#messyemmy writing

[messyemmy]

Run-Ins: Again- Harry Styles x reader.

Premise: When Harry takes a stroll through town, he runs into a familiar fluffy friend and their very pretty owner.

Warnings: Mentions of injury (minor blood). Gender neutral!

Word count: 3.8k

Part 1 // Other writing

☀️

Autumn is definitely around the corner. The sky is just as blue, and on an almost cloudless day, rays of sunshine beam down on Harry’s exposed skin. But there's a crisp chill in the air, chilling his lips and the tip of his nose as he strolls his usual route through town. 

He’d never admit it, but lately, Harry has been running with extra enthusiasm, and now he frequents that horrible hill that had almost cost him a lung. He’s mastered it now. Figured out the best pacing and always double-checks for his water bottle. 

And he had done a great job today, making perfect time, and arriving home with five minutes to spare. It was definitely going to be a good day. So good that Harry thinks he deserves the reward of his favourite matcha from the coffee store down the way. 

So he grabs his trusty lime green tote, his wallet, and sunnies and makes his way into town. Something Harry feels most grateful for is the convenience of his quaint little neighbourhood. Everything is a short walk away, he hardly has to drive anywhere, and there are so many trees and flowers that Harry looks forward to opening his front door to be greeted by the sweet, fresh aroma. 

As he rounds the corner, Main Street comes into view; storefronts for a cafe, a second-hand bookstore, and a small florist, finally allowing Harry to slow down to a stroll. His sun-kissed skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, chest working to return to a steady flow. 

And it’s hardly past ten a.m., but the street is bustling with early birds, some hand-in-hand with their significant others, a new mum pushing her teeny tot in a fancy stroller, a teen with long blond hair weaving his bicycle along parked cars, and suddenly a group of people scatter along the pavement, followed by a rambunctious puppy with a navy bandana speeding toward him, a big smile on her face and a leash trailing behind her. 

Harry knows that cheeky face- his chest almost wheezes at the reminder of his prior circumstances, how he’ll seemingly never be able to live it down. 

She’s bounding over, and Harry can hardly take a step back before his golden companion barely avoids crashing straight into his shins before she comes to a halt, enthusiastically sitting at the foot of his sneakers. 

Her tail is wagging like a flag on a very windy day, beaming up at Harry with the most innocent caramel eyes, as if she cares little for the chaos that has clearly ensued and resulted in her being here, enthusiastically greeting Harry, and missing her owner. 

He’s crouching to her level without much thought, running a hand along the back of her ear and giving it a good scratch. Her head cranes happily, and Harry gives her a good few forehead pets. 

“Hello, Miss Beans. How nice to see you again.” 

She only responds by gratefully pressing he head further into his palm, panting excitedly, no care in the world. Harry has her face between his hands, giving her the best scratches as he starts to survey the area for her owner.

“Where's your mummy?” 

He’s certain that you aren’t feeling as excited as Beans; likely, you’re currently worried sick and feeling like a bad pet parent once more. Harry doesn’t have to look long as your figure bounds round the corner, a silhouette in the sunshine, and Harry feels a fond familiarity wash over him. 

“Beans!” Your panicked voice calls out, and when you finally spot the nuisance, you call a puppy, and for the first time in over ten minutes, you sigh out in sheer relief, letting your legs slow to a hasty stroll until you’re close enough to draw Beans and her new companions' attention. 

“Thank fuck.” Peering down at Beans as she hardly acknowledges your presence, you prepare for another apologhy tour, “I'm so sorry about her, she's on a mission to- oh.” 

It’s the cute boy from the hill- the one who looked close to passing out. But he somehow looks even better now, soft, fluffy curls tickling his forehead, his lips parting into the prettiest pearly smile, and it reaches up and crinkles the corners of his eyes, almost blinding you into a blushing mess.  

“Y/n. Hi.” 

He’s looking at you endearingly, and slightly amused, which only has your cheeks swelling redder- if possible.

“I know I look like the worst pet owner of all time. I swear it's just a bad coincidence.”

“I don't doubt it.” He chuckles. 

“She just- I looked away for a second.” You try, “Thank you so much for stopping her from further destruction.”

Harry thinks you look far cuter flustered and short of breath than he ever could, and if the frantic calls to locate mischievous Beans are anything to go by, he guarantees that you’re a better pet parent than you give yourself credit for. 

He can’t stop the entertained glimmer in his gaze as it shifts between yours and to a very unfazed puppy currently nibbling at his shoelace. 

“Aw, Beans, your mum's convinced you're a supervillain. That's not true, is it?” 

Your shoulders relax- whole body really- at Harry’s suave ability to win over both you and your little menace, but there’s no way to rid yourself of looking so out-of-breath. One can only pray that Harry mistakes your blushing cheeks for a result of running.

“She's also a pathological liar.” 

Harry’s brow quirks, his smile only growing as he leans in closer to Beans, tilting his ear towards her face, which she takes as an invitation to start licking his cheek. He chuckles and feigns confusion. 

“She just told me that her owner is very pretty.” His eyes are glimmering up at you with mirth, ”And that's no lie.” 

“You're just being kind because I'm a frazzled mess.” 

And if it were under normal circumstances, you would have melted at his statement, but you can’t comprehend a scenario where an extremely handsome man would look at you, right now, and believe you to be anything other than a panting mess. 

Everything hurts, from the fall that chasing after Beans had caused. Trying to catch yourself only ended up with you flat on the sidewalk, palms and knees barely stopping you from smacking face-first into the gravel.

Your right knee is throbbing, and for the first time, you chance it and glance down to assess the damage. 

Harry’s gaze follows, and when they settle on the grazes and scrapes scattered along your knee, his eyes widen, lips parting in a sympathetic gasp as he finds his feet, and it’s jarring how tall he is, peering down at you tenderly.

“Oh. Your knee.” He instantly feels silly for stating the obvious. 

“Did Beans also tell you that I'm clumsy?” You won’t mention that this probably won’t be the last time.

“Don't think she needed to.” 

Harry is a grinning mess, and he really doesn’t want this to be the end of the interaction. His desire for matcha is long gone, and his focus is dedicated to the two cuties. He’s thinking fast now. 

“Do you live far from here?” Christ, that just sounds creepy. 

“No, uh-” 

“I’ll help you home.” He’s hoping this doesn’t sound like a murderous ploy. 

“Really? That’s totally unnecessary.”

The mere suggestion of getting to spend a little longer with Harry is more than you could hope for, and this certainly soothes the dread you’ve been feeling from the moment you glanced down at your bloody graze. 

But he must be feeling sorry for you, right? Evidently, your morning has been anything short of a disaster. Even if he’s just offering to be helpful, you’d feel like an even bigger interference than you already do. 

Harry can see the indecision morphing your features, brows scrunching, botting lip jutting out in deep thought. As adorable as it is, he’d hate to make your day even worse. His new mission is to soothe you back to that sweet smile he has been unable to look away from. 

“It’s the least I can do. Y'saved my life.” 

“That's a massive exaggeration.” You give a dramatic eyeroll, but your insides are melting at his chivalry, his reassurance, his ridiculously charming aura that he so effortlessly exudes. 

So, you nod in acceptance and watch adoringly as Harry bends down to retrieve Beans’ leash, hooking his unnecessarily large hand through the loops, purses and parts his lips, and whistles. 

“C’mon, Beans.” She starts happily bouncing side to side at the sudden attention. “Gonna be a good girl, yeah?”

God, he has to be doing this on purpose. You don’t care if Beans behaves or not, it's you who wants to be Harry’s good girl. 

You join him on the left, strolling in the direction you had come sprinting from, like second nature. Beans leads the way. 

And of course, now she chooses to be the best-behaved pup known to man. This is exactly what she did throughout training classes: seducing everyone into thinking she’s a sweet angel, following instructions like a champ. 

It’s true, Beans is good at almost everything. Except for taking a walk without bolting at the first sight of your distracted attention. And suddenly she’s capable of being a normal dog- it would almost be insulting if it weren't for the fact that Beans giving a good impression might make Harry stick around. 

“See? Not such a menace, are you?” He coos proudly. 

“She's just tryna win you over.” 

“Well, it worked. I'm in love.”

You want to scoff at how well Beans’ deception has worked, but your current focus is on calming your heartbeat before it bruises your chest. 

“You’re being deceived. She's a proper brat, I swear it. Hides it well behind that pretty face.”

“Does that also apply to you?” He’s doing a good job of sending you into a tizzy.

“No, I'm a brat through and through.”

“When you're not busy chasing Beans around town?”

“Or giving my water bottle to a stranger on the brink of passing out.”

Without thought, you playfully bump your shoulder against his own, and Harry both wishes that Niall was here to see this, and is extremely relieved that he isn’t. Because Harry had gushed about your first interaction, and as good of a friend as he is, Niall is awful at playing coy.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Your face was as red as a strawberry.” You confirm proudly. 

“Oh, Christ.” He can feel that reddish hue creeping up along his neck and ears. 

“It was cute!” 

Harry thinks this might be his opening. Maybe he could ask you out for coffee, or whatever you like. He’d do anything you like, really. 

But as his sucks in a breath of courage, you slow to a stop, arm gesturing to the front of a house with cobblestone walls and wildflowers blooming in bushels, creating a pathway to the quirky baby blue front door. All the while trying to swallow disappointment. 

“This is us.”

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Harry doesn’t skip a beat. 

“Of course.” 

Does he think you’re that much of a mess that you wouldn’t have a first aid kit? Doesn’t that prove how necessary having one is? 

“Let's mend that knee then.” 

“Oh.” He’s too sweet. “You don't need to-”

“I want to.” 

And you really want him to. But guilt is more forthright. How sorry for you does he feel? It matters little because you’re now hobbling along to catch up with Beans and Harry. He’s nearly at the front door by the time you manage to speak up. 

“Are you sure? I'm sure you have better things to do.” 

“You think too highly of me.” He teases. 

It’s clear that his mind is made up, and Harry thinks your worry about taking up his time is both cute and totally unnecessary. 

Either way, Beans impatiently scrapes her paw against the door and threatens to keep going if somebody doesn’t open up soon, so you skittishly rummage through your short pockets and retrieve the key. 

The metal jingling only has Beans jumping about, bumping into Harry’s shin as you work to unlock the damn door. As the latch clicks, you realise that the place is messier than you’d like, and what if it’s messier than Harry likes? 

“I haven't had a chance to clean up, so don't judge.”

‘Promise.” 

“Alright, missy, free at last.” You tilt down and unclip Beans’ leash, she happily trots off in search of her water bowl. Stepping further into the entrance hall, Harry follows, taking in the scattered artworks. You’ve disappeared down a hallway, calling out over your shoulder,  “Make yourself at home.”

Harry does as told, strolling past an aged oak side table scattered with big books on quite a few topics. His interest has increased- if possible- this whole home looks like a reflection of how you must be when you aren’t busy chasing Beans around town. 

And you’ve finally managed to locate the first aid kit (maybe you were messier than you thought), returning as fast as a hobble would allow, unsurprised to see Harry focused on a framed painting of an ant wearing a gold crown. 

It’s definitely a conversation starter, and it always ends with guests quirking their brows and shifting their attention to literally anything else. God knows how long Harry has been standing there, back to you, arms folded over his chest. 

A few seconds longer and you fear he might turn on his heels and jog right back out the front door. That would be as mortifying as it would be tragic. Better start the ‘in my defense’ spiel. 

“I painted that at twelve. Gimme some slack.”

Harry jolts at the sound of your sweet and silly words, wondering if you spend a lot of time defending your actions or choices. That would be bizarre, right? He’s more intrigued and fascinated than ever. Who wouldn’t feel the same? 

“I think it’s great.” Just like that, Harry unknowingly soothes a part of you that constantly feels on guard. Why couldn’t others see you the same way? 

You’re standing in the living room, stunned, first aid bag dangling from your limp wrist as Harry’s smile only grows as he makes his way over, and he looks so fluffy and cosy, he’s effortlessly melting your insides. 

He’s close now, sneakers squeaking to a halt and almost brushing against your own. Stretching his arms outward, Harry gestures to the room around him. 

“‘S so cosy in here.” 

“Y'think?” Praying he won’t see how excitement has spread along your features.

“Mm. The walls are so bold… Never thought of painting with dark colours.”

“Next time I bump into you, you'll be thanking me for inspiring you to paint your walls forest green.” You tease, and Harry’s forehead crinkles in surprise. 

“How’d you guess I’d pick green?” 

“You just look like a green guy.” You shrug proudly. 

“Well, you look like a purple person.” 

“So I've been told.”

As much as Harry would love to spend an eternity standing right here, staring into your wide, awfully beautiful eyes, he needs to make good on his offer to mend your knee. 

For all you care, let the knee turn blue if it means Harry stays right here, pearly whites peaking past his plump cherry lips as a smile creeps up his cheeks and two ridiculously adorable dimples make an appearance. 

But he’s walking off before you can comprehend being sad about it, making his way over to your burnt orange sofa where he waits patiently for you to get the memo and join him. When you’re close enough that you have to peer up to catch his grassy-eyed gaze, Harry begins his duty as a makeshift first responder. 

He all but snatches the bag from your hand and fuck, did he also feel that spark when his palm brushed your own? If he did, he’s not letting it show, crouching to his knees and patting the velvety cushion. 

“Right. Sit.”

“You're very bossy, y'know.” Still, you follow his instructions. 

“So I've been told.” 

To say Harry is smitten would be an understatement. You don't question his every move, taking his word and not doubting his motives before he even gets a chance to prove them. 

But here you are, welcoming him into your sanctuary to help mend a wound that you both know could have been tended to all on your own. 

By the time you've cautiously and awkwardly sat down and timidly extended your left leg for his inspection, Harry has already unzipped the bag and analysed its content.

It's impossible to keep a linear thought when he shifts focus to your leg; for you, anticipating his imminent touch, and for Harry, trying not to drool over how soft and glowy your skin is. 

“Alrighty. Let’s assess the damage.” He perfectly imitates a doctor, leaning in, close enough for your cocoa butter lotion to capture his senses. 

It's a graze, a collection of nasty scratches that were cruel enough to draw blood but not too deep for concern. Harry notices a dainty scar on your shin, and he turns away hastily to hide his cheesy smile. 

“You’ll be happy to know that a trip to the ER won't be necessary.” And when he suddenly stands, you can't stop the jolt of surprise that has you seconds away from following after him. 

But he's swift, clearly from all of those runs, disappearing down the hallway just as you had before. The only evidence of his presence is the faucet turning on, and the loud stream of water is somewhat relieving. 

If only he weren’t gone for a good two minutes, leaving you alone with all of these dizzying thoughts that will surely end up with you passing out. 

And that would be the last straw. That would guarantee you never ever leave the house again. Beans could walk herself for all you care- she does a good job already. 

Harry returns with that tender smile in his eyes and a purple washcloth he had run under warm water. He has definitely done this before.

He crouches like before, softly looking up at you for permission to proceed. Words have failed you; all you can manage is a quick nod, gaze settling on your knee.

Harry's hands are somehow more gentle than his doe eyes, as he lightly wraps his palm around your shin. His fingers connect and create a bracelet, which you will be thinking about for days to come. 

He treats your knee like glass that might shatter on impact, dabbing the warm cloth gently along the scrapes and ridding any dried blood. 

Praying that Harry doesn't glance up and notice how beet red your entire face is, you can't stop your own gaze from fixating on his furrowed and focused brow, tongue peaking out of his perfectly pursed lips.

When Harry's satisfied with cleaning the wound, he releases your leg, and the air feels harsh and cruel in his wake. 

Harry’s hand feels lonelier than ever, which has him grabbing a cotton pad and dousing it in an antibacterial liquid before returning to your leg, his palm holding you in place. 

When he looks up at you this time, his features cringe with empathy as he gives a warning for this next part.

“This might sting.” But as he dabs the cotton along your skin, the air between you remains yelp-free. With one last sweep, Harry discards the cotton and frowns, “Well, that was anticlimactic.” 

“Ooh, it burns!” You feign animatedly. 

“I'm starting to get the whole ‘bratty’ thing now.” He teases.

The last thing to do is apply a cute rainbow band-aid, which Harry thinks is as adorable as you find his dedication to treating a minor scrape. And he’s pretty satisfied with his work as pride envelops his features and fuck, that’s both cute and sexy. 

Harry reluctantly lets go of your leg, and he wonders if you’re as disappointed at the loss of contact. You wonder the same about him. Maybe you could tumble over on the other knee, start this whole process over? 

“There we go. Good as new.” Harry hopes he’s done a good enough job for your approval. “Might wanna ice the bruise.”

“My hero!” You gush. 

“Don’t make me blush.” He already is. 

“A proper knight in shining armor, you are.” You need to see that strawberry boy again. 

“You’re practically begging for it now.” There it is. 

“Told you I liked it when your face gets all red.” He’s proving easy to compliment, but you need him to know how much his efforts have been appreciated. “Thank you, Harry. You really didn’t have to.” 

“It's only a pleasure.” 

Harry’s thighs are starting to burn, and he’s been fighting the ache in favour of staying in your orbit, but in seconds, he may end up toppling over, and that’s not a cute look. 

He stands, and you follow suit, wiping your sweaty palms against your shorts before glancing over at Beans, who rests peacefully on her personalised dog bed, snoring softly.  

“Beans, I think you owe Harry a very big thank you.” 

He strolls over to the dozing pup and crouches once more- this is gonna hurt tomorrow- giving her a good scratch behind the ears, which has her groaning pleasantly. 

“You're most welcome, sweetheart.” He’s only half talking to Beans. “But you have to promise me one thing.” She is fast asleep. “No more running off. It makes your mummy awfully worried. We don't want that, do we? No, we don't.” 

If Harry’s goal is to have you spending the rest of your day agonizing over the frustration of not pouncing on him while you have the chance. Maybe in another world where your confidence matches your desires. 

“If she starts behaving, I'll have to call you over to have a chat with her about all of my missing socks.” 

God, you hope he takes you up on the offer- socks or not, and you have no idea how happy Harry is at the hope of possibly seeing you again. Under circumstances that don’t include heat stroke and scraped knees. Beans, Bossy and Bratty, what a perfect trio.

“I'd be more than happy to.”

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Four

Premise: You've made a deal with the devil, and the next few days of vacation are proving what a silly mistake that was. But for Harry, this might be the most fun he's had in a long time.

Word Count: 15k.

Warnings: Smut! Mind-blowing banter. Use of She/Her.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist 

Other Writing

After a full twenty four hours- of grumpily scoffing, rethinking your every life decision, wanting to kill Jack and his stupid, sexy, friend- it’s time to put that well-practiced optimism to good use. Nobody will ruin your damn vacation. 

And if that means constantly dodging and dismissing Harry and his frustratingly enticing lewd remarks, so be it. 

This morning is simply perfect- everything you want from a summers day- and it would be a crime to spend another second couped up under the covers. Your mind runs over the little to-do-list of holiday activities you hope to try, easily settling on a trip to the Botanical Gardens. 

Getting dressed is just as simple deciding on when your spot the forest green corset with golden paisly swirls. You hadnt found the right moment to style it, but now you pair it atop a crisp white puff-sleeve button-up and some classic mossy straight-cut jeans. 

While packing the last of your necessities into a cream and green embroidered tote bag, the idea to invite Jack along seems fitting. Maybe as a little apology for the less than warm welcome he recevied upon your last encounter. He’s always the easiest to win over. 

The stroll from your villa to the ones where the boys reside is far too short for your liking. You need an oceans distance between you and Harry, let alone five hundred meters.  

You were about to brush your knuckles across the door a third time, but your hand quickly retreating as Jack came into view, beaming down at you. He‘s devoid of a shirt, wearing swim shorts and sandals, a towel draped across his shoulders, tote bag in his other hand. 

“Morning, lovely.” He greets, windening the door completely, and exposing the entrance hall and kitchen. 

And then you see Harry - shirtless, too -spreading butter across two slices of slightly burnt toast. His back turned, muscles flexing now and then.

You blink back, shoving sheer attraction to the back of your brain, returning your attention to Jack, trying to regain the memory of what brought you to their doorstep to begin with. 

“Ah, Judas. Settled in, have you?” You don’t care. He’s the reason you’re in this mess. 

“Mm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my life.” he sighs sorrowfully.

“You say that every year.” You scoff. 

“I do not.” 

Harry leans curiously against the countertop, taking another bite of his toast. Still, while chewing and swallowing, he ponderously mumbles,

“Don’t what?” You peer over Jack’s shoulder, and with faux-nonchalance, you capture Harry’s gaze- but only briefly, it’s as much as you can do without the threat of your thoughts straying from the topic at hand- eyes darting away and informing him, 

“Complain about winter.”

“Oh, he definitely does.” 

“Not every-”

“Every year.” Harry says with certainty, chewing on a corner of crust.

Jack sighs and shrugs his shoulders in defeat. Harry’s gaze is happily settled on your face, sending over a heatwave that warmed the blush beneath your cheeks. The longer he looked, the less real you felt- a fantasy under his watch, someone special and irreplaceable to him, and you were scared- to disappoint, to not live up to the person he saw you to be.

You returned focus to Jack, forcing yourself to remain centred and remember why you came here to begin with. Shifting weight to your left foot, a soft clear of the throat, 

“Anyhow… what are your plans for the day?”

“I’m heading to the beach, and I’m not returning until I’m so tan that the concept of winter no longer exists.” He informs. 

“Oh, alright, never mind then.” You should have known.

“Did you have something else in mind?” Jack clearly doesn’t feel much regret.

“I was thinking of taking a trip to Giardini di Augusto.” You prepare for repeated rejection.

“Say more.”

“Botanical Gardens.”

“Say more, more.”

“Flowers.”

“Say less.” He dismisses, wondering why his sister would even bother seeking his company to look at flowers rather than spending time by the sea. 

You sigh, there’s no use in arguing, it always results in someone tripping the other one up. But now there is a more stressful matter at hand, and he is sauntering over, torso still bare, sending you a suspiciously hopeful smile before stopping next to Jack and speaking up, 

“I like flowers.” 

“Ground-breaking.” Your eyes roll. 

“See, Harry can join you!” Jack concluded cheerfully. 

“Oh no, I’m perfectly fine going alone.” You waved them off, heat rushing to the tips of your ears, nose, and fingertips.

“Nonsense.” Harry waves you off in return. 

“No-” You start but never finish because he has already turned his back on you, tanned back rejecting your objection. Walking away, he calls over his shoulder, 

“Let me just grab my wallet.”

“And a shirt, Harry.”

He’s heading to the staircase but suddenly halts, his head tilting back to address you with a sassy smirk, 

“You sure about that?”

You can only scoff as he ascends the steps, and once you’re certain he is out of sight, you land a weak- but meaningful- punch to Jack’s upper arm.

“Oi!” He whines, hand rushing up to soothe the minor thump.

“Stop pawning your friend off on me.” The words leave your lips through clenched teeth, practically hissing, your eyes are like the slits of a snake, pointer finger aimed straight at him.  

“I thought you liked him now.” Jack’s brows furrow. 

“What?”

“Seemed like you were finally friends, is all.” He shrugs, resting against the door frame with far too much comfortability- as if he were already on the sand, soaking up the sun. 

“Impossible.” You defend, but reconsider,  “Acquaintances, maybe.”  conceding for the sake of nobody but yourself. ,

“Oh c’mon, you’ll have fun!”

“This is the last time, Jack.” You warn. 

He starts preparing to reassure you further, but the sound of Harry’s sneakers shuffling down the stairs means he is officially off the hook- for now- and with a swift goodbye, Jack moves past you and exits the villa in pursuit of summer. 

Harry rounds the corner, his mouth-watering chest now covered by a tan hand-knitted shirt and a pair of unnecessarily flattering brown shorts.

“Let’s go, lovie.” Harry announces, walking straight past your agitated figure, forcing you to fasten your steps to catch up, cursing him and his unnecessarily long legs. But, when you get a look at the delicately crafted and colourful design decorating the back of his shirt, you decide to play nice… for now… for fashion. 

🍷

The breeze carries the sun with each step taken, ensuring that the heat keeps you both simmering and agitated. Harry is strolling in sync, enjoying himself far too much already, considering you have only just arrived and have hardly made it past the entrance. 

You’re dreading the day to come, carrying it along like a duffle bag and pretending that the excitement Harry currently exudes isn’t extremely palpable. 

But, with the aroma of freshly grazed grass and an array of green leaves littered everywhere, you find your legs have started to carry you further along the cobblestones, chasing the sweet scents of summer flowers. Harry’s steps never slowed, as curious as yourself. 

“You don’t have to humour me, you know.” Eyes glued ahead, you remind him once his strides reflect your own and he is in synchronicity.  

“Hey now. He softly nudges your arm with his elbow, “I told you I happen to like flowers.” 

“Everyone likes flowers.” You inform like it’s common knowledge, “I’m sure you had something better to do with your afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

“How sweet.” You remark snidely, but dislike that your sarcasm is coating the truth; what he said is sweet. 

Maybe it’s time to attempt a positive attitude, leave all sass and snark at the entrance and just get through this date without any scandalous incidents. So, when Harry suggests the pair of you should follow the left path, you nod and send him a soft smile. 

Slowing your steps to scan the first few rows of flowers, planted neatly and flourishing greatly- an array of saturated colours- the type that seems straight out of the paint tube, so threateningly bright. 

Harry comes to a halt first, his pointer finger focuses in on a set of fuchsia and yellow pillowing petals resting upon gangly stems. He looks at them with nostalgic fondness, 

“Mum has some of these in her new garden.” 

“Snapdragons.” Stopping beside him before continuing, “How is your mum, by the way?”

“She’s good. She’s doing better. I saw her and Gem over Easter.”

All these newfound and reminiscent thoughts about Harry have you thinking about home a lot. What home means to you. 

Turns out, most of it means the people you grew up with. It’s strange to hear about the people you once saw so regularly. Before the thought shifts to one of sadness, your mind clings to the thing you missed most,

“Did she make her Decadent Double Fudgy Chocolate Cake?” 

“Of course.” Harry smiles so big it hurts thinking about the way you used to revel in just saying the elaborate name mum had given to her tried and true recipe.  

“God, I miss her cooking.” 

“I miss your cooking.” He counters. 

It's unclear who began strolling again, but both of you followed each other along the pathway, and Harry snuck his glances at every chance possible, baffled each time he was reminded of your straight, stern features.

“What are you on about?” Now, your forehead creased, wracking your brain for all the recipes you ever replicated,

“Oh c’mon, you know I love your lasagna.” he reminded incredulously,

“No, I did not know that.”

“Well, now you know.” Harry confirmed, pointing to a bushel of indigo star-like petals, “These?”

“Delphinium.”

“Delphiniums.” He repeated tenderly, but when he turned to you, that tenderness was nowhere to be found, and the familiar aching of dismissal wrapped Harry up into a cocoon of heart-thumping, head-throbbing unease,

“Does this count as our date?” 

“No.” He hardly lets you finish, washing away your curiosity with a wave of certainty.

“What’s taking you so long?” You groan- and you hope he doesn’t take it as a sign of stirring excitement, but mostly because as hard as you worked, the enthusiasm stirring in your stomach is impossible to dismiss.

“Antsy, are we?” He gently bumps his hip against your own, “There's no rush.”

“I just-  I don’t get you!”

You halt, arms flailing up in sync with your boot stroppily stomping along the cobblestone. He only smiles fondly- and quite smugly,

“That’s because you have little patience.” 

Harry continues strolling, knowing you’ll be quick to follow. And you are, taking a long stride to catch up to him, ready to prod him further, unsure if you’re just curious or actually looking forward to it like he suggests. 

“I Just find it interesting that you finally got what you persistently nagged for, and suddenly there's no rush?”

“ Don’t cheapen it.” He scoffs, “I gave you the chance to opt out, the offer still stands.”

“Why does it feel like you’re up to no good?” You wearily squint.

“Doesn’t it always?”

“You’re putting me on edge.”

“That’s also nothing new.” 

And though he should chalk it up to frustration, Harry can’t stop optimism from swallowing him whole, maybe, just maybe, you were actually keen on the date to follow. Before he allows his self-esteem to sink deeper, he shakes it off and simply shrugs, a cheeky smile curving at his lips, 

“When I do take you on a date, I want it to be a ‘lil more romantic than this.”

“You’re full of it, Styles.” You grumble, feet pattering further along the path.

“And you’re beautiful.” He shrugs once more, making sure to keep up.

You slow when Harry spots a bed of bright pink and red butterfly-like flowers and he looks down at you expectantly. 

“Impatiens.” 

“Pretty.” He admires before continuing down the path. You find your body constantly swaying towards his own, like he was your missing magnet, needing to have to close. It’s after your third attempt to create reasonable distance when Harry ponders, 

“What does your new house look like?”

“It’s only an apartment, but I think it’s cute.”

His mouth parts and releases something like a scoff and a laugh gets jumbled into one. He locks eyes with your own, ensuring you see his obnoxiously rolling as he chides, 

“That tells me nothing.”

“Cute is better than my home in London.”

“Well, that’s not hard to beat.”

“Okay, Ritchie Rich.” You mock, elbow brushing his forearm before you can think to fight the urge. He’s so beautiful that each flower seems to dull behind his stature. 

Especially when he smiles knowingly and ignores your sarcasm, 

“Tell me more.”

“Loads of colour.”

“Purple?”

“Oh, yes.” You deadpan like it’s moronic to assume otherwise. 

Harry has those all-too-familiar feelings where the past suddenly blends with the present and he cannot begin to comprehend it. Cannot begin to handle the intensity of how much he likes seeing you in your entirety. Chest tightening at the idea that he might be in even deeper than he thought. 

He still doesn't know how  to put it into words, but tries nevertheless, 

“It’s funny… You’ve changed, but you haven’t changed.” 

You hear him, but not really, because there’s this strange surge of excitement that has been sparking beneath the surface, and you want to tell him more,

“The outside is just, amazing. It has aged brick walls and a terrace with green railings… white window panes… oh, and the ivy’s been creeping up the walls, I’m sure they’ll cut it down eventually, but it gives it a fairytale-like feeling.”

“Sounds like a dream. Perfect place for a fairy, like yourself.” 

You can’t stop yourself, the compliments, the mushy feelings, it’s like word vomit,

“Maybe I can show you one day.”

“Oh, Clutz. Are you tryna get me into your bed?” He gently teases.

“No. Just, like… describing it doesn’t do it justice.” Your cheeks are swollen red and you dip your head to ensure it goes unnoticed. 

“If you say so.” He only shrugs and walks on with that stupid smug smile. 

“Hey, I do!” You chase, almost bumping into his suddenly still figure. He’s looking at you and waiting for a name for the burnt orange flowers with what seems like hundreds of tiny petals,  “Zinnias.”

“I’d love to see your house, Y/n.” He simply states. You wait a beat but he has no more to say.

“Huh.” Your astonishment is hard to repress. 

“What?” 

“Nothing… guess I was expecting some snide remark.”

“Like?”

You stop once more, turning your body’s attention to his own, your posture stiffening into one of impatience for his purposeful ignorance, 

“I dunno, something like, ‘it wouldn’t take much to get me into your bed.’”

“Well, it wouldn’t.” He shrugs like it's the oldest of news, “You’re irresistible.”

“There it is…” You smile… Why aren’t you annoyed? Worse- why do you feel a rush of satisfaction? 

Harry is easily distracted by something to your left, his features falling to a frown that has you quickly following his gaze whatever seems to perplex him. He’s having a stare-off with a bushel of leaves and stem, pointing curiously, 

“This seems out of place. What is it?”

“I think that’s just a shrub.” A giggle paints your pearly whites into a full-on grin, and you shamefully snort once he starts to shamelessly chuckle along with goofy humility. 

“Well, what are these, then?” 

“Narcissus.” You nod stoically at the array of tiny golden trumpets. 

“When did  you become a botanist?”

“They have labels, moron.”

You swat his arm with playful satisfaction, Harry might think you’re an easy target, but it’s nice to remind him that he’s just as easy- if not easier. 

Your phone dings once, then twice, then thrice, and you already know exactly who’s looking for you. Harry stands by as you begin to fish it out of your () bag. Once retrieved you confirm your suspicions, Savina. Your forehead apologetically furrows as you sweetly excuse yourself, 

“Savina is about to blow up my phone if I don’t respond.”

S: Are u out?

S: Can’t believe ur up before noon

S: I’m getting breakfast without u, yes?

Y/n: Beauty sleep is vital.

Y/n: I’m at the Botanical Gardens

Y/n: ….

Y/n: With Harry

Waiting for a guaranteed ‘omg’ for Savina to pop up, your gaze wanders in pursuit of Harry. He’s off to the right, crouched over and looking rather suspicious. You’re about to investigate before another ding jolts you back to attention. 

S: Ooh la la!

Y/n: Don’t start.

S: Is this the date?

Y/n: Apparently not

S: What is he waiting for?

Y/n: That’s what I said!

With that, you haphazardly slide the phone back into your tote and stroll along to meet Harry, who is already making his way back to you, one arm mysteriously tucked behind his back, and you can already see his lips beginning to purse with naughty amusement.

He arrives and wastes no time before whipping his hidden arm out to present you with the most chivalrous of gifts, proudly holding out a blooming red rose and offering it for your favour,

“I got you this.”

“You stole it!” Surprise has your voice squeaking on realisation- struggling between fearing the consequences of his crime, and finding his little gesture absolutely swoon-worthy. 

“Clearly.” 

“We’re not supposed to do that.” You whisper, and Harry declares himself dead at the sight of excitement glimmering along your face like glitter, eyes wide with adrenaline, cheeky grin chipping away at your gasp-spread mouth.

“Live a little, pretty girl.” In a hushed tone, he bows forward, hand still wrapped around the ruby petals’ stem.

“We’ll get caught-”

“We won’t.” He reassures with a certainty that has you confidently reaching out to accept. His palm feels as soft as the rose when his hand lingers and tickles at your wrist. 

Bringing the rose up to your face, about to embrace its’ sweet aroma, you’re nearly knocked off of your feet when Harry’s hand suddenly intertwines with your own and he begins to run down the trail, tugging you along. 

He’s cheerfully encouraging, “Run! We’re outlaws!”

And you have no choice other than to pick up your steps, giggling at his silliness, letting him get the most out of it. He has you winding down the pathway, turning left here, right there- and it’s only when your legs can no longer take the burden of held-in laughter, that the two of you decide to rest beneath the shade of a lemon tree.

The silence that settles is as soothing as the warm summer skies as Harry rests his back against the ageing trunk, proving how easy it is for him to get comfortable in just about any situation. 

He stretches out his mostly bare legs, ankles politely crossing atop one another. So you follow suit, making a home in the bouncy blades of grass, one elbow balancing your weight as you let your legs splay out like his own, scuffed boots inches from his much shinier pair. 

The birds have created an orchestra, they sing as a choral, buzzing bugs humming bass tones, the distant waves beat down on rocks like a thumping drum, wind in the leaves like flutes, and people chattering along the pathway all come together in the most serene of symphonies. 

Harry hopes he remembers this tune forever- at least long enough for him to jot it down in his most precious notebooks. 

And all of his thoughts have turned to lullabies about the pretty girl in green resting in the summer shade, hair strands wisping in the gentle wind, and a teeny glint of a content smile. 

Before he ends up writing an entire song, Harry’s voice smoothly calls for your focus, thick and curious, harmonizing with nature’s instrumentals, 

“Why haven’t you come to any of my album releases?”

“The ones at your house?”

“Yeah. For close friends and family.”

His stare feels like a laser beam aimed straight at your head. He looks at you with an expectancy sterner than usual, the type that you know will be impossible to dismiss or divert. Shamefully dipping your head, you busy yourself by twirling the rose stem still clasped in your hand,

“I-”

“No excuses.”

“I have been to your releases…For One Direction.”

You glance over through deeply furrowed brows and Harry’s features expand with bewilderment,  

“That’s a lie, too!”

“It’s not!” You sit up now, crisscrossing your legs like some type of defence mechanism. “You weren’t there for A.M.” He says it so factually like it keeps him up at night. 

 “Really?”

“Trust me.” 

Harry shifts his body into a more upright position, and his attention feels like you’re being prosecuted- worse- like he’s set up a lie detector and there’s no way around telling a fib. So, you shrug in all honesty,

“Didn’t think you’d notice if I was there or not.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs.

“It is ?”

“Assumptions, Y/n…” He sing-songs at the chance to call out your hypocrisy. 

“Touche.”All you can do is shrug and concede, bashfully smiling at his success in stunning you to silence. Where were you during the album release? You must have been around, right?” 

Harry observes your microfeatures- each crease, every freckle, the corner crinkles of your eyes and lips. It would take a fool not to notice your thoughts were racing like a runner on the track. It’s cute- very cute- but he’d hate to let you spiral for much longer,

“I wanted you to hear some of the songs…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wrote more than on the other albums… Made a lot of home reference, and like, growing up I guess…”

He hopes you can read between the lines of his absent words as you do so often. Hopes that ‘home’ means to you what it does to him. Because let's be honest, the years leading up to stardom were the most real- the most consistent- the most time he got to spend with you. 

It’s a shock to both of you when a snide remark about childhood fails to leave your lips, instead, a shy smile starts to form and you say,

“That’s actually… very cute.”

“Is that affection I hear?” He coos. 

You take a beat, begging for the bashful blushing of your cheeks to fade, unable to return his teasing stare. It’s too late to reel back in your thoughts and too late to dismiss the dread prickling at and dampening your palms,

“I’m sorry I kinda just disappeared after college… I would’ve really liked to hear them… especially the first one.”

“The best one?”He prods proudly. Praying he keeps the gates of your vulnerability open for a while longer.

“Just felt close to home, so I guess, yes, my favourite.” You don’t understand the magnitude of the relief that riddles Harry when you confirm that his longing for home is palpable enough to share through a speaker.  

To cover your intrusively honest tracks- and dismiss the unfamiliar look in his eyes- you quickly add, “But, it’s a matter of opinion.”

“I value your opinion.” Harry simply states.“The most.” His constant certainty is discerning. 

“Don’t be a suck-up.” 

“What if I’m telling the truth?” 

“I’d say you need a better advisory.” You inform.

“Don’t want one.” He tilts his chin to the sun in a childish strop. 

“You want me?”

“Y’know me so well.”

He shakes his head and shrugs knowingly, letting his eyes flutter shut, sighing out in satisfaction as he soaks up this very moment. You can't look away- he seems so peaceful like he’s finally able to remove every version of Harry other than this one- a soft soul desperate to give love and be loved in return. 

It’s before noon and you’ve done more thinking than four years worth of uni studies. Wracking your brain for melodies of Harry’s that evoke that oh-so-familiar feeling of home. But your brain is in overdrive and every note blends into an auditorium of his husky voice humming along to a timid guitar. A single name doesn't even come to mind- all on the tip of your tongue, but so quickly they dissipate like candyfloss dropped in a puddle. 

You hate to ask for his help- hate the idea of him knowing he successfully wormed his way into your thought- but these moments of forgetfulness are the type that eat away at your entirety, there’s no way around it,

“Which songs?” His lashes flutter apart, crystal gaze greeting your own with curiosity. You elaborate,  “From the album.”

That all-too-familiar devilish smirk starts to draw his lips into a toothy grin, and you want to flog yourself for thinking he might make things simpler for a change,

“You’ll have to go back and listen.”

He’s so full of cheek and charm that it’s too compelling to do anything but exactly what he says. 

🍷

It’s sweltering today and the only thing you’ve been thinking of since waking up is the icy blue refreshment that is the swimming pool. So adamant to spend the day near the water, you had forgone putting normal clothes on after a quick shower. 

Huffing out after finally managing to securely tie up the thin strands of your favourite pink bikini with read hearts, it was time to grab a towel and some sunscreen. But when your stomach interrupts the quest with a deep and needy grumble, swimming will have to wait til after some brunch. 

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, it’s a bad sign when you spot Harry sitting atop the kitchen island, dangly legs gently swinging and bumping against the marble as he absentmindedly bites into what looks like a delectable golden croissant drizzled in gooey chocolate. 

When he finally notices you, he smiles a goofy grin- still chewing on his pastry. And at the simplest of gestures, you wonder if the temperature has risen or if it’s the hot irritation bubbling beneath your skin. 

He knows it sends you into a tizzy whenever he shows up unannounced- you think he revels in it. And he does. Of course he does.  

But he won't get in the way of you and those damn tempting croissants, stacked on a plate so enticingly just to the left of Harry. 

You make a break for the food, reaching out and snatching the nearest chocolate-garnished flakey goodness, and Harry watches on in amusement,

“Look at you, y’re practically salivating.”

Glaring at his astute observation, you skip the part where you grab a plate and fork, taking an over-ambitious bite, and you hold back an erotic groan as the croissant melts in your mouth, coating the corner of your lips in cocoa. 

You’ve already taken a second bite before the chuckle brewing in Harry’s chest has the chance to release itself, but when it does, he struggles to keep it at bay.   

He hopes your focus would be so dedicated to your self-appointed golden ticket that his soft giggles of bewildering endearment, but when he looks over, your eyes are already spitefully squinting his way.

Instead of words, you slowly raise the last third of the pastry to your parted mouth and push it past your lips, taking a couple of agitated bites before swallowing and shrugging him off. 

Wrecklessly clapping your hands together to dust your hand of all crumbs, you weakly attempt to swipe any remnants of pastry flakes from your chin and gear up to get on with your day. Harry just can’t let that happen, can he? 

“C’mere.” He requests. 

“No.”

“Just c’mere.”

Rationalising the fact that you find yourself standing before him, arms crossed over your chest as you maintain suspicion and wait on Harry’s reasons for calling you over. 

“Closer.” His instruction is tender and seems devoid of the standard mischievous intentions, so you take a broad step forward, toes close to bumping into the cabinet. 

He cautiously raises one hand and curls his finger in a gesture for you to lean even further into his orbit. And you do, so easily that it's actually pitiful. 

Your cheek practically guides itself into his palm as his fingers rest delicately atop your jaw and his thumb ever so gently brushes the corner of your lip before he hastily removes your face from his hold and raises his thumb to his mouth, 

“Y’missed a lil’ bit of the chocolate.” He shares, popping his thumb past his plushy lips, sucking sweetly before pulling away with a sultry ‘pop’. 

You don’t need to see it to feel how your pupils have swollen with frustrated allure, and Harry surely notices too. His tongue flicks out to glide across his bottom lip and it’s so unnecessarily sultry that it seems to tug you nearer, has your body slotting itself between his parted legs. 

Harrys trapped, for a change, and by the looks of it, he hardly minds. With both hands balanced on the countertop, your arms create a trap around him- well, more like his legs and torso, but Harry pretends to be at your mercy nevertheless. 

He softly chuckles, vibrating against the crown of your hair, then his body softly shakes with humour and yours rumbles by proxy. 

“What’s so funny?” You tilt back to see him better. 

“Just thinking about the last time we were like this.”

“Halloween?” You remember it like it was yesterday.

“Mm.” He hums with praise, leaning in, his body like a velcro. 

“I hope this time ends better than the last.” You tease, left hand trailing up the expanse of his forearm.

“Well, that depends.” He hushly whispering into the shell of your ear, before pulling back to lock his gaze with your own. 

“On?” Your palm rests on the crook of his shoulder and neck, nails testingly raking his freckled skin. 

“Is there anyone in this house who wants to punch me for talking to you?” He says with suave sarcasm.

“Shove off.” You scoff and it completely contradicts the swell of adoration that seems to hit you head-on. 

And though you can't stop the cheeky smile that turns your cheeks to swollen cherubs, your free hand still instinctively reaches out and lightly swats his chest. 

“Just checking!” Harry uses this to his advantage, wrapping his expansive palm atop your own.

“He was my boyfriend.” You chide as a matter of fact. 

“Hey, I get it.” He shrugs goofily, guiding your linked hands to rest atop his lap, “I would have felt the same way if-”

“If you were my boyfriend?”

“Precisely.” He nods cutely but his tone is that of praise. And the way he eyes you, lips supple and slightly parted. 

For a split second you wonder if he likes what he sees, and you’ve never been more grateful that Harry doesn't allow you too long to ponder when he trails off, 

“Wouldn’t have hit anyone…”

“Just sulk about in a corner instead?” You tease sweetly.

“Tried and true.” He smiles smugly. 

“You’re so predictable.” 

Harry playfully scoffs, leaning into you and practically blinding you with the silly smile he sends your way. You peer up at him, and Harry is instantly reminded of the simplicity of your impact on his head and stomach- your beauty effortlessly a siren song sent straight to his heart.

Nothing new here, though. Harry has seen you more times than countable but cannot fathom how you manage to make it feel like the first time- every time. It takes him back, it lurches him forward- what is this, what could it have been, could it still be? 

He removes his hand from atop your own- it’s important to note how much this surprises you both- when you make no attempt to remove it from his meaty thigh, and, man, Harry can feel just how soft you are- he’s hot at the thought of how good it would feel to have his cock cradled in your palm- and as for your needle-like nails absentmindedly digging into his neck, 

Harry’s lightheaded at the thought of you leaving harsh reddish scratches down his back, the idea of making you feel so good that you cannot help but ravish him completely. He’s almost certain that you’d be a biter, he wouldnt mind terribly if you decorated him in little bruises. He’s about willing to do anything to have your marks on him- wants to feel his shorts swell whenever he catches a glimpse of your fading loveletters.

It’s not hard to see that Harry’s thoughts are a mile a minute, his eyes darting across your face- unsure of where to settle. You know he wants to say something-  perhaps batting your lashes oh so sweetly will encourage him. 

It does. He’s drowning in your desire-oozing eyes as they become more and more devoid of colour, his own gaze holds on for dear life as he reclaims his confidence, 

“I would have been a good boyfriend… To you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You risk it and slip your fingers into soft chocolate curls at the base of his neck, tugging and twirling.

“Would’ve bought you flowers and chocolates- oh, and cheap teddies.” His chest is nearing your own,  “Burned a CD of songs that reminded me of you,” His spare hand reaches out, twirling a finger through a loose strand of your hair, “Taken you on picnics and baked your favourite pastries...”

“How very high school of you.” You manage to tease through the sudden suffocating and tightening of your throat, stomach clenching and cheeks threatening to swell with sappy cheeriness. 

Harry only hums sweetly, his finger brushing against your jaw in a bid for your affection,

“I’d be even better now.”

“Thought about this before, have you?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs, and your stomach is a swarm of sensual butterflies. 

“Don’t think I’m about to humour you.” 

Though your hand has somehow hiked its way up to his mid-thigh, your undying stubbornness is far from extinct and may be the only thing holding your sanity together as of current, and now you’re not sure if it’s Harry or yourself luring your body closer to his own.

“Not even a little?” He pries with a darling pout, his hand reaching out and wrapping around your waist, palm splayed flat against your lower back. 

“It never leads to anything good.” 

“Kissing me isn’t good?” Harry lures, hoping to lead you into some sort of feisty discourse.

Your gaze is fixed on anything but his own, even so, you already know that his lips are curved into a cheeky pout, forehead crinkling with faux-concern. 

But in true betrayal, your newly-freed hand has trailed its way along his stomach, dragging slowly and settling atop his shoulder, fingers linking into a necklace clasp at the back of his neck,

“Stop throwing bones, Styles.” An eye roll. “You already know how I feel.” 

 “Still nice to hear.” His whole body shrugs, gaze piercing your direction, especially at your refusal to look back at him. He wants- needs- to see you better. “You never answered my question.”

Finally, with frustration, your stare snaps back to his own and stuns Harry once more with how seductive and alluring you are, and unintentionally at that. Ensuring his attention is all yours, but praying he doesn’t find out how much you mean it, 

“You’re a good kisser, Harry.” 

“Such a sweet girl…” Both of his arms are now snaking around your figure, fingers softly pressing into your flesh, hopefully pulling you nearer with his words, “But that wasn’t the question I was talking about.”

“What, then?”

“Ask me nicely.” He taunts, but you only threaten to remove your hold on him altogether. Instead, his hold only tightens, legs spreading and slotting your body in between.

“I said I won't humour you.” You let him keep you for his own. 

“Brat.” Harry concedes with cheeky fondness, his heart filling with copious amounts of adoration for the ridiculous stubbornness that stirs you into his version of the perfect partner. 

But it only makes him desire your lips with almost too much fervour to maintain composure, and he simplifies, 

“Is someone gonna try to punch me?”

Your body is bouncing with bewildered laughter at Harry’s insinuation

“Well…” Your toes leave the ground, chin tilting and lips plumpening with each word, “Are you gonna try to kiss me again?”

“If I said I was?” Harry’s head dips, his mouth ready to take your own. 

“Can you take a punch?”

“For you?” He speaks with such certainty, “I’ll take a thousand.”

“Then, I think you should risk it.”

The distance is dissipating with thick desire, Harry’s palm has found its place wrapped along your jaw, his thumb stroking at your cheek as he leans in and submits completely. 

His eyes are involuntarily closing- lashes fluttering with the same ferocity as those of the butterflies in his stomach- and Harry can feel himself slipping further into the intimate bubble of your energy, demanding his lips find their home along the crevices of your skin. 

Your legs will hurt later, but your impatience wishes for him to meet you sooner, annoyingly desperate for the frighteningly familiar feeling of his soft kisses scattering along your skin. Right now, if Harry were to ask, you would do anything for him- to him. 

With a cute huff, you carefully tug his neck closer, foreheads brushing, noses colliding, his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. Harry chuckles softly and- 

“Harry?” The call is coming from inside the house! 

“Y/n?” Dear god, there are two of them. 

“Where are you?” The voices are getting closer. 

Harry’s never seen someone move so quickly- hardly blinking twice before you had both released him and slipped your way out of his grasp- and if it weren’t for his shared panic of being caught in a rather telling situation, Harry would have taken a second to mourn instead of brashly clearing his throat and calling out, 

“In the kitchen!” 

🍷

That little incident back there has left you blood boiling like a lobster in a steel pot, but you can’t shake off the obscene thoughts battling with those of swimming, and you’re in an almost haze by the time you finally reach the pools edge. 

And you’ve never been so grateful for the icy shock of water enveloping your ankles, then calves, and then your whole lower body sinks below the surface and life just about makes sense again. Chasing this feeling, you let yourself become fully submerged, limbs gracefully kicking and bobbing, hair fanned out like an halo, a second of serenity. 

Who knows how long you revel in the water, gliding back-and-forth along the pools length until it feels like you’ve never touched land before. It’s only when your face reemerges and Savina’s figure comes into view that you even consider returning to reality. 

Her upper body is dry and resting against the wall of the pool, large circular-framed sunglasses shading most of her face, straight mousy-brown hair pulled back and up with a claw clip. 

She’s just so self-assured- exudes coyness with unbridled confidence and certainty. How do the people around you have the such a power for certainty? Where is the doubt? 

Swimming the short distance to her poised figure, a smile creeping along her heart-shaped lips, Savina waits for you to near, your body wading in the tiny water waves, before letting you in on her latest idea, 

“I think we should hire out a catamaran.”

“Aren’t you scared of boats?”

“Only the little ones.” She dismisses.

“Well, I’m not a fan of boats. Any types.”

Savina looks at you like you’ve become a stranger and you already know the next thing she utters will be laced with confusion,

“Why do you do so many water activities, then?”

There are dozens of stories revolving you and the water- many are of disastrous incidents and oft resulted in some form of injury- but it must be firmly noted that every single activity involved the dangerous duo that is Jack and Harry. 

“I can’t say no when people ask me.” 

The troublesome two who have mastered the art of convincing you into almost everything- even if, on occasion, you find yourself greatful for their persistence, that information is privy to you and you alone. What you will say is,

“One of these days it’ll be the death of me.”

You glide towards the pools edge, using your arms to hoist the rest of your body out until you’re sitting atop the warm tiles, legs dipping back into the refreshing water. Savina follows suit, gracefully plopping down beside you. She rests her glasses atop her head and her brown eyes glow golden beneath the cloudless sky as she asks, 

“So, what day should we book for?” 

“Wednesday?” 

“Perfect! We’ll visit the coastal towns, try out that Posillipo I mentioned at the, what was the-”

“August Clambake.” You finish for her, eyes rolling at the memory. 

You share a reminiscent stare before scoffing and with synchronicity, reciting, “The clambake with no clams!” 

“These ones will blow your mind!” She reassures. 

“I’m sold. It’s a date!”

Not a moment later the shadow of a six-foot man casts over your crisping skin,

“A date?” Harry gasps dramatically, walking into view, “Y/n, are you two-timing me?”

“You haven’t set a date.” Your head tilts up to scold him eye-to-eye but the first thing you see is his thick thighs practically squeezing the yellow material of the tiniest of swim trunks hanging low on his hips. 

He’s still strumming up a retort, and you have to peel your gaze away from the muscular divots of his hip bones- and how his unintentional flexes are fastly stirring a deep desire within- when Savina becomes a surprising saving grace, 

“We’re taking a catamaran to see the island.” She informs. Problem solves. For a beat, before she pulls a classic Savina and enthusiastically suggests, “Come with us. You and Jack!”

“Savina.” You hiss between clenched teeth. 

“We’d love to!” He’s all too enthusiastic and you hold back a scoff.

“How does Wednesday sound?”

“Wednesday it is.”

Once again, you are victim to a group consensus that would be harder to argue against than to just cave in and follow along. That’s a problem for Wednesday’s Y/n, though. Today’s problem is still towering over you, cruelly blocking the sun. 

And when you need her most, Savina checks her watch and hops up, 

“I better get ready for lunch with Jeff.” This is news to both you and Harry and Savina must notice when she adds, “One last gossip session before he leaves.” 

What the hell are those two talking about at these lunches? You’re almost certain that it mostly surrounds this bizarre dynamic between the two of you. Is it that confusing that people on the outside have noticed? 

The thought is enough to make you sick, stomach twisting from a cocktail of fear from drawing attention to yourself and the still present arousal that started the moment you walked into the kitchen and were met with Harry. 

 If anyone asked Harry himself, he would say that this day has been more than enjoyable, in fact, his excitement is through the roof at the subtle validation he receives at the idea that maybe the approval of outsiders may soothe your constant doubts- give you permission to take a chance with him. 

What he wants to say is ‘you can see this undeniable chemistry, cant you? I’m not making things up, right?’ but refrains and says,

“I hope you have nice things to say about me.” 

“Darling, we always do.” 

Savina sends the least subtle of winks your way and bids her goodbye’s. Harry wastes no time in taking two large strides towards the pools edge, raising his arms to the sky, arching his sculpture-like body, his back muscles contorting and you know exactly where this is going. 

Just as his feet are about to turn into a bouncy spring aimed for the water, you hurriedly yell out to Harry,

“Don’t splash-” But it’s no use- he’s in the air, a breaching dolphin landing in the water, followed by a large splash that sprinkles your almost fully dried skin with cold droplets. You squeal out, and when Harry finally resubmerges, face slick with water and a sly smile, all you can muster is a simple, “I hate you.”

“Do you though?” He wonders, paddling along the waters surface.  

“Loathe.”

“Go on.” He treads closer before standing up, water bumping the skin of his waist down. 

“Detest.”

“Mm?” Harry closes the gap between your bodies, his glistening chest bumps against your knees like boats in the docks.

“Despise.” 

He shifts to stand to your left, leaning his back on the pools edge, his elbow perched just inches from the bare expanse of your thigh, and his free hand settles just above your knee, fingers faintly tapping rhythmically,

“You’re so hot when you turn me into adjectives.” 

“Pesty, irritating, frustrating, antagonistic bastard.”

Harry’s hand encloses over your thigh and squeezes in tune with an sarcastic- erotic- groan, 

“Stop or I’ll bust.”

The insinuation shatters all self control and your body shudders under his hold and his stare. There’s that familiar ache of neediness- neediness for Harry’s hands to do more- for him to do something to finally rectify that disastrous encounter in the kitchen. 

Harry isnt making any further steps, but he’s well aware of the way your body seems to tense with anticipation under his touch- the same as it does whenever he’s has you cornered- and he wishes you would say it aloud. 

It seems on the tip of your tongue, lips weakly parted, trying your hardest to find the least pathetic way to tell Harry to just fucking have at it. 

But ego runs deep. So deep that you gently shrug off his hand and swiftly stand up, body coming to attention as an automated response slips from your lips, 

“You are the worst!”

He’s laughing and your lower body shudders. Now you cant tell if your bikini bottoms are soaked from the swimming pool. As unlikely as the chances that Harry isn’t shamelessly staring at the way your ass gracefully bounces with each stroppy step you take towards the sunbed. 

🍷

In all fairness, Harry had started it. And then he re-started it. And now, he definitely hasn’t stopped as he strode past the sunbed you occupied, teeny tiny trunks fully drenched- streams of water descending his thighs as he purposefully picks the sunbed furthest from your own and practically throws his body atop the rolled out beach-towel. 

You were pushing it- and it was obvious- but you’ve been teased with the littlest of tastes all day and you are just salivating for more.

Its impossible for any thoughts to remain innocent- each move he makes is as tantalizing as it is taunting- he doesnt even seem to know it. Just looking so relaxed and unbothered, as if your presence means nothing. As if you’re the only one about to explode from pure sexual frustration. 

It’s infuriating, and mortifying, and only adds to the shameful arousal you cannot shake off. It’s all consuming- he is all consuming. 

And when Harry obnoxiously stretches for a third time, you fugue into a complete frenzy- eyelids hooded and hungrily watching the muscles of his flexed arms, his ridiculously tiny swim trunks slipping lower, creating the sultriest of trails from his stomach to his hipbones for your gaze to happily follow. 

No longer willing to hide behind the most adorable of pastel pink heart-shaped sunglasses, you’re a roast on a spit and if Harry won’t take the hint and bite, it’s time to catch a hint.

Harry’s pretty features are hiding behind an aged-denim baseball cap, one arm flexed behind his head as a makeshift pillow. This has you wondering if he’s even awake and that’s the final push you needed to get up and stealthily stroll over to his sunbed. 

Bending down and leaning your body over his own, your bikini-clad breast brush against his chest as you reach across him for a book you couldn’t even currently recall the title of- resting next to his half-empty lemonade on the side table. 

“You’re kidding.” Harry mumbles through the material.

“What?” You feign innocence, pressing further into him, waist coming down on his stomach.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” He torts but lets you continue with your teasing.

“Getting my book?” You ponder, taking much longer than necessary, letting your fingers dance along the cover, tilting down and further sticking your sun-kissed skin to his own.

Harry removes his flexed arm from its position as a pillow, using his thumb to hook under and remove the cap from hiding his face. He looks at you with a stern furrow of the brows, but his eyes are nothing but amused, and egregiously aroused,

“You’re a little liar.”

With ease, he wraps his arms around your waist, giving you a good squeeze as he flips you over, causing you to snatch a hold of the novel just as you find yourself bent and folded over his lap, ass up in the air, your chest resting against his thighs.

“What the-”

Now Harry has you, and you feel silly for thinking you could have ever gotten away with being so clueless, banking on the falseness of his lack of interest in your presence. He had lured you right in leaving you lying across him, completely at his will.

Not that you would want to be anywhere else, but you can’t help the embarrassment stirring at your stomach, ringing in your ears, you hope Harry doesn’t notice, and it seems he is far more focused on the sultriness of your arched back, your bikini bottoms becoming a frame for the ass cheeks that Harry quickly deems an artwork.

His fingers glide along the curve of your spine, satisfied with the shiver that shakes your body beneath his touch,

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” He notes, letting his hands continue to trail along your curves. 

He ponders for a moment, watching for each reaction you might let slip, hyper-focused on your shaky breaths, the rise and fall of your breasts against his legs. He needs more though- needs to hear you,

“I think it’s time you’re punished for all of this brattiness.”                                           

“I’m not a brat.” You huff defensively for no reason but to protect your pride, still stuck and at his will.

“But you act like one.” He tuts factually, his hands gliding along your lower back before his palms finally settle on your ass cheeks, giving you the softest of pats.

You can’t admit such just yet, it was clear you were behaving like a true brat, but your words would be the last thing that would confirm that. Instead, you start to let the book slip and attempt to let it drop with little care,

“That’s the same-”

Harry refuses to let you finish, his tone dripping with discipline, his hands squeezing at your skin to ensure to cut you off and keep you focused on his filthy intentions,

“Read your book. Must be interesting if you were willing to go to such great lengths to retrieve it.” He is keeping you hooked like an floundering fish, baiting you with the promise of leaving little red marks along your pillowing bum cheeks.

Your lips part with the desire of protest, letting the book loosen in your hand, waiting for it to finally part from your palms. But Harry is watching like a hawk- waiting for you to misbehave once more, knowing you far too well. Still, you rally all of the defiance you have to spare,

“I-”

“Read the book.”

He gently digs his nails into your skin, and you want to protest even harder, but his simple sternness is salivating and instead, you choose to repent for your sins, balancing on your elbows, sighing and reopening the page to your bookmark with zero intent in actually reading.

With satisfaction, Harry kneads at the mounds of your skin before suddenly lifting his palm and bringing it down against your cheek with a sweet slap.

Your neck tilts back against your will, and your grip on the book starts to slip once more, biting back a surprised sigh.

“Uh, uh.” He scolds, “Read, Y/n.” 

And you prop the book back up with embarrassing haste. 

“So bratty…” By this point, Harry speaks with astonishment.

You cannot resist scoffing at his statement, busy regaining the strength to snap back at his ridiculous demand, but his hand comes down against your cheeks with a sterner smack and you switch back to the pretence of reading in hopes of another spanking.

“Tell me about the plot.” He insists, enjoying his little power trip far too much, whilst shifting back to pinching and squeezing at your skin.

“You’re being ridicu-” You try but another harsh smack followed by the soothing rub of his palm over the blooming mark buries you in submission, “Fernando just showed up at Fermina’s house…”

“Tell me more.” 

“Then… I… I have no idea.” Your head bows with shameful admission. 

Harry seems more than satisfied, kneading and squeezing at your skin. He decides that your honesty earns you points, it would be cruel to deny you sympathy for such an important attribute. But he truly does know you too well, doubting your little relinquishment, and he needs reassurance,

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

He doesn’t expect you to nod along so quickly, never mind so avidly, and now, Harry is gripping onto your dips and curves for dear life. But he cannot stop the teasing that slips past the gap in his teeth,

“For who?”

You roll your eyes, well aware it goes unnoticed by him, but Harry can feel the way a huff causes your chest to rise and fall, his own starts to expand with a light chuckle. And said chest catches a sharp breath and keeps it there at the feeling of your body slumping against his own as you bravely say, 

“For you, Harry.”

To say Harry was elated would be an understatement- his whole body alight with the mere sight of your body slung across his lap, let alone the feeling of your soft flesh moulding like clay beneath his hold. 

He doesnt think he can get used to how pliant and responsive you become under his touch. If this is what happens when he pathetcially parades about hoping to attract a pretty girls attention, Harry doesn’t mind behaving like a peacock more often. 

“Now, what exactly were you expecting to happen with this… little act of yours, hm?” His hands squeeze at any available skin,  “Think you’d get away it?” His fingers glide dangerously close to your undeniably damp bottoms, “That I’d just pretend it was all just an innocent mistake?”

“It was a mistake-”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes-”

The harsh crack of Harry’s hand colliding with you left cheek has your back arching, squeaking out a whine, toes curling all at once.                         

“Are you sure, Y/n?” 

“...No.”

Your head drops, cheek resting on his thigh as your body slumps in full submission, and, hell, Harry wishes you could see how wide his smile is at the sight. His hand circles soothing strokes atop the palm-sized pinkish mark starting to bloom- beyond satisfied with his brilliant work. 

“Was that so hard?” 

“No, sir.” 

You answer with a haste that takes Harry by such surprise that he feels all sense of superiority substitute itself with the fear that maybe you were right, maybe you’re more than he can handle. 

“Christ.” His chest is tight, heart racing, and he feels a harsh sugar drop, suddenly trapped beneath your supple figure- dominance is dissipating, Harry comes to the realisation that he is never in charge- not even when you feign submission. 

He fears the unfamiliarity of letting his partner take control. Being intimate is one area of his life that he can truly make decisions that he wont spend an eternity revisity and cruelly critiquing the outcome. This is a place where he can act freely and intuitively- all he’s ever known is a dynamic where his lovers follow suit. 

Why does he want to do this forever? Why is he already planning all the ways he can show you just how desperately he’s willing to become your personal plaything? 

You’ve grown impatient with the slowing of Harry’s actions- you may have sacrificed your stubbornness, but your pride surely wont have you slung across the lap of a man if he’s not at least making you squirm with pleasure. 

Harry can’t find the words as you slyly and swiftly escape from his hold. It seems like you’re about to make a break for it but when you only turn to face him and confidently sling your leg over his lap, he’s quick to shift for your ease, helping your body settle in his lap. 

Your arms snake up his arms, palms splaying out atop his shoulders. Harry’s hand are already trailing any part of you he hadnt previously had access to, starting with the curves of your waist, his cock twitching as his fingers rake along the waistband of your bikini and you shift excitedly. 

He squeezes at the creases where your pudge pushes against the restraint of the stringy swimwear straps, and Harry tauntingly twirls them around his fingers, threatening to dismantle the carefully-tied bows, 

“So flimsy, all it would take is one little tug...”

“And you’ll deeply regret it.”

You press your lower body further into his lap, biting back a satisfied sigh as his cock continues to stiffen, brushing those pesty swimwear along your progressively soaking slit. He needs to be closer- you need to ensure he is just as wrapped up in this all encompassing bubble of desire as yourself. 

“Why’s that, angel?” 

Harry tries to keep his voice steady as you press your breasts against his chest, the aroma of sunscreen, salty water, and sweet conditioner suddenly surrounding him, intoxicating his senses with a swift dose of dopamine. His body is sinking further into the sunbed as you start building a staircase of sloppy kisses towards the shell of his ear, 

“Because I’ll stop doing this.” You move back slightly- its obvious he wont let you get far- and your body mimics that of a person ready to run, “In fact, I’ll leave and take care of myself.”

And as mouth-watering as that visual is, Harry tugs you back into place- even closer- until his nose is brushing the curve of your collarbone, his hand gliding along your goosebump-riddled spine until it cups the back of your neck and in between timid kisses to your sternum, he tuts, 

“Well, we wouldnt want that, would we?”

Your head shakes in agreement, tilting down to get a better look at him beneath those unruly brunette curls. 

The moment his glossy lips leave your skin and he peers up at you through lust-driven eyes, you throw all snark, games, wit, and stubbornness to the wind. All you want is to suffocate him with your kiss. 

Maybe Harry really can read your mind because he tilts his chin, lips puckering in anticipation for your own, and how sweetly he lets your hand wrap around his jaw- lets your thumb flick his bottom lip, parting them so politely as your finger slips into his mouth and he selaciously sucks on it. 

Your thumb is barely out of his mouth when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, giving it a gentle tug before your tongue slips past and seeks out his own. 

Harry kisses you back like it’s life or death, lips slipping, exploring, and when you capture his tongue and suck it between your slick mouth, he wants desperately for you to soothe his aching cock however you see fit. 

Your kisses have strayed to the curve where his jaw and ear meet, sloppily trailing down his simmering skin, taking a little nibble of the creamy crook of his neck- which earns a surprised yelp from Harry, 

“G’na show me how good you can be?” 

“Ask me nicely.” 

He can’t muster anything more than a deep chuckle- turning to mush at the playful streak peaking through your lustrous stare. Harry, unlike yourself, doesn’t mind a little grovelling- in fact, he thinks he’s made that more than clear. 

His voice turns as tender as his touch, sincerity seeping through the thick layers of his arousal as he lets his lips graze your ear,

“Please, Y/n.” 

That feels good to hear. Criminally good. Like, the type of good that has you missing this exact moment while it’s still happening. 

It’s as if he’s uttered the secret password and it’s your duty to ensure his success doesn't go to waste. 

All remnants of Harry taking control are null and void the moment your hips rock along his own. Your clit brushes atop his throbbing cock- begging for release from this hellishly restrictive swim trunks- and with a sharp hiss snaking past your lips, Harry’s sure he’s about to cut off all blood circulation. 

He decides to be the most helpful boy he can be, cradling your ass cheeks, letting your hips guide them wherever you pleased. With deliberate and curious swirls, you hold back little mewls each time his cock brushes along your throbbing and increasingly damp pussy. 

Your hands cant decide where to graps as they switch between pressing into his lower abdomen, trailing along his forearms, one hand wrapping along his neck while the other impatiently tugs at his chin, tilting his mouth to latch onto your own. 

Harry doesnt hide the pleasure pulsing through him with every touch and hitch of your breath, gliding his tongue along your lower lip and with a subtle thrust, he coaxes a hushed sigh from you, taking the chance to slip his tongue past your teeth, lapping at your mouth with such lewdness that your hips rock on their own accord. 

Less calculated, more explorative, swirling left to right, up and down atop his full length, testing what feels good, what makes his body twitch and whine with approval. 

It’s hard to focus, Harry’s pressing into whatever part of you he can reach, holding onto your hips as if he feared you might evaporate into another silly fantasy, hoping his little moans of satisfaction express how desperately he wants you. 

You’ve never heard something as beautiful as Harry’s moans- they haunt your dreams and often coax your hands into your panties on lonely evenings. Raising slightly, your right hand reaches back and strokes along his thick length and Harry’s hands needily glides up and harshly cups your breast. 

He’s tauntingly tugging at the flimsy material, perversely tugging it to the side to reveal your pebbled nipple and his teeth are around the perky bud before you can say something about the dangers of getting caught. 

In honesty, you’re not thinking about that at all- it only stirs fiercely at your lower belly, pulsating with filthy excitement. Your hand wraps around his neck, pressing him further into your chest as his free hand cups and kneads at your other breast. 

Thighs working harder than most days, you try to keep a consistent pace, needily chasing a high, searching for that sweet spot, and Harry wants nothing more than to assist. 

His hands retreat to your ass, one raising you slightly as his other adjusts his cock to line up with your dripping entrance. You’ve soaked through your swimwear- so slick that Harry can feel his swollen tip dampening at the contact. 

He’s pushing  up into you, and there’s something so lewd about fucking you through your swimwear that has the two of you feeling more feral than ever before. So good that the world around you is still, nobody else exists, and the only thing you care about is being so close to Harry’s cock pushing past your entrance. 

It’s teamwork when you hastily stand and turn around, seating your drippy pussy right atop his length. Harry guides your body back and forth, releasing a gravelly groan when your thighs tighten and generously knead his balls, hand reaching between the two of you as your hands press and stroke the expanse of his cock, from tip to taint. 

Huffing out each time he brushes against your throbbing bud, the need to have him closer is overwhelming. And the way his hips are starting to jut impatiently, you might not be the only one. His hips are bucking up into you, possessively searching for your pussy.

Harry does needs more, needs to see those erotic visuals of your pleasure-soaked face that have plagued his mind for the last three months,  

“C’mere pretty girl.” 

He has you facing him again, pinning him to the chair, arching your hips to up so that each grind targets his tip and aims for your slit, triggering a new current of euphoria to send shockwaves up your spine. 

Maybe he’s stopped thinking completely because Harry reaches out for the top of your bikini, using one hand to spread the material apart until they are framing your bare breasts like an artwork- which, Harry deems they certainly are. 

He’s squeezing at you, nipping and nibbling, and your nails are piercing into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. When Harry sinks his teeth down onto the supple skin of your throat, harshly sucking as your thighs clench around his at the sudden and arousing sting.

His tongue lovingly licks at and soothes the soon-to-bloom bruise. You know he’s marking you to prove a point, and it shouldnt have you reeling with such excitement at the thought of being his, enough to break your silence, 

“Fuck, Harry.” 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” His name has never sounded so special.

“So fucking good.” You pant, pushing yourself down onto him with ferocity. 

And Harry couldn't predict that you would shuffle back, hook your fingers into the band of his shorts and free his cock from its cruel confinement. Only just past the tip is visible and the harsh sting of the cool air is quickly replaced by the warmth of your pussy. One layer separating him from the tight embrace of your hole. 

Your breasts are still in line with Harry’s face, one of his hands still lazily squeezing while the other slides down your torso, tickles at your ribcage before abrasively cupping your pussy and he’s grunting out, “So, so wet.” 

Your head lulls back at the obvious observation, and the desperate need to coat his length until he’s just as soaked has got your eyes rolling in ecstasy. 

Harry heinously loops his finger into the side of your swimwear, tugging it to the side and whining out, “My God” at the sight of your bare pussy, slick and begging to be fucked hard and proper. 

You’re pressing down on him before he can truly marvel at how puffy and pretty you are when riled up, but as your torso arches back, breasts searching for the sky, hand digging into his stomach for balance, Harry gets a view so tasty, there is actual drool pooling at the corner of his lip. 

The tip of his cock is disapearring between the folds of your pussy, instantly soaked and twitching from sensitivity, you’re bucking at a rapid pase, synchronising your bursts of pleasure. Harry knows this will be a core memory, something that will project across the lids of his shut eyes every single night for eternity. 

His hips are thrusting up to meet your own with soft slaps, all-encompassing pleasure twisting at his lower abdomen, building and peaking, and then you mewl out the most salacious of sounds- a wordless plea to help push you over the edge, and Harry is jutting with haste, wrapping his arms around your back, guiding your body atop his until the orgasm you’ve desired so deeply starts to reach its peak, and you’re urgently, desperately using Harry’s cock. 

You gazes lock- eyes blackened, lids hooded- and you utter out the sweetest and softest of pleas, “Wanna come.” 

Harry’s nodding avidly, holding you tighter, pressing you nearer, bucking his cock up into the folds of your pulsating pussy, each time his tip slip and brushes your entrance, he knows he wont last longer. All he can do is honestly ask of you, 

“Please.” He’s smothering you neck in kisses, “Please come for me.” 

That does it. You don’t care about Harry witnessing the pronographic whine that follows- you don’t care who hears or sees, all you care about is the earth-shattering pleasure swallowing you whole, your body crumbling, struggling to keep up your movements as your orgasm takes over completely, grabbing at his arms, his back, his torso. 

Harry’s stare is frozen as you start to unravel above him, but his hips are working overtime, pumping himself against your pussy and your chest is humming in tune. 

Sloppily, one hand raises to tenderly cup his cheek and you latch your lips to his in a sensual, slow tongue-tango. The unfamiliar feelings of affection fusing with arousal is the final straw for Harry. 

There’s no time to vocalise anything before he’s pushed completely over the edge and can only manage a filthy moan that vibrates against your lips as Harry comes undone and his thrusts turn uneven before his cock is spurting thick pleasure between the folds of your pussy. 

Your bodies slow down to a halt and you can no longer hold yourself up, collapsing atop Harry’s chest as he works to even his breathing. Both of you are surely sticky messes, and reality is rapidly returning. 

It’s only now that either of you glance around to see if anyone may have noticed, and though shame is sure to follow, that can only happen once you separate your sweaty, lethargic bodies. 

You let the moment linger a while longer before regretfully loosening your hold and peeling your skin from his own. When Harry whines out disapprovingly, you almost crawl right back into position, but that will be the start of round two. You need time to process round one. 

Harry puts up little fight, though every part of his living being wishes to have you cradled in his arms, cuddling up against his tired torso, instead pulling his trunks back up to hide his cock, he shifts and takes in the magnificent of views- you stand and gather your book, eyes glazed-over, cheeks flushed and chest unevenly heaving. 

“So you can be a good girl.”  

“So you can be something other than annoying.” 

Harry’s already thinking about the next time, and the next. But your thoughts are swiftly veering towards uncertainty and the excuse for a shower is the only thing keeping you from passing out right in front of him. 

“I can be anything you want, Y/n.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You definitely will. 

Harry acts completely unbothered when he returns his body to the position that started this entire encounter, retrieves his hat and settles in for what seems like a nap. Relaxed son of a bitch. Why isn’t it rubbing off on you? 

“I hope you do.” Harry hums from beneath the cap and all you can do is wander away from him and into the house in a complete daze. 

🍷

Dinner with Savina is, at best, depressing. Fork aimlessly stabbing at the same piece of lettuce, you clearly aren’t on this planet anymore. 

Dazed, avoiding the air around you as if it might trigger another feral response. Worst of all- you’re ashamed of how shameless you still feel in Harry’s wake.  

Savina has been eyeing you from across the table for well over ten minutes before that ghostly look on your face becomes too much to tolerate, 

“Why do you look like you just witnessed someone being ejected from a vehicle?” 

She’s squinting suspiciously when you briefly glance up at her with sheer mortification,

“That’s awful.”

“You’re acting like something awful did happen.” She defends, and you cave in an instant, quickly mumbling some type of explanation that has Savina asking, “What’s that?”

“He spanked me.”

Silence thickened with surprise settles between the two of you. In defeat, you put down the fork and settle back in the handcrafted dining chair and pout at Savina, clueless of how to process this information on your own. 

Her forehead and bushy brows are raised, her own meal discarded at this sizzling new development. But she’s observing the way your features morph from mortified to confused to sheer helplessness, and Savina will get to the bottom of this,

“And this is the face of someone who enjoyed it far more than they care to admit?”

“This is the face of someone who enjoyed it.” You sigh out. 

It’s just getting weirder, Savina finally concedes that you weren’t exaggerating when you expressed how confusing the dynamic you and Harry share truly is. Savina doesn’t know where to start,

“That’s… messed up, Y/n.”  

Then she tries the ‘positive reinforcement’ tactic, “Harry seems-”

“Don’t say his name.” You shush. 

“You’re so dramatic!”

“Yes!” Your hands flail wildly, “And he’s driving me crazy!”

Savina finds this all-too amusing, returning to her food and reveling in this obscure situation she is so grateful to witness first-hand, she hums provokingly,

“Ugh. I want a summer love.”

“We’re too old for this.” 

You’re trying to remind yourself of this- of any possible reason to prove the impossibility of getting closer to Harry. The only things currently going for you is memories of the past, and even those are being muddled by new perspectives. It’s nauseating. 

In a cheeky conclusion, Savina only coos out a request for one last thing,

“Please, let me live vicariously.” 

🍷

Déjà fuckin vu. 

A new day and… why is Harry here? He’s splayed out on that sunbed again, and you won’t be caught falling for it this time… regardless of how the sun casts sultry shadows along his torso, highlighting the divots of his stomach muscles… 

You hasten the drying process, roughly rubbing the towel along any damp skin- eyes trained carefully on his still and shining body.

But, you can’t help yourself from at least letting him know that you are well aware of his tactics, he must understand that you are nowhere near as easily tempted as you were before- that a lapse in judgement had lured you straight into his lap. (How many lapses can one’s judgement have before you have to admit it wasn’t a mistake?) 

Your softened feet pad along the warm tiles until they stop just before Harry’s resting figure. His ray bans hide any sign of consciousness, but it’s obvious that he’s already hyper-aware of your every move. 

You steal a couple of glances for your personal ‘before bed’montage, which by now consists mostly of visuals of Harry just, being Harry. 

It certainly helps to daydream about him warming beneath the rays, golden skin glistening, arms and torso taught and littered with all those tattoos and freckles, flexing just for you. 

Your figure hovers over him like a cloud and Harry is quick to tilt his sunglasses, balancing them on the bridge of his nose as his amuse-soaked gaze is peering up at you through wispy lashes. 

He waits on you, knowing that this is the second step in his trap. And how easily he seems to have coaxed you into it once more. He’s prepared to be chewed out, and his stomach twists in delight at the thought. 

And how simply you exacerbate his excitement when your arms come to rest across the curves of your underboob, brows furrowing and fresh-berry lips pursing to firmly inform Harry that,

“Try all you want, it won't work this time.”

“I wasn't trying last time.” He shrugs smugly. 

“... Well it won’t work today.”

Harry shifts himself to an upright position, his large palm lazily sliding the shades from his face, as he plans to ensure you get the perfect view of him. 

He feels like a teenager, attempting to convince you of his attractiveness, but there’s an underlying giddiness that always follows and he prays you feel it too. Even if he could resist teasing, the silly scrunch of your nose and squinted searing gaze guarantees he won’t stop.

“Spiralling again, sweetheart?”

“After interacting with you? Always.” You scoff and Harry’s skin melts under your glare. 

“Why does that turn me on?” He whines tauntingly.

“Dont ask me, I rarely understand you.”

Harry almost laughs aloud and with each passing second, the ache to shamelessly rake your stare along his limbs becomes a challenge not to succumb to his will. Yet you cannot possess yourself to walk away just yet. 

So you keep your eyes fixed on his own, watching as playfulness and enticement colour his eyes in hues of deep green, desperate for his next words to be enough to dismiss you from dangerously slinking back onto his lap. 

It’s like Harry has figured out that he occupies a space in your head. Like he’s weaselled his way in there and anticipates your every thought- your every move. 

Why else would his next move be to slightly part his legs, like a damn invitation, juicy thighs begging for a bite? His elbow presses into his thigh, balancing his chin atop his hand as he watches you like it’s his only reason for living, choosing his next words carefully, 

“I don't believe that. I think you understand me just fine.”

“Whatever. I need to head inside before I burn.” If that were true, it wouldn’t be from the sun's rays, but the desperate desire to fuck him senseless.

“Ever the cautious little one.” He coos through the fondest of grins.

You muster the will to take a step back, and then another, shrugging knowingly at laxness,

“Take that up with the sun, Harry. Put some sunscreen on while you’re at it.”

One final glance and you turn on your heels, heading for the sliding doors as Harry’s boastful voice sings out, 

“Not necessary, but thank you for being such a doll.” 

“Don’t come crying to me.” You hum contently, proud of how well you had resisted his charm, but body still pining for his hold.

🍷

Sunset painted the blue skies with pastel candyfloss peach and pink, clouds casting the trees into shadows, and with the most idealistic view of the orange-streaked ocean visible from your balcony, allowing the last soft rays to cast the villa in warmth, lulling you into a cosy daze in front of the tv, legs splayed out on the sofa, eyes slipping in and out of focus. 

Everything slowly melts into euphoria, the dialogue on screen turns to muffles, waves kissing the shore, and you can’t recall the last time things felt so easy- so still. 

But your departure from consciousness is cruelly interrupted by the thudding of a fist against the front door. Whoever knocks has hasty determination as they hardly pause before tapping the hardwood again. 

All remnants of a possible nap were gone with the setting sun and your bare feet were padding along the cool linoleum without thought, heading towards the persistent knocking with a desperate desire for it to just stop. 

It must be Savina, and she must have left her keys behind again, and if that’s the case, she’s about to receive a mouthful and a half. You’ve already sucked in a scolding breath whilst unlocking and opening the door, only to be met with the surprising sight of a very flustered and very red-faced Harry, frowning brow matching his pretty puckered pout. 

All you can do is exhale and before the giggles can even register to bubble, he’s taking a desperate step forward, pointing his finger and warning,  

“Do not laugh.”

You can’t even, staring back at him in utter shock, scanning the unbelievable redness of his skin, 

“Oh, dear God.”

Harry’s shamefully tilts his head, rosy arms folding atop his chest as he bashfully peers up at you through puffy lashes, 

“Help me.” 

Without hesitation, your body steps aside to welcome him, watching as he pitifully slinks past, discarding his slides, and making great effort to avoid garnering your attention. 

Shutting the door, latching the lock, and giving Harry one more look over before beginning to walk past his sulking stature, you make for the bathroom. Certain that he’s trailing closely behind, you allow a good laugh to slip, shaking your head with incredulity, 

“What did I tell you?”

You can hear him change directions as his feet squeak and shuffle away from the kitchen in pursuit of your recently occupied spot on the sofa. 

All you can do is embrace an eye-roll whilst wandering toward the bathroom and locating your trusted tube of after-sun before heading towards Harry’s now resting body, slumped far too comfortably into the cushions. You mutter,

“Make yourself at home.”

Something resembling a glimmer of hope flashes across his features, followed by a grimace of further flaring his skin as you hold out the half-used tube of eucalyptus, patiently waiting for him to accept the offer. 

He wants to hold your hand and wishes you would linger a moment longer so he could revel in this foreign feeling of appearing before you in such a ‘weakened’ state. Instead, all he can think of is the need to complain choking at his chest,

“Feel like Satan put my face between his ass cheeks.” 

“You look it.” 

“Everything hurts.” He whines.

“I’m sure.” You concur with a cheeky lilt. 

Your gaze hasn’t wavered from his face, and Harry wonders if you can see the shy blush mixing into his sunburn- would it be worse if you did? 

Luckily, there isn’t much that can deter your examination, no longer masking amusement as your features freely raise in awe at the sudden thought,

“How long did it take for you to notice?” 

He says everything by shamefully darting his gaze into the distance, and it would be cruel to deny you the right to laugh aloud- hand pressed to your forehead, chest bobbing with each chuckle- which he allows you for longer than you imagined before interjecting,

 “S’not funny!”

Harry knew he had to leave all pride on the welcome mat when he made the almost instant decision to ask for your help- especially since a sunburn could be dealt with on his own- but he was only and he sure feels a sting of humility. 

He scoots to the edge of the couch, returning his feet to the ground before leaning forward and balancing one arm atop his swim trunk-clad thigh. Harry wastes no time in uncapping the lid, smearing a large dollop into his palm, about to rub his hands together and presumably smother and lather his face.

A tiny part of you has faith that he’ll treat his skin with a tender touch, but he practically slaps his palms across his cheeks before transferring the cool gel and it becomes all to clear how rough he intends to be and you can’t stop yourself from a gasp of frenzied panic, 

“What are you doing?” You try to keep your tone from expressing how disturbed you are by the man on your sofa, especially when he peers up at you through a curiously innocent gaze,

“What?” He peers up at you with such pretty innocence. 

“You’re so aggressive. It hurts to watch.” 

Your lips form a pout to match his own, and if you weren’t so sure that Harry was only here, in your home, out of convenience, you might be swayed to believe that the small smile swallowing his pout was a result of your kindness.

He remains as still as a statue, too fearful of making another mistake that would surely result in another sigh of disappointment on your part. With his stare frozen and directed at your own, he makes it perfectly clear that he plans to make no moves without further instruction, seeking guidance by asking,

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“Give it here.” You offer him your hand and his own darts out to accept, forcing you to ignore how nice it feels to have him at your will. 

He seems to feel the same, at least from the soft smile threatening to dimple at his cheeks. With your free hand, you swipe your fingers along his palm and collect all remnants of lotion, edging forward and leaning your body over his own. 

With a lack of certainty, you release his hand and with the lightest of touches raise your palms to his face, left hand cupping at his jaw, confidently, but tenderly, tilting his chin to the ceiling.

Harry peers up at you through those charcoal spider leg lashes, curious to see you continue your mission, totally at your will- nothing new. He gratefully lets you guide his face wherever you feel need be, and he fights hard against allowing his eyes to flutter shut. 

And you do, gently spreading the gel along his forehead, creating little circular swirls along his skin, pretending that your palms don’t have a pulsating electric current, creating sharp sparks as they trail his soft, freckled skin. You worry that any further contact will cause your body to short-circuit, allowing all shyness to surface in blotches across your cheeks. 

Your featherlight touch only leaves Harry in desperate need of further comfort, almost instinctually pressing his forehead into your palm like a needy cat. 

If he’s getting a taste of what it’s like to be welcomed into your bubble, Harry wants to have another bite, and another, coating his skin in your sweet, sugary loves, hoping you won't ever let him go. 

But you do, swirling your ring finger along his forehead once more for good luck before sorrowfully releasing his face. Neither of you let your disappointment surface, instead sharing shy smiles as you lazily step back.

Harry’s gaze follows you, and even now as your head tilts to scan the room, the intensity of his focus is palpable, drumming the pulse beneath your own wrists, it feels like you’ve been cluelessly lured into a pressure cooker, slowly boiling you inside out. 

The only way to cool down is to return your attention to his own, eyes like magnets desperately seeking out their counterpart. And as the two of you glue your gazes with such ease, Harry would be amiss to tease,

“Who knew you had a soft side.”

“Don’t start.” 

You shut him down before his observation has the chance to further sink in, knowing that if he catches your sympathetic gaze for a moment longer, it would only reinforce how correct he was- and worse, how good it felt to love on him. 

No longer in contact with his skin, the feel of warmth refuses to let his touch leave, your fingertips burning like his face was past boiled. 

He sits idly, merely enjoying the soothing sensation tingling along his burns, swiftly sinking into the cushions, his heart swelling and full, and his head… which, now that he noticed, is throbbing in tune with his singing chest. 

Harry can’t avoid the sudden wince surging up his spine as he stupidly presses a palm to his forehead and reignites the burn, 

“Head still feels like a rave.” 

He’s cute- too cute for your heart to retreat into trepidation- and for a change, you bask in the fuzzy fondness, face and limbs all relaxing under the goofy gaze of his adorable helplessness. 

Once more, you disappear down the hallway, rummaging through a cabinet for painkillers. As reach your next destination- the kitchen- you retrieve a glass and call out, 

“How have you survived this long?” 

“Pure luck.” He thinks. 

Harry looks like he feels sorry for himself- the idea alone warms you with familiarity. You extend out your offering of meds and water and instruct him to, 

“Drink the whole glass.” 

He does, with enthusiastic haste, evoking an odd excitement at the sight of his enthusiastic submission. Attempting to rid this sensation, you subtly shake your head and walk over to the vacant spot on the sofa, plopping down with a soft thump.

Harry wipes away the trail of water dripping down the corner of his damp lips, turning to look at you with increasing admiration, 

“You’re an angel, I owe you.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Add it to my tab.”

This is surely the part where Harry gets up and says goodbye, but if anything, he seems more comfortable here than anywhere else. You’re watching him intently, attempting to anticipate his next move, praying he will leave you to pine on your lonesome. 

Instead, Harry slinks back into the cushions, shuffling himself until comfortable. It takes little to give up and give in to his company, taking the liberty to pull your legs and fold them to rest (), reaching out for the remote and unpausing the show Harry so woefully interrupted. 

He glances at you, and then the television, and then back to your still features, 

“What are we watching?” 

“Fleabag.”

“Seen it before?” 

“Plenty.”

Expecting Harry to sit quietly was extremely optimistic. He does try- really- but there’s just so much to digest! “Is that her sister?” He whispers. “What’s the deal with the statue?” Two minutes later, “Are they married or…?” 

“Let’s start over.” You make sure to groan dramatically, 

“You don’t have to-”

“Zip it, strawberry boy.” 

Confusion orbits his moony eyes, wondering if he missed out on something. You must notice because you simply shrug and casually elaborate,

“Y’look like one, with your pink cheeks and little freckles.”

Harry likes that. He really likes that. He’s still watching you- all lovesick- as your focus fixes on rewinding from the very final episode to the very first. 

As the intro starts, he tilts his head and seeks your attention,

“Y/n?” 

“Harry.”

“I always knew you had a soft side.” He teases knowingly. 

“Shush.”

It’s strange… why does it feel as peaceful with Harry by your side? Perhaps more than. But you’re not gonna think about that right now. Not while a sweet strawberry boy is sitting so near, looking cosier than ever, ready to embrace one of your favourite shows. That can wait until tomorrow.

---

Let me know what you think! - Emmy. xo

[messyemmy]

Fuck Love- Valentine's Day Grapejuice (fic) Flashbacks.

[This is part of the Grapejuice universe but can be read as a stand-alone one shot! Harry's best friend, Jack, is Y/n's younger brother.]

Premise: When your boyfriend stands you up on the most 'romantic' night of the year, Harry shows up with a sweet solution.

Grapejuice / Other Writing

Word count: 2.5k.

💗

The living room’s yellow lamps are the only lights casting through the empty house- empty other than yourself, curled up on the cosiest sofa- and it looks like it’s going to be a night of misery. 

Dressed in such a pretty tulle-draped cherry red dress, matching heels discarded at the entrance hall, you really are having a pity party. 

Being three hours late is one thing, it’s another thing to go radio-silent just as your boyfriend seems to have.

These dinner plans have been in the works since January, and even though you’ve come to expect this type of behaviour from him, hope had somehow riddled past the obvious- only to be dismissed once more. 

A year ago, you might have still been waiting in the entrance hall until your feet ached along with your heart, frantically glancing out the window at any sign of car headlights, anxiety punching you in the gut over and over until eventually, you would end up on this same sofa, mulling in sorrow. 

In the silence, you soak up sadness- only coming out of this haze when the soft sound of the front door unlocking garners your attention.

And then a mop of soft curly hair peaks round the corner, paired with the squishiest cheeks and softest smile. 

Nobody needs to know how quickly your muscles relax at the reassurance of no longer being alone- even if that company happens to be your extremely annoying and antagonistic brother’s equally annoying and antagonistic best friend, Harry Styles. 

Dressed in comfy dark grey sweatpants and his favourite navy hoodie, Harry looks so comfortable as he slips out of his scuffed trainers and neatly toes them off into the shoe pile. 

He carefully sets down a pastel pink rectangular box on the nearest side table and offers no formal greeting as he meanders over to your wallowing figure. 

There’s a thick coat of sympathy painting his stare- the type that you can see from afar, and it has your fists clenching at the thought of him feeling sorry for you. What a low blow. 

His shoes stop just before the sofa and he peers down at you knowingly.

Though Harry’s face shows no sign of pity, it’s his words that have you wishing the earth would swallow him whole, 

“Did he stand you up again?” 

“Don't rub it in.” You warn, and his features instantly soften apologetically. 

“Didn't mean any offence, Clutz.” 

Harry cautiously sits on the arm of the couch, watching tentatively as your furrowed brows turn from one of frustration to one of hurt. 

The type of face he rarely sees- and when he does, it scrunches his body with something he can’t quite find the word for.

All he knows is that he wants to do anything it takes to make things better, or at the least soothe that adorable frown decorating your glowing features. 

The palm of your hand greets your forehead with a forceful press of disappointment, and for some reason, you can’t stop your head from shaking, nor can you stop the words suddenly whispering his way,

“I should've known.” 

Now it’s Harry’s turn to furrow in bewilderment, he certainly can't understand how you’re the one to blame for any of this.

Is this truly how you see things- that you’re in the wrong for having expectations?

“You shouldn't have to assume everything will end in disappointment.” 

He plops down on the sofa with a soft thump, shifting himself comfortably to face you. It's a totally defensive reaction when your stare snaps and shocks his own, eyes squinting,

“And you should find a girlfriend you can prove that to.” 

“I'd ask you if you weren't taken.” Harry shrugs off your dismissal like a pro, incapable of dimming his boyishness to pure darkness. 

Perhaps it works, because your face is washed of all prior feelings of upset, and it looks like you’re fighting a fearsome battle against a smile peaking at the corner of your lips. 

But just as easy as it was to settle, it’s just as easy to spiral, and now you’re a jumble of thoughts all surrounding Harry’s current intentions, suspiciously crossing your arms along your chest, 

“What are you doing here? Thought Jack was out with Millie?” 

“He is. ‘M just lonely.”  Harry shrugs off the small sting of vulnerability,

“And I figured you might be here, feeling the same.” 

“ I am not lonely, Harry.”

“Alone, then… On February fourteenth.”

Harry has his foot in his mouth and he doesn’t even know it- no clue that every word he utters is like venom in your veins, and you’re mere seconds away from taking out every ounce of hurt on him. 

Hurt doesn't begin to cover it. This ‘relationship’ of yours is three and a half years past a fling- deep in the depths of a complicated, disconnected companionship that more often than not left you a tearful, insecure mess. 

Your heart- and head- know that the relationship is fading, but security and closeness are not something you can find in just anyone- the threat of going from a duet back to a single 23-year-old is rather daunting.  

Harry strolled his way right into the line of fire with his misguided attempts to express that he understands how you feel- that he knows you. Instead, it’s coming out like he enjoys the notion that this is how you spend your Friday night. 

And he’s looking at you with those big clueless emerald eyes, practically begging to be lashed out at. His wish is your command,

‘Can you stop being so negative about my relationship?” 

Harry’s shoulders stiffen in puzzled suspense. He knows he shouldn't be surprised or offended by your mood this evening- hell, his mood is no better, it’s just another year of pining over his wanting for you- but he hadn’t expected your anger to be fully directed his way. 

He can feel the air between your bodies thickening with anger, and chooses his next words with great caution, 

“I was just stating the facts.”

“Well, thank you Harry for rubbing it in that my boyfriend doesn't care enough about me to even show up for Valentine's Day.” 

Your voice is louder than he likes, harsh and loaded with hurt. Pain that is clearly caused by his choice of words, and all in an instant, the realisation of how badly he has miscommunicated his desire to bond with you, 

“I'm sorry.” He’s earnest, “I didn't think of it that way-”

“You never think, do you?” 

“Alright, I deserved that one.” 

Harry concedes with shame, hoping that the steaming anger spewing from your cutely flaring nostrils will soon fade, and it is fading, because that all too familiar fear of cruelty comes rushing back, convincing you that there’s no right to be upset- even if your feelings are hurt.

“Just… there's no need to pity me, alright?” 

And you know he means no harm- he hardly ever does- how could Harry know the insides of your relationship if he’s never been in a serious one himself?

He should know better than to poke a grumpy bear, even in an attempt to be kind. He'll certainly know now, 

It’s all you can ask of him, and Harry feels his mouth dry up at the implication that he sees you as anything less than perfect. How the hell can he make that clear? 

“I don't pity you. I pity the man who chooses to be anywhere other than near you.” He’s watching for your reaction, “You'd have to be insane.” 

“Tell him that.” You scoff with incredulity. 

“I will. Give me your phone.”

“Absolutely not.” Suddenly Harry’s lurching for you, hands playfully roaming as he jovially searches for your phone.

And you’re arms are flailing, trying to swat him away in between exasperated giggles and gasps, “Harry!” 

He stops his prodding, body leaning close enough that his senses are surrounded by your sweet jasmine perfume, and all you can do to stay sane under his hold, scolding, 

“You’re a menace.”

Harry’s the picture of enjoyment as his entire face scrunches into an even greater smile- if possible- as he rides the high of your heartwarming laughter, willing to do anything to keep that gorgeous giggle playing on repeat, 

“‘M gonna say, ‘Hey dickhead, open your eyes!’ And then I’ll whisk you away on a date.”

“You’ve got it all planned out, then.” How can you ignore the fondness you feel for Harry’s romantic valiance? 

“Hold on a sec.”

Harry has a strike of genius, removing himself from your shared bubble with such sudden disregard that a shock of disappointment rattles your spine. 

Your gaze trails his lanky figure as he heads for the entrance hall, quickly retrieving the mystery box from earlier.

With surprising relief at his haste, Harry removes the cardboard lid and sinks back down into the sofa cushions. 

He shuffles closer until the searing brush of his cotton-clad knee makes contact with your now crisscrossed calf, and thank the heavens that the box he presents you is alluring enough to dismiss the rush of excitement his closeness evokes. 

A container housing the most mouthwatering stack of thickly chocolate-drizzled brownies. Enough brownies to put your frazzled being into a comatose state.

Eyes oozing with hungry desire, Harry hides his pride well and offers the box your way,

“Here we go.”

To avoid almost snatching the box and needily digging in, you eye him up suspiciously, pondering the origin of these suspiciously alluring treats, 

“Who were these meant for?”

“Me.” He states simply. 

“Ah, one of your many suitors, or… suitress?” 

“Curious, hm?” When you scoff shyly, Harry softly chuckles and clarifies, “From ‘m mum.”

“She’s the best.”

“No, they’re yours.”

Exhaling fondly, Harry carefully shakes the box like he’s offering a treat to a well-behaved puppy. You can only offer a bashful refusal, 

Harry chuckles deeply and sets the brownies down on his lap before he picks one from the top of the pile and dramatically parts his puckered lips, letting his tongue and teeth lazily engulf the dense fudgy cake.

He moans filthily, chewing a couple of times before coaxing through bites,

“Oh, c’mon, you know you want one… Can see you eyeing them.”

“Shush.”

“C’monnnn Y/n, you know you wanna.” 

Harry’s cutely tempting coos are almost too much to resist. Your eyes are darting from the brownies begging to be devoured, and the devious smile stretching across his entire face, 

“I don’t want to indulge in anything Valentine's related.”

“Fuck love, you say?”

“Fine.” Harry agrees casually, because, of course, he already has a solution for this dilemma,

“These aren’t Valentine's brownies. They’re ‘fuck love’ brownies.”

That’s all the permission you need to soothe your sorrows with a sugary overload of chocolate comfort as you reach over with pathetic haste and grab ahold of the nearest brownie. 

“Atta girl.” He praises.

The dessert disappears into your mouth with such momentum that Harry almost misses the entire thing.

But when he sees your ruby-stained lips coated in sweet chocolate and you continue to chew contently, Harry is a mess of all-encompassing love.

He embraces the love he has for you, as he has time and time before, and it always feels like the very first time he realised that he had been falling in love with you his entire life. 

The two of you share a couple more brownies in pleasant silence, while Harry sneaks glances and observes curiously as your brows constantly shift from frustration to satiation- You can’t settle on sorrow or satisfaction. 

But how can Harry say it aloud in a way that would make sense to either of you?

Because if it were so simple, he would profess it over and over, and perhaps you would be sitting here overjoyed instead of so overwhelmed with disappointment. 

Harry’s going in for number three and your gloomy gaze is glued to your hand, still cradling a half-consumed brownie and presenting your new theory, 

“I’m starting to think love is some cruel form of punishment.”

“Maybe you’re right.” 

Harry thinks being in love with you can be as painful as it is rewarding. Watching your heart lose hope more with each day, he feels a type of hurt that he imagines you must be experiencing with each disappointment. 

And he can’t help that it makes him spiteful, and jealous, and perhaps he’s secretly praying for your relationship's downfall.

Which has him constantly riddled with guilt, but that fades in rare moments like these, when he gets a taste of what life loving you would entail. 

Perhaps you don’t notice how normal- natural- it feels to spend time with Harry one-on-one because the dull ache in your chest has yet to subside, even with the warm comfort of Harry and chocolate dessert, it’s impossible to dismiss your heartbreak. 

All you can muster is a disappointed sigh before finishing off the rest of your brownie, halfheartedly dusting the crumbs from your fingers and concluding, 

“Fuck love, yeah?”

“Fuck love.”

Harry agrees- for your sake, and perhaps his own. But as the words are leaving his lips, bitter betrayal of the heart harshly burns his tongue, and if he doesn’t deter this moodiness soon, he risks throwing up all his honesty about loving you, as well as the brownies. 

Chocolate was the first step in making up for a rough start to the evening, the second was to create a worthy distraction, and though he would prefer doing that with just his company, Harry fears he might further provoke your mood. 

Harry’s about to spend the next couple of hours scorched beneath your bare soles, one palm resting along your ankle, desperately resisting the urge to caress the other along the slopes of your calves. 

The safer bet is to suggest turning on the telly, which guarantees an avid nod from yours truly, reaching out for the remote.

He puts the remaining brownies on the coffee table, his breath hitching as your legs carelessly and comfortably stretch out and rest atop his mid-thigh. 

Comfortable familiarity embraced you as soon as his hand wrapped around your exposed skin, and you began aimlessly scrolling, tilting your head to garner Harry’s attention, 

“What should we watch?”

“You’ve got mail-”

“No romance.”

Harry won’t argue with you on that one- if pretending to be part of the ‘I hate love’ club will soothe you right now, he’ll do it. Even if it twists his insides with treachery.

“Right. Fuck love.”

The two of you continue debating over the perfect choice, and it’s a quick consensus to select the most action-packed thriller that any streaming service has to offer. 

As the intro music fills the room with a foreboding melody, you try your hardest to ignore how easily you'll accept your boyfriend's apology tomorrow, and Harry tries even harder to pretend he isn’t so consumed with loving you that he’ll wait patiently when you do.

💗

Hope you enjoy it! Part 5 coming soon! - Emmy. xo 💞

[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]

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]

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]

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 is soooo amazing! I just binged it!!! Do you know how many parts there will be? Or when you’ll next update?

Regardless pls add me to your taglist

This makes me so happy! Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying so far!! 🥹

I'm estimating another three or four parts (7/8 in total), and I'm currently working on part 5! 🍷

I think I'll be posting a Grapejuice-universe Valentines day flashback one shot, so that'll be up soon... any ideas for this are welcome!! 🥰

AND I'm finishing up a request for an angsty best friends trope (still taking requests for "how would Y/n interact with trope!Harry").

Hopefully this answers all the questions and thank you so so much to everyone interacting with the series!! - Emmy. Xo 💞

[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.”

---

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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]

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 dance music muffled behind the apartment door were audible the moment you reached the last step of your ascent, arriving on the tenth 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, but not sweet enough to have you climbing those heinous flights of white marble stairs. 

Stopping briefly, you take one last 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 have constantly 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 surprisingly real ivory lilies. At the end of the lengthy passageway- walls tiled in deep ocean green, marbled floors- was an extremely eccentric elevator, complete with an old-school golden gate..

You had hardly knocked once before the heavy wood swung open, your brother, Jack- cheeks rosy, eyes glassy but glimmering- was standing on the other side with a blinding grin. 

“Finally!”

He let out a sort-of cheer, arms raising before he fully engulfed you.

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 breaks the hug, pressing a brisk kiss to your forehead, loosely slinging his arm atop your shoulder, pulling you into the entrance hall of his penthouse, and thanking you for coming,

“It really wouldn’t have been the same without you here.”

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.” 

The deep, dripped in amusement, and far too familiar voice of Harry. 

He leans into you  and a wave of fresh mint suddenly encomassing your senses and the hairs on your skin shiver in betrayal of your belief that indulging in Harry Styles would be nothing but trouble.

So, you intend to remain unbothered, going back to garnishing your drink with juicy berries,taking a lengthy sip, closing your eyes momentarily before turning around to face him.

“I could say the same about you.” 

Harry 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. The mere sound of your deadpan 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…” 

“-too much? I would never.” You feign disapproval, adding an eyeroll as you took another sip of your drink, humming 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 swoons- and it’s not a lie- his body is buzzing with newfound excitement. “Always good to see you, Y/n.”

“Likewise, Styles.” You nod nobley and tend to your drink once more.

He mimicks, 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. Pairing 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. Really, freaking, annoyingly so.

It had become one of the things you dreaded about visiting home- the confusing thoughts plaguing your clarity over the years is, 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 everything, really.

None of this made him any less annoying though, which was the only saving grace as you feared what would have already happened between you two otherwise. After too many ‘almosts’to count, it was becoming a more than trialsome battle against your conscious. 

Harry was your brothers longest, 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 swallow another sip.

“Jack didn’t mention you were back.” His brows furrow.

You can seel his frustrated disappointment stirring from a mile away, and before any sensitivity can make its way to the surface, you shrug him off, 

“Speaking of Jack, I have my reservations but overall, I do quite enjoy the apartment.” 

Harry’s brow furrow warps into raised curiosity as he waits for you to continue,

“Tthough I can’t imagine the size makes sense for one person.” .

“Then it’s a good thing he isn’t living alone.” He states.

It was your turn to let your brows furrow, motioning for him to elaborate.

“I’m living here too.” He shrugs, “There’s three bedrooms, so it just made sense.” 

You straightened up, and for some odd reason, feelings of confusion turn to ones of jealously. Jealous of being out of the loop, jealous of Harry, and of Jack. And perhaps mostly, you blame yourself for moving away. For losing touch and letting it be. It’s all too much, and Harry’s right here, the perfect person to take it out on, 

“And I assume you stay here when you aren’t out galivanting across Europe, or LA or whatever?” 

“Ouch Klutz.” His hand over his heart, “Y’know it hurts me when you trivialise my profession.” And he’s only half joking.

“Well don’t take it to heart. And don’t call me ‘Klutz’. We’re not kids and I’m not clumsy anymore.”

“You don’t just stop being clumsy.” His chuckle is doting. 

“I’m more careful now.” You inform, chin tilted to the ceiling, “Better judgement.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Harry’s a mess 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, and couple silver chains lay across your neck- matching 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 to even mention Y/n would be visiting this week.”

Harry scoffs, finishing the last of his drink. And he thinks this is why Jack deserves a good smack over the head because it may have been minor information for him, but for Harry, this was monumental news. 

“Absolutely guttered. Honestly mate.” He dramatically feigns disappointment and glancing over at you, “Y;know how I feel about Y/n. Cruel to leave me so unprepared.”

Jack only let out a bellowing laugh and nudged your shoulder with his own.

“Sorry I didn’t give you time to buy candles and roses. Next time, you’ll be the first to know.” Jack jokes along. Everything is a comedic bit to these guys, you’re sure of it. 

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.

“Don’t forget the chocolate covered strawberries and champagne.” Harry adds and turns his suave attention to you, “That sound’s good, right, Klutz?”

“Of course.” Your tone becomes one mocking scolding teacher,“But Harry, as I’ve told you on numerous occasions, you would hardly be able to handle me.” You tone becomes playfully mocking and familiar teasing, but some truth still rings through.

Harry’s face stiffens, and then his stature follows suit. Leaning forward, his voice deepening and eyes darkened with desire, 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. Except now, he leaves your spine shivering and your morals packing up and ready to head off on a vacation. 

Your eyes quickly darted over to Jack, his attention already straying elsewhere, and 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 nod 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 he expected his confusion to melt away along with his coherence but his thoughts appear to be even more fixated than before.

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!” Jack is 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 asks, 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 knows you aren’t  fond of his constant referencing of the past.

“Fuck off.” You responded with an eyeroll and another drag of your smoke.

“You’re the splitting image.” Harry presses,  “I mean, minus the septum piercing, and the douchey boyfriend. Well…” He glances briefly, but noticeably at the blandly dressed guy still lingering by your side.

“Fuck you.” Despite his obvious digs, you’re rather impressed by his courage, and your tone remains playful enough.

“Yeah? Been on my mind since I can remember.”

“Bet?”

“On my life.” He;s careless with the wink he directs your way.

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 lchuckles, but it exuded 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. Shifting to face you fully and meeting your side-profile, he states matter-of-factly,

“I couldn’t imagine you putting up with that kind of boredom, you should quit while you’re ahead.”

Now he’s stepping over the line, stumbling right into an unforbidden territory that would unknowingly leave him wishing he had kept his mouth shut. 

“And what exactly does your opinion have to do with anything? Considering you can’t speak from experience.”

“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.” 

He was uncertain about almost everything in life, but not about the idea of being with you.

“Have we not had this conversation before?”Your patience is wearing thin, 

“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. So he simply tries,

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions.”

You rolled your eyes, and stood up straight now, turning to him sternly and intentionally invading his bubble, 

“For your sake, I surely hope assuming is as good as the real thing.”

Two of your fingers tap 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 don’t wait to see his response, stepping back and heading towards the bathroom. His skin feeling 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 didn’t feel, and had never felt 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 start, but Harry was quick to cut you off, leaning that much closer,

“Giive 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 ringing your ears on repeat, ‘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 interrupts, 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 only once 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. 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 as he whispers,

“Let me kiss you.”

“No.”

“Please?” He says it so softly, your eyes flutter shut, seconds away from closing the gap, when out of nowhere,

“Harry?” it came from far at first, but was quickly followed by another, “Harry!”

It was Jack- drunk and far too 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. As for Jack, he was avidly nodding along, head droopier, eyes drowsier, exclaiming,  “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.” Hetook 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 soon.

🍷

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 your-”

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 as hell.

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 groan, 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 mused, 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…”

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. Head glued to the table, and Harry shifts 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.” He nods 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 nods,

“My favourite part was when you were about to let me kiss you… Pity about the interruption.” His 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.” Huffing out quickly, brows furrowing.

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 leans 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 mimick.

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?” Harry confirms and Jack nods lazily. 

“Really Harry, it’s not necessary- “ 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, 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.

“Let’s stop here first.” 

Harry squeezed your hand gently, bringing your gaze to his as he motions 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, complimenting, 

“Everything smells so good!” 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 raises quizzically, using the back of your hand to dust off any excess crumbs.

“Nothing.” He muses, “You’re cute, is all.”

“Stop.” You dismiss his words and your cheek’s desire to blush. 

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.” And you nod along, 

“Haven’t been to one of these in years.”

“Used to come to these things often?” He’s curious about anything and everything to do with you. 

“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.

“Mm.” You agree 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 agrees with a large grin at greatly sparked by your unintentional approval.

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 cautiously. 

“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. 

And, my god was the pricing high. 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.” Harry says, genuinely happy. Harry had hated seeing you so stressed, always seeming on the brink of tears.

“I liked the new album, by the way.” You say and that sparks his attention.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he’s just been told he won an award, and all you can do is nod.

“Don’t let it get to your head now.” 

Though one of your favourite pastimes is teasing Harry, an odd part of you wants to make sure he knows you’re being serious about your admiration for his latest music. 

He does not need to know that you find yourself listening to his songs more often with time- nobody needs to know that. But what you will say is, 

“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 when your free hand wrapped around his wrist and he felt stunned by the warmth of your hold as you scold,

“Hey. 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. She joins them, leaving you leaning across the bar, perched on your elbows, a gleeful smile sent his way.

“Care for a drink, senorita?” 

Your ears perked up at that, and Harry’s already pretending to roll up his sleeves, gently bumping his hip with yours. 

Harry reaches over and grabbed a cocktail glas, getting to work, grabbing an assortment of drinks and ingredients. And you found your eyes wandering to his arms and hands, and how… big they are. 

Harry must have felt you staring, looking over at you in between mixing ice and some pink concoction when he just can’t help but saying,

“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, thoughts suddenly surrounded by all the ways he can tell you just how beautiful he believes you to be. He nods profusely, 

“Incredible. Definitely designer right?”

“You’ll die.” You lean closer, straight-faced, and Harry waits for you like a fish to a hook as your face lights up and your voice raises in excited pitch,

“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 marvel.

“Matches your dress.” He points out, placing 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 whine, 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 say 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 scoffs, “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’s trying to laugh but it came out sounding like a failed-beatboxer, 

“-fucking strong. Where did you get this?” Attempting to swallow residual coughs as he stretches 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 teases, still holding back from coughing.

“Get fucked.” You huffed jovially, 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?” 

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, pretty boy.” You rest your head atop his shoulder. 

First you call him pretty, then this? 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 clavicle 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?”

“That’s random.” He said curiously, watching as you turned back and continued examining the bottles.

“I know.” You agree, back still facing 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, there was a whole box of things from his first bedroom that were now stored in his bedroom closet, “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, shutting the door behind you and walking 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 giggle fondly, careful not to give any feelings you may have harboured away.

“You sang.” He says.

“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 taunt, glancing up to gauge his reaction.

Harry couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching, eyes rolling.

“He was cute,” You pry, “Didn’t he have a thing for me?”

Harry scoffs in horror. 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 and you’re very fascinated as his pupils dilate, 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-”

“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 persuade, 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.

“Go, on then.” you give 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 suggest, scared to speak above a whisper.

Harry plays it cool, nodding along as you climbed out of his lap, following suit until you were now both standing face-to-face.

Neither makes 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 snickers.

“Yeah.”

“What if-”

“Harry. I said shut it and put your mouth to good use.”

He blinks blinks once more, and then nods profusely, “Yes ma’am.”

---

Get ready for part twoooo! - Emmy xox.