replacing his hold of your smoke, and Harry took the moment to unnecessarily graze your bottom lip with his thumb. You were instantly wound right back up the moment his own lips parted to say something,

“Wondered where you’d snuck off to. Date got you that bored, huh?”

When you didn’t respond and instead huffed out a smoky cloud, Harry continued,

“Now, had you invited me instead…” he took the ciggie back, dragging quickly, smoke slipping past his teeth as he continued on, “I doubt youd’ve been out here in the first place.”

“Didn’t have to invite you. You’re here regardless, innit?” gesturing towards him,

Harry inched closer – ever so slightly - his voice low and dripping mischief,

“True. Though I can imagine there would still be a distinguishable difference.”

“Hm, What might that be?” turning to mock his stance,

“Well for starters, if I came with you…” he extinguished the bud’s sparks against the wall between you two, “I’d make sure I wasn’t the only one coming…”

“I won’t dignify that statement with a response,” you derided, and it was now Harry’s turn to scoff - though his was merely frisky- and playful.

“You disagree?” he was genuinely curious,

“I think you’re very optimistic.”

“Y’mean opportunistic.”

“That too.” You paused, “bordering cocky.”

“I prefer confident,” he said righteously.

You didn’t reason back this time. It was true - and charming - and disputing the matter would only cause you to flounder further under his guaranteed interrogation. 

You huffed; tired of being tired – and Harry chuckled softly, reading you like a book. A fleeting thought about the strangeness of him being able to read you – to understand what you were thinking through a mere sigh.

He shifted closer, tilting his head towards you- close enough to notice the familiar mix of bourbon and mint slipping past his lips,

“So, which is it then?”

“Care to elaborate?” you asked,

“Are you hiding from that snooze you called a date… or from me?” Though his tone remained jovial, you suspected he desired an honest answer. 

“Both, really.” You said, and Harry delayed his reaction in hopes of a warmer follow-up.

You took a risk edging closer, and you’re not certain why, guiding him directly back into your trap, hanging onto any words you threatened to spill. And when he was close enough to see the purple glitter flickering across your eyelids, you spoke up,

“Avoiding any repeats of my last sexual escapade.”

“You’ve been messing around with someone else I don’t know about?” Harry feigned hurt, his right hand reaching over to clutch at his chest.

“Grow up, Harry,” you huffed, retreating- but only slightly. 

“I thought you writhing below me was testament enough that I have in fact, grown up”.

And to your utter dismay, he wasn’t wrong. Not in the slightest. You had started thinking of him differently - not to mention how you ruefully indulged in several steamy flashbacks of his warm and wet tongue pressed flush against your skin. But naturally, you were always quick to dismiss such thoughts, convinced that you were merely caught at a weak moment.

“Well as much as you might have enjoyed yourself, I hope you didn’t get too attached,” you attempted to make it perfectly clear that what had happened between you and Harry was purely a one-time thing.

“What if I said it was already too late?” He tested, eyes flicking down briefly to study your lips.

“Then I’m better than I thought.”

“I agree. Better than I thought,” he mused,

“Think about me often, do you?”

“I think about you, always.” Neither were certain on his definition of always, but Harry was aware it was increasing tenfold.

When it was evident you weren’t going to say anything more, Harry tried to ignore the slight frustration bubbling in his chest. A small part of him had hoped you would confirm that you had enjoyed his gift of birthday-head as much as he had. The way you had responded to him, so well - your moans still etched in his brain, the feeling of your nails raking down his neck – Harry didn’t doubt he had made you feel good. But he wanted – no - he needed to hear you say it.

“This is the part where you say the feeling was mutual, darling.” He still rejected all discouragement,

“Oh, is it now?”

“Mm. Something along the lines of ‘Harry, you ate me out just right!’” he sighed out, teasingly,

“Harry, you ate me out just right!” you tone mocked, dripping with sarcasm,

“Come off it,” he groaned,

“And cum on you instead? Where would you prefer; face? cock?” you seemed indifferent even when taunting him.

Harry further closed the gap between the two of you, leaving only a few inches distance. You could almost taste him now- trying desperately to ignore the familiar goosebumps threatening to break out all along your spine as he said,

“Your stubbornness knows no bounds. Frustratingly so that you seem to be in total denial.”

“Denial?” you pondered,

“Did I stutter?”

“Marginally,” you squinted, annoyed by his incessant need to pester you.

Harry closed the small gap between you, his lips resting just above the lobe of your ear, his hot breath threatening goosebumps to spill as he spoke,

“I said, you’re in denial.”

Cue the bubbling in your stomach, the thud in your heart, the sudden head rushing mercilessly to the gaps between your thighs- the urge to clamp them shut in disapproval, shadowed by the thought of Harry catching you doing so.

Instead, you remained as calm as ever, head tilting up in the opposite direction, chin raised to elongate your neck and throat – a last ditch effort to create distance between the two of you.

But your actions only seemed to encourage him, as the sudden sweet fragrance of Chanel seeping from the crook of your clavicle, and the bare offering of your throat- begging to be licked at, only heightened his fugue of attraction.

“I’m not in denial.” You finally stated, all focus directed to maintaining a steady breath – managing to subdue the pulses of excitement, all trying to push their way past your skin with fervour.

Harry sort of huffed - almost laughed, and when the warmth of his breath fanned across your skin once more, your goosebumps overruled, prickling up all along your neck.

“Y’are. Acting as if those pretty lips of yours weren’t slipping my name out in whimpers just the other day,”

And before you could protest, Harry used his free hand to cup the side of your face - tilting it further upward - before latching his teeth to your jaw, harshly nipping at your skin.

You bit back a whimper, adamant that you wouldn’t fall into submission, as Harry’s tongue darted out over the reddened skin, gently lapping at it.

Things were escalating, and from your experience with Harry, they were sure to go from one to a hundred before you were able to properly register. But when he used his tongue to lick a strip up your neck, before gently biting your earlobe, that held-back whimper escaped past your lips.

“And you seem to have no problem whining around me now…” he remained close, letting his words tickle your cheek,

You remained mum, slowing your breathing, turning to look at him, his hand still loosely holding your jaw. You looked up at him, batting your lashes, eyes doey. Harry was lost in the feel of you, with one hand still on your jaw, he extended the other, looping his finger through the belt loop of your pants, tugging you forward. You stumbled over your feet, your chest bumping against his, closer than you needed.

His hand left your hip, sliding up your waist, hand lying flat atop your ribs - inches away from the swell of your breasts.

When you emitted a soft gasp, he tutted and squeezed your skin. A second gasp came tumbling out- mouth ajar, and he took the chance to slip his thumb between the gap, resting it atop your bottom lip. You closed your mouth around his finger, instinctively sucking it further past your lips, swirling your tongue around it- but only once.

And just like that, he pulled his thumb back, hand wrapping around the back of your neck. He leaned as close as your noses permitted, brushing against one another as Harry trapped your lip between his front teeth, tugging on it. You sighed and he bit down harshly, his tongue forced its way toward your own, lapping at it, covering your lips with his own.

Your body was melting beneath his touch, sparks of provocation igniting your body from your head to your thighs. But you refused to give in completely, pulling back before he could do anything further. even so, you allowed yourself to stay close, his lashes fluttering against your skin, chest flush against your own.

Resisting him was fast falling off of the table, toppling to the ground with the threat of tugging Harry back in for a proper kiss. And with a surprise that shook you to your core, Harry dropped both hands, stood up straight, sent one last smirk your way, before turning on his heel and heading back toward the door- the music pumping as he opened it and stepped through, taking the music with him as it shut in his wake, and you were left alone in silence.

🍷

Still struck with awe, you shook your head, stood upright, and made your way over to the door. The restaurant was even busier – if possible – now closer resembling a nightclub. You weaved your way through the mass of people dancing or just standing around, huffing in relief when the table finally came into view.

And Harry was seated as if he had been all along, now occupying the spot Sarah had taken up, now she had moved closer to Mitch, and it took you sitting down to finally remember you had left your date at the table. Mortified when you noticed he was now sitting next to Harry – both across from you, both looking expectantly. But Harry’s smile was wider – cheekier - signalling he was completely aware of the new seating arrangement, and how amusing he found it.

And you would have sent daggers his way if it weren’t for your date. So, you smiled sweetly, all the while using the heel of your docs to stomp on Harry’s nearest foot. He winced in astonishment, jumping slightly. You sent a satisfied smirk his way, hoping he now understood that teasing you would not go down well.

Everyone around you seemed to be enjoying themselves, and it was certainly time for another drink. Looking down at the couple empty glasses sitting on the table, both men seemed to take note, their hands flying up to summon a waiter. You hid an eyeroll- only because it had worked, and the waiter was now heading your way.

Your date, not wasting any time, ordered himself another peer – some craft nonsense, and you were finding it harder and harder to reason with yourself for accepting his invite out tonight. Without taking a breath, he turned and added input to the group chatter happening to his left. Harry politely went next,

“Scotch with ice, please.” As you opened your mouth to order, Harry continued on, “And a double G&T for the lovely lady.”

You wanted to scold him. But for what? He knew your order, he did something your date hadn’t. To top it all off, it sent a rush of desirability up your spine, only deepening your attraction for him.

So, you muttered a ‘thank you’, and he smiled, playfully tapping your ankle with his foot.

Before the waiter could turn away, Mitch gestured him over, ordering a round of don julio for the table. And by the time they had arrived, you were already a third of a way through your gin, moving it over to make space for your shooter.

You waited until all tequila was dispersed amongst the group, picking up the glass in anticipation of a group-cheers. But your date was quicker, tossing his shot back, slamming the empty glass back on the table, puffing out a sigh as he stretched his arms out in satisfaction.

The look on your face must have been awestruck, who the hell was this man? Before he could catch you staring, Harry tapped your ankle once more, leaning his arms across the table, sliding his shot glass over to join your own. He looked at you with a fondness that left you feeling like the only person in the room – the only other person in the world, and you smiled up at him – a real smile.

As he smiled back, he picked up and held out his shot, waiting for you to lift yours. You did so, watching as the glasses clinked against one-another. You started pulling back, slightly tilting your chin upward, but Harry gasped in horror, kicking your shin,

“Hey, hey. You have to look me in the eyes.”

“Ah, preventative measures. I see.”

“Yes. Preventative,” he confirmed, his foot sliding all the way up your calf. You bit back a yelp, almost covering yourself in tequila as Harry winked, mouthed ‘cheers’ and tossed his drink back.

He was clearly enjoying this- given the opportunity to see if you would squirm. And your insides were squirming and wriggling their way to the surface, pushing up against your skin in the form of goosebumps.

You caught up with him - finishing your tequila, chasing it down with some of your drink – and then you decided it was time to get some revenge. You stuck your foot out, hooking your own heel against his nearest leg, intertwining it with your own.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, sitting very still as your foot started to wander along his shin, trailing further upward. You looked at him sternly, foot sliding up along his calf- stopping briefly at his knee before continuing on up, settling against his inner thigh.

For a moment, you make no further moves, sending a challenging stare his way. He started to pout, eyes like a puppy dog. You reached for your glass, downing the remaining contents, and then you used the point of your boot to lightly tap his crotch.

Harry bit back the urge to moan – to sigh. Mouth agape, sucking in. He looked at you in astonishment, desperate for your next move.

You turned to Sarah, asking if she would accompany you to the loo. She nodded along, enthusiastically shooing the men blocking her exit. They piled out one by one, and now both your date and Harry were looking at you.

You ignored their stares, waiting for Sarah to make her way over. When she finally reached you, motioning toward the bathroom, you smiled in their general direction knowing they would both assume it was intended for themselves alone.

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

🍷

Harry was at the bar now, nonchalantly leaning against the countertop. Sarah hadn’t noticed him, spotting the group mingling around an impromptu dancefloor. She walked ahead of you, but as you caught a glimpse of Harry, he quickly ushered you over.

He turned slightly, saying something to the bartender as he waited for you to join him. He was slotted between other partygoers, leaving little space for you to create any distance. You slipped between him, nervous as you pressed up against him, everything touching but your faces.

The bartender placed a scotch, and two shot glasses before him, filling them with silver liquid. Harry slid both glasses over, shuffling around to accommodate for the lack of space. Once you were finally able to rest your arm atop the counter, Harry leaned down, lips hovering above your ear,

“Don’t forget to look me in the eyes this time, sweets,” he used his free arm to tilt your chin upward, maintaining eye contact as he took his shot, even waiting for you to finish your own.

Your eyes crinkled shut, lips puckered in a sour pout. Your body wriggled around in an attempt to expel the rush of burning spirits coursing through your veins. Harry bit back a sigh as you unintentionally rubbed up against him, aghast as you snatched his glass of scotch, downing half of its contents,

“Jesus, Morpheus.” he feigned shock.

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Seriously… before you took off your jacket, I almost mistook you for-”

“-for Morpheus? You’re joking right?” you were bewildered, deadpan, “If this was the Matrix, I would definitely be Neo,” you told him matter-of-factly.

“You wish you were cool enough,” Harry sent an eyeroll and a cheeky grin your way.

“Okay, Freddie Kruger,” you turned to walk away, Harry hot on your heels,

“I do not look like him,” he defended, catching up to you on the dance floor, gently tugging at your arm.

You stopped to look at him and laughed. He was pouting cutely now, waiting for some rectification. Eyeing Harry up and down, you closed the distance, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to tilt him closer. He didn’t hesitate in assisting, leaning in to hear you better,

“Guess it just means I’ve been seeing you in my dreams,” you turned to join your dancing friends.

🍷

Dancing was tiring, and you were already overheated, out of breath as you sat down at the edge of the empty booth. Most of the group was still dancing – or drinking – and like clockwork, you could barely settle down before Harry motioned you to scooch on over.

You did, too tired to fight- too willing to indulge in how good he looked, nightmare on Elm street, or not. His hair was slick, and damp from dancing up a storm, sweater hanging loosely along his collarbone. His hands were on the table, tapping along to the beat.

You mindlessly reached out - because of the alcohol, you defended -taking his hand in your own, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger,

“I like this one,” you twirled it around. A large silver band, dancing bears carved all around.

“Figures,” Harry chucked endearingly, and you dropped his hand – something he instantly missed – turning to look at him,

“What?”

“You still love teddy bears.” He said knowingly, smile still lingering,

“Hush,” you blushed, looking away in shame.

But Harry only laughed endearingly, reaching over to tilt your chin up, directing you to look at him,

“I think it’s adorable,” he grinned sweetly, and you couldn’t help shyly smiling along.

His hand dropped from your face, and it was your turn to miss his touch, far too grateful when he chose to rest it atop your leather-clad thigh.

He leaned in – voice deep; low – and for the first time this evening, you were willing to accept that you hoped he wouldn’t leave,

“Where’s your date?” he asked. It hadn’t even occurred to you that you had, in fact, come here with a date. You weren’t sure the last time you saw him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care,

“Honestly? No clue,” you tried to say sternly, but a burst of giggles betrayed you.

Harry laughed along, all the more enamoured by you. Even more so when you leaned closer and continued,

“Suppose I should have invited you after all,” you shrugged the statement off, head bobbing along to the music.

“Yeah?”

“Could at least be certain you’d still be here by the end of the evening.”

“How could I possibly leave knowing you’re here?” his tone was teasing, but his words were far from it.

“You really think I look like I’m from the Matrix?” you pondered, and Harry let out a bellowing laugh,

“I love the pants. Your ass looks amazing,” he emphasised, and then went on to further inform, “you do look like you’re from the matrix… but that, is so fucking sexy.”

Your lips were on his before you could find reason, hand cupping at his jaw to keep him in place. He was only happy to reciprocate, his tongue teasing your bottom lip.

You pulled back before he could slip his tongue in completely, releasing his jaw and pressing his chest firmly, motioning to leave the booth.

Harry looked at you befuddled but did as told and slid out for you to exit. You stood up, shook yourself off and started to walk past him. He started following after you, almost colliding as you stopped and turned to see if he had caught on. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but you stood up on your toes and looked at him suggestively,

“You said you wanted to come tonight.”

You turned around and continued your way through the crowd, knowing he was close behind. As you neared the bathrooms, he wrapped his hand around your own, pressing up against your back in an attempt to let you guide him.

And you did, not letting him go until the door of the bathroom stall shut, until you harshly pushed him back against the door- his head bumping back against it.

You were on your knees before Harry could blink, fingers working at his belt- removing it with impressive haste.

He was beaming down at you, eyes hazy, lips swollen with anticipation. You unzipped his pants, tugging at them until they were barely settled around his waist. You looked up at him with innocent eyes, lashes batting as he leaned forward, pressing the softest kiss to his cotton-clad cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed, head tilting back, eyes screwed shut.

You looked at him a moment longer before kissing his cock again, hand coming up to palm him over his briefs. It seemed Harry had less patience than you – shocker – his hips bucking at the slightest touch,

“Now, now.” You scolded, fingers slipping beneath his waistband, hand wrapping around his cock- the mix of surprise and your cool hand made him whimper.

You liked that.

So, you wasted no time in removing his pants and briefs, pushing them down to his ankles as his cock sprung up, Harry sighing in relief. You reached out, wrapping around him, slowly stroking him. He was hard, needy for your mouth to soothe him; and you wanted nothing more than to help him out,

“So pretty,” you muttered – mostly to yourself ��� leaning closer to his throbbing cock, “I could just…” you stuck your tongue out, licking him from base to tip.

“Please,” Harry whined, hand reaching out to cup your cheek,

“Please, what?” you gently kissed the tip, lips spreading his precum,

“Please suck me off.”

Your lips wrapped around him, swallowing as much of him as you could, bobbing back up to swirl your tongue across his tip. Harry was vocal, he had your own panties soaked.

His hand found its way to your hair, careful not to tug it out of place. You stroked him, kitten-licking his tip, before you started bobbing your head up and down, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping in rhythm. He groaned above you, fingers tightening around your hair, and you moaned softly at this sudden pleasure.

Your moans vibrating around his cock had Harry in shambles, instinctively bucking his hips forward, pushing himself further into your mouth; accidentally causing you to gag. Harry didn’t have the chance to feel bad, because the look you gave him was something he had yet to see- so lustful he didn’t have to ask twice before doing it again, whining at the sight of the string of spit trailing from your lips to the tip of his cock,

“Can I fuck your mouth?” he asked so sweetly, and you nodded like your life depended on it.

Harry was slow at first- testing the waters -but after a couple thrusts, and a couple moans from the both of you, he picked up his pace, thrusting into you, tip touching the back of your throat, saliva pooling and dripping down your chin. His cock twitched at the sight of how sloppy you were, hand stroking the base of him, trying your hardest to stay steady as he fucked into you, over and over.

Your other hand found his thigh, nails digging into him, and Harry was yet again all too ready to remind you what a good, pretty girl you were. How good you were making him feel. His thrusts were getting sloppier, hand fisting your hair tighter.

You pulled back, licking his tip, tongue swirling around as your other hand continued to stroke at him. Harry was a mess of sighs and pants, and you knew he needed to be pushed over the edge,

“Fuck. I’m gonna come, Y/n.”

You picked up your rhythm, pumping him faster,

“Please come for me, Harry.”

All you had to do was look up at him, asking so nicely, and Harry came unravelled, muttering your name, his orgasm hitting just as your lips wrapped around him, swallowing him, leaving one last kiss on the tip of his cock.

Harry was in a daze, eyes hooded- body exhausted and still wrapped up in ecstasy. You stood to your feet, using your thumb to wipe across your lip. You stepped past him and started to unlock the door of the stall. He shifted over for you, and you leaned up once more to remind him,

“You owe me, again.” He nodded profusely, anything you wanted.

---

The day was sweltering, but in your opinion, it was the start of a perfect summer. A summer by the ocean, fresh and salty, the atmosphere was so relaxed- everyone embracing the holiday vibes. You had spent the last three weeks counting down the days, sitting at your desk in Naples, pining for a break by sea.

You held a brown pastry bag in one hand, mindlessly admiring the sky above, revelling in the smells of fresh croissants, and almost completely lost in your thoughts. You were strolling amidst a group of people- all headed in one direction- when your head snapped up, heart in your throat,

“Harry!” a man called in the distance. You could have sworn you were dreaming- allowing the man from back home to invade your headspace once more.

“Oi, Harry!” they called again, and this time you came to a halt, the people behind you bumping their way past.

It was definitely your Harry. Head peeking out through the sea of people, turned your way, the crowd being the only thing keeping him from spotting you. He was standing outside the entrance of a gelato store, only metres away.

Without thought - or hesitation - you decided to make a run for it. Leaving the pavement, just barely avoiding two vespa’s cruising past. You ignored the hooting, picking up speed before reaching the other side. You were on grass now, plotting your next move.

Praying you had gone unnoticed; you spotted a palm tree and made a dash for it. It was large enough to hide you - twice over – and you leaned back against it, sighing in exasperation.

Your head was certainly spinning. What was he even doing here? You had deemed Naples your territory- let alone Capri. A damn island. Of all the places in the world, he somehow managed to end up here.

You hadn’t even decided to visit the island until a few days ago- lucky to receive a couple weeks off from work for the summer. Your plan to stay-put in Naples was quickly overshadowed by the idea of tanning, indulging in food and good wine, all done on the comfort of the sunny beach.

Your bestest-friend, and greatest confidant- Savina, was born in Capri and her family-home had remained there since. She was in the same business as you; tall, long curly hair and olive-skinned, with beautiful brown, almond-shaped eyes. Her sense of style often had you feeling underdressed, but she was your biggest hype-woman. The kindest, sassiest and most understanding woman you’d ever known.

Speaking of Savina, she had since crept up on you, a to-go coffee in each hand, standing beside the tree quizzically,

“What the hell are you doing?”

You almost jumped, eyes going wide. She looked around, puzzled, as you quickly ran up, grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her to join you behind the tree.

“Y/n!” Savina exclaimed, and at the mention of your name, you shushed her aggressively.

“You almost made me spill,” she whisper-scolded, “it’s boiling, you moron.”

Rolling your eyes, you were still totally distracted. You muttered a quick apology, shutting your eyes briefly to take a deep breath, after which you finally took the chance to peer out from behind the tree. You scanned the area you had last seen him, and your heart stopped. It was certainly Harry; eyes hidden behind familiar sunnies. Your quickly retreated, looking at Savina in shock,

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“What the fuck is who doing where?”

“Alright. If you look behind me-” Savina immediately attempted to step past you,

“Inconspicuously, Savina!” she waited,

“Outside the gelato place. There’s a man…” you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to say more, so you stepped aside and allowed her to take a look for herself.

She looked around, brows furrowed as she scanned the many people moving in every direction,

“Be more specific.”

You whined aloud, “White tee, goofy pin-striped pants,” as an afterthought, “And ray bans.”

Savina took another moment, gaze settling on Harry, who was now leaning against the glass window, arms folded across his chest. He seemed deep in thought, head slowly turning to watch the people coming and going. Another man -hair short and dark- joined him, holding out a sugar cone for Harry.

Savina nodded, stepped back calmy and addressed you,

“Harry Styles?”

“Yes,” you sighed, bowing your head shamefully.

She looked at you, thinking things through, remaining as placid as possible. You were pleasantly surprised, expecting some sort of chaos to ensue. And then she nodded once more,

“What in the fuck?” now exclaiming- struggling to hold back a combination of surprise and bewilderment.

“Listen I’d like to stand idly by and give you the whole story-” you spoke with haste, “-and I will tell you everything, trust me.”

You were searching for an escape route, settling on the nearest staircase- one that would lead you down closer to the beach, and further away from Harry.

Savina watched amusingly as you had so easily turned into a flustered mess- knowing you over five years - never seeing you so caught off guard. Regardless, she nodded along and awaited your next move,

“We just need to get as far away from here as possible,” you gestured for the stairs,

The two of you made a break for it- Savina a few feet behind you as she struggled to keep her coffee in the cup. And once you were both safely off of the final step, the thumping in your heart was finally starting to subdue.

Savina could hardly keep still - let alone quiet - as she lightly smacked your arm, scolding you for sending her on this senseless detour.

🍷

Harry was outside the ice-cream parlour, but his head was miles away. He found himself getting distracted with such ease these days. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he noticed his overthinking had gone into overdrive. And once he was in his head, he could hardly keep one straight-thought, millions of moments flashing past.

Maybe a holiday was exactly what he needed. As reluctant as he was to pack up and head somewhere last minute, Harry was more than grateful that Jeff had offered him to join. He had never been to Capri- though his love for Italy made this vacation a sure success.

He had only arrived a couple hours ago- the boat ride over was a lovely introduction, his excitement bubbling over when they finally stepped off onto the island.

Their first step was to drop off all luggage and belongings at the villa. This took less time than expected, and the combination of intrigue and warm weather was enough to have Harry and Jeff bounding out the door towards the village.

They were pleased to find how bustling the city was with both natives and tourists. There was so much to see, Harry’s head was swinging in all directions, trying to take in everything all at once.

So much so, Jeff grew impatient and left Harry outside as he went into the store. Harry was simply scanning the area- taking note of several stores, beach in the distance, people walking about enjoying the summer breeze.

He had finally connected his phone- tons of text messages pouring in at once; Gemma only now getting back to him, mum asking if he landed safe, Jack sending an unrelated gif. He was in the midst of responding, forgetting when and where he was,

The first time Jeff called for him, he didn’t even register. The second call brought him to attention, but before he could look over and confirm what flavour gelato he wanted, the sound of a vespa hooting aggressively, caught his attention.

In a haze of white silk, dodging the road, hair flying, disappearing into nothingness- Harry could have sworn he had just seen you. Running for your life.

But you were gone- if it even was you. And Jeff was calling his name a third time before he could look any further.

Harry begrudgingly peeled his gaze from the street, turning back to acknowledge Jeff. He asked for one scoop of chocolate, one of cookie dough, and he hastily returned his attention to the street.

🍷

Harry spotted a quaint café, situated with a wonderful view of the sea. The outdoor table he chose looked down at the boardwalk; people powerwalking, walking dogs, strolling down the stairs towards the beach; and Harry was enamoured. Large chromatic trees and bushes were scattered along the pathway, slightly obscuring his view of those below.

The smell of sea salt and cappuccino was intoxicating, the sun beaming down, the feel of relaxation so enticing. Harry really did need a break – a well-deserved one at that. He was even slightly relieved when Jeff chose to hang back at the villa for a nap- it gave him some time to address some of his thoughts- perhaps clear his mind a little.

He was periodically picking at the warm ciabatta stacked in a woven breadbasket, his sunglasses suddenly slipping down the bridge of his nose, obscuring his vision.

Harry stopped eating and took his shades off, deciding to use the bottom of his t-shirt to remove smudges on the lens. His focus was diverted by a high-pitched yelp – followed by a bellowing slew of Italian exclamations – a sudden scuffle happening somewhere on the boardwalk below.

He tried to get a better view from between the shrubbery - a middle-aged man; dishevelled, and waving his arms, called after someone. Harry looked further along the path- eyeing a gust of a floral dress, attached to the body of what he could only vaguely determine was you. His eyes were surely playing tricks on him; watching the woman - followed shortly by another taller one – run off further down the path, barely dodging the civilians obstructing their way.

And then they were gone. Vanishing into thin air, the atmosphere returning to normal as if it had never been interrupted to begin with.

Harry was starting to feel a tad ridiculous; apparently unable to leave his confusion over you back in London. He assumed he would have been over it by now- at least marginally so. Not allowing his head to be riddled with thoughts of you – particularly those that pertained to your hips slamming against his own.

Nevertheless, he knew there was always the possibility of him getting attached – how do you truly get over something so significant - so fucking memorable, so incredibly important? Harry needed to be okay with what happened between the two of you; needed to be able to acknowledge that it may have only been a one-time thing after all.

He was far too frightened to consider the result of being with you; so grateful and rewarded, and undoubtedly hoping it would finally change things between you.

But you hadn’t responded to his last two texts – he had refused to send a third; regardless of how much he wanted to – Harry was now forced to face the honest truth. Things were no longer the same between the two of you; and you weren’t willing to acknowledge or accept that.

🍷

Luck was not on your side- and you were convinced it was the consequence of your trip back home. Had you any self-control, this would have been the perfect summer- the one you so deserved.

As if losing your sense of control hadn’t bothered you enough, your frustration over liking it more than regretting it was ever increasing.

Having not seen Harry again since your almost-encounter yesterday, you were feeling relieved - but any time you were close to forgetting about it, you increased your alertness – certain you would prevent any further interactions. 

Savina was kind - for your sake, of course – a rarity of understanding and patience that she never showed those around her. You were her soft spot, from the moment you met in the lobby of your new work building.

 It was an electric start to an electric friendship – birthed courtesy of your desperate need for directions, and her total amusement watching you run in circles; only stepping in to assist after letting you wander around aimlessly for a good five minutes.

But as you reached the lobby, Savina was there once more, smiling sweetly at just the sight of you. You didn’t stop, heading for the exit as her heels clicked-clacked to catch-up. You whined something about being extra-late today – no help from her – and she laughed, grabbing your arm, exclaiming she was taking you out for dinner.

‘A celebration!’ she had cheered, quickly switching your perspective, and reminding you that not only had you survived your first day, but you had also succeeded in the first step of making a huge change. Your attitude had perked-up and hadn’t faltered since.

Savina worked in the editing department- you worked in animation. Your morning ritual consisted of taking turns picking up coffee and bagels, this tradition carried on even here on vacation.

After your silent freakout, she finally got the answers to her many questions. The two of you learned more and more about one another on the daily. Savina knew you well enough to understand your internal dilemma before your story concluded. She may not have agreed with your choice of action - running could only get you so far – yet she followed your decision; ready to assist and eager to see it all play out.

Your mood wasn’t exactly peachy today, tossing and turning all night; almost falling asleep before being reminded of Harry. And the cycle repeated for what felt like – and was – hours. Still, you were determined to make the best of your vacation, throwing a sheer black, daisy-printed dress over your swimsuit, before heading to meet up with Savina at your usual spot for brunch.

Mimosas and bread, cheese and fresh grapes were soon cheering you up, the clear skies and warm breeze was making it that much easier.

Your swimsuit was the first thing you put on this morning- Savina had done the same, packing a bag with towels and sunscreen.

Your goal of the day was to spend as much time out in the sun- the beach was bustling, family-goes and vacationers setting up spots all over. It reminded you of summer growing up, building sandcastles and surfing baby-waves with Jack.

As brunch ended, you began making your way down to the boardwalk, following the pathway. You scoped out possible beach-spots, finding it semi-difficult considering the beautiful array of trees and bushes had created a mini canopy, hiding the beach behind it.

You were glancing left to right, enjoying your stroll, but as you looked right up towards the scatter of restaurants above, you spotted Harry with ease. He was sticking out like a sore thumb- sitting right near the restaurant’s balcony- an entire view of the walkway below.

He was looking down- thank god- and you were certain this time that you had gone unnoticed. But that didn’t stop your body from going into flight-mode. Before you could stop yourself, you started ducking and running forward, bumping directly into a man walking opposite, apologising but not slowing down.

The man was exclaiming something rude, but you were tuning him out- forgetting about Savina completely. You dodged everything and everyone in your way, working with such precision you could have been mistaken for an Olympic hurdler.

Savina began a slow run after you- she would catch up eventually and, in the meantime, she had figured out why you had begun sprinting to begin with. This was becoming increasingly amusing, Savina almost hoped another run-in would occur - totally enamoured with this new side of you.

When you were absolutely certain you were now far away enough to slow down - precisely 200 metres-worth – you collapsed against the railing, totally out of shape and as a result, out of breath. Savina strolled along, finally joining you- acting as if nothing strange had just occurred.

She looked out at the view, deciding this was actually the perfect spot to sit and relax on the beath- quiet and cosy.

Without waiting, Savina began climbing through the railing, taking a small jump, feet sinking into the sand. She knew you were now following close behind, so she began unpacking and laying out her towel,

“Are you planning on running away every time you see him?” she didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure – really - refusing to accept that you might have to factor Harry into your holiday itinerary. It was unfair, unbecoming, and ultimately unnecessary. To fix things, you would surely have to confront him. And for some reason, that felt worse than the things that went down between the two of you in London.

At least then you were comforted by the literal feeling of pleasing and being pleased by Harry. That was the problem after all, the fact that you enjoyed – loved – it so much, the fact that you thought about it more and more as time passed; at the mere thought of him, the slightest reminders.

Seeing him now was worse than before; your annoyance was so prevalent, but the addition of lust, attraction, and neediness was something new to battle with.

Nevertheless, you had avoided him twice now, and that gave you hope that you might succeed at doing so the entire vacation- at least as long as he stuck around,

“I think I’ve been doing well so far,” you huffed matter-of-factly,

“By the skin of your teeth,” Savina reminded.

You removed the extra fabric, exposing your swimsuit and settling down onto the towel that had been laid out next to the one Savina now occupied. And you didn’t attempt a response; aware that you would see each other eventually. But until that occurred, you would remain optimistic.

With the sun so crisp, the sand so warm, the sea roaring and the city bustling afar. You slipped on your sunnies, plugged in your earphones, and attempted to find a level of mindfulness.

This seemed successful- so much so that you ditched your music, reached into the communal bag, and pulled out the latest book of your likings.

There was rarely time to read nowadays; you wondered how anyone found a moment to enjoy. So, you relished in any moment you found, relieving all guilt, and finding such entertainment.

Shade had been nowhere in sight, providing the perfect reading condition; so, when this changed, a dark cloud of coolness swallowing you, the cruel feeling of dread seeping through- you were afraid to look up and confirm your awful suspicions.

Harry peered down at you, eyes disguised, absent of shirt and shoes. He had a cheeky smile – something you found both taunting and humiliating. He had intercepted you; apparently tuning out for even twenty minutes had turned out to be detrimental.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said smugly as you removed your shades.

---

Here we go sweet pea's!! Let me know what you think, I really hope you enjoy ! We're in Italy now babyyy lets fuckin go!! - Emmy xox.