#prince harry styles smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jezebelblues · 2 months ago

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forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

masterlist

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.”

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eveningepiphany · 1 year ago

Text

go with it | H.S oneshot

my masterlist!

summary: your ex boyfriend— someone you never want to talk to again— is searching for you at a party. trying to do anything to deter him or get away, you spot harry, and a plan comes to fruition.

warnings: cheating ex, surprise kiss, sexual tension, partial mentions of sexual stuff, love/hate relationship, protective! h, fluff, cuddling and lots of kissing

a/n: I’m sorry but this gif actually has me in a chokehold. his jawline, his chewing, his FROWN. literally melting 🫠

———

There was never a day you thought you’d be b-lining to Harry of all people.

Especially not with the intention of once getting there, that you would be slamming your lips against his.

However, you already know you’d rather face a pit of blood-thirsty snakes then be forced into a conversation with your asshole of an ex boyfriend.

Who you know is currently seeking you out, because when you’d caught glimpse of him scouring the groups of people inside the kitchen, after coming back from the bathroom— your stomach dropped, and someone tapped your shoulder.

“He’s your ex, right?” The girl had said this with a light scrunch of her nose as she looked over to him. Her face riddled with a sense of disgust you couldn’t relate to more If you tried.

You had nodded, to which she replied, “Well, he’s asking everyone if you’re here and where you are. Going by his personality I’m assuming you’re gonna want to avoid that.”

You’d never wanted to hug someone more then her in that moment.

At the information she’d so kindly shared with you, your first priority was getting out of the house.

The front door wasn’t an option since he is near the only hallway that leads it it. So out through the back patio, where a smaller group of people were mingling by the fire, was easily your best option.

You knew this was where he’d be likely looking next, so you ran out the door. Unsure if you are about to just find a way to jump the fence and make your escape or…

Either way, you knew if he managed to talk to you, you’d be getting an unwanted earful of advances.

He’d beg with his nasally voice for you to give him a chance, and then go on about the same bitter ending you’d both faced. To his own fault, of course.

He was talking to multiple other girls over the damn state while you were together. And once you found out, it confirmed your outlook on his person.

He of course was charming and nice at first. But it was almost in a sleazy way when you think back to it. He’d yelled at you when you bought up his adulterous habits, and you never looked back after that.

Once you were outside, you were considering your options, but you spotted a person on the other side of the decking.

The second your eyes locked on Harry, it was a done deal.

If you were to seem like you were in another relationship, he would be much more likely to back off. Much more likely to never contact or try to find you again.

He was petrified of other men. Always felt so inferior around them. So this would be perfect, if you could just make it work.

All your past with him fell from the forefront of your mind as you practically ran in his direction. Maybe you had argued countless times over college projects and he could be a bit of an ass, but you still knew you could trust him.

He was leaned against the wooden beam of the patio, skin casted with a warm glow from the fire a few feet away, down on the grass.

He had a signature frown. One that creased between his brows and pouted his pink lips. Creating his almost intimidating persona. Protective in a perfect way.

“Harry.” You state frantically, moving at a pace you’re not used to, shoes hitting the wooden decking hastily.

His scowl deepened as he heard his name, being pulled from his intense train of thought.

“What—” He looks honestly pissed off, but when his gaze snaps to you, it softens a tiny bit. Still annoyed, but just a sliver less.

Also confused at your frantic and rapidly approaching frame, which is now suddenly breaching the usual metre-wide distance you both would maintain on any other day.

“Y/N? What are you—“

You plant your hands on the side of his face, and the look of surprise in his eyes is evident.

His cheeks are warm and smooth under your palms, “I need you to just go with this okay? Can you do that for me?”

He is struggling to make sense of the situation, let alone get a sentence out without being interrupted.

“What do you—“

“I— I’ll explain later just—“ you take a final glance over your shoulder, and see your ex inside still, but seemingly headed for the sliding door to come outside.

This drives the final surge of adrenaline you need to tug his face to yours, melding your lips together. His are puckered in tense shock, and a noise of surprise sounds from the back of his throat.

His hands jump to your hips, gripping them like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer, or push you away.

Your mouth moves against his, and he reciprocates with a sense of hesitation.

His own brain is in absolute overdrive. The interaction far to short to go from being people who merely tolerate one another to people who are currently kissing.

And somewhere inside of him he acknowledges the feeling of how warm your lips are pressed to his.

He senses your urgency now though, hands tensing around his jaw at the sound of the access door getting slid open.

Parting his lips, he impulsively drags his tongue over your bottom lip. You sigh a sound of almost gratefulness at his action.

Harry turns his body swiftly, pressing your back into the railing, his lips moving harder against yours.

“Y/N! Are you bloody out here?” A grating voice sounds, and he quickly picks up the pieces of the story he was missing.

The voice also pulls him out of the half trance he’d gotten himself in. Your mouth so warm, he genuinely forgot his own name for a second.

One of your hands slide down to the neck of his black shirt, securing it in an anxious grip.

The pace quickly picks up, him plastering himself to you as close as physically possible. Clashing mouths as he shadows your body with his.

“Oi, mate!” He ignores the yell, and is met with the footsteps of this guy coming closer.

“Have you seen—“

Harry pulls from your mouth, turning his head to look at the dickhead who you’re clearly attempting to get away from. And who just hypothetically interrupted someone’s makeout session— which is just fucking rude anyway.

“Do I look like I have?” Harry scowls, an angry tone over his voice.

The guy frowns, an ugly look casting upon his features, he steps closer, “No need to be a fucking di—“

He moved just close enough to see you, frowning, making sense that you were just essentially making out with someone, “Y/N I—“

“Can you fuck off? We’re in the middle of something here, that you’ve just so kindly interrupted. Read the room you twat.” His sentences come out harsh, and it’s clear he means it.

Your ex tries his luck a final time, “look I just want to talk with—“

And Harry interjects it again, “She’s not interested.”

You stay quiet, and at this he gets a disgusted look. It appalls you that he thinks you owe him anything.

There’s a stare down between the two men. But you can see in his face he’s intimidated. Also humiliated, that you’ve seemingly moved on with someone else, and that he’s clearly got no shot at winning you back.

“Fucking ass.” He hisses, and turns around, storming down the patio and back inside.

Harry turns back to you, shielding your frame with his. A sigh of relief passes through you.

You look a little shaken up, and he loosens the grip he has on you slightly. Both your lips still puffed and shining from the exchange you unexpectedly shared.

“Thank you…” you pant out, not sure if you’re out of breath from the situation or because of Harry.

The reality of what just happened comes pelting down on you both.

And it’s quiet a moment as you both clock over in your brains that you just practically made out. It takes a second for him to break the silence,

“So, stalker? Ex? Random guy who can’t take no for an answer?” He quizzes.

Feeling embarrassed, you purse your lips— but are able to to taste the remnants of his own mouth on yours. “Ex.”

“Ex?”

You nod.

“You sound surprised. Didn’t you think I could land anyone?” You scoff, trying desperately to bring back the usual snarky vibe between the two of you.

“No, not at all. Just that he was clearly batting above his level. He was a proper dickhead, and that’s rich when it’s compared to you.” You thank god he plays back into your banter.

But he pries further, “What exactly did he do to you?”

“Long story.” You attempt to brush it off, but he has none of it.

“Love, y’just came over here and slammed your bloody mouth over mine, and now you’re not going to tell me why?”

“But—“

“No,” he interrupts, still very close to you as he shakes his head, “No buts. Y’said you’d explain after.”

A sigh rattles out of you, feeling a little pathetic you’re telling Harry you got cheated on.

“He cheated on me. Like with multiple girls.”

To this, his face immediately drops.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

He fights the overwhelming urge to go hunt him down and lay a hand into the side of his fucking face. An absolute scumbag.

“What a pathetic excuse for a man.” He scoffs, “Lucky to have even got a pretty girl like you, and he blew it.”

You flush, another brief wave of quiet falling over the two of you. His compliments throwing you.

You quietly speak again, “I’m sorry about the… kiss. Didn’t really get as much consent as I’d have liked.”

You did feel guilty, you don’t usually go forcing your mouth onto unsuspecting men.

“No, it’s okay. You did it for a reason.” He shakes his head at your apology, and in all honesty, he enjoyed it.

Somehow it meant more than many of his others have. And he can’t quite pinpoint why.

“I… I carpooled here so, I think I’m gonna call an Uber and go home ‘cause…”

You had no interest in sticking around, incase your ex comes back— and you don’t want to spend the rest of your night glued to Harry’s side, because you doubt he’d want that.

“You’re not catching an Uber home.” He scoffs aloud, fishing his keys from his back pocket, “I’ve only had one drink, I’ll be fine to drive, so I’ll take you.”

“Harry, no. You’ve already done plenty for me tonight, I’ll be fine—“

He grabs at your hand, lacing them together and beginning to walk you down the patio.

“I’m driving you home.” He states, leading the you inside.

He clutched your hand tight, eyes forward and uncaring of the heads that had turned your way.

You on the other hand had burned up at the curious— and quickly jealous— eyes.

Harry was by no means a whore. There were plenty of rumours of him sleeping with certain girls. Mostly outlandish stories that eventually fizzled out to nothing.

He’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but it’d been a while since. And he’s maybe had one actual fling over the last couple months.

It just seemed he was harder to get. And many women tried their luck around the school. Yet to no avail.

You cast your sight down, walking behind him out the front door. Relishing in the quiet surroundings of the front lawn, free of prying glares.

He unlocked his car that was parked on the side of the road, and he opens the side door for you to get in. Chivalry mustn’t be dead.

Once you’re both in the car, you fight the urge to say again that he really doesn’t have to take you, because it’s clear there is no other option on his end.

So instead, you let out a tiny thank you, and he nods while starting the car.

However, your self restraint only branches so far— matter-of-fact, you weren’t even out of the street— before you blurt out, “Everyone was staring.”

He veers his gaze momentarily to you, then flicking it back to the road. Silence stretches a moment, and he recalls the heat of your lips pressed to yours with no real prompt.

And when he thinks of it, the image doesn’t leave his head. It unwillingly transpires, into something that bubbles into the pit of his stomach.

He had to blink it away, grounding himself when he hears your nervous swallow.

“I— what?” He’s confused at what you mean, while you kissed? When you walked out?

“When we walked out.” You reply, and he makes sense of what you’re talking about.

“People will always stare. They’re nosey.”

“I know.”

There’s another breath of silence, until he laughs, so suddenly that it almost makes you jump.

“Where am I going?” He asks, still chuckling as he realises he’s literally just driving aimlessly.

“Oh.” You sputter out a laugh as well, rattling off the side of town he needs to start driving to.

You wish you had more to say to him. That’s conversation usually flowed easily— filled with the sarcastic retorts it usually is. But now all that sat between you was a thick, hot slab of tension.

It wasn’t bad— not by any means— but it was easy to tell both of you were stuck in your own head. And you fear you’ve fashioned a permanent problem between the two of you.

Your voice only cut through the quiet once you were a few blocks away from your house.

He hummed acknowledgements to your each set of directions, and before you knew it, you were pointing out your house to him.

As his car pulled to a stop in the driveway, he didn’t hesitate to turn off the engine and get out.

Confused, you follow suit anyway, but wondered if he was about to walk you to your door.

And you weren’t wrong. Somehow, the guy who seems hardly like a gentleman, is waiting to walk the maybe 15 steps with you from his car to your front door.

You get your keys from your small bag, looking at him with an undeniably curious gaze as you meet his side.

He follows in sync by your side, hands in pockets. All the way up the patio steps, and he falls to a stop when you do, still next to you.

“Thank you for driving me home…” you smile, and can feel an unwilling red colouring spread over your cheeks.

“Was nothin’. Glad you’re home safe.”

“Were you seriously worried about me?” You frown, yet it’s undeniably endearing his concern for you.

A tiny scoff sounds from him, “Obviously?”

“That fuckin’ twat of an ex you have hardly seems like a good person. And who’s t’say he wouldn’t follow you home from that party and…” he stares off in thought, jaw clenching.

“Harry.” You state, stepping forward, wrapping a single hand around his wrist.

“Thank you.”

His distant gaze was snapped away at your touch. He’s never really considered himself an overly violent person, but your ex was easily about to change that.

And he hardly can pinpoint why. Or not yet.

The only thing he knows he wants to do again in sudden clarity, is kiss you. It almost shocks him, because he hasn’t felt an urge as strong as this in forever.

“Can— I need you to just go with this.” He mutters, being the one now very suddenly invading the gap between you both.

He’s mimicking what you said when you kissed him, yet you don’t realise “I’ll explain later.”

His hand cups the side of your jaw, and he leans to brush his lips against yours, a breath of relief fanning out his nose after finally feeling the contact.

You’re stood on your porch, and Harry is kissing you.

And somehow you’re all the sudden kissing him back.

Not because there’s someone you’re running from. Not because you have to. Because you want to.

He pulls you closer to him, allowing his teeth to graze your lower lip. Causing your hands to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You both play a back and forth game. Full of lips against tongue and tongue against teeth.

Until you’re both panting and running out of new places to map out with your hands.

“Care to explain?” You retort gently, stricken of breath.

He hums in the back of his throat, barley a rumble as he trails his mouth along your jaw, and down to the base of your neck.

“Is this enough of an answer?” He asks, sucking the skin between your two collarbones between his teeth.

Your knees almost give out at the sensation, and even the pressure behind his harsh mouth.

A near whimper comes from you, and he licks over the slightly bruised spot before he pulls back.

He cocks an eyebrow, expectant of your answer, despite having such a skilled mouth you’re pretty sure you forgot your own name for a second there.

“I— yes. That was… plenty.” You nod.

“Did it because I wanted to, and y’have an incredibly hot little mouth.” He provides anyway, a laugh coming from him as he pecks your cheek. All gentle, all loving.

You’re lacking for words completely, and can only lean your head against his broad chest. Unsure what exactly you’ve sparked between the two of you this evening, but simultaneously not caring of the future right now.

“I’m also probably not going to be able to stop thinking about it…” he whispers.

“Stay.” You blurt out, and then clarify a few seconds later, “The night.”

He chuckles at this, “Are you trying to get in bed with me now? Moving very quickly, sweetheart.”

You flush, “Not everything is about sex, you fucking addict.”

“So you were inviting me to stay the night so we could cuddle?”

“I was.” You affirm, despite not being opposed to his idea either.

Grabbing his hand, you lead him to your front door. Unlocking it and making quick work of sneaking him inside without the one of your three lovely housemates hearing.

All the others were luckily out at varying parties, and the only girl still home— Grace— sleeps like a log.

“You seem like a bit of a professional at sneaking people in.” He smirks, kicking his shoes off and leaving them in the corner of your room.

With only the lamp turned on, he’s lit with a warm glow, and he looks beautiful.

“Comes naturally when you live with housemates that are like your best friends. They wanna know everything.” You go to your cupboard, pulling out a jumper to change into.

He watches as you pull it over your head, yet managing to unclip your top and bra off underneath it.

“Impressive.” He nods at your easy change.

“I’m taking my pants off.” You state, “and not in a sexual way, perv.”

He lets out a defensive laugh, “I’m not a perv! You’re the one stripping off.”

You unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs to change over to sweatpants. His gaze strays around your room and you smile at his respectfulness.

Once you’re changed, you sit on the edge of your bed.

You lock eyes, and he gives a sly smile, not waiting to tug his shirt over his head and unbutton his own jeans.

You cover your eyes, sarcastically scoffing, “yea well, I didn’t plan on getting fully naked, but you go right ahead.”

“No different if we went swimming, darling. Still have my underwear on.”

You don’t get to reply as his hands tap your knee, “Budge up.”

You uncover your eyes, being met with his toned chest and calvin klein briefs.

Obliging silently, as he gets under the covers with you. The two of you rearrange until you’re comfortable.

Your head perched on his side as you cuddle into him, arm over his abdomen. His own arm curled underneath you.

“This is… an awfully weird situation we’ve ended up in.” You laugh. Because you’re cuddling in your bed right now, and if you told yourself even yesterday that would be happening, there no way in hell you would have taken it seriously.

“Guess it is.” He shrugs, turned his head to look down at yours.

“Still hate your guts.” You whisper.

“Mm, i don’t think I ever even hated you.” He muses.

You laugh, “Is that so?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “you’re too pretty. And even though you’re annoying, and can’t admit when you get a project question wrong, i think I have a little bit of a soft spot for you.”

“Gross.” You say, but he can hear in your tone— and the way it nearly shakes— that you actually are a little worked up over his minor confession.

“Cmon, you can’t even admit you like me a tiny bit?”

You shake your head, blushing profusely as you try to hide it.

He tugs you further up, so he can look at you properly, “You’re blushing though. Like you always seem to do when I get a bit sappy. Which is my most recent observation of you.”

He doesn’t let you respond as he presses another kiss to your lips again. And you smile into it unwillingly.

He pulls away mid-kiss, letting you whine a little at the abrupt ending to it.

“Admit it, and we can keep kissing.” He says, and it draws an eye-roll from you.

But he somehow knows it will work, because you quickly crack under his ultimatum, “Fine! Yes. I like you— just a little bit.”

To your response he laughs, murmuring against your lips, “I’ll take it, I suppose.”

He presses another kiss against you, and you press back again.

It becomes another makeout session, but despite being the third one of the night, it’s the first time hands can skate against mostly bare skin.

Which his own palms find their way under your jumper, and one cups gently at your breast, flicking over your nipple while his tongue dips into your mouth.

That’s as far as it goes for tonight though.

He kneads the flesh there softly, until you’re panting into his mouth with a heat budding between your legs.

Somehow there’s an unspoken not tonight agreement.

And you know that despite how needy you feel for him, it’s definitely for the best. And you’re still shocked you made it this far with him.

You roll into him further, chest rising and falling quickly as you sigh out to him, “I lied.”

“When?” He sounds completely unconcerned, despite your risky sentence starter.

“Before, when I said I only liked you a little bit.”

He chuckles at your response, “How was that a lie, hm?”

“I like you more than a little bit.”

“You’re sweet, darling.” He strokes his thumb against your ribcage, “so do I.”

To this you smiled. Eyes growing heavy at his rhythmic touches and soothing voice.

And his gentle words are the last that you hear before you fall asleep against his chest.

Both filled with a warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.

———

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

Note

prince harry and common girl lover (best friends since childhood) + “we can’t keep hiding like this”

OH YES!!!! A bit of forbidden love.

Check out our Patreon!

------

The wind billowed the edge of the blanket they laid on, hiding underneath the willow tree as the sun got a bit lower in the sky. Being wrapped in Harry's arms was the most safe she ever felt, despite the fact it was the most dangerous place to be. His heart thumped steadily against her cheek, fingers running over the opposite as she felt his eyes burning a hole into her.

"We can't keep hiding like this." His voice rasped, lips turned downward. "I can't handle it anymore, Petal. I've been trying to find ways to be alright with hiding how much of my heart that you own but I keep hitting a wall. I believe it's because something is telling me I shouldn't hide you." He gently ran his knuckle over the bridge of her nose. "I want to tell them. Everyone."

Y/N's eyes burned as she closed them, trying to control the shaky exhale she released. It didn't work. She knew he was an optimist, her beautiful sunshine prince, but he had too much to lose. She couldn't be selfish with him, not when the entire kingdom would rely on him one day. "You know we shouldn't, Harry. You've been promised to someone else since the day you were noticed in your mother's belly." It was hard to control her voice, the weakness of it giving it away to Harry that she was struggling.

Nudging her up, he cupped the side of her face and thumbed over the high round of her cheek. Eyes scanned her face, taking in her slightly wobbly bottom lip and the glaze over her eyes that wrecked him. It shouldn't be this difficult. He shouldn't have to hide the person he loved with his entire being, so much so that she consumed him. He knew his mother would understand, but his father would be resistant. He would tell him that a future king had to make decisions they didn't like, and he would need to abide by the arrangement.

"I want to marry you, Petal." He whispered, connecting their lips at the end of the word. It was a pained kiss, one he was trying to melt into softness. Take away the brittle edges and file them down smoothly, let her feel the way he did. His sweet girl was so afraid, so nervous of what would become of them but Harry couldn't fathom a world without her at his side. "I want you to lay next to me at night, I want your hand in mine, your lips to only ever feel the shape of my own. I crave you every single second you are away from me. Don't you understand? How I yearn for you, I ache. Not just to be inside of you, but to be with you. To listen to your breaths as you sleep, just knowing that you're there." He swallowed thickly, nudging his nose against her own and took another kiss. Harder this time, a harsh breath leaving his nose as he pulled her, moving her dress so she could straddle his lap.

"My love, my sweet, my Petal. Please... allow me to take the risk." He pleaded. "Allow me to tell them of us, let me take the punishments if need be. I will do anything for you." His words were whimpered as he pressed frantic kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. "I feel like I'm going insane. As the day of the engagement party grows closer, I feel the walls of the castle getting smaller. I feel suffocated. The only time I can breathe is with you." His hands clutched her close, almost as if to prevent her from slipping through his fingers.

"Oh, Harry." She whispered sadly, watching his eyes water. It was unlike him, her sunshine prince. He was so bright, so warm. To see the storm clouds settle over the sun was alarming and she hated the sight. It wasn't right. "Do you think I don't feel the same? That I'm not physically ill at the idea of you bedding someone other than me, even if it is only to provide an heir? Do you think I don't cry in my bed after I leave the sparkling stars and you, wishing I could crawl back to you? But I feel so selfish." She pecked his nose, letting their foreheads rest together. "So, so selfish. What if they strip your title? What if they banish you? What if it's forced regardless and there's a rift between you and your family? I cannot bear the idea of ruining your life. I can't take the sunshine away from you."

The world was quiet. The birds chirped and the branches moved, leaves rustling in the wind, but the only sound they could hear was each others breaths and their own heartbeats in their ears.

"I would let them." He whispered after a moment. "I would let them take it all away from me before I let them take you. I don't think you grasp how much you mean to me. You are my heart." His eyes burned as he looked at her. "I would run with you, I would find us somewhere and build a life with you. Nothing else matters more than you." He sniffled, pressing his lips back against her and laying repetitive kisses to her lips. It was hard to convey just how much he truly loved her. How she had his heart in her hands and his should wrapped around her finger.

"Harry..." She laughed through a tear, looking down at the hand holding her waist tight. "I hope you know I feel the same for you. You're what I need." Her fingers brushed the hair that had fallen into his face, the soft curls unfairly highlighted caramel in the sunlight that bled through the leaves. He was inhumanly handsome. "I'm afraid for you."

"I'm afraid for myself if I don't admit my love for you. I can't be trapped in a loveless marriage when I have a love. The greatest lover there is. I want children with you, I want you by my side. Whether I'm king or not, having you would be my biggest accomplishment." He meant every word. Every beat of his heart belonged to her. "I'm going to tell them. I'm going to make you my wife, regardless of the cost. All I'll ever need is you."

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novelistrry · 11 months ago

Text

Wind picked up, swirling around the two as she approached him. There was a leather riding jacket hooked on one of the stable doors, and as she approached him directly, he unhooked it and propped it around her shoulders. Reaching down, he began buttoning it up, until his eyes met her.

The sheepish look she had on her face nearly brought him to his knees. “How were your dreams?”

Her face felt hot. Was it noticeable? “Are you teasing me?”

A smile danced across his lips, bringing his hand to her hair and softly caressing it. “Of course not, Princess.”

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and neither of them know how to feel.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, praise kink, deception, an awkward sexual encounter (consensual of course), etc! Also, this is not proofread.

Word Count: 4k, sorry it's so short D:

Part One

II. The Rain

Niall had been growing increasingly frustrated with Harry as the days passed. As Harry’s hand, and his best friend, he knew Harry was not as cruel as he made himself out to be. This plan of his, this deceit was one of the cruelest things Harry had ever thought of.

Everyday, Niall asked him if he really felt that this plan was sound, and everyday Harry would show remorse. Every now and again, Niall wanted to roll the words “you’re acting like a frightened child” off his tongue, but never could bring himself to hurt Harry’s feelings like that.

As wrong as it felt, as wrong as it was, his loyalty was not to Harry, it was to Y/N, which made him feel like scum at the bottom of a sea barrel. He could not imagine the guilt that was weighing on Harry’s conscience. He knew his friend. He knew his heart.

___

Y/N was floating on a cloud, the air smelled sweet like the grapes growing on the vineyards just South of the castle, and Harry looked so wonderful walking in front of her. A white linen shirt was loosely tucked into his riding pants, and his riding boots hit just under his knees. She could almost see his back muscles through the shirt. It was mouth watering, really. Y/N chose to walk a few steps behind him to admire what he looked like from the back, how beautiful his silhouette was.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned. “Hello, dear.”

Her stomach coiled, and she nearly kicked herself for it. “Hi.”

The sheepish look she had on her face nearly brought him to his knees. “How were your dreams?”

Her face felt hot. Was it noticeable? “Are you teasing me?”

A smile danced across his lips, bringing his hand to her hair and softly caressing it. “Of course not, Princess.”

For a second, she thought maybe he would kiss her but when Brad came out of nowhere, Harry’s hand immediately dropped, putting a chunk of distance between them. Y/N couldn’t help the way her face contorted with disappointment. The way he immediately put space between them almost seemed like he was embarrassed to be acquainted with her.

She never understood exactly what they were, exactly where the boundaries were. Sometimes it felt like they were utterly obsessed with each other, and other times it felt like they were merely conversing because they needed to. The winds grew harsher as Brad neared them. The sound of the wind was like a murmur in the air, musical and somewhat daunting.

Dark clouds had surrounded the palace, signifying rain, which was not ideal riding weather. It was much too dangerous. The sound of the wind replicating the kind of haunting music you would hear the string section play in a Royal Theatre added to the ominous darkness.

“Still doing it, Princess? I’m proud of you,” Brad clapped his hands together, in support of her showing up for riding lessons.

Harry’s jaw clenched together, and his eyebrow twitched as he licked across his teeth. If Y/N knew any better, she would have thought this is something he does when he’s annoyed, “Right, she does very well.”

Her mind rushed, flooding with everything Harry had said about letting Brad into his bed. Was he upset that Brad had complimented her, when he should be complimenting Harry? The pair were so hot and cold, it was beginning to give her whiplash.

Brad and Harry exchanged a few pleasantries as Y/N brought her fingers to Freya’s coat, getting acquainted with the horse once more. Freya was so lovely, and strikingly beautiful.

As Brad scurried off, Y/N had Harry’s completely undivided attention once more.

“I want to get on Freya today.” Y/N spoke the words before she even fully thought them in her head. Her eyes went wide, but she knew why she said it. She wanted Harry to be astounded, to be completely winded with her.

Harry chuckled, tightening the bridle around Freya’s head. When Y/N didn’t say anything in response, he looked over at her and realized she was serious.

“No,” he spoke in a low voice, dancing around the subject with caution.

Anger swarmed her veins, like all of her blood cells had been replaced. Who was he to tell her no? Her ears felt hot, and Y/N’s nose scrunched. It was a habit she picked up as a young child when something didn’t go her way. Whenever she felt her nose scrunch and her eyebrows furrow, she felt like a small child demanding things go the way she wants.

“What do you mean no?” She grabbed the bridle from Harry’s hand, and he couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his mouth. Y/N was even more endearing when she was angry.

Carefully, he grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around so that their chests were pressed together. Taking a breath as the harsh winds racked through the stables, he smelled the scent of her. Vanilla and cinnamon; mouth watering and sweet.

“It means that you are precious to me,” Harry clicked his tongue, eyes locking with hers as if he were trying to convey everything he felt through his eyes. “And you don’t need to impress me.”

“How do you know that I’m not ready?” Y/N’s jaw clicked again, the scowl still apparent on her face, even with his swoon-worthy words. She would not be swayed by his charm.

Harry glanced over to where her hand was white-knuckling the bridle. When she followed his glance, she realized that her hand shook slightly, a nervous habit she picked up after her bad experience horseback riding.

He realized that he needed to approach this delicately; she was stubborn, hard-headed, and did not like to be told she couldn’t do something. He, at times, was so similar to her that it was like they were different sides of the same coin.

She dropped her hand, a deep shame washing through her. It was like he knew everything she was feeling by the microexpressions fleeting across her face.

He took her hands in his. Freya was starting to become an unwelcome third, because everytime he touched her, even in the most platonic way, she craved more.

“Don’t feel shame,” he said softly.

“I…” She trailed off, eyes glued to the ground. It was hard to look at him, and know that he was the picture-perfect prince, and she was so not. “I am not used to being… not good at something.”

Harry chuckled, and when she looked at him, she had never realized how he looked at her with so much delicacy. “I’m the worst sport you’ll ever meet, Y/N. If I am not good at something, it throws my temper. Just ask Niall. I wish I had an ounce of your poise.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asked quietly.

“Because… Someone must have told you that it’s not okay to feel fear and I don’t like that.” Harry looped his fingers under her chin, forcing Y/N to take her eyes off the ground and look at him. “We start small, like you did when you were first learning as a child.”

He grimaced at the poor choice of words, comparing her skill level to that of a child’s. Y/N was so easy to discourage, and he felt like he couldn’t say anything correctly.

Y/N saw the grimace and let it go. “So what do we do today?”

“How about today you just sit on Freya. I’ll hold onto her bridle, and you sit in the saddle. No walking, no trotting, just sitting.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “For how long?”

“Not too long,” he promised.

And with that said, his hands were all over her, helping her mount Freya. As soon as she was up, her thighs squeezing the horse tightly, he was watching for her micro-expressions that told him he needed to help her off immediately.

But she didn’t have any. If anything, a small smile formed on her lips, like she was proud she got on in the first place. Usually, she chickened out, but with Harry, she felt safe and cared for.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N.” Harry spoke, gripping the bridle closely. His hand rubbed her leg as she looked down at him. Swallowing, he realized he had been gripping the bridle with all his might, white-knuckling it the same way that she was earlier. Harry was feeling more nervous than Y/N was, and a deep sense of pride had him smiling from ear-to-ear as she confidently sat atop Freya.

She muttered an embarrassed-thanks, but by the way her head turned and her smile got bigger, he knew that she was liking the positive attention from her.

“You’re such a good girl, darling,” Harry said softly, his hands now resting on Freya’s sides to ensure she would not move.

“Me or Freya?” Y/N mumbled.

“Both, but I was talking to you, sweet girl.” She was melting.

Freya, feeling sick of their conversation and not being able to go anywhere, shifted her weight from one leg to the other. The sudden movement threw Y/N, causing a yelp to sound from her throat. Immediately, Harry dropped the bridle and reached for her hands, pulling her off of Freya and into his chest.

Whispering in her ear, he tried to soothe her before it led to a panic attack. “You’re okay, you’re fine. Sometimes they get tired of having all their weight on one side, just like us, so they move to get more comfortable. It’s normal,” he hushed her, “You’re okay.”

She shook slightly, but there were no tears or signs of panic in her eyes. As soon as Freya moved and Y/N yelped, Harry was there, pulling her head into his chest and reassuring her.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

He pulled her away, enough to scan her face and make sure that she was actually okay.

“I think that frightened me more than it frightened you, Y/N.” He laughed softly, earning a grin from her. “That’s enough for the day.”

Harry led Freya back to her stable, removing the bit and bridle from around her mouth. Y/N overheard him promise to come out a little later and ride her, or let her run wild in the tall grass behind the stables for some extra exercise. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an apple slice he had stolen from one of the breakfast carts in the hallway and fed it to Freya with an open palm. Harry’s intention was to have Y/N do it, to get over the fear of their massive teeth, but he thought she had enough scare for one day and didn’t trust her to set a boundary she was actually comfortable with.

Using her fingers, Y/N unbuttoned the coat Harry had put on her. She was fixing to put it back on the rack, where Harry had originally had it then head back inside, but he stopped her, letting her know that he wanted to stay out here for a while longer.

Walking together, they found themselves in a large tack shed with a bench for removing riding boots. There were so many tools and instruments for the horses and Y/N didn’t quite understand what they were for, but she had a feeling he didn’t bring her in here for a lesson on tools and riding equipment.

As predicted, the rain began pouring. Pitter patters of rain, hitting the shed pinged off the wooden roof, some of the holes allowing for water droplets to seep in.. It was cold, but she felt cozy nuzzled so closely next to him. Harry was so warm and so safe.

As soon as the door shut behind them, their bodies were pressed together and his lips were merely inches from her own. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?”

She nodded, but then added, “Why won’t you do it in front of anyone?”

He spoke, now his lips pressed against hers, “This isn’t going to be a gentle peck, Y/N. How would they feel seeing my tongue on the inside of their precious princess’ mouth?”

Harry was so vulgar, sometimes the words that came out of his mouth shocked her, and the gasp that slipped past her lips, Harry used to slide his tongue along her bottom lip and pull her lip between his teeth.

Using the wall made from plywood, Harry moved her so that Y/N’s back was pressed against the wall. His thigh was fitted between her legs as his lips moved against her own. They stayed like this for a while, small moans falling from Y/N’s mouth, and each moan went straight to Harry’s core. He liked earning those from her. He liked being with her.

“I wanna feel you,” Y/N said, and even she was shocked by how outright she said it. With each day, she felt more comfortable expressing her needs to Harry, and when those four words tumbled from her lips, their faces still pressed together, he couldn’t help the vulnerable moan that escaped his own.

“You want my fingers or my mouth, doll?” Harry took a step away, so her body wasn’t smushed between the wall and his own. He wanted to see her face as she answered, as her eyes flickered around the room and she begged for either his fingers or his mouth.

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. That small bead of confidence was beginning to wither away. As if he could read her like the back of his hand, he understood that she was growing too bashful to respond.

“You want both my fingers and my mouth? You don’t have to say it, you can just say yes or no.” Harry tacked on the last end to make this experience as comfortable as possible. They hadn’t been together very much, but he always wanted her to feel safe with him.

“No, no.” She responded, looking down.

His brow quirked upward. “I’m not understanding, Y/N.”

Gently, she pressed a kiss to his neck, her tongue darting over the exposed skin as she suckled softly. It was almost like second nature, wanting to taste him everywhere. The moans that caught in the back of his throat were an added bonus to the sweet taste of his skin.

“You want to feel my cock, love?” He was trying to decipher exactly what she needed from him.

Pulling her lips from his neck, a soft string of spit attaching them together, she nodded her head. “I’m ready for it.”

He shook his head, “Not today, darling.”

She frowned, but he laced his fingers in between hers and led her to the bench against the opposite side of the tackshed. There, he sat, urging her to straddle his lap. She did exactly that, putting one leg on either side of him, so they were touching but their clothes acted as a barrier.

Y/N’s breathing caught in her throat as she felt the thickness beneath his trousers. A devilish smile that she had seen him use on countless other people before spread across his face. Using his hand, he softly grabbed her by the throat and guided her lips back to his.

Their lips worked together; their bodies in tandem with one another. Naturally, her hips started to buck, begging for some sort of relief. As she felt him against her center, she tilted her head back, exposing her neck. Harry used this as an opportunity to attach his lips to her neck and taste her, breathing in the scent of her bath soap. She was so beautiful and enticing, it made his head spin.

As they moved together, her hips became sloppier and sloppier with each roll. He tasted so marvelous, notes of mint and lemon as their mouth worked together. Y/N hadn’t realized just how much she yearned for him, in every single aspect. Even when he was being so mean, she had longed for his approval. Now, she wanted him in every single sense of the word. With just his fingers, he stopped her hips from moving against him, a displeasing cry sounding from her at the loss of friction.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” Harry breathed out, slightly out of breath. “I think you need to take your riding pants off, though. You should be as close to me as you can.”

She nodded, and with much enthusiasm, she stood up and quickly unlaced her boots and removed her pants. As she did that, Harry unbuttoned his own, sliding them down to his knees, revealing his white-colored briefs. The sight of him nearly finished her then and there.

“Can I give a small lick?” She asked, not caring how depraved it sounded.

“Christ, Y/N. Yeah,” he breathed.

Y/N sunk to her knees, the cold ground was somewhat uncomfortable but she was too engrossed in Harry to even realize. Darting her tongue out, she licked him over his briefs. Just enough to wet the fabric of them so much that you could see the outline of him.

“Come here,” he whined, but he didn’t have it in him to be mortified with the whiny tone. Typically, he would be.

Like before, she straddled him, her center pressed directly on the hardness of him. Once more, she was moving against him, the pleasure so much more intense now that layers of clothes had been stripped.

He used his hands to guide her, and she mumbled something about how he was a trained professional. This must have stroked his ego in the best way possible, because suddenly he was bucking into her, begging for her to come with him.

Harry often had a tough time feeling comfortable enough to reach his pinnacle with another person, it was something so deeply vulnerable to him that sometimes he couldn’t do it out of sheer embarrassment for them to see him in such an exposed state.

But when he felt her hit her high, he couldn’t stop himself before he was coming too. With no warning, he finished, come spurting in between them and landing on his white linen shirt. Just watching him finish, made her eyes roll back in her head.

Shock washed through him as her hips halted against him. Gently, he removed her from his lap, standing her up. Frantically, he looked around for a rag, anything to wipe the sticky residue off his skin and before it could stain his shirt.

He didn’t watch her as she dressed herself, completely oblivious to the fact that he had no intention of showing her that part of him.

With a hot face, he asked for his jacket to conceal the stains of his come on his shirt as he walked back to the palace, “Is it okay if I have my jacket back?”

She shimmied out of his jacket, handing it to him. He quickly threw it over his shoulders and buttoned it up before muttering out, “That was really good. Thank you.”

Shuffling through some boxes, he found a pancho they used when it was raining but the horses needed tending. He helped her put the cloak on so when she walked back to the palace, she would be assaulted by the rain and grow sickly.

Y/N just smiled at him as he rushed out, letting her know he had somewhere to be. With very much confusion, she watched him as he hurried out the door, rain pelting him.

____

That night, Harry did not find himself going back to the palace immediately.

Instead he wandered around the grass fields, too ashamed to face Niall or anyone else for that matter. Especially Y/N.

But as the sun began to set, and he knew Niall was growing more and more worried as each hour passed, he finally made his way back to the comfortable cottage Niall was staying in during their time at Y/N’s family’s palace. He was completely soaking wet when he returned, shoulders shivering. Niall ushered him to the fireplace, looking around for dry clothes that would fit Harry.

“Where have you been?” Niall asked, a clear tone of worry laced throughout his words.

And with that, Harry dropped himself onto the chair directly next to the warmth of the fireplace and spilled his guts. He told Niall about how Y/N made him feel like he couldn’t control himself, like he was a magnet that only responded to her frequency. He teared up as he told Niall what a terrible person he was for using her like this, and how it was going to feel even worse because his heart was already breaking.

And Niall, like the good friend he was, listened carefully and thoughtfully. Only when Harry concluded did he say, “If you like her so much, why don’t you call off this plan? It sounds to me like the plan is still on.”

“It is,” Harry confirmed. “I’m simply not good enough for her.”

Niall, knowing that he could not argue with Harry when he was in a mood as sour as this, rested his hand on his shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze.

___

That night, Harry found himself sitting outside Y/N’s door, afraid that her scary experience on Freya today might haunt her in her dreams. With his back against the door, and tired eyes threatening to close, he waited to hear her screams.

He wanted to be there, to hold her and tell her it was okay.

Dorothea, hearing the sound of feet shuffling as Harry readjusted himself so that his earshot had a clear line of Y/N’s room, went out to investigate who was lingering in the hallway.

“Prince Harry?” Dorothea asked, wide eyed and confused.

Harry hummed in response, barely flickering his eyes up to meet hers. He was so tired, they were threatening to close.

“It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here?” She was slightly delirious from just waking up.

“I’m on nightmare watch,” he muttered out and it took a second for Dorothea to comprehend exactly what he said to her.

“Prince, if she has a nightmare and calls out for you, I will come get you again. You do not need to miss sleep to wait outside her door.”

“And what if she doesn’t call out for me?” His tired eyes looked up, “Will you still come get me?”

“Yes,” she promised, reaching her hand out and helping him to his feet. “Go to bed, Prince. You need beauty sleep.”

He nodded his head, rising to his feet with her help and turning to the direction of his own bedchamber. “Can you do me another favor?”

“Hm?” The sound coming from Dorothea was soft.

Harry reached his hand behind his neck, massaging softly. “Please don’t tell her.”

Dorothea only nodded in response, a silent promise between the two of them.

387 notes · View notes

watermelonlovershigh · 1 year ago

Text

Each Harry Eras ... (You Can't Sleep Text Conversation)

AN: got the inspo to do this from tiktok. let me know if you think this is somewhat accurate or not.

This contains: mostly fluff, mentions of weed, implications of smut

{ fetus!harry - fratboy!harry - prince!harry - longhaired!harry - dunkirk!harry - fineline!harry - loveontour!harry - boyfriend!harry - fiancé!harry - husband!harry }

How each Harry era would react to when you tell them you can't sleep, through text.

{Fetus Harry - boyfriend!harry}

Y/N: baby i can't sleep : (

Harry: i'm sorry. snuggle with the stuffed bear i bought you last week and try and pretend i'm there to cuddle you in person. love and miss you :(

Y/N: ok i will. see you soon?

Harry: yep. my mum said i can come over tomorrow after my shift at the bakery. i'll even bring you that fancy bread you like.

Y/N: oh yes, please do. ok going to try and sleep now.

Harry: night.

{Frat Boy Harry - boyfriend!harry}

Y/N: H, i can't sleep. 😭

Harry: awe baby, i wish i was there to cuddle with you. we're on tour until the end of the month and then i get to come home for a few weeks.

Y/N: i wish it was sooner. 😔 you always give me the best cuddles when i can't sleep.

Harry: i know baby. try and spray some of my cologne on your pillow and maybe that'll help. love you. gtg. they're calling us back on stage now.

Y/N: ok. and have a great show.

{Prince Harry - boyfriend!harry}

Y/N: harry i can't sleep tonight. i miss you loads and wish you were here with me.

Harry: i'm sorry you can't fall asleep, love. you know i wish more than anything i was with you right now. breaks my heart when you can't sleep and then complain of how tired you are the next day. how about you take one of my t-shirts from my drawer and sleep with it on. i think that will help.

Y/N: ok i will.

Harry: send me a photo of you in the shirt you choose. wanna see how sexy you look in my clothes.

Y/N: k

Y/N: *photo* *standing in front of the mirror wearing his white t-shirt with the band Kiss on the front*

Harry: holy fuck. you look amazing babe. well sleep tight. i gotta take care of some business now.

(by business he didn't mean meetings. seeing you in his shirt did things to him and he needed to, you know, jerk one out.)

{LHH - boyfriend!harry}

Y/N: H, i can't sleep tonight.

Harry: sorry to hear that. i know what can help. go to my special drawer and get some 🌿 to smoke. i know that stuff always makes you sleepy.

Y/N: ok, are you sure though? what if i have a bad reaction?

Harry: yes i'm sure. and you won't. just take a few hits. not too much. then get cozy in my bed. should knock you right out. but if you need anything just call me. i'll answer, alright.

Y/N: ok, yeah. i'll do that.

Harry: and you remember how to set up the blunt right?

Y/N: yes harry. i'm not 5.

Harry: okayyy, was just making sure. night. love you.

{Dunkirk Harry - fiancée!harry}

Y/N: harry i can't fall asleep.

Harry: awe baby, sorry to hear that. did you take your prescribed sleep pills?

Y/N: yes like 2 hours ago. and they're not working tonight.

Harry: i tell you what, give me about 10 minutes and i'll sneak away to facetime you. would you like that? i could sing you to sleep. you pick the song.

Y/N: omg please. and i pick sweet creature. your voice is so soft and relaxing when you sing that song.

Harry: ok 10 minutes, hang on darling.

{Fine Line Harry - husband!harry}

Y/N: babe, i can't fall asleep for the life of me. wish you were here to help. 😭

Harry: i wish i was there too, baby.

Harry: i know what will do the trick. touch yourself, love.

Y/N: WHAT?

Harry: i'm not messing about. touch that pretty pussy of yours. you know when you orgasm you get all sleepy. and i would touch you myself if i were there but since i'm not your hand will just have to do. or your vibrator. whatever you choose.

Y/N: fine... but, can you at least get me going.

Harry: sure 😏 *photo of his erect cock standing tall and proud with his ringed hand wrapped around the base*

Y/N: fuck. are you touching yourself too?

Harry: yep. couldn't not after picturing you rubbing that little clit of yours. got me going instantly.

{Love on Tour Harry - husband!harry}

Y/N: i can't sleep :(

Harry: why are you texting me this? i'm just getting out the shower. in OUR house. i'll be in there in just a second.

Y/N: didn't feel like yelling it to you.

Harry: let me brush my teeth and i'll come put you to sleep.

Y/N: mhm, yeah, how?

Harry: oh, i'll show you how alright. better be naked when i walk in.

Y/N: bet.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet // @meetmyblondemuffins // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @skyangel57 // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss // @kissmyaxe14 // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom // @swiftmendeshoran

// @luv-flor7777 // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone // @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight // @manifestrry //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

627 notes · View notes

hsdiaries · 9 months ago

Text

glitter on the floor;

6.5K words

best friend!harry x best friend fmc, phh, running out of time, love confession, little itty bitty dom, little itty bitty sub, oral fmc recieving, p in v, praising, teasing.

"Can you believe after today, there is just five months until graduation, Goldie? Five months left before we never have to fight for parking in Jefferson or cross our fingers we didn't get Ferguson as our thesis mentor?" Harry chuckled over the phone, a smile instantly playing on my pink lips. That's what it did. His laugh. Turned on all the stars with his crescent moon smile.

"You mean five months until you leave me to fend for myself? Glad you're so enthusiastic about it, H." I pout, finishing up the charcuterie spread I had been working on for the past couple hours.

"D, you know I'm dreading that above anything else. Who else is going to judge people with me over an afternoon coffee? No one understands afternoon coffees like you."

I pushed off the kitchen counter, turning to walk over to the dining room table, sitting down, "I guess."

Everyday that felt like a personal countdown to adventure for Harry felt like a countdown to loneliness for me. It wasn't that I didn't have friends, I had plenty; taking in the giant city rental we would be using to countdown the new year only proved it. Still, they weren't Harry. They weren't my best friend. They weren't my everyday life line.

They weren't the man I had been deeply, painfully in love with for four years now.

"Look, tonight, we will get beyond drunk. We will eat our grapes under the table, we will jump in the giant indoor pool at midnight and wash away the stress of senior year. I need you to forget that I'm going anywhere come the new year. Let's just have the best time, okay?" He said over the phone, I inhaled, holding my breath, slowly letting out as Leigh and Olive walked in the door, waving around bags of alcohol.

"Okay, I gotta go, thing one and thing two just got here, gotta finish setting up." I said and he laughed.

"Five bucks on Leigh knocking out before midnight." He said at the same time I whispered it to him, each of us cracking up.

"Is that dimples? Tell him to leave you alone, it's girl time before he gets here and you ignore us the rest of the night." Olive said, my eyes rolling.

"Bye Harry, the girls are testy." I giggled a bit before he said bye again, and we hung up. I looked down at my phone, biting my lip as Leigh walked over, placing bottles of vodka on the table.

"Tell him." She said, her weight falling to her left hip. I furrowed my eyebrows as I glanced up at her, my eyes drifting to Olive then back to Leigh.

"Tell him what exactly?" I said, my chest tight as I filled with confusion.

"That you're in love with him and always have been and you want seven kids with him and a big house wi—..."

"—Woah! I do not love him!" I cut off Olive who slammed the fridge door shut, giving me a face of unamusement.

"Goldie, baby....everyone knows. I mean everyone. Even the north wing cleaning lady our freshman year knew," Olive said, walking over, standing behind me and wrapping her arms around my neck, "He's leaving, D. For three years...as of now. What if he stays? What if he me—.."

"— stop, stop I get it. Okay. I get it. You think I don't think about it? But what if I tell him and he doesn't feel the same. Then we spend the last five months together with him being awkward as fuck. No thank you." I said, gently pushing Olive off of me and getting up. I walked over to the charcuterie spread, picking up leftover cheese and meat packages, moving to throw them away.

"Can you all handle the decorations? Imma go rest a bit before we have to get ready." I smiled small, both of them nodding as I moved out of the kitchen and into the giant living room to the master suite I knew I would even be sharing with Harry tonight.

I closed the door and locked it, moving to the bed and letting myself fall on it face first, screaming into the mattress hoping it was muffled enough no one would bother me.

Harry's POV

"You're bringing Taylor? Harry, you can't be serious. You realize you are going to shatter D into a million pieces right?" Zayn said, as I held up two different shirts in front of me.

"What are you even talking about? Goldie, if anything will make her feel welcomed, join us on a drunken night." I turned over my shoulder at him, raising both my eyebrows.

"You're so daft, Styles. Honestly. We all know Goldie loves you. And you love her, you damn idiot. Did you not hear her disappointment on the phone? Tonight for her is about you two, and you're bringing a girl?" Zayn said, suddenly my throat was tightening. I cleared it, turning away from him and furrowing my eyebrows as I looked in the mirror.

"She doesn't love me like that, Zayn. It's not like that with her. Even if it was, I'm not risking it," I closed my eyes, shaking my head that I was even letting him get to me.

"You... and her actually, are both idiots. You're both in love with each other and are going to leave here filled with stupid regret and I'm over trying to get you to see it," He said, shrugging and walking out of my room. I rolled my lip into my mouth, biting it before throwing my shirts on the bed.

"Fucks sake," I called out, throwing my head back. When my head rolled back straight, my eyes landed on the photo on my desk. Goldie and I at her sorority formal last year before she dropped. I swallowed, wondering if maybe Zayn was right.

—

I entered the sorority house watching as other couples met, taking photos and admiring each other's outfits. I rolled my eyes thankful Blondie was over this life. It wasn't her, didn't suit her. She was too kind. Too caring to ever fit in with the people she called her supposed sisters.

"So you do own a suit?" I heard a voice say from above me, my eyes moving to the stairs as Blondie made her way down them. I felt my jaw drop slightly, pressing my lips together as I swallowed. Sitting on her body was a sparkly black dress, one long sleeve, one bare shoulder. Her long blonde hair draped down her body. She was beautiful, breathtaking really. My best friend, the only girl that could get me in a stupid suit at a stupid sorority formal.

The fact Goldie was her name fit her better than I think her parents ever imagined. She was golden.

Making the rest of her way over to me, I grabbed her hand, spinning her around in a small circle. She giggled as I pulled her towards me, "You, are the prettiest girl ever to be in Sigma Kappa, shame they are losing their only true asset." I whispered as the back of her hand hit my chest.

"H, shut. No one knows yet and I would like to enjoy this last formal as my money went towards it." She glared at me a bit and all I could do was poke her nose as her demeanor softened.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Let's enjoy the night, at least the food is good." I shrugged, pulling out my phone and turning on the camera, "Alright, let's be like everyone else and show off how cute we are." I snapped photos of us, being as silly as possible before we started loading into giant charter buses taking us to the unknown location.

Once we arrived, we ate and drank with everyone else; keeping up appearances and interacting with the few girls that were actually nice to my Goldie. By the time the dancing started, I was in my own world with her, nothing else really mattered other than making sure my best friend was having the time of her life.

At one point, the drinks were starting to create an overall haze on the night. Goldie's body felt heavy against mine, her hips rolling so that her ass pushed against me, my prick fighting the blood flow she was beckoning with her movements. Her scent seemed to be the only thing my sense could pick up, cherry vanilla dreams as my nose found itself trailing her neck.

Her breath was rigid as my hands explored her waistline, fingers digging into the fleshy feel of her hips through her dress. The way her hips rolled, placed my dick perfectly between her ass, hard as ever and I couldn't find it in my drunken haze to care. She was my best friend, but she was also insanely perfect. Sexy beyond what my imagination could have ever hoped for. I wasn't blind and I wasn't an idiot. I also suddenly was ignoring any bit of logic that normally stopped me from crossing a line with her. My lips grazed her skin softly, her hips slowing slightly in their movement as I did. My lips puckered softly against her skin as the music began to slow, pulling us both out of the haze. My eyes skimmed the room, as couples began turning to face each other, wrapping up in each other as they moved to the slow music.

Goldie pulled away, slowly turning to face me, her face almost unsure as to what her next move should be. I swallowed, my hand reaching for her waist, pulling her against me, my hard cock pressing against her though making my cheeks redden in embarrassment. Her giggle made a chuckle escape my own, her hands relaxing around my neck.

"You seem to have invited a third member to this dance, H." She teased, her chocolate brown eyes searching my green.

"I think he was called over by you D, you seemed to be drawing him out in your direction," I raised an eyebrow with a tilt of my head and she shrugged innocently.

"No idea what you could possibly be referring to."

We moved to the soft flow of the music, silence surrounding us as her forehead pressing into my chin, her soft breath hitting against my neck. My fingers traced a soft up and down pattern along her back, playing with the ends of her hair whenever I came in contact with them. Her fingers massed the nape of my neck gently, tugging softly at the curls that rested there.

I could have stayed there, in her cherry vanilla heaven, layered in golden dust of magic; but the music picked up. Everyone cheered as they broke out into dance, jumping to the EDM music that slowly picked up until the beat dropped. She pulled away from me, her eyes searching mine again before looking down and over her shoulder.

"I'm going to go use the bathroom, grab me some water?" She said and I nodded, watching a look of confusion flash quickly across her before she nodded, turning and walking away. I watched her walk away, I watched her and my feet had sudden aches to follow her. To grab her and tell her I knew what she felt right then and there. That I had felt that confusion everyday since freshman year. To tell her I also felt confused on what lines I could and wanted to blur with her.

But I didn't. I turned to the bar to grab us each a water.

Blondie's POV

I looked myself over in the mirror, fisting and unfisting my hands to fight the sweaty palms that kept happening. All afternoon into the early evening my mind had been racing with Olive and Leigh's statements all circling into my current decision.

I was going to tell Harry how I felt. I was going to finally hand him my heart on a damn gold platter for his taking.

If he even wanted it.

I sighed, pulling up my black strapless dress, small pieces of silver sequins drawing eyes to my supple chest, a beautiful jeweled necklace sitting around my neck. I looked nice, I knew I did, and I couldn't wait for Harry's eyes to take me in, because they always told me how beautiful I looked. Even if the words never left his mouth.

Turning to exit the room, I opened the door to chatter and music coming from down the hall, people slowly starting to fill up the giant house. I took a deep breath, plastering a smile on my face, hiding the nerves that were slowly eating away at me. My eyes scanned the room until I found Leigh and Olive, my feet caring me quickly in their direction. They both looked at me wide-eyed, Olive clapping at my arrival, taking my hand and spinning me.

"Very well done, very well done," she said, making me roll my eyes as I took in my best friends dressed in glitter and sequins to the tens.

"And look at you both! I'm blinded!" I exclaimed as Leigh handed me a shot.

"All I'm saying is, if we don't get laid tonight, I've lost hope in all men," we all laughed, Olive picking up a shot which we all quickly cheersed and threw down our throats.

Vodka, yuck.

I scrunched up my nose, shaking my face as I looked over the room. Still no Harry, and I would lie if I said it wasn't driving me insane. I brought my attention back to Leigh and Olive as they carried on with their usual back and forth. I tried to pay attention, I really did, but half of what they said escaped me as quickly as the words left their lips.

Eventually we moved our way into the party, greeting, mingling and dancing whenever a good song on the playlist came on. I was three shots in when the door finally opened, Zayn and Niall walking in and my heart flew up in my throat knowing Harry would soon follow behind. My lips parted, my mouth drying from the breath he took away from me. He was wearing a tweed jacket black pants , with a white low cut tank tucked in underneath. The cross pendant I gave him for his first birthday we spent together sitting perfectly on his hair peppered chest.

I couldn't seem to catch my breath, but it was no longer at the mere sight of him. It was at the way I watched his hand wrap around the slim waist of a tall blonde. It was the way she smirked at him, eyes traveling down as she placed her slim fingers on the cross pendant that I felt belonged to me.

"Baby!" I was snapped out of the slow motion vortex I entered as Leigh squealed, running over and clinging on to Zayn, kissing as Niall pretended to gag next to them. He spotted Olive, blushing almost instantly, their greeting much more quiet as he kissed her cheek, holding her gently.

I swallowed, looking around desperately for a way to avoid what I knew was coming next, but Harry's arms wrapping around my waist and picking me up in an embrace ruined any plan of running.

"Blondie Michaels, that is way too much cleavage for a lady," he said, placing me down and kissing my forehead. I smiled, licking my lips and shrugging.

"Call me the town whore, I'll embrace it," I shrugged, my eyes flicking quickly to the woman behind him then back to his perfect lilypad eyes.

"Never that, you look beautiful, D. I um, I wanna introduce you to someone," he turned to the blonde, calling her over as I swallowed, "Goldie, this is Taylor, Taylor this is my best friend Goldie, or D for short."

I held out my hand, which was met with clear distaste and weak hold, "Pleasure." She spoke, pressing her lips into a tight forced smile.

My hand fell back down to my side, my entire night shifting into a direction I hadn't spent the past few hours mapping out in my head. I needed another drink, or three. My eyes quickly moved to find Leigh's already on mind, and without further explanation she was moving over to me and linking our arms.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Michaels owes me another shot," we smiled, pulling away from the situation and I was thankful when she directed me towards my bedroom instead of the bar. Footsteps followed, Zayn soon joining my other side and wrapping his arm around both of us.

"I told him not to bring her," Zayn said as we entered the room, my lip caught between the tight grip of my teeth.

"Is he fucking dumb? Or on something. He has to be on something," Leigh said towards Zayn as I paced back and forth in front of the vanity.

"No, just a bloody idiot. But to be fair, they both are," Zayn said, I stopped walking instantly, my head snapping in his direction.

"I'm not an idiot, Zayn. I would never bring a date...not on an night like tonight." I said sternly, my breath making chest inflate, unsure how to breathe it out properly without crying. I felt the warmth of my eyes, tears slowly spilling as I reached up to wipe them away.

"Hey, hey, D, I'm sorry...I know you ain't...I'm just saying, you bo—.."

"— I was going to tell him tonight." I breathed out quietly, a soft sob coming from me. I inhaled sharply through my nose, tossing my head back to try and stop the path my tears wanted to fall on.

"You what?" Leigh exclaimed, quickly in front of me, gripping my arms, "Babe, look at me."

I swallowed my cry, looking down at Leigh's eyes and shrugging, "Obviously this is deeply one sided and for the best. I feel less of an idiot now than I would have as I handed him over my heart and he let it drop." I moved from her grip, clearing my throat, "Let's go. We only have a couple hours until the New Year, I'm not wasting it on tears."

I pushed past them, hearing their calls for my name, but all I saw was red. Red anger, red hurt, red disappointment. I was a menace the rest of the night, drinking more than I planned, avoiding Harry at all costs. Our interactions were short, yet his eyes seemed to linger on me the more I ignored him. They were burning my skin with their gaze and I thrived in it. I knew it was driving it insane and I was happy that it was.

He glared softly at me everytime I ignored Taylor, acting like she was invisible. Serving shots got everyone but forgetting hers. Asking her to take group photos but always forgetting to switch so she could be included. I was becoming the person I hated being around. I was becoming a replica of my ex sorority sister as they froze me out of the chapter.

But I was hurting, my heart slowly falling and shattering into pieces along the floor of this part; it was stepped on and demolished further as time went by.

"D," I heard his voice behind me as I made myself another vodka cran.

"Hmm?" I barely muttered out, taking a long sip of my drink, turning in his direction. We weren't alone for long, Taylor coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

His brows furrowed as his eyes searched mine, he was angry, I could tell by the way his lips pursed, "Nothing."

"Great," I pressed my lips into a smile, brushing past them, my shoulder hitting against Taylor as I did. I downed my drink, searching the room for a distraction. Any distraction. Leigh was grinding on Zayn, his lips preoccupied with her neck, Niall and Olive finally managing to figure out they liked each other enough to sit on the back couch and make out. My eyes scanned the room landing on Louis.

My ex hook up Louis that Harry hated more than anything in the world.

My feet were dragging me in his direction before common sense could hit, before I could think of a reason why I should stop.

"Hey fucker," I smirked, throwing my hair over my left shoulder, his eyes meeting mine for a time that couldn't even be measured in comparison to how they lingered on my chest.

"Michaels, ain't this a fuckin' surprise," he smirked, bringing his bourbon to his lips.

"I'm full of them sometimes," I winked, feeling like an utter idiot as I went through the motions of what I was doing.

"I see you let the puppy if it's leash for the night. Heard Taylor's been wanting to sink her claws in for a while, can't believe she managed to get him away from you," he smirked, licking his lips, waiting on my reaction.

"Realized I hate beggars," I said nonchalantly, a chuckle slipping his lips. He moved towards me, his hand slipping around to the small of my back, pulling me tight against him. He breathed into my neck, making me swallow.

"That's cause you like to do the begging, sweets, I 'avent forgotte'," he kissed my neck, flush traveling over my face. I peeked my eyes up at him, feeling a heat grow between us, my face inching up so our lips could meet when I heard a voice so angry it rattled me from the inside.

"Goldie. Outside, now!" I heard Harry's voice boom, quickly turning to face him.

"Excuse me?" I said, my face I could feel, red hot from anger of him ordering me around after what he did.

"Woof," Louis called out behind me, earning a deep inhale from me.

Harry let out a frustrated growl, grabbing my arm and pulling me with him toward the back, I quickly broke free from his grip, pushing past him and leading the way, refusing to be handled in the manner he thought was acceptable. I didn't realize how fast I was moving until he called out for me.

"Slow the fuck down! Goldie fucking stop!"

"What he fuck do you want from me, Harry? What do you want?" I said my voice raising, every bit of composure I had managed to fake slowly starting to leave me.

"I want to know what the fuck your problem is with me tonight? Why you're being such a fucking....such a —..."

"— what? Bitch? Say it, Harry. Say it like you have any balls left." I yelled back.

"Yes, D, you're being a fucking bitch to me and to Taylor. She hasn't done fucking done anything to you. For fucks sake, all I did was walk through the door ready to spend my last New Year's Eve with my best friend for a while...."

I scoffed, pulling at my hair, "Oh you're so,...and how did you plan on doing that? One hand around my waist and the other around hers? Dancing sandwiched between two blondes, oh I bet you like that idea. Now what happened at midnight in your little fantasy? Huh? You kissed her and then got some second hand high from me? Huh? God I feel like such a fucking idiot! A damn idiot!" I cried, slowly losing my mind, losing my ability to remember that I wasn't supposed to break in front of him. I couldn't fight the tears anymore.

"Hey, hey, hey...." His voice softened so quickly, his hands gripping on my arms to stabilize me, "D, baby D, come on, talk to me, please I'm going insane here."

I shook my head, trying to break from him stumbling back, his arms quickly wrapping around my waist holding me up, "Goldie, please."

"I...I was going to...I...." I cried, my gaze meeting his, through fuzzy tear filled eyes I swallowed, "You. You're the problem. You are your beautiful chestnut curls and lily pad eyes. God, I love you, you damn idiot. Why did you walk in here with her? Why her and not me? Wh—..." I was interrupted by his lips finding mine, finding a rhythm that was so messy, so needy for the next beat.

He broke away from me, pressing his forehead into mine, heavy breaths coming from both of us, "You are an idiot," he chuckled, "but so am I; because I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. And I'm sorry. I couldn't face what tonight meant. I couldn't face my true feelings, so I invited Taylor. I felt like if I directed what I wished tonight was to her instead of you, it would hurt less when I left. It would hurt less to never have called you mine."

I swallowed hard, shaking my head, "No, I've always been yours. And you've always been mine. I...I can't have you leave without knowing that," I took in his soft expression, the tears now forming in his eyes and my lips quickly met his again. Hands gripping at skin that felt so right. That seemed to mold into each other so perfectly.

"Come here," he whispered against my lips, hand linking with mine as he led me down to the boathouse near the lake. He moved quickly, pushing open the door and leading me inside. I watched as he jumped into the small sailing boat, holding his hand out to me as I climbed in behind him. He laid us down on the tarp that protected the boat, his fingers tangling into my hair.

Our kisses were now opened mouth, tongue finding each other in a tangled mess, skimming along the roofs of each. My hands slipped under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, he shimmed out of it as I untucked his tank, I wanted him in every way, and after four years I wasn't wasting any time.

"Help me, Harry. Please," I begged in a whiny voice. Louis was right, I loved begging, but only because I knew the result. He groaned, into my mouth, breaking the kiss to quickly undo his pants, my fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt and slipping it off of him. His fingers moved to my dress once his pants were off, reaching around to unzip me, fingers tugging my dress down, lips soon meeting my chest, hands pushing my tits together so that he could get his mouthful of both.

I moaned in pleasure, my head knocking back, mind lost in the idea that this was finally happening. Every dirty dream and fantasy I had of him was coming to life.

"I've dreamed about this, D. I've dreamed about what cherry vanilla tasted like, and god baby it tastes like a damn dream," he bit into my skin, making me arch into him, our skin creating a delicious friction.

"You haven't even had your mouthful yet, H," I whispered, my eyes locking with his as my hand squeezed between us, my fingers moving down my body, lifting my dress and moving into the band of my thong. I was greeted by a pool of arousal that started just for him, bringing it back up, gently pushing it into his mouth, "This is how it actually tastes."

My whispers were met with his eyes rolling back as his lips closed around my fingers, licking and sucking them clean. I pulled them out as his lips popped on release.

"Bloody fucking hell, Goldie Michaels, I'm about to fucking bust," he breathed, making a chuckle escape me. He smirked, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth, as his hands pushed my dress up, releasing my lip to push my dress over my head. His eyes traveled down my body, his pupils seemed to dilate as he went, a hunger behind them soon finding their way back to mine.

"You know what I think about often? I thought about it just today actually. Your formal, that dance floor," he inhaled sharply, his hand pressing down on my hip, dragging his fingers back into my ass, kneading at it, "The way your hips pushed into me, the way I could have slipped that dress up to your waist, fit right in," he swallowed, his voice a low grumble almost. His hand pulled back, smacking my ass before kneading the pain away.

My heart raced in my chest, remembering that night, the way it was ruined just as his lips pressed into my neck, just as he was doing now. He sucked on my skin in between each kiss, up to my jawline. I whined as he ran his nose softly along it, "I would have let you. Welcomed it."

I pushed my hips forward, pressing him slightly flat, lowering onto his bare, hard cock. I adjusted myself so I could press my cunt down along his shaft, grinding it up and down his length. He reached down, moving my thong to the side, letting my wet cunt fully meet him.

"Were you as ready for me as you are now? So sweet, and wet without me even doing much?" He whispered into my ear, his thumb pressing down on my clit, making my hips jolt forward, his other hand gripping at my hip, helping me continue my movements on him.

"Mmm, mhm. Harry, I think my cunt's always been ready for you. I think it was made for you," I licked my lips, glancing down at him, then to the mess I was making, "Look at how much it cries for you, begs you to fill me up. Fill me up Harry, please."

"I have other things I need to tend to first, Goldie," He smirked, flipping us over so I was on my back, his body shifting between my legs. He placed a hand on either side of my hips, fingers looping around the band of my underwear, yanking them off me and throwing them to the side. He placed my left leg on his shoulder, kissing a path down my calf, down to under my knee and back around to my inner thigh, letting it bend over his shoulder. His nose trailed a path up to my belly button and back down, ending his journey with a soft kiss on my clit. Chills crept over my stomach as he continued to tease me, hitting it softly with his nose, moving it from side to side along it.

I heard myself whine, my legs squirming as he moved to tighten his grip on my hips, keeping me in place. He was making me feel frustrated, more than I already was feeling, "Harry, please..."

"Please what, baby D, you never had a problem with words. Why now?" He said against my cunt, his warm breath making my thigh clench.

"I need your face between my legs, please." I begged, completely whiny, completely about to lose my mind.

"It's already between your legs, you have to be more specific. I'm an idiot, remember?" He cooed, his fingers digging further into my hips, his nose dragging a bit of arousal up my stomach.

"Tell me how good cherry vanilla tastes, H. Remind yourself how good it tastes," I moaned out, shoving his face back against my cunt. I could feel the smile on his lips as he began lapping at my wet center. His tongue pushing flat against my middle, curling in a manner that shouldn't be allowed by any human being. He sucked on my swollen clit, creating a fountain of curse words from me as he did.

"Fu-uck, Harry, god..." I moaned, my fingers tangling into his hair, pulling at the roots causing him to groan against me.

Harry's POV

I was in fucking heaven, I felt like i was literally in the act of physically fucking heaven. She tasted so sweet on my tongue, her juices covering my chin as they dripped down her cunt that desperately wanted me. I pulled back, licking my lips as I looked up at her, her face a lovely shade of red that I had never seen on her cheeks. I took my hand, slowly moving a finger inside of her, feeling her walls pulse against them, my prick hard at the idea of her cunt squeezing itself around it in the same manner. I curled my finger forward, my digits searching for her soft center, her soft pleasure point that I knew I found by her delicious mewls. She was so whiny and needy and I couldn't get enough.

Biting at her inner thighs as I slipped in another digit, curling them more and more as I pulled them in and out of her, "Imagine taking my cock with that cunt, you take my fingers so well, I can't imagine you wrapped around me, fuck, D."

I slipped another finger in, three fingers fucking her as she palmed at her own breast, twisting her nipples and adding to her own pleasure. I knew she wasn't shy, I knew how sexual my best friend could be, but it had never been for me.

"Harry...I am so close...please don–dont, fuck yes...," she cried out, her legs starting to tremble, my lips quickly adding suction to her clit, helping her get where she wanted quicker. Her hand hit the side of the boat, gripping at the tarp as she came, her juices spilling out for me, giving me my last meal of the year. I pulled my fingers out of her, licking at her opening, pushing my tongue in and lapping up everything she gave. Her legs lazily relaxed around me, I pushed up her body, kissing along the scars from past incidents that told her own story. That made her my Goldie.

"Open, baby D, lemme show you how good you taste," I said, pressing my fingers to her lower lip as she opened her mouth; my three fingers slipped in, pushing down on her tongue, a soft gag coming from her before, my lips kissing along her jaw, "Mmm, fucking good girl."

I dragged my fingers out of her mouth, down her neck, choking her softly, "Tell me what you want now, it's all about you tonight, only you."

"Fuck me," she gasped.

"Mmm, I don't know if you really want it..." I teased, my hand moving to my cock, slowly fucking my fist as I watched her squirm under my hold.

"Fuck your love into me, Harry Styles. Fuck me so good I can't stop confessing my love to you. Please. Please, for your good girl," she said, so sweetly and whiny it was so dirty. I positioned both her legs on my shoulders, lining myself up and slipping inside her, bottoming out, her nails digging into my bare back, dragging down as I held my position, not moving, not giving her anything other than the feeling of being completely filled by me. Her head knocked back, a gasp escaped her that never seemed to return.

She pulled my face down to hers as it tossed forward, whimpering against our kiss, her chest heavy with her breath as I slowly pulled out, pushing all the way in again, "God you take me so...fucking...good," I gasped with each thrust, she was squeezing me so well. I placed my hands on either side of her, using them as leverage to lift higher, her legs wrapping around me letting me know I was hitting her G spot. Knowing I wasn't missing it, not even once.

She broke the kiss, clinging onto me and kissing my neck, biting at my skin, moaning into it as I found my face, her walls fluttering around me. She was milking me for everything I was worthy and I didn't know how I hadn't seen her bright light sooner. How I didn't realize how my Goldie was just that, mine.

I pushed up and away from her, locking eyes with her pretty brown eyes, smiling as I took in her beauty, her sweetness, the sly smile appearing on her face. I slowed my strokes, carefully moving her legs off my shoulders, I wanted to be close to her, I wanted to press into her. I lowered my body, placing my arms on either side of her head.

"I love you, my Goldie girl. My baby D. You feel that, feel how much I love you?" I said with each thrust, my left arm moving down over her shoulder, down to her breast, cupping it, kneading it, twisting at her perfectly perked up nipple.

She moaned, nodding softly, her hands traveling over my body, "I do, H. God, i love you." She leaned forward, pulling my cross pendant into her mouth, wrapping it around her tongue, before releasing it, "She touched that. But it's mine, just like you, mine."

She moaned out as her hips swiveled up into me, our thrusts meeting each other blissfully. Her walls fluttered around me, letting me know how close she was.

"I am, all yours baby, fuck, all yours," I groaned, kissing her messily, my tongue rubbing along the roof of her mouth.

"Claim me, Harry. Fill me full of you. God I wanna feel you dripping out of me, H," she whined, my hips bucking quicker. I felt the tingle build in my lower spine, my legs beginning to lose their stability, a groan building in my chest.

"Yeah, full of me, D? Is that what you would think about? Me feeling you full?" I said, my eyes hard on hers, her head nodding quickly.

"Please, H, god I need it, please," she begged. She was so damn sexy when she begged, "Ha-Harry imma, oh go-od..."

I kissed her again, thrusting as I felt her walls tighten around me, her sweet arousal covering me completely, dripping down both of us, "Fuck baby, yes.." I moaned, bottoming out as I filled her up, shooting ropes of my mess inside of her.

She whined at the feeling, whimpering and taking hold of my ass, pushing me further in her. I chuckled, pressing a kiss into her forehead, "Are you trying to seal the deal baby? Trying to keep me around?"

"Mmm, daddy Styles has a ring to it," she giggled, shuddering softly. I chuckled, catching my breath and kissing her forehead again, then her nose.

"Come with me?" I whispered.

"I already did," she giggled and I laughed, pressing a kiss into her lips. I pulled out slowly, kissing my way down her body, licking at her nipples, down her stomach. I reached her cunt, lapping up the delicious mixture of her and I, cleaning along her thighs.

"No, Goldie," I kissed her cunt, moving back up to her mouth, kissing her, letting her taste us together, "Come with me to London. I can't be without you. Not anymore."

"H..." she started and I kissed her again, deeply, meaning every bit of it.

"Just think about it."

"Okay."

#harry styles #fanfic #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ff #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles x original character #phh #best friend!harry #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x oc #harry styles x reader #harry smut #prince hair harry #harry ff

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

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The Tiffany Club (ongoing)

In which Camille works at an exclusive sex club for high rollersand she runs into a wealthy handsome stranger named Harry twice in one day.When Harry and Camille realize they want to be together can Harry look past Camille's day job?

Don't Stand So Close (Completed Series)

In which Anna has a crush on her best friend's author-dad, Harry Styles, and one day he realizes he feels the same. Nothing good can come of a secret relationship, but nothing good can come from telling everyone the truth either.

The House Maid (Completed Series)

Set roughly in the early 1920s. In which Daisy and Harry both work for the same house and things don’t start out well for them. However, they soon realize they can’t stay apart and find themselves coming together and falling in love but what happens when jealousy and insecurities come between them?

The Queen's Secret (ongoing)

In which young Queen Y/n is married to King Edgar and they find themselves in need of a way to get Y/n pregnant as Edgar is infertile. King Edgar's brother in-law, Prince Harry is selected for the task but the deed is to be kept quiet lest the kingdom find out their dirty little secret. Unsurprisingly, the Queen finds herself falling for the handsome prince and he can't seem to get enough of her either.

Tales From the Modern Incubus (ongoing)

Harry is almost as old as time and he's got a lot to say. But right now he's hunting for the perfect female to carry his heir (as he must do every century). When Harry meets you, a pastor's daughter, he finds himself strangely obsessed with you in every way but you’re a good girl and Harry is definitely not your usual type. Will the handsome demon corrupt sweet y/n?

Lupus Noctis (ongoing)

(links to @avocadoguru blog where you can find this fic!)

Harry is a werewolf & Y/N is a forest ranger - fic co-written with @fkinavocado

Lupus Noctis fan art and this fan art by @tiredinwinter

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deezbutz28 · 5 days ago

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Serendipity

a/n: heyyyy i’m in my comeback era lol. i know this isn’t my normal story but i hope you all like it!

FLUFF!!!

college harry and college y/n :)

a lil over 3k words

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Y/N had always loved the little things—those small comforts in life that made everything just a bit easier to handle. A warm cup of coffee on a cold morning, a good book, a quiet café—these were the things that kept her grounded during the hustle and bustle of college life. So, when she found The Java Joint on her new college campus, it quickly became her go-to spot. The cozy little café was tucked away in a corner of campus, offering a peaceful escape from the chaos of lectures and assignments.

Every morning, she would grab her backpack, shuffle to the café, and order her usual: a caramel latte with an extra shot. It became part of her routine, something she could rely on. But it wasn’t just the coffee that kept her coming back—it was him.

Harry Styles, the barista with the wild curls, kind eyes, and easy smile that made her heart do a little flip every time he greeted her.

The first time she noticed him was a few weeks into her first semester. He had smiled at her from behind the counter, his voice warm and inviting as he asked for her order. He had an easy confidence about him, effortlessly charming but not overbearing. It was the way he remembered her name the second time she came in, the way he made her feel like she was the only person in the room. Every time Y/N walked into the café, Harry’s bright smile greeted her like they were old friends, even though they barely knew each other.

It wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t tried to make conversation—she had. She would chat with him about her day, about her classes, about the weather—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to their interactions. Something she didn’t quite understand yet.

One chilly October morning, Y/N shuffled into The Java Joint, still feeling groggy from an all-nighter spent studying for an exam. Her body craved coffee more than sleep, and she couldn’t resist the temptation. As usual, the place was busy, with students hunched over their laptops and exchanging quiet conversations. But Y/N’s attention immediately went to the counter, where Harry was working, his hands deftly moving as he made drink after drink.

“Morning, Y/N!” Harry greeted with a grin as she walked up to the counter.

“Morning,” she replied, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “I’m so tired today. I don’t even know how I managed to get out of bed.”

Harry chuckled, his brown eyes sparkling. “You and me both. Finals are coming up, huh?”

Y/N nodded, her eyes flickering to the row of pastries behind the counter. “Yeah, and I have a ton of projects. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost all concept of time at this point.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. “Don’t worry, you’ll make it through. Coffee is the secret to survival.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “If I didn’t have coffee, I don’t know how I’d function. Actually, scratch that—without you, I don’t think I’d make it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Me, huh? What did I do to earn that kind of praise?”

“You remember my usual order,” Y/N said with a smile. “That’s impressive. Most people forget what I order after a few weeks, but you... you’ve got it down.”

He grinned, making her a cup of coffee with ease. “You’re one of my best regulars. You’re hard to forget.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips as he slid her drink across the counter. She took the cup, savoring the warmth of it in her hands. “Thanks, Harry. You’ve just saved my day.”

“No problem,” he said, his voice light and playful. “Enjoy that latte. You’ve earned it.”

As Y/N turned to head toward her usual spot in the corner, she felt her heart race unexpectedly. The way Harry had looked at her just now—like she mattered—made her feel warm in a way that wasn’t just the coffee. But she shook off the thought, focusing on the relief that came with finally getting her caffeine fix.

The days that followed felt like a blur of exams, deadlines, and last-minute assignments. But every morning, Y/N made it a point to visit The Java Joint. She didn’t even have to order—Harry knew exactly what she wanted by the time she reached the counter.

One particular morning, she arrived later than usual. The café was crowded with students, all of them hunched over their laptops or chatting with friends. She stood in line, trying to catch her breath after rushing across campus, when Harry caught her eye from behind the counter. His lips curved into a smile the moment their eyes met.

“Y/N! The usual?” he called over the noise of the café.

She nodded, feeling a little embarrassed by the fact that he knew her order by heart. “Yeah, I’m running late today. Can you make it a large?”

“You got it.” Harry’s smile widened, and he made her coffee without missing a beat. But this time, something felt different. There was a certain warmth in his gaze as he handed her the cup.

“Thanks, Harry,” Y/N said, offering him a small smile as she took her drink.

“Anytime,” he replied, his tone sincere. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you?”

“Yeah, a presentation and a paper due,” she explained, feeling a little guilty for not being more enthusiastic. “I’ll probably be at the library for the rest of the day.”

“Ugh, that sounds exhausting,” Harry said sympathetically. “But hey, you’ve got coffee, so you’re halfway there.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s true. Coffee always wins.”

As she walked toward the table by the window, her heart fluttered again. The way Harry had looked at her—there was something behind those brown eyes that made her feel like she was the only one in the room. She tried to shake the thought away, telling herself she was probably reading too much into it. After all, he was just being friendly, right?

But as the day went on, the thought lingered. There was something about the way Harry smiled at her, the way he took the time to remember her order, the way his eyes softened whenever she walked into the café. It was more than just a friendly gesture—it felt... personal.

The following week, after yet another hectic day, Y/N decided to stop by The Java Joint again. This time, there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. The café was quieter than usual, with only a handful of students scattered around. Harry was behind the counter, casually wiping down the counter when he saw her walk in.

“Hey, Y/N. You want your usual?” Harry asked, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief.

Y/N smiled, but something was different this time. There was a feeling in the air—something electric. Maybe it was just the exhaustion settling in, or maybe it was the way Harry had looked at her just now. But Y/N felt her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“Actually,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “Do you think you could make it... extra sweet today? I’m feeling a little adventurous.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Extra sweet, huh? You sure?”

She nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, let’s see if you can handle it.”

“Challenge accepted,” Harry said with a playful grin. He set to work, making the drink with a little more care than usual. Y/N watched him, her heart skipping a beat. There was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away. The way he moved behind the counter—so effortlessly, so naturally—made it seem like he was in his element.

As he handed her the cup, he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “Extra sweet, just like you asked.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the unexpected compliment, but she quickly recovered. “Thanks, Harry.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Definitely.”

The next few days felt like they passed in a blur of exams and assignments, but Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. Every time she walked into The Java Joint, it felt like there was this unspoken connection between them, something that made her heart race and her palms sweat.

Finally, on a quiet Friday morning, Y/N decided to take a chance. She had finished her last exam for the week and had a little free time before her next class. She walked into The Java Joint, hoping to catch Harry before he got too busy. As usual, he was behind the counter, and his face lit up when he saw her walk in.

“Y/N! What can I get for you today?” Harry asked with his signature grin.

“Actually,” Y/N said, taking a deep breath. “I was wondering... would you want to grab coffee outside of here sometime? Just the two of us?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked taken aback. But then, his face broke into a grin, and he stepped closer to the counter. "I’ve been waiting for you to ask," he said, his voice soft but playful.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to answer so quickly, and the way he looked at her made her heart skip a beat. "Really?" she asked, trying to sound casual, even though her pulse was racing.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his eyes meeting hers with a warmth that made her feel like she was the only person in the room. "I’ve been thinking about asking you for a while, actually. Just... didn’t know if you were into the idea."

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. For a second, she had been worried she might’ve misread the signs. But now that Harry was admitting he’d been thinking the same thing, she felt her nervousness melt away.

"So..." Harry began, his voice teasing, "coffee outside the café. When works for you?"

Y/N smiled, a playful gleam in her eye. "How about right now? I’ve got an hour free before my next class."

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking pleased. "Right now, huh? Bold move, I like it."

"Well," Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, "I figured if we’re gonna do this, we might as well do it now. No time like the present, right?"

"You’re absolutely right," Harry said, pushing himself away from the counter. He grabbed his jacket, which had been hanging on a nearby hook. "Let’s go, then."

Y/N followed him out of the café, feeling an excited flutter in her chest. As they stepped outside into the crisp autumn air, Harry turned to her with a grin.

“So, where are we going? You pick," he said, looking genuinely curious. "I’m happy to let you choose the place.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thinking. “There’s a little park just off campus. It’s not too far. I like it there, especially when it’s quiet.”

Harry smiled. “Sounds perfect. Lead the way.”

They walked side by side through campus, exchanging small talk and laughing over silly stories about their college experiences. Y/N found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t expected. There was no awkward tension, no nerves. It felt natural, like they were simply two people who had known each other for much longer than they actually had.

As they reached the park, they found a bench by a small pond. The trees surrounding them were beginning to change colors, their leaves a vibrant mix of orange, yellow, and red. The air was crisp, and the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow across the park. It was the perfect setting, and Y/N felt like she was in a dream.

They sat down, their legs almost touching. Harry turned to her, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “So, Y/N... What’s something about you that I don’t know yet?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the question. “Hmm... that’s a good one. I guess... I’ve always wanted to travel more. Like, really travel. Europe, Asia, South America... I want to see the world. I think it’s the one thing I’ve always been sure about.”

Harry nodded, his eyes soft as he listened. “I think that’s amazing. You’ve got that sense of adventure, huh?”

Y/N smiled shyly, feeling a little embarrassed by the vulnerability in her voice. “I guess I do. What about you? What’s something I don’t know about you?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering toward the pond before meeting her gaze again. “I think... I’ve always wanted to write songs. I’ve got this notebook full of lyrics and ideas, but I’ve never really shared them with anyone.”

Y/N was surprised. She had always known Harry was into music—she’d heard him talk about it a few times—but the idea of him being a songwriter felt... personal. “Wow, that’s incredible,” she said softly. “I didn’t know that.”

Harry smiled, a little shy now. “Yeah, it’s something I’m still working on. Maybe one day, I’ll show someone my stuff. But I guess it’s kind of a private thing for me.”

“You should definitely share it one day,” Y/N said, her voice sincere. “I’m sure it’s amazing.”

They sat in silence for a moment, simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings. The pond rippled gently in front of them, and a few ducks glided across the water. It was the kind of moment Y/N wished could last forever—simple, but perfect in its own way.

Eventually, Harry turned to her, his expression more serious now. “Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m really glad you asked me out. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, but I didn’t know if you felt the same. I really like you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his words. The way he was looking at her—so genuine, so open—made her feel like she was floating. “I like you too, Harry,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “More than I expected.”

Harry smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. He reached for her hand, gently taking it in his. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, honestly. I didn’t want to make things weird by asking you out while I’m just the barista at The Java Joint, but... I’m glad I did.”

Y/N laughed, squeezing his hand. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, too. I was honestly starting to wonder if I was reading too much into things.”

Harry chuckled, the sound light and easy. “I guess we’re both a little shy when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed with a smile. “But I’m glad we took the leap.”

As they sat there, talking and laughing under the golden afternoon sun, Y/N realized that this—whatever it was between them—felt like something real. The connection she had with Harry was undeniable, and it wasn’t just about the coffee. It was the way he made her feel, the way they fit together in a way that seemed effortless, even though they hadn’t known each other for long.

After a while, Harry stood up and stretched, looking down at Y/N. “I don’t want to keep you from your next class, but I’d like to do this again sometime. You know, the coffee-and-chat thing.”

Y/N smiled, standing up beside him. “I’d love that. Same time next week?”

Harry grinned. “It’s a date.”

As they walked back toward campus, hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t stop smiling. The whole day felt like a dream, and as she looked at Harry beside her, she knew this was just the beginning of something amazing.

In the weeks that followed, their relationship blossomed. They spent more time together, grabbing coffee before class, talking late into the night, and sharing their dreams and fears. And every time Y/N stepped into The Java Joint, it felt like the universe had conspired to bring them together. What had started with a simple coffee order had turned into something real—a bond neither of them had expected but both cherished.

And every time Harry made her a latte, with just the right amount of sweetness, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. After all, it was the little things—like a cup of coffee—that had brought them to this moment. And it was the little things that made her realize just how lucky she was to have found him.

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cinemastyles-backup · 1 year ago

Text

Visiting Home Part 2

Summary: Y/N and Harry continue to celebrate Christmas at his family's home and gets the surprise of a life time

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, sexual innuendos, pregnancy talk, fluffy filth

My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.

PRINCE HARRY

I can feel Harry's gentle touch on my lower back and I slowly roll over to face him, "Morning." I mumble with a smile, my eyes still closed.

I feel his lips brush mine and his hand slides down my side, his fingers tracing over my hip, "Good morning." He whispers nudging my neck with his nose, "sleep well?"

I nod and slowly open my eyes, "I did."

"Good." His lips plant kisses over my shoulder and his hand slowly slides between my legs, "Good."

I part my thighs and turn to look over at him. He smiles at me as his fingers gentle presses on and rubs tiny circles onto my clit, "I'm glad."

He leans in and whispers, "Are you still okay with what we talked about last night?"

I bite my lip and my eyes flutter shut, "Yes."

He adds more pressure, "I can't stop thinking about it."

I arch my back slightly and reach down to grab his arm, "Please, Harry."

He chuckles softly, "Please what, baby?" He moves his finger lower and slides it between my folds, "This?"

I nod quickly, "Yes. Yes."

He slide his hand over to my hip and rolls me over so I'm on top on him, "You're in control, baby." His hands rests on my hips as I bite my lip and reach down to grab his cock.

His eyes flicker down and he watches me slide down onto him. His lips part and his fingers sink into my skin, "Shit."

"Shh, baby." I whisper as I lean down, "Don't want to wake anyone up just yet."

He nods and bucks his hips, "I need you to move, baby."

I slowly lift my hips up and slide back down, building up to a semi-fast pace. I bury my head into his neck and whimper, "Baby."

"Hmm." He turns his head and kisses my cheek, "That feel good?"

I nod and sink my nails into his shoulder, "Y-Yes." I lean up and tilt my head back as I lay my hands on his chest.

"Such a beautiful view, baby." He moans and bucks his hips again, "Fuck."

He rolls us over and pushes all the way in, "You feel so good." He groans as he thrusts, "So fucking good."

I clench around him and grip the sheets as my body arches off the bed. He wraps an arm under my back and kisses between my boobs.

He grunts and pushes all the way in, "I-I- fuck."

I can feel his cock twitching inside of me, and I moan.

He waits a few minutes, just staring down at me before he pulls out, "I have something for you."

I walk to the bathroom and turn the shower on. I lean against the door frame as I see him open the closet and pull out a neatly wrapped package, "What is that?"

"For you. I had it mailed here and my mom wrapped it." He hands it to me, "I wanted to give it to you last night, but.." he smirks, "Open it!"

He interlocks his hands together and holds them to his chin.

I unwrap the package and my lips part, "Harry. You didn't!" I drop the wrapping paper and hold up the two packs of matching pajamas, "You got some too?"

"I did. One for you, and one for me." He smiles and walks over, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." I smile and give him a kiss.

——

"Good morning and Merry Christmas!" Anne says walking in with coffee, "Here you go, sweetie." She hands me a mug and I smile, "Thank you!"

She smiles and sits down, "Alright. So who wants to go first?"

"I will!" Gemma says handing us our gifts, "I hope you like them."

I open them up and my mouth drops, "Are these out yet?"

She shakes her head, "Not yet. They're the newest ones we've been working on."

"I love them." I pop the sunglasses on and l look over at Harry, "How do-" I laugh when I see Harry do the same thing.

"They look beautiful on you, thanks Gem." He smiles and puts them back into the case.

Harry gives Gemma and Anne their gift from us and we sit back and wait as they open them.

"Oh I love it it's beautiful!" Anne says holding up the necklace, "Thank you both so much!"

"This is so pretty!" Gemma says looking over the scarf, "Thank you!"

Anne gives us our gifts and I cover my mouth, "Awe. Anne. This is.. this is beautiful." My eye graze over the picture frame with mine and Harry's name on it, and engraved is the date we started dating.

I blink away the tears and show Harry.

He smiles and shakes his head, "That's such an old picture, mom."

Anne smiles and bats the air, "It's my favorite."

"Thank you." I get up and walk over to her and hug her.

"I'm so glad to have you as part of our family." She whispers and kisses my cheek. I smile and walk back over and sit next to Harry.

My eyes keep scanning over the picture and I can't help but not smile.

"Thanks mom." Harry walks over and hugs her. She smiles and pats his back, "You're welcome, darling."

Harry walks over to the tree and grabs a box, "Here's your other present." He hands me the box and I take it, "Oh gosh, Harry."

I start to unwrap it, and there's a box. I open it and there's another box.

"No, Harry. You didn't." I pull the box out and hold it up, "Such a nice gift."

They all laugh and I unwrap that one to find another box.

Then another box.

And finally, another box.

"Okay. Okay. That should be the last one." Harry chuckles.

I open it and there's a card, "Look behind the tree." I look at Harry, "Huh?"

"Go look behind the tree." He smirks and I look at Anne who shrugs. I slowly get up and walk over to the tree, leaning around to check it.

"Harry there's no-"

I drop to my knees and start to cry.

"Y/N. Will you please do me the honor and agree to become my wife?" Harry gives me a smile and looks at me, "I love you so, so much. You're the person I want to start a family with."

I nod my head and fall into him, almost knocking both of us over, "Yes. Yes. A hundred times. Yes."

He pulls me in tighter and kisses my cheek over and over again, "I love you."

"I love you."

——

"So." Anne says sipping her wine, "How does it feel to be engaged, y/n?"

I look down at the ring and smile, "I love it."

Harry lays a hand on mine, "I love you." He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, but stays to linger to quickly whisper into my ear, "I can't wait to see that hand with the ring wrapped around my cock."

I clench my jaw to keep my composure and I let out a sigh. He smirks as he can tell he has me flustered.

"What we're you thinking? Spring wedding? Summer wedding?" Gemma asks, "I'm so exited."

I shrug, "Oh wow. I Um, I haven't put much thought into it honestly."

"We'll figure it out." Harry moves closer and sets his hand on my thigh, "We have all the time in the world."

He shifts his hand to the inside of my thigh and gives it a little squeeze. I clench my thighs together on his hand and lean forward slightly, spreading them for him.

"Gem, you're definitely the maid of honor, so act surprised when I ask you later on with a cute box of stuff." I laugh and take a sip of my water.

Harry moves his hand up and presses it against my clothed pussy.

Gemma lays a hand on her chest and gasps, "Oh gosh! Thank you!"

Harry gently massages my clit and It feels so good.

I don't even want to talk because I know the next sound out of my mouth will not be words.

"Now I really have to take you to the shops, y/n." Anne says with a smile, "I'm so happy for you both!"

"I'm so happy with her." Harry cuts in, his fingers still pushing circles, "I don't think I can find anyone better to put up with me."

I bite the inside of my lip and slowly push my hips forward. He smirks and pulls his hand away, "Y/N, can I see you for a moment?"

I set my glass down and nod. I look up at Anne and Gemma, "Excuse me." I get up and follow Harry into the hallway.

"What's up?"

He leans in and kisses me, gently pushing my back against the wall, "Do you want to tell them?" He kisses down my neck.

"Tell them what?" I bite my lip as his hands grip my hip.

"That we're trying to start a family?" He whispers kissing back to my lips, "They're already so excited about us getting married, I-"

"Yes."

His eyes light up, "Really?"

I nod and reach up to grab his chin, "There's going to be a lot of dirty sex for you." I whisper and smile up at him. He smirks and shakes his head, "How'd I get so lucky?"

I shrug, "I ask myself that everyday."

He grabs my hands and kisses my knuckles, "So when does the dirty sex start?"

——

You can find part three here

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cinemastyles-blog · 2 years ago

Text

Best Tutor Ever

Summary: a Wattpad request by SarahTrace789 - “The second idea was Harry is a good boy and she is the bad girl whose grade in math class is bad and she needs to get her it up to graduate so she exchanges sex lessons with Harry for tutoring lessons.”

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, student!y/n, student!harry, goodboy!harry, unprotected sex, fingering, hair pulling, oral (both), filth

Master

PRINCE HAIR HARRY

“I need at least a B to pass, right?”

The teacher nods, “Yes, at least a B.”

“Got it. Thank you!” You stand up and grab your books before walking out of the room. You head to the cafeteria and sit down at the table.

“I need at least a B to pass math, then I can officially walk at graduation. I don’t know what else to do.” You complain and roll your eyes with a huff.

“Why don’t you talk to that Harry kid. He’s pretty smart from what I’ve heard.”

“Who?” You asks looking around, confused because you know someone named Harry. You grew up with him, he just kinda fell off because you became popular and he didn’t.

Y/f/n taps your shoulder and points, “The guy sitting at the end of the table over there.”

“Striped dress shirt?”

She nods, “uh huh, I guess he’s like stupid smart. Kinda nerdy. Not my vibe.”

You bite your lip, “You know what, I’m going to.”

Your friends watch as you walk over to Harry and sit down across from him. He slowly looks up at you and you’re kinda taken a back by how pretty he is.

“Hello?”

You blink and shake your head, “Sorry, i um.. i know it’s awful timing, and I’m a shitty person blah blah, but I have a favor to ask you.”

“No. I can’t help you study for math so you can graduate, y/n.”

You lean back, “How did you know that that’s what I was going to ask you.”

He smirks and tilts his head, “We’ve known each other since the second grade. You’ve never been good with math.”

You’re lost at what to say, but you need to say something.

“See. That’s perfect then. You come over tonight and we can catch up on everything.” You smile and hope he says yes.

“Mm. I’m good, thanks.” He looks back down at his notebook.

“Harry.” You whine quietly, “Please?”

He looks up and laughs, “What’s in it for me?”

You look up at him and shrug, “Whatever you want.”

“Tempting.” He leans back and presses his lips together in a dry smirk.

You close your eyes and lean in, “I will send you a picture of my tits.”

He finds your negotiating absolutely hilarious, “Wow. How classy.” He rolls his eyes, “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Just please actually think about it.” You lay your hands on the table, “I’ll do anything.”

He squints his eyes slightly and tilts his head, “Anything?” He asks with a smirk.

You laugh slightly and nod, “I guess, Harry. Im desperate, if you couldn’t already tell.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Fine.”

“Yes?” You ask staring at him.

He nods, “Yeah, fine. But I’m only giving you one night. So after that, you’re on your own again.”

You smirk and stand up. Before walking away, you lean down and whisper, “Please after one night with me you’ll be hooked.”

You walk back to your table and sit down before you embarrass yourself even further, “So I’m pretty sure I just um.. exchanged sex acts for tutoring.”

——

After school you rush straight home. Ignoring everyone in your path.

If you were correct and Harry wanted to collect, you wanted to be ready.

Thankfully, your parents are leaving for a three day work trip, so you’ll have the house all to yourself.

And Harry.

You immediately stripped your clothes off and got into the shower. It was an everything shower, so you couldn’t waist another second.

You shave, exfoliate, wash, rinse, repeat.

You step out and wrap a towel around your hair and around your body. You do your skin care and go pick out an outfit.

You didn’t want to seem too slutty, but at the same time, you really did want to thank him for helping you.

So you opt for the simple, but very still very sexy bra set and put it on after you lathered your entire body in the best smelling lotion you had.

You threw on shorts and an old baggy t shirt and go to dry your hair.

You weren’t sure what time Harry was coming over, you just agreed on tonight, no specific time.

You go down stairs and it must be perfect timing because there’s a knock on your door. Suddenly, your heart decides to pick up its speed and you feel nervous.

You walk over and open the door, “Hey, Harry. Come in.” You open the door more and step aside.

He gives you a smile as he walks in, “Hey.”

“You can set you stuff wherever.” You close the door and lock it, “Thank you for actually showing up.”

You walk around the corner and lean against the wall. He gets his notes out and looks over at you. His eyes scan up your bare legs and slowly make their way to your eyes, “No problem. Do you have your notes.”

You look around, “Uh. Yes. They’re around here somewhere.” You search for them and pull them out from under your laptop, “Here.”

He nods and pulls out the chair and sits down.

You lay them down and sit down in the chair next to Harry as he goes through his notes.

You sit there awkwardly, unsure of what to say exactly.

Harry glances over at you, “I like your shirt.”

You smile and look down at your Green Bay tee, “Oh, thanks.”

Harry leans forward to move stuff around, “So do you know what you need to study?”

“She wrote it down for me.” You grab the sticky note and hand it to harry. He takes it and nods as he glances over it, “Okay. I have all of these.”

He hands the note back to you and his eyes gaze at your legs. He swallows and clears his throat.

You move your chair closer to him and reach up to grab your pen. You lean back and bend your leg up to rest your notebook on it.

Harry glances back over at you and he freezes as he sees your lace panties peaking through the leg hole of your shorts.

“What’s first?” You look over at him and rest the end of your pen against your cheek. You spread your legs just a tad bit more, teasing him.

“Yeah, first.” He turns back towards the table and picks up his pencil, “So the algebra portion, that really isn’t bad, here I’ll walk you through an easy one and we’re pick harder ones as we go.”

You nod and write down the problem as he explains it, “Now, look over that for a minute.”

Harry takes his sweatshirt off and hangs it on the back of the chair. He turns and you notice his tattoos, “I like those.”

“Wh- oh these?” He looks at his arm and pulls the half unbuttoned parts of his shirt open, “I have more.”

You bite your lip as you see the images on his chest, “Wow. Did they hurt?”

He shrugs, “Eh.”

“I just have one, it’s tiny.”

“Let’s see it.” Harry turns towards you, leaning back in the seat as he rests his elbow on the arm rest.

You smirk and shake your head, “Oh gosh, no.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He winks and starts to undo his shirt fully.

You slowly pull your shirt up, showing him the three little word phrase under your boob. You don’t even try to keep your lingerie a secret, you both know that Harry isn’t just there to help you study.

“What are ya wearin’ that pretty thing for?” Harry leans over and brushes his finger against the lace.

You bite your lip and look down at his touch, “For you.” You breathe out as you look up at him, “I wore this to surprise you for when you took my clothes off.”

He bites his lip and smiles for a few moments. He then reaches out, grabbing your hands and pulling you towards him.

You fall forward, landing in his lap weirdly, “Oh shit.” You scoot up, moving your self around so you can straddle him.

He grips the bottom of your shirt and you raise your arms as he lifts it up over your head.

He drops it to the ground as his eyes start scanning your newly exposed skin, “Fuck, y/n.”

You bite your lip and tilt your head, “What?”

He blows out air and rests his hands on your hips, “I knew you were going to be hot, but I didn’t know it would be this hot.”

Harry’s words make your stomach do a somersault, “Fuck.” You gasp, “I mean.” You laugh slightly, “yeah, no. Fuck because I thought the same thing about you.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, “No, you didn’t.”

“Hey, I never forgot about you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that you never tried to reconnect with me. You got too cool for me and no-“

You cut him off by kissing him. His hands pull your closer and he presses his hips upwards into yours, “Fuck.” He groans, “You piss me off.”

“So use me to get all your anger out.” You lean in and kiss down his neck, “Fuck me, Harry.”

“I’ll also collect my tutoring payment while I’m here.” He smirks and chuckles before he leans in to kiss you. He slides his hands up your back and unhooks your bra.

He drags the thin fabric down your arms and drops it, exposing your tits.

“You got some nice tits on ya, love.” Harry reaches up and starts to knead them. You moan out and slide your hands around his shoulders, tugging at the hair your fingers can get tangled in.

“Shit.” He moans out quietly, “can you get on your knees for me?”

“Anything for the person that’s going to help me graduate.” You give him a smirk and stand up. You go to kneel down but he stops you, “Wait.”

“What?” You ask looking up at him.

“Take off those shorts.” Harry nods as he undoes his belt and jeans. He pushes them down his legs and leans back, stroking his cock as he watches you.

“Turn around.”

You bite your lip and turn around, poking your ass out towards Harry. He groans lowly, “Fucking hell. C’mere.”

You spin back around and walk over to him, getting down on your knees in front of him. You don’t wait for his instruction, you just get right to it.

You wrap your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue as you work into a slow bobbing motion.

Harry moans and tilts his head back, “Fuck.”

You hum against him and work your head down further. You relax enough and slip him into your throat.

Harry gasps, “God, you’re so fucking good at this.” He moans and lays a hand on the back of your head, “Shit, that’s it.”

You pull your head up, looking up at him as you catch your breathe.

He gives you a smirk, “No wonder you’re not good at math.”

You roll your eyes, “Was ‘you’re so good at giving head’ too hard for you to say?” You laugh slightly and run your hands up his thighs.

His eyes follow them as you run them up towards his cock.

He gasps quietly when you wrap your hand around him. You start to pump it slowly, placing little kisses up his thighs.

“Don’t tease me, y/n.”

You look up at him, “I’m not.” You move up and place your lips on the tip of his cock, slowly poking your tongue out to swirl it around.

“I should be quizzing you on your math right now.” Harry can’t help but laugh which causes you to laugh. You lean back and tilt your head with a smile, “Way to kill the mood.”

He shrugs, still laughing, “Sorry.”

“I’ll let it slide this time.”

He bites his lip and looks down at you with a look that causes your pussy to clench around nothing, “Get up here.” He grabs a hold of your wrists and pulls you to stand up.

“Turn around.” He spins you around and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. He slides them down your legs, leaning in to kiss the small of your back.

“Bend over, as far as you can.” He pushes on your back and leans back. He bites his lip as he watches your pussy become visible, “Fuck.”

He slides his hands to your ass cheeks and squeezes as he spreads them apart, “You have such a beautiful pussy, y/n.”

Harry leans in and licks a stripe up your folds, getting them wet before he slips it between them. You gasp and place your hands on his knees to support yourself.

“Fuck, Harry.” You moan out, “Yes, yes.”

You dig your nails into his skin and he groans against you. You push your hips back into his face more, moaning out his name in a whiny tone.

He buries his tongue inside of you for a few more minutes before he leans back, “Fuck, sit.”

He grabs his cock and holds it steady for you. You sit up and slowly lower our hips. You moan and close your eyes as you feel the head of his cock enter your soaked cunt, “Fuck, Harry.”

“Relax, y/n.. That’s just the beginning.” He smirks as he grips your hips and lowers your down onto his cock a little faster.

He groans as your walks pulsate around his cock. He lets out a few moans and groans as you grind your hips downward.

He squeezes your hips and pushes his up, causing you to feel more pressure which feels good, “Oh, shit, y-yes.”

You tilt your head back and Harry leans up, wrapping his arm around your stomach, “Lean, back here.” You lean back against his chest and bite your lip as you listed to him speak, “Bring your legs up, I’m gonna hold them.”

You nodded and did as he said, you had to slip off his cock, but once he got his arms hooked under your legs, you were golden.

You reach down and slip his cock back into you, moaning as you feel him pushing deeper inside of you. He thrusts his hips faster and you could feel your orgasm coming.

“Fuck, H-Harry..” you lay your head back on his shoulder and let out a moan as you clench around his cock, “shit, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Your orgasm hit you hard. Harry lays his hand on your clit, rubbing as your talks you through your high.

It was in this moment that you realized you are on absolute full display in your family dining room.

Like, if someone would walk through the front door, they would see you spread open, butt ass naked, with Harry’s cock pounding in and out of your pussy as he squeezes your boobs and rubs your clit with the other.

The thought of getting caught did give you an adrenaline rush, though.

“Fuck.” You tilt your head back and close your eyes as you pant, “When did you get good at this?” You laugh weakly.

He chuckles and leans in, “I’ve always been good. You’ve just been too good for me to find out.” He pecks you head quick and leans back smiling.

You shake your head and stand up to face him. You manage to straddle him comfortably, “Yeah, yeah. My fault I know.” You roll your eyes and bite your lip as you sit back on his cock.

He wraps an arm around your waist and watches as his cock thrusts in and out of you, “So,” Harry groans, “Re-remember how I said.. I was only going.. to, um.. do this once?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

“Yeah, that’s out the window.”

You smile and tilt your head back, moaning as you feel that familiar feeling building up again, “Fuck, fuck.”

He lays his hand on your clit and quickly rubs it, “There you go.”

You tangle your fingers in his long hair and pull, “Shit.” You moan and clench your thighs before leaning in to kiss him.

Your lips move in the most perfect sync. You start to grind your hips in a streaky rhythm and Harry pulls you closer. He lays on hand on your back and the other goes to your ass to squeeze.

You moan against his lips, gasping as he hits that little sweet spot every so often.

“I think.. we should make this.. a regular thing.. don’t you?” Harry asks in between kisses.

You smile against his lips, “I.. totally agree with.. that..”

He thrusts his hips up, “Fuck, you feel fuckin’ incredible, y/n.”

“I love your cock.” You whimper as you grind downward, “Fuck, Harry.”

His fingers dig into your skin, “Let’s go to the couch.”

You stand up and wait for him. He stands up and lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

“You’re so fuckin beautiful.” He smiles but quickly frowns, “But you still piss me off sometimes.”

You smirk, “I’m sorry.”

He sighs as he lays you down on the couch, “I guess I’ll let it slide, just this once.”

He slips his cock back into you, closing his eyes as your legs wrap tighter around him.

He looks down at you and brushes hair from your face. He leans in and kisses you, “I’ve also missed you.”

You smile against his lips, “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry.”

You moan and cling to him as you cum around his cock again, “Fuck, fuck, harry.”

He watches your face, getting so lost in the way you look when you’re pleased, he didn’t realize he came inside of you.

“Oh. Shit. Shit.” He pulls out and you sit up, “What? Harry. What?”

He runs a hand through his hair and motions, “I didn’t pull out.”

You press your lips together and shrug, “Hmm?”

“I don’t- I’m sorry?” He laughs nervously and looks at you. You smirk, “Nothing we can do about it now.”

“Right on that one. Okay, um. Shall we actually study now?” Harry smiles as he nods towards the dining room.

You sigh and get up, “Yeah, but only if you promise to stay with me tonight and do what we just did again.” You bite your lip and giggle and you hold on to his arm.

“Mm, I’ll have to think about it.” Harry gives you a smirk and you roll your eyes.

——

Thank you for requesting this!

If you have any ideas please don’t be afraid to send them to me!

Likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

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33-81 · 2 years ago

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Italy with Harry

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iamjustaholeforyousir · 2 years ago

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Look What We Became Masterlist

part1 - Arrogant Son of a Bitch

part2 - What makes you think you’re good enough

part3 - There's No One to Blame

part4 - I Almost Said Your Name

part5 - I Can Feel You Crying

part6 - You Don't Have To Go Home

part7 - While He's Touching Your Skin

part8 - I Disrespected You

part9 - Breathe Me In

part10 - There's just no gettin' through Without you

part11 - Walk Through Fire For You

part12 - You and I

@strwbrrydaydreams @remuslupinwifee @inlikea-coolway @mypolicemanharryyy @sunshinemoonsposts @stilesissaved @novalunosising @sleutherclaw @dear-mylove @kiy0hime @rafaaoli @st-ev-ie @urmomsksjdjdjsj @lomlhstyles @love-letters-to-uranus @panicattheuc @grace-vega28

#arranged marriage #enemies to lovers #forced marriage #grumpy x sunshine #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x y/n #harry x you #perioddramacentral #prince harry #1d #one direction #slow burn #hazza

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jarofstyles · 2 years ago

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Stay Right Here Masterlist

Alpha prince Harry was smitten with omega maid Y/N from the first glance. A taste of forbidden love at it’s strongest.

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive writing

Warnings: contains ABO elements, alpha Harry, knotting, angst, forbidden love, smut, biting kink, and plenty more.

1. What Started It All

2. The First Meeting

3. The First Day

4. The First Touch

5. Just a Touch

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novelistrry · 2 years ago

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Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“I don’t think you have any right to speak about deception or dishonor, Y/N. You parade yourself as the perfect princess, and yet, you lie to your subjects. Do not lecture me on deception or dishonor,” Harry drew the boundary between them, a harsh red line that was clear and hard to miss.

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

Harry is a prince, Y/N is a princess, and Harry is incredibly deceptive

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating, tension, etc.

Warning: Mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, wet dreams, praise kink, deception, etc!

Word Count: 15k+ with the prologue, 12k without.

Prologue (A/N: only read this if you have not read the blurb, if you’ve already read the blurb you can scroll down to where part one “The Ruse” starts)

Y/N hated Harry.

Actually, she wasn’t quite sure the loathing could run quite as deep as it did. It was almost as if when her eyes locked with his, or she got a whiff of his cologne in the corridor, the hatred would flow through her veins and act as a power source. As if the only fuel she needed was how much she absolutely and utterly loathed that man.

So when her handmaid had told her summertime was officially in action, and she knew what summertime brought, Y/N wanted to stomp her foot like a child and throw herself onto the floor.

Summer was supposed to be excellent, filled with fruits and sunny skies. It was supposed to be warm and lovely, but when Y/N’s parents invite Harry and his family to the palace every summer, it’s hard to find enjoyment in the season.

He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and Y/N wasn’t one to deny it. Green mosaic eyes, captivating and alluring like a siren sat atop a rock luring sailors in with that beautiful voice. Only instead of using his rhythmic voice to lure her in, he used the gaze of his eyes. Soft features and delicate sculpting to his face that were so perfect it was absolutely infuriating. He was perfect, truly, in every way possible and the people loved his beautiful face and charming personality.

Except when the large wooden doors shut, leaving Y/N and Harry alone (which wasn’t supposed to happen per Y/N’s request, by the way), his mouth was foul and his charming qualities were consigned to oblivion. Around Y/N, Harry was his worst version of himself and Y/N could not stand him.

“I don’t want him to come this year, Dorothea!” Y/N exclaimed to her chambermaid as her heels clicked against the large tile pieces. She was pacing back and forth, a nervous tick she’s had since she was little.

Sweat accumulated in the pits of her palms, a telling sign that she was nervous, though she would never say that to Dorothea or let it be known to Harry because he would never let her live it down.

See, Y/N and Harry were similar in two ways. One, they were both heir to a royal bloodline. And two, they were both so, so stubborn.

“I know, dear.” Dorothea, the sweetest old lady the palace could find, spent most of her day assisting Y/N in her needs even though there weren’t very many of those. Y/N was relatively low maintenance and hated to be waited on, “It’s only three months.”

With that sentiment, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed that was just made and fluffed, deciding she would spend her day sulking in her room rather than participating in any of the start of summer festivities. As if Dorothea could tell Y/N just wanted to be left alone, she quietly made her way out of the room, and left Y/N to her own devices.

____

Maybe dreams do come true, because the summer season had officially been in swing for three days and there were no sights of Harry, or his family, lingering around the palace. Eventually, she thought she would turn the corner and catch him chatting up a chambermaid with a devilish smile and eyes that would turn a girl into a puddle of melted candy, but it had been three days and even the girls she passed (who were anticipating him heavily) were whispering about the prince being late.

By the fifth day, Y/N was beginning to feel the weight lift off her chest and the ease flood through her veins. Though she didn’t dare to ask her parents about Prince Harry’s whereabouts because that would come with an agonizingly painful interrogation (they truly believed their daughter would wed the man), and a small reprimand because of her prior years sour behavior toward him, though they didn’t know just how insufferable he was in return.

Small talk whisked throughout the palace by the seventh day, explaining that Prince Harry would not be attending this summer season because he was to be married by the end of the year to a princess Y/N had never heard of. A small twitch shot through her chest, but she brushed it off feigning it as relief she never had to deal with him again. While Y/N acted oblivious, everyone knew the reason Harry and his family visited the palace every summer is because the families were hoping for an alliance of sorts— for Harry and Y/N to form a union, to form a bond that would end in marriage. As much as she chalked the twitch in her chest and the hollow in her belly as a feeling of relief, she was confused as to why she wished he would have written. Not necessarily her, but at least to her parents, informing that he would not be there this summer (or any summer for that matter because he was getting married) that way she didn’t have to walk around for days on end, thinking there would be a jumpscare in the corridor or the dining hall.

A flicker of annoyance lit inside of her, an emotion she was familiar with and actually grateful for at the moment because it took away from the abnormal sensation in the chest and abdomen. Why wouldn’t he write? Or his parents at the very least? What kind of person does that? Y/N knew just how hard the chambermaids, the scullery kitchen, and the people who made the palace function as well as it did were working to ensure their guests were accommodated and comfortable for the three months they were staying with them.

It was very unlike Y/N, usually very polite and soft-spoken to feel that kind of irritation. The kind that was so pent up it was making her breathing slightly erratic and she was puffing breaths in and out through her nose. In a very un-Y/N like fashion, she decided that if Prince Harry wasn’t going to write to her, then she was going to write to him and tell him how distasteful his lack of presence or notification on the betrothal was.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she was in the main library of the palace, sitting at the writing table and crafting a heartfelt message to her dear friend Prince Harry, slightly berating him in each line for his so-called prince ethics (or lack-there-of).

Dear Prince Harry,

I am sitting here, writing to tell you how distasteful I find your lack of arrival. It is great news within our palace that you are to be married, which in turn, delays your arrival to our annual summer festivities, and possibly inhibits you from attending these festivities ever again.

A true prince, knowing royal ethics, would have written far in advance, revoking his acceptance to my family’s invitation. It seems that, as always, you are too engrossed in your own endeavors to care about the people around you who have taken the time to prepare for your arrival.

I know our royal household has been working gravely to make certain you and your family have a wonderful stay over the summer, as they have done every summer for the past two years—

“I knew I would find you in here,” his voice, clear and steady, echoed through the library bouncing off the walls and the leather bindings of the books which sat on the shelves of the wall, “You’re always in here doing something or another.”

She knew who it was by the sound of his voice, deep and sultry. He always spoke with such precision and so bluntly that even with her eyes closed, she could tell who it was just by the energy that filled the space. Arrogance and tempting were his two most significant qualities and they always filled the room, leaving her to suffocate in his presence.

Quickly, she jumped up and grabbed the letter, crumpling it in her hands. The ink was so fresh it smeared all over her hands with her rush, and when she looked to see him standing under the doorway, she noted that not a thing about him had changed. He stood with that same arrogance in his posture, his eyes were still that deepsea green, and his lips, chin, and jaw were as beautiful (if not more) as the last time she saw him.

Quirking his eyebrows, he couldn’t help himself. “Now I need to know what was in that letter you were writing. Are you in love, my dear Y/N.”

He took a step forward, and she realized he thought she would just hand the letter over to him, like it was his property to be read. And even though it technically was, the letter was now void because he did, in fact, show up for the summer season. While it may have been intended for him, the content of the letter did not matter, and because he expected her to walk over and drop the letter in the palm of his hand, that absolutely infuriated her.

“I will not give this to you,” Y/N shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows. She almost cringed at the tone of her voice, so abrasive and calloused. Harry brought out the worst in her, he really did. Though, she didn’t understand how Harry could make this frustration brew inside of her when the rest of the Styles were so lovely to be around.

In two long strides, Harry was rounding the writing desk and in front of her. He towered over her, reaching for the crumpled letter in her hands and before she could grasp the paper tighter, it slipped beneath her fingertips and he was reading it aloud.

“I thought you said this wasn’t for me, Princess?” Harry wasn’t asking, it was more rhetorical than anything. The mock in his tone sent a heat through her, plummeting up from where her heart dropped in her stomach to the apples of her cheeks.

He held the letter above the both of them, the words still readable even though the ink was smeared on the page. As he read aloud, Y/N wanted to drop to the floor and cover her ears from listening to speak her foolish words out loud. If anything, the letter was an act of catharsis. She probably would have never actually sent it to Harry, even if she said she was going to, but writing the words on the paper and pretending like she was going to send it to him was semi-therapeutic. By the second line, she was jumping in the air like a fish out of water, trying to grasp the letter from his hands so he couldn’t continue. To make matters worse, he was chuckling between words and flashing wide grins in her direction when he paused.

Eventually, the way she was jumping and frantically trying to snatch the letter from him was just as humiliating as the strong words she had put on that piece of paper he held in his hands, so she stopped and turned away from him so that he could not see the look of horror on her face as he finished reading the letter.

Finally, he got to the part where he walked in and startled her from her writing desk, her thoughts coming to an abrupt halt on the paper when his voice echoed throughout the room, and even though he was done reading the letter, she couldn’t bear to look at him. If there was one thing about Harry, he always had the upper hand with her. Always.

“I wish I hadn’t interrupted your thoughts when I came in here a few moments ago. I’m positive the rest of this letter would have been a great read, and you print your thoughts so eloquently, Y/N.” He was trying to get under her skin, even though he knew he had already burrowed himself under the flesh like a mite the second he walked in the room. That was another one of Harry’s traits— he wanted to see just how much he could push her until she snapped, because he loved watching her snap.

“Enough,” she spoke, barely turning to look at him. She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, enough for her to squint just barely and for him to know she was giving him a dirty look.

“Well, Y/N, clearly this letter was for me. Was it not?” He was doing it; pushing and pressing until the temper within her flicked on a light and her thoughts rifling through her brain started spewing like fire, the world around them turning to ash with each word that fell from her lips and targeted him like a huntsman and its prey.

“It wasn’t for you—” She began, getting cut off by the prince.

“It clearly says ‘Dear Prince Harry, I am sitting here, writing to y—”

Within under a second, she was turning on her heels to face him once more and trying to pry the letter from his fingers. To no avail, she didn’t think she could handle him reading the letter out loud once more, so she covered her ears and began begging him to stop. The worst part was the feeling she had in her gut, the feeling one gets in their gut and their throat before the tears start forming in their eyes. While Harry had many horrid qualities about him, one of her terrible qualities were tears that formed, not out of sadness, but out of anger. Deeply, she inhaled to smooth out her thoughts and quiet her mind. “Stop, stop, stop.”

Grinning like the devil, he spoke slowly and quietly so any chambermaids passing by could not hear the words he was about to speak to her, “Are you embarrassed, Princess? The girl everyone thinks is so ladylike and polite writing words that would tarnish that sweet reputation.”

“I was never going to send it, and I think you know that,” she countered, and even though she knew he knew that letter was never going to leave her possession, she felt like she needed to reiterate that point.

Carefully and slowly—almost painfully slowly— he brought his finger to her cheeks and swiped across to feel the heat radiating off of her skin and she knew he was gaining even more satisfaction at the heat in her cheeks confirming his question, that she was embarrassed by him finding her letter. To rub salt in the wound, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the pit of his pocket where she would not dare to fish out, as it was not very polite to stick your hand in someone else’s pocket, “For safekeeping,” he stated.

Those two words made her want to do it— stick her hand in his pocket and fish the letter out, tear it in little tiny pieces, and then stomp on the shreds of paper right in front of him, but she wouldn’t do it because she, unlike him, did not lack manners.

“You are absolutely unbearable, Prince. Do not think my opinion on you has changed. I can assure you it has not,” she wanted to get under his skin the way he got under hers, so she added, “Where is your betrothed?”

He paused for a moment, searching for the words, “I am not to be married, Y/N.”

The tone was cut and brief, not the same tone he had when she was pushing his buttons, but a clear line was drawn showing her this is where the boundary was placed, and as much as she wanted to upset him the way he upset her, Y/N did not want to pick and pry about his presumably failed engagement. Though, she did not blame the girl for not wanting to marry someone with such an insufferable attitude. And maybe, just maybe, she also didn’t want to hear about the girl. She didn’t want Harry to talk about how beautiful she was, or what her hobbies were. She didn’t want to know a thing about her or how she wormed her way into the heart of someone so aloof and out of touch with the idea of love. To put it plainly, she didn’t want to hear about their courtship and what he did to make her swoon.

Y/N would never admit it, but the first time she ever met Harry, she was taken with him. And then he opened his mouth, all-knowing and witty bordering intolerable.

“Well, then,” Y/N didn’t quite know what to say in response, seeming to be more uncomfortable with the idea of him getting married than he was.

With a mere couple inches between them, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Soft lips grazed the tops of her ears, a warm heat shooting through her, and though she was disgusted with herself for having such an instinctual reaction to his body and his lips so close to her skin, she was graceful enough to remind herself that it was only natural for her core to stir and her stomach to flip.

And when he finally spoke, his lips moved against her ear, “I am going to enjoy playing with you this summer, Y/N.”

She wanted to scream. She almost did.

Instead she took a step back, gasping and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress, “I absolutely loathe you.”

“I love that you loathe me,” he replied before turning on his heels and walking out of the library.

Y/N knew it was going to be a long summer filled with taunts from Harry.

And much to her dismay, that night she dreamed about his lips pressing against her.

I. The Ruse

Y/N had told Dorothea she was feeling too ill to attend the breakfast table that morning. Albeit, the truth of the matter was that she was shaken by her dreams poisoned by Harry— maybe they were good dreams about his lips, his fingers, the way he caressed her cheek, but the fact that it was Harry doing those things to her was enough to deduce it was a nightmare. A terrible, terrible nightmare.

“Should I fetch you some tea?” Dorothea pressed her hand to Y/N’s forehead, feeling for a fever, but when the skin under her hands was cool rather than clammy, Dorothea raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“No, no,” Y/N swung the covers over her, revealing her nightgown. Stiffly, she planted her feet on the wooden planks beneath the bed as she made a show of stretching, “Don’t fuss over me. I’m already feeling much better, Dorothea.”

“Better enough to attend breakfast?” Dorothea questioned her, the brow still raised in suspicion, and Y/N knows she should just tell Dorothea the truth but it was her stubborn nature that prevented her from letting Dorothea know about her encounter with the Prince yesterday.

“I believe it’s late anyway,” Y/N reasoned, “I will fetch something when the dining hall has been cleared out.”

Dorothea only shook her head in disappointment, but Y/N pretended not to notice.

______________

In an effort to maintain his dignity, Harry had to stop looking at the chestnut oak double doors separating the dining hall from the rest of the castle. Each time a servant opened the door to replenish something on the table, Harry’s head snapped over, hoping it would be Y/N that walked through the doors just so he could see her again.

It was agonizing, honestly. She was sweeter than droplets of nectar. Bees were probably drawn to her, knowing her personality was as sweet as the honey they produced, attracting to her like the pollen they longed to search for.

That, precisely, is why she aggravated Harry so much. From the time Harry was born, it was engraved in his brain that he was a ruler; he was honorable, decisive, and empathetic. All the qualities that made up a leader, and he knew it, too. Though, he was self-aware enough to know where he was lacking, and he was lacking (probably) the most important quality a leader can have—compassion and the ability to connect.

For Y/N, that was something that came so naturally. She could connect with just about anyone. The princess blended in with the common folk so... Seamlessly, it was absolutely infuriating. Harry had tried, plenty of times, to blend in, to connect with his people and his royal household but he could never achieve it the way Y/N did. She was a real princess, and it made him feel like a fraud.

Years had passed with him learning about how to rule, the best way, the honorable way. For Y/N, it seemed that she was born with the knowledge, never having to lift a finger or read a book.

So it pleased him, angering her to the point of outbursts. In her court, she was polite, loved, and deemed the absolute most charismatic one can be. When she was just about shaking with rage, foul words dripping from her lips, that is when Harry was content— when she looked less like a statue, the perfect creation this court has formed her to be, and more like a human. More like him.

That is when the irritation he felt toward her stopped festering, just for a moment in time.

And he knew he was absolutely terrible for it, absolutely atrocious, but he wanted to corrupt her. Ruin the molding she was fit into.

Sounds of fingers fiddling on the doorknob caused him to look up, and when a servant walked in with another tray of warm bread and fresh butter, his eyes averted to his plate to avoid the teasing that was about to come from the King’s Hand— or well, Prince’s Hand, really, since he wouldn’t truly be the King’s Hand until Harry’s coronation.

But he was too late, and the words were already coming out of Niall’s mouth, “If you’re going to keep glancing up every time someone walks in, wishing her to walk through those doors, then why don’t you just go seek her out?”

“I don’t wish for her to walk through those doors, Niall,” Harry’s jaw tensed as he spoke, the inclination that he was waiting for her making him somewhat irate, “I am merely observing, isn’t that important? To be aware of one’s surroundings?”

“Yes,” Niall sucked in his teeth, moving his gaze from the angle of Harry’s jaw back to his plate of food, “Indeed it is.”

Harry spread butter on a fresh piece of bread, ignoring Niall’s comment, and when Niall realized Harry wasn’t going to say anything else, he continued to poke the bear. “Why didn’t you marry Duchess Violet when you had the opportunity? Why push the wedding? So you could come here? See her?”

A hiss left Harry’s mouth before answering in a hushed voice, low enough that the people around them could not hear. “Why so many questions, Niall?”

“I’m trying to understand,” he shrugged his shoulders, the level of his voice now matching Harry’s.

“I pushed the wedding because I did not want to marry the Duchess, Niall. Simple as that. I came here because my parents are convinced that Princess Y/N and I will form an attachment if I spend enough time with her. That is what they want after all.”

“Then what?” Niall’s questioning was causing sweat to bead on Harry’s forehead. He didn’t want to think of the then what factor.

“I suppose when I return home, the arrangement between the Duchess and I will initiate once more.” Harry cocked his head over to Niall, dropping the piece of bread on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“What is your game here this summer, Prince?” Niall asked, locking eyes with Harry’s whose eyes were the same pigment as a field of green clovers populating in the crisp months of Spring, mischief dancing in his irises.

Slowly and carefully he gave Niall the essence of his plan, “I will convince the Princess to form an alliance with me— A facade, if you will. We will put on a show, and before our attachment is sealed with a ring, she will say she can no longer do it. And I will be so heartbroken, to the nation’s knowledge, that they will not pester me about marrying. I do not need to marry. I will not need to marry.”

“And will you be heartbroken, Prince?” This seemed to be Niall’s only concern.

“No,” Harry paused and then added on, “I do not believe so.”

“And what if she does not agree to a facade?”

“Then I will charm her. Seduce her.” This was all Harry was willing to say on the matter as he pushed his chair up.

______________

Y/N, to her credit, was full of secrets.

Every now and again, she would poke her head out, scan the corridor, then jump back into her bedchamber when she heard the sound of heels clicking against the flooring.

And she’s never felt quite so childish before. Usually, when Harry came for the summer, Y/N didn’t go out of her way to avoid him, but after their interaction in the study she didn’t think she was ready to face him yet.

If Y/N was honest with herself, two years ago when she first met the prince, she was quite smitten. And maybe it was the fact that he was engaged to someone else. .. Someone Y/N didn’t know. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t bother to tell her, or write to her family that got her so worked up. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that someone wormed their way into his icy chest and planted a seed of fire that caused him to want them.

She had trouble admitting it to herself, but she fancied Harry more than she let on. The only person in the entire castle that knew just how deep her feelings for Harry ran was Dorothea, though the words had never left Y/N’s lips and they might not ever.

Rage has simmered in her gut, boiling over into her fingertips that flowed against the page where she etched words onto a canvas that conveyed her grievances with Harry. The memory of her sitting there, rage-writing a letter she never intended to send, and Harry snatching it out of her hands and reading aloud sent a churn in her stomach, the humiliation of the moment festering inside her once more.

The true reason she had been avoiding him, at last. She was utterly embarrassed by the entire ordeal. All he had to do was read in between the lines, and all of her feelings were on display. Harry having that letter was a different kind of vulnerability.

So she snuck out to the stables, where her good friend Brad worked as the stable boy. Y/N and Brad shared a secret the people did not know, it was kept between the two of them, and she liked Brad for the fact he has known her secret for about four years and has not told a soul has made her like them all the more.

Boots trudged in the muddy grass as she made her way out to the stables, where Brad tended to her horses (and the other horses, of course). Birds cooed in the sky, the sing-song noises filling her ears and putting her at peace for the first time since yesterday.

When she had finally made it to the big barn, nearly a quarter mile away from the actual castle, Brad was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, she lurked around, craning her head around corners and scouting him out.

Right as she was about to call out his name, because it was very unlikely for him to not be here, she rounded one more corner and saw him nestled next to the Prince— next to Harry.

She almost audibly groaned when she saw him standing there, invading her space. Where she liked to go to clear her head, but before a noise could escape her lips, she realized if she slowly backed out of the hall then she might escape the pair before either of them saw her.

As she slowly tried to back out of the hall encompassed by horse stables, the two rather close together, both snapped their heads in her direction. Two sets of eyes locked with hers, her mouth watering as her stomach turns nervously when Harry’s green gaze of disapproval scans her up and down.

“Y/N?” Brad asked, projecting his tone down the length of the hall so she could hear him clearly, “What are you doing all the way down there?”

“Nothing!” Her tone projected as well, matching Brad’s. “I was thinking I could see Freya, but I see you’re busy.”

“Why don’t you come closer, Princess? So we don’t have to shout too loud.” Harry said, and Y/N knew the look upon his face. Whenever he was about to do something devious, a smirk would spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the game he was about to partake in.

And Y/N doesn’t know why she listened to him, why she didn’t just turn away, but before she could tell herself to stop, she was walking toward the both of them. Each step felt shameful, her eyes averting from Harry’s and to Brad. She couldn’t stand the way Harry looked at her, like she was a toy, like he could burn holes through her soul if he really wanted to.

She shifted her body to angle more toward Brad, not completely cutting Harry out of the circle they were now standing in, but angling herself enough to show that her body language was more open to Brad than she was to Harry.

“Isn’t this one Freya?” Harry pointed to the stall directly across from them. There stood her light gray horse, mane and tail braided perfectly.

Actually, if someone saw Y/N and Freya standing side by side, they would simply know Freya was meant for Y/N by the way she holds herself; strong, with a gentle demeanor radiating off her. The only problem is that people would never see Freya and Y/N side by side, because Y/N (as much as she loved Freya) was too afraid to take her out of her stall. In Y/N’s kingdom, it was inevitable that every young prince or princess had to ride, because at their coronation one of the requirements was to ride in on their horse. The issue wasn’t that Y/N didn’t know how to ride. She did. The issue was that Y/N wouldn’t because of an accident that happened three years ago, leaving Y/N scared to ever get on the back of a horse, or to even walk around with her lead rope in hand. Nobody knew, except Brad, that Y/N hadn’t been on the back of her horse since the accident, it was a secret the two of them kept together.

“Yes,” Y/N turned to him, just slightly, “That is her.”

“Go on, then,” Harry motioned toward her, “We don’t mind if you take her out.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, glancing at Brad to see if he could help her worm her way out of this situation. He has helped her before, when her parents would find her in the stable and ask if she wanted to go on a ride with them. Brad would say something like, Princess Y/N just put Freya back, they went on a lengthy ride earlier and Freya is resting now. It made Y/N feel selfish to know how much trouble Brad could get in for lying, but she was too much of a coward to tell anyone her fears.

Brad interjected, just not with what she hoped for, “Y/N doesn’t ride.”

Confusion contorted Y/N’s features as he outed her secret to the one person she didn’t want to know an inkling about her. “Brad!”

Brad’s eyes widened slightly, his brows raising as he replied, “I’m sorry, Y/N! I thought it was okay for him to know? It’s not as if he lives in the palace.”

Harry stepped closer, putting a pin in the conversation Brad and Y/N were beginning to have right in front of him, “Why doesn’t she ride?”

Brad waited, momentarily, for Y/N to respond but when her lips stayed sealed, withholding the information from Harry he decided to come clean for her. “Y/N has panic attacks when she gets too close to horses. Nobody knows.”

At least he didn’t tell Harry why horses made her panic.

“Yet you come out here anyway?”

Heedfully, she took in a deep breath and began to collect her thoughts which seemed to be swimming everywhere. These past two days, she had never felt so exposed, so bare in front of him. First with the letter, and now with Brad’s indiscretion to Y/N’s secret. “As you may already know, horse riding is big in our culture, so I come out here to keep up appearances. And, I do love my Freya.”

“You’re a fraud, then? A liar?” Harry sucked in a breath, that grin teetering on amusement— a fine line between pure and utter cruelty.

“If that’s what you will call it,” Y/N tried not to let the emotions welling inside show on her face, remaining neutral and stoic was the best way to ignore Harry. She, too, could sink her claws in him and tear him apart by simply ignoring him. “I must be going.”

Swiftly, she turned, paying no mind to Freya and blocking out the snickering coming from Harry as she walked out of the barn. Her boots trudged in the mud once more, and the frustration brewing inside was threatening to spill over, though she would not allow it to until she was alone in the privacy of her own room.

The palace was in plain sight, she only needed to walk a straight narrow path before she could take a side door to the main corridor and scurry off to her room (hopefully avoiding many of the household staff on the way). It was unfair, but she wanted to yell at Brad for offering Harry such private information. Should she blame him, though? He’s been keeping her secret for nearly three years, lying for her, and obviously he didn’t know that Harry had brutish tendencies— especially when it came to her. In fact, she thought back to it. The way the two of them were standing, how Harry was shifting closer to Brad with each word. If Y/N didn’t know better, Harry was trying to turn Brad into putty in his hands which honestly might have been more of an issue than him knowing her secret panic attacks she would have in the privacy of Freya’s stall. Was Harry interested in Brad, trying to charm him with his good looks and that personality that oozed sweetness? Y/N may have never seen that side of him, but amongst the chambermaids he was quite the sweet-talker.

“Y/N,” a low, gruff voice called from behind her. When she tried to pick up the pace, she only heard the shuffling of Harry’s boots behind her go faster.

It wasn’t like she would be able to escape him, if he truly wanted to pester her he would find her in her bedchamber. It was better to have a discussion with him out in the open instead of him tainting her bedchamber with his attitude.

“What?” She turned on her heels and snapped her head toward him, the tone of her voice laced with anger.

“I wanted to have a discussion with you,” he took a few steps closer so they were only an arms distance from each other. He wanted his next words to be just barely above a whisper.

“Then speak,” Y/N pursed her lips together, crossing her arms so that she could shield herself against him in some way. Clearly, crossing her arms wasn’t actually going to protect her from him, but in a way, it felt like a mental shield, keeping him out of her head and far away.

“It has been two days of me gracing you with my company, and within those two days, I have obtained a letter I’m convinced you would not like to fall into the wrong hands, and I have discovered you have been deceiving many people and getting the stable boy to lie for you,” Harry’s pointer finger traced under her chin, noting the shiver that ran down her back as she stepped away from his touch, “Now, if you do not want that letter circulating throughout the palace, and if you do not want everyone to know you are a fraud, then you will offer me something I need.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Harry was blackmailing her? She had always taken him for possessing a certain cruelty about him, but never thought he would stoop low to the point where blackmail (quite literally when she takes the letter into consideration) would be hanging over her head like a bundle of mistletoe.

“What is wrong with you?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, stepping backward as her arms tightened around herself once more.

“What is your answer, Y/N?” He spoke with such an airy indifference that she almost couldn’t tell if he was playing a very humorless joke on her.

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice in the matter!” She barked back, and that flicker of anger displayed on her face and in her tone of voice made his lips curve up into a cursed smile, so she tried to cool herself down and remain stoic— just as unbothered as he seemed to be.

“I am giving you a choice, darling,” Harry said, the word rolling off his tongue like the pet name was second nature to him, “One option is unfavorable, though. For you, at the very least.”

It was written across his face; either answer she gave him was a win for him. This was a situation where she was going to lose, a situation where the upper hand was in his court and he was playing the game with no mercy. If she said yes, she was indebted to him, owing him a favor. And if she said no, the shame of her actions would not only reflect on her, but her family as well.

“Tell me what you need,” an exasperated sigh she didn’t mean to let out, falling from her lips.

“Agree first.” Harry was a politician first, a prince second, and a human being last.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Do you believe I haven’t learned to never agree to something binding without knowing the stipulations first, Prince?”

“And do you think I would present my vulnerabilities to you without an answer first? I tell you, you don’t agree with the clause, and now you know what I need. Why should I do that?” His reasoning was valid to her, though she would never admit to it.

“Then my answer is no,” Y/N began turning on her heels to walk away; get as far away as she possibly could, but she stopped in her tracks when he caught up behind her, hooking his fingers around her waist and pressing his front against her back.

Incredibly cool and collected, he pressed his lips against her ears before he spoke, causing a chill to rip down her spine and a tightening coil in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve made your choice, then. Tonight in the dining hall, while we are in the middle of dinner with the most important people, I will stand and tell everyone of your fraudulent activities. In fact, I might even embellish it— explain how you’ve been keeping the stable boy so quiet with your mouth. Do you know what that means, princess? I will tell them how you’ve squandered his innocence, and when the shame is rising from here,” Harry’s fingers trailed from her hip to her stomach, and then all the way up to the apple of her cheeks, “To here… That is when I will twist the knife, and begin reading your finest letter aloud. And when you are crying, I will not stop.”

Y/N turned back around, stepping away from him to get distance before spitting out, “You are cruel, Harry. So, very, cruel.”

“You are flattering me,” he quirked an eyebrow, and she so badly wanted to connect her fist to that stupid smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Y/N nodded her head, refusing to give him any more leverage, “I will help you.”

“Great, then I will court you for the entire summer, and just before it is time for me to propose to you… You will come up with some excuse to break it off, and I will pretend I am utterly heartbroken and need time to heal.”

Y/N was shocked his ruse was not nearly as bad as she had expected it to be. She thought maybe he would be requesting her to break into the general’s office and steal classified military documents, or something absolutely absurd and dangerous. But a courtship under false pretenses was… Dishonorable, but not a crime.

“That’s it?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why?”

“Because,” he was beginning to feel frustrated, and Y/N could tell by the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. “I do not want to marry the Dutchess, and I fear if I do not place a ring on your finger, that is my destiny. However, if you end our courtship and I feign heartbreak, how could anyone tell me I need to marry when I lost the love of my life.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words.

“And—” Y/N began to ask another question before Harry interrupted her.

“That is all the information I will give you on the topic.”

“Fine,” she, herself, was done with the conversation anyway. There were much better things for her to do than scheme with Harry, “Now if you would leave me be, I would like some space from you.”

“Take what you need, because after dinner we will be attached at the hip once we announce our courtship.”

This might be the death of Y/N.

______________

Pretending to be under the weather was not going to cut it this evening, Y/N knew she couldn’t get out of another meal with her family, Harry’s, and the other important people that made it to the dining hall list without a stern talking to from Dorothea.

On top of that, she knew that Harry was going to announce their courtship, and he probably wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of announcing it without her there. Actually, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, either. Who knows what he would say?

With thoughts racing through her head, and the click of her ballet flats on the mosaic tile, she made her way down the corridor until she was standing just outside of the tall oak doors. As soon as they opened, she would find her seat, and her fate for the summer would be sealed.

“Looking nervous, darling.” Harry spoke from behind her, creeping up on her for the third time since he’s been here. Rolling her eyes was beginning to become a natural reaction at this point.

“Don’t call me that,” Y/N hissed out, barely taking her eyes from the door as he walked up behind her so he was nearly touching her backside as his fingers reached for the knob and turned it slowly.

It was quiet when her eyes locked with her mother and father’s eyes, and when she slid her gaze over to Harry’s parents, she couldn’t help but feel shame that ticked in her lower stomach. It was one thing to be deceptive to her own parents; it was another to be deceptive to someone else’s. This was definitely something she was going to bring up to Harry later.

Dorothea was sitting beside Y/N’s mother, and when she noticed her, Dorothea offered an approving smile and a small glance toward Harry’s direction. On multiple occasions, Dorothea had tried to convince Y/N that Harry was not that horrible as she knew him since he was a young boy, but Y/N would gawk and scoff and exclaim with exasperation: Why are you taking his side? Now, Dorothea had believed Harry finally charmed Y/N just enough to weasel his way into her heart, but little did Dorothea know, it was quite the opposite.

Dinner was going by smoothly. Every now and again, Harry would make some small talk with Y/N, and as soon as the pair began speaking softly under their breath, the entire table would stop talking to hear what the two of them were conversing about. It was making Y/N rather anxious to have so much attention thrown in her general direction, but she supposed if she were in their shoes, she would be just as curious.

Before the meal came to a close, Harry tapped a shiny piece of silverware against his glass, gaining everyone’s attention. Though, Y/N wanted to tell him if he wanted all eyes on him, all he would have to do is look at her, whisper her name, and the chattering amongst the table would cease so everyone could hone in on their private conversation. “Everyone, I wanted to announce mine and precious Y/N’s courtships. After two long summers of denying our tension amongst one another, we decided it was in everyone’s best interest if we gave our compatibility a shot.”

A couple people clapped, and Y/N tried so hard to repress the eyeroll and the scoff that wanted to surface so badly. Dorothea shot a wink in her direction, so Y/N offered a small smile because a grimace would lead to questioning from her later, and lying to Dorothea was not something she felt too good about. Y/N had already deceived her once today by feigning illness, and twice with Harry’s speech of their courtship, but she did not want to have a separate conversation with Dorothea that contained the weight of her lies.

As soon as dinner ended, Y/N found herself rushing from the dining hall, nausea filling her gut as bile threatened to creep up her throat. In a few turns, she was down the corridor, and finally, she was on the terrace, breathing in the crisp night air. Stars illuminated the sky, the moon brightening the path she was walking down, and she should have known better to think she would get just one moment alone (or one moment where Harry was not creeping up behind her).

“Y/N, I want to talk,” Harry whispered, although the words may have been hushed, but they were on the louder side like a… Hushed shout?

“I’m not sure I would like to talk right now,” Y/N replied back, kicking scattered rocks out of the path they were taking that led to the gardens on the right side of the palace.

“I promise I will leave you alone for the night after this,” Harry sounded sincere, “I just want to work out the logistics with you.”

“The logistics with me?” Y/N scoffed, pivoting on her heels and throwing her hands up in exasperation. The tone of her voice was laced with venom, and the scrunch of her nose which led all the way up to her eyebrows, giving her the look of an angry kitten was enough to tell Harry she was quite upset with the ordeal, “You mean, you would like to speak of your deception?”

Harry visibly clenched his jaw, but that didn’t stop Y/N from going on, “You want to speak of your deception and your dishonor?”

“Is blackmail honorable, Prince?” Y/N seethed.

“Is fucking the stable boy honorable, Princess?” Harry didn’t know if this was actually factual, it was only the assumption he made as to why the stable boy would lie for Y/N for so long.

Y/N stuttered over her words, “I-I’m not!”

“Maybe you’re not,” he looked her up and down, the sinister glare in his eyes making her want to recoil into herself, “But you want to.”

Y/N did not deny her attraction to the stable boy, though, she had never fantasized of him in such salacious ways, and that little flicker of emotion that ran across her features was something Harry picked up on immediately.

“Would it break your little heart, Princess?” Harry took a step closer, the vein on his neck popping out as he clenched his jaw harder, “If I let your stable boy lay in my bed?”

Y/N gasped. She had never heard someone be so… Vulgar.

The response she was looking for swam through her head but she couldn’t quite locate it as she filed through the crevices of her brain. How could she answer that? To her luck, Harry was on his heels and walking toward the direction of the stables so she didn’t have to respond to him. He muttered out the grumpiest, “I’ll find you later,” and Y/N’s heart sank as she realized Harry was trying to find Brad to either bed him, or tell Brad about her embarrassing little crush. Y/N had never felt so exposed in her own territory.

______________

“This is never going to work, Niall!” Harry exclaimed, kicking off his riding boots and pacing his way back and forth in Niall’s personal cabin. Niall was the Prince’s Hand, his second in command, but he needed his space. When they would come for the summer, Niall would occupy the cottage on the outskirts of the palace, the only way to get there was by horseback, which is part of the reason he felt so comfortable being open with Niall. There was no possible way the princess would be strolling down the corridor and overhear him chatting with Niall when they were so far away, and the only way she could get there was by horseback, which he knew she wouldn’t do.

“What do you mean?” Niall looked over at him, pouring a glass of sparkling wine that was located on the bar top near the kitchenette. Harry noted that Niall was pouring two glasses, one for Harry and one for himself.

“She’s too stubborn.” Harry sighed out, taking the glass from Niall as he reached his hand out, then plummeted into one of the cushion filled chairs in the corner of the room. “She won’t be able to go through with it.”

“And you have leverage over her, do you not? I thought that was why you were so sure of your plan?” Niall pressed the frosted glass to his lips, then tipped his head back.

Harry followed suit, tipping his head back after pressing the cool glass to his lip. The slight carbonation of the alcohol, and the burn of the alcohol itself singed the back of his throat before he shook his head and shut his eyes tightly. “I do have leverage as I told you about. I fear if she backs out, I would never be able to put her through that, though.”

“It was my understanding that you didn’t care and you do not like her. If that is the case, then what is the issue, Prince?” Niall questioned.

“I do not care about her and I do not like her, but what would it say about me if I grasped that leverage and exposed her so openly like that…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he brought the glass back to his lips once more.

“So you do not care about her, and you do not like her, but you care about what others would think if you humiliated her so publicly?” Niall was beginning to understand.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.

Niall didn’t like giving Harry advice like this, but he was loyal to Harry first and always. When he began fitting the puzzle pieces together of the dynamic between Harry and Y/N, before he could even process his own thought process he blurted, “If you think she is too stubborn, then change that. Have you thought that maybe the reason she is so stubborn around you is because of the fact you are so mean to her. Stop being so cruel. Be a gentleman, make her like you. Hell, make her even love you, and at the end of the summer, if you still do not believe you are the type of man to marry, then begin corresponding with the Duchess again, forcing Y/N to break it off with you. You told her it was all a ruse, then so be it. However, that does not mean you have to make her life a living hell. You can charm her, make her fall for you, and when you invite the Duchess to the ball at the end of the summer, Y/N will have no other choice than to call it off.”

Harry paused, sitting upright in the chair rather than slouching over, “So you are saying to charm her still, even though she’s already agreed to the facade with me?”

“Precisely,” Niall pushed the guilty feeling down.

“And at the end of the summer when I want her to call it off, let her find me entangled with Duchess Violet?” Harry was the one asking questions now.

“Yes,” Niall let out a small breath.

“Smart man,” was all Harry said, and that was the end of the conversation as Harry slipped his boots on, bolted out the door, mounted his horse, and rode back to the main palace so he could talk to Y/N.

______________

Y/N was still in the garden, ruminating over the argument she just had with Harry. How could someone be so handsome, resembling a person who was probably carved by the most delicate angels themselves, have such a crude mouth and an evil demeanor? If Harry was a little bit nicer, she thinks he would be the easiest person to fall in love with.

“Y/N?” Harry whispered, and when she turned around to look at him, he noted the way the light from the moon reflected off the top of his curly brown hair, where it hit the highs of his cheekbones, and she noted the delicacy in his sea moss green eyes.

“I’m too exhausted to argue, Prince.” She remained grounded, her feet planted into the soil. Her cheeks were still wet from the tears spilled over after Harry left her feeling silly, and even though the streaks remained on her cheeks, there were no more droplets forming in her eyes.

He stepped closer, so close that his body was almost pressed against the front of hers. She noted the way his hand lingered by her hip, wanting badly to close the gap between them by positioning his hand behind her and pulling her close. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” She was strong, she was going to be tough.

“I feel terrible, Y/N,” the sincerity in his eyes was enough to send a ripple of shock through her. Honestly, the sincerity he felt was enough to send a ripple of shock through him. It was true, he did feel terrible. He never meant to make her cry.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, beginning to turn away from him, but he caught her with his hand around her hip, then closed the gap between them so there was no space between the pair.

“It’s not,” he disagreed, “I… I want to be your friend, Y/N.”

“My friend?” She was so fucking confused.

“Yes,” he nodded his head, creeping his free hand under her chin and forcing her to look up and directly at him. “I do not want to be the only person benefiting from this deception.”

“Okay,” she didn’t know what else to say.

“Let me teach you how to feel comfortable on a horse again. I can give you lessons.” He decided showing her how to be confident atop a horse would be something she would benefit from. She wouldn’t have to feel confined to the palace anymore or lie to the people around her.

“So you can belittle me in our lessons?” Y/N asked, raising a brow at him.

“No, Y/N. No more of that, I can assure you.” He sounded so sincere, he was convincing himself. Maybe the truth was that arguing with her, getting under her skin, and picking her apart was exhausting and he didn’t like feeling like the worst version of himself around her. He was so confused. So confused. He hated this perfect princess exterior she put on, but he disliked being an asshole more.

“You really want to help me?” She could hardly believe it.

“Yes,” he dropped his hand from her chin and her hip, taking a step away from her, “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the stables.”

With that, he turned away and found his way back to his bedchambers. Harry really needed to decompress.

______________

The next morning, Harry found her in the stables. She had gotten there before him and was waiting by Freya’s stall. Brad wasn’t there quite yet. It was so early, the sun was just starting to poke through the horizon.

Colors of red, pink, and gold reflected from his skin as he approached her, and Y/N noted that the colors peaking from the horizon were almost as beautiful as him. While the sun rise was beautiful, it was not nearly as beautiful as him.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, walking up to where she leaned against Freya’s stall.

“I’m ready,” she explained.

They had spent hours talking about how to form a bond with a horse, how to treat a horse, and where not to stand when around a horse. They talked about how to saddle a horse up, how to put the bit in a horse’s mouth without injuring yourself or the animal you need to be taking care of. Harry was actually a very good teacher. He wasn’t pushing her out of her comfort zone, he wasn’t belittling her for the things she was taught when she was younger but forgot how to maneuver. Harry even brought up what Brad had said about her having panic attacks when she was too close to horses, and told her that if she was feeling anxious to let him know, they could find a spot where she felt safe. Overall, working with him wasn’t too bad.

Y/N tried not to talk about the incident that made her so fearful of horses to begin with, and as much as Harry wanted to know why she was so afraid of them, he didn’t want to push and pry. He knew what it was like when people pushed their way into your personal space, and it was his biggest pet peeve, so he wasn’t going to subject her to something he hated deep in his bones.

Brad was surprised the first day when he came in, and saw Y/N, with shaky hands, petting on Freya. Freya seemed to enjoy it, and Harry stabilized her shaky arm as she reached in the window of the stall and pet her, whispering small encouragements in her ear. He was standing directly behind her, the front of his body pressed to her back as she reached in.

“Good girl,” Harry said, his fingers clutched around her elbow to combat the shakiness in her arm.

“She is a rather good girl,” Y/N said, touching the softness on Freya’s nose.

“No,” Harry laughed out, his fingers still gently holding her elbow steady, “I was talking about you. You’re being a very good girl.”

Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but chose to say nothing, and much to her good luck, Brad had finally showed up for the day, amazed at how Harry stood there with Y/N and held her from behind as she touched Freya.

“Wow,” Brad said, dropping some of the grain he was holding into the stall next to Freya’s, “You’re doing very well, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t think she could handle all the compliments, so she redirected the attention to Harry, “It’s all him. He's a great teacher.”

“I bet he is,” Brad shot a look toward Harry, a smirk forming on the edges of both their mouths. It made Y/N wonder if they actually had some sort of relationship like Harry hinted at the night he told her he was going to bed Brad in order to spite her. “I just hope you don’t have nightmares tonight.”

“Nightmares?” Harry’s grip around her elbow tightened, pulling her arm out of Freya’s stall and letting Y/N’s arm fall to her side. “What does he mean?”

Y/N turned around, and threw a scowl in Brad’s direction. Her back pressed against the stall door as she let a sheepish smile appear on her face when she turned all her attention toward Harry. “I used to have nightmares about the incident.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a hardline, a serious look glossed in his eyes. “If you start having nightmares again, tell me. Please.”

“I will.”

______________

Y/N didn’t know what to do about the dreams she was having regarding Harry. It seemed that every single night her dreams of Harry were becoming more and more graphic. The first night she dreamt of him was the first night he was in the palace, and she dreamt of what his lips felt like on hers.

The second time she dreamt of him, she dreamt of the ways his hands felt around her body, and ever since then she had been having that same dream of him, over and over again. He would start by kissing her neck and touching her all over, calling her sweet names, and making her cry out in pleasure.

Every morning she woke up feeling debauched, and when she would meet Harry at the stables in the morning, she tried her best to not let the emotion flood her face. Sometimes she was scared that he could just look at her and know she was having inappropriate dreams about him.

A week had passed of her spending time with Harry. She learned about his favorite food, what he loved about his own kingdom, and even found out that the Marigold flower was native to his kingdom.

“You kind of remind me of a Marigold.” Harry said softly.

“Why is that?” She looked over at him, as he began putting the bit on Freya. Y/N wasn’t ready to ride yet, but today she was going to walk Freya along the property with Harry to get used to her holding the lead rope in her hand.

“They’re bright and beautiful,” Harry buckled the bit, pulling the lead rope through as he spoke to Y/N, “A lot like you.”

“I think we’ve come a long way,” Y/N noted, grabbing the lead rope with shaky fingers when Harry handed it to her.

When Harry realized that her fingers were shaking and her eyes were nervously glancing around, he grabbed the lead rope back from her and began walking Freya out of the barn and toward a trail nearby, “I’ll walk her for now. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

They walked together, talking about the most random things and getting to know each other. Y/N couldn’t believe she didn’t like Harry at first. Fine, he was slightly annoying, and when she thought about how she was technically still being blackmailed it made her a little furious, but when he was being so pleasant and lovely, she tried not to think of those things.

On top of all that, how could she say she still disliked him when she was dreaming of him every single night?

“Why don’t you try holding the lead rope as we walk, and I’ll hold your hand over it?” He suggested, coming to a stop in the middle of the trail. As much as he liked walking Freya, he did want Y/N to make some progress.

“I think I can do that,” Y/N agreed, grabbing the rope in her hand and locking it securely between her fingers. Her hand wasn’t on the rope for even two seconds before Harry threw his hand around hers and gave her a look that she knew said I’m here for you.

Her heart nearly skipped a beat as his hand enveloped hers and his eyes brought comfort to her hammering heart. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined how his lips would taste— probably sickeningly sweet. She thought of the way he might moan against her, like he did in her dream. The vibrations flooding through her, feeling like pure ecstasy.

What the hell was she doing?

______________

Y/N thought back to the first night Harry had been to the palace. That night, she had a dream of Harry pressing his lips against hers. The more time she spent with Harry, the more she dreamt about him at night, and as the days passed, the more graphic they got.

Today wasn’t the first time she had woken up with a puddle between her legs due to a steamy dream she had about Harry, though, it was the first time she had reached her climax in her sleep and she couldn’t help the shame that picked away inside her.

Quickly, she cleaned herself off and began putting on her riding clothes to meet Harry in the stables.

______________

This morning, Y/N could barely look Harry in the eye, and he wondered why that was. They had been working together for a little over two weeks now, and she was growing much more comfortable with him each day. Actually, it was rather frustrating for him to find out that he somewhat enjoyed spending time with her. She was kind of funny, a little sweet, and overall, easy to teach.

“Will you tell me why you can’t look at me today?” Harry grinned at her, and noted the way she dropped her gaze from his eyes back down to her hands, an emotion he couldn’t quite place lingering on her features.

“Sorry,” she mumbled out, still refusing to meet his eyes. This might actually drive him crazy.

“Tell me, darling,” Harry reached for the water that was sitting atop Freya’s stall door, and began taking a few sips, his eyes still locked on Y/N, waiting for her to explain. Sooner or later, she would tell him. She was quite bad at keeping secrets.

“Did you actually take Brad to bed?” Y/N still didn’t look up at him.

Harry choked on his water; that was the last thing he expected Y/N to say to him. “Why do you think that?”

“You told me you were going to take him to bed the night you told me you wanted to be my friend,” Y/N recalled.

“I did say that,” Harry hummed out, placing the water back atop the door of the horse stall before moving toward her, “No, I did not take him to bed.”

“Do you want to… You know? Do you like him in that way?” Y/N was trying to avoid certain words, too shy to actually say what she was thinking, and the shyness in her tone was enough to make Harry’s knees almost buckle.

“I think he’s handsome, Y/N, but I would not hurt your feelings like that,” Harry explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“So you only like him, then? That is why you would not marry the Duchess?” Y/N had so many questions rifling through her mind, she didn’t know where to begin.

Realization dawned on Harry’s face, “I have a preference for both, Y/N. I do find men attractive, but I find women attractive too.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N nodded her head, “I’m sorry I was just thinking of that night and how maybe you and Brad—”

“That’s so naughty, Y/N.” He took a couple steps toward her, reminding her of the night he told her he would teach her how to ride. There was only a small gap between them, the front of his chest pressed to the front of her chest, but this time, there was a wooden wall behind her and if he only took one more small step, she would be pressed against the wooden wall in the barn and the front of Harry’s bodice. She was so depraved.

Harry’s voice was full of teasing, but Y/N was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she thought he was chastising her, “I’m sorry, Harry! Not like that!”

“Darling, I’m only teasing you,” Harry’s grin was contagious, Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her lips, “Now won’t you tell me a secret? I’ve given you one of mine.”

Y/N didn’t even think about it before blurting out, “I wish I knew what it was like to be kissed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his hand pressed against the wooden wall, trapping Y/N between his body and the wall (still offering her a way out from the position on his left). All he needed to do was bend down and connect his lips to hers and she would know what it’s like, but he would never do it without asking first. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I would like that,” she breathed.

So, he would give her what she wanted. In the matter of seconds, his knee was positioned in between her legs, almost touching her center. His head had swooped down so his lips were just a few centimeters from her own, and his eyes were full of peer lust. Without much thought, he pressed his lips against her gentle ones, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, begging for her to open up for him and let him in. Though, Y/N didn’t understand the cue, and Harry understood that since this is her first time being kissed, she wouldn’t know the trick of sliding your tongue against someone’s bottom lip and what that was asking for.

Gently, he brought his lips to her chin and pulled down ever so slightly, parting her lips and allowing access to her mouth. It was the most pleasant noise he had ever heard, the moan that vibrated into his mouth and warmed his muscles. The blood was flowing to his cheeks, his heart rate quickening and pumping the blood through his body, and straight to his cock. Honestly, if they didn’t stop kissing, he might actually come in his pants, so he pulled away, leaving her breathless and hot.

“How was that?” He asked.

“I think I liked it a lot,” she panted out, pressing her legs together and Harry knew the signs of that all too well, but decided not to comment on it.

“We can do it again sometime.” He shrugged, removing his hand from the wall and taking a few steps back.

“O-okay.” She muttered.

Y/N was feeling things she had never known were possible.

______________

Harry’s lips were pressed against her neck, his hands wandering to the waistband of her underwear before looping his fingers around the elastic and pulling them down her legs. Before she even had time to process what was going on, he was gently laying her against the bed, but they weren’t in her room… No, she didn’t know where they were, and for a moment she was dissecting the bedchamber and all its decor until Harry’s thumb found its way to her clit and one of his fingers sunk into her, rubbing against the button that had her back arching off of the bed.

“Oh,” she gasped out, her breathing becoming erratic with each stroke. “Please, Harry. Please…”

In this scenario, she didn’t feel ashamed for calling out his name, for begging for his fingers. Harry had positioned himself so that he was on top of her, one hand holding him up so that he good get a good look at her face (in this scenario, he liked to watch the way her nose scrunched when she hit her climax) while his hand worked her clit and flicked against her g-spot.

“Don’t worry, darling girl,” he leaned down, his lips pressed against her lips as he spoke, “I’m going to get you there.”

She couldn’t help it, she needed him so badly. When he pulled his fingers out and inserted another, expanding the space inside her, she arched her back off the bed and bucked her hips into his hand begging for more friction than he was supplying her with.

“Don’t be greedy, love.” He found a different position so he could use one hand to pin her hips to the bed, and the other one to tease her with his fingers. “You need help orgasming, darling?”

“Harry, I need help!”

“Y/N!” Harry shook her shoulders, causing her whole body to shake as her eyes opened to reveal a panicked Harry peering down at her.

It took a moment for her to understand what was going on, but when she looked at her surroundings which were dimly lit by candles, Y/N realized that she was in her bedchamber, and no longer in the bedchamber in her dream, and Harry had pulled the chair sitting in the corner of her room to the side of her bed.

A dream. It was just another dream. And it took a moment before she realized that Harry was here, waking her from her dream frantically.

“Harry,” she breathed out, and though he heard the breathiness in her tone as a sigh of relief, for Y/N she was coming down from the orgasm she just had in her sleep. In front of Harry. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby, you were having a nightmare. You’ve been screaming my name,” he tucked a strand of hair that was coated in sweat behind her ear, and she noted the softness in his voice, a guilty feeling ripping through her.

Actually, his voice wasn’t the only thing soft about him. Harry was still sporting sleepwear, white linen pajama pants and a matching button top. His curls which were normally assorted and crisp looking flopped against his forehead, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he stroked his thumb against her head whispering sweet nicknames he had never called her before, but what she really couldn’t stand was the guilt and worry flooding those cloverfield eyes of his.

“I—” she went to explain that she wasn’t having a nightmare, but before she had a chance to get the words out, he was telling her what happened.

“They came and got me. Dorothea told me this is the fifth consecutive night you’ve been screaming my name, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me the lessons weren’t working, and they were putting you in such a bad place. I didn’t want this for you, baby,” Harry continued to stroke his thumb against her head, this time lowering his hand so that his thumb was stroking along her lips which wasn’t helping the sticky wetness pooling in her panties and the ache in her lower belly.

Y/N, filled with shame at the guilt in his eyes and the crude dreams she’s been having, tried to find her voice, “Wasn’t having a nightmare.”

“What do you mean, darling? You were screaming my name, asking for help?”

In response, Y/N only pulled the edge of her blanket closer to her chest, tucking herself away from him.

It took Harry only two seconds to understand, “Oh?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her head and inching away from the touch of his fingers.

“No!” He exclaimed, hooking his fingers around her arm as she tried to scoot to the other side of the bed, “Don’t be sorry. There is no need for that, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and expected him to get up and leave her to her own devices.

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I just didn’t take you for a beggar, darling girl.”

It could have been the nickname, the same one dream Harry had given her as he brought her to her climax or the fact that he was calling her a beggar but she couldn’t help the heat that flooded through her cheeks as she averted her gaze from his, “Stop!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, and Y/N noted the way his fingers that were once tracing circled over her cheeks and then rubbing against her lips were now touching and grasping at her arm, like he had to be in constant contact with her. “You should never be embarrassed of what your body naturally desires.”

“Easy for you to say,” she scooted closer to him, back to where she was before she began inching away, “You’ve never been embarrassed.”

“I have. The first time I ever let someone touch me, I reached my orgasm in my trousers,” he began, offering her a questioning glance to ask if this is okay? When she nodded, letting him know he could climb into her bed, probably against her better judgment, he stood from the chair and put his knee on the bed. Before she knew it, he was putting his knee over her, straddling her momentarily, then found his way to the other side of her bed, so that they were laying side-by-side. Y/N couldn’t help the way heat filled her cheeks, tearing at the tiny tendrils of muscle throughout her body and igniting a fire from deep within her abdomen. How could she think straight when she was dripping with need, her body begging for some sort of release.

Harry continued what he was saying once he was in a comfortable position next to her, but Y/N had trouble listening to his words when the only thing she could focus on was regulating her breaths, “That was pretty embarrassing. The second time I was embarrassed was the first time I met you, and you were standing there looking so beautiful and perfect, I tripped over my words. The third time I felt embarrassed was when I read your letter in the office and you expressed that my actions were not that of a gentleman, and you were right.”

She didn’t know what to say, only that she was burning with desire and needed him as close to her as possible. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You’ve got me all soft tonight. I was under the impression you were having nightmares because you were too nervous to tell me you didn’t want to continue with lessons. I am cruel, Y/N, you have always been right about that, but I am not a monster,” his words were honest and true, something he would probably regret tomorrow, “Believe it or not, I never wanted to give you nightmares.”

“You haven’t given me nightmares,” Y/N was used to feeling shame around Harry, even though she could cover it quickly by hurling a snarky comment toward him.

“You have no idea how relieved I was to hear that your dreams about me are nothing but good… I would like to rectify the situation for you.”

“Rectify the situation?” Y/N was beginning to feel even more confused than when she woke up in her bedchamber with Harry’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder, waking her from her vivid dream.

“Yes,” he breathed, turning his body so he was laying directly parallel to her, “Would you like me to take care of you?”

“I… I would like that,” her fingers held the quilt tighter to her chest, not quite sure if this was going to be a mean joke to toy with her and then laugh about it later.

“Do you trust me?” His eyebrow raised, knowing her answer without her even needing to speak the words.

“Not… particularly,” her breathing was becoming more rapid as the conversation took such a sultry turn.

“If you don’t trust me, I can’t make you feel good, darling.” He tried to reason with her, and as much as he wanted to run his hands over her sides and touch her all over, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not while he was trying to gain her trust.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said quietly, barely audible.

“I know,” he agreed, “We are going to take it slow. You are safe with me.”

And Y/N didn’t know if it was the look in eyes, or if it was because of the fact he rushed to her bedchamber when someone woke him up from his peaceful slumber to come comfort her from her “bad dream,” but in this moment, she really felt as though she could trust him. On top of that, he knew her biggest fear, and never let her feel uncomfortable when he was teaching her how to ride, so why shouldn’t she trust him?

“I feel safe,” she told him and expressed her limits, “I trust you. No mean words, Harry.”

“No, baby, only praise for how well you’re doing.”

Those three little words, the innocence in her eyes, and the way she clung to her blanket for a security measure could have sent Harry into a downward spiral. He tried to compose himself, tried to contain himself, because he knew he had to take it slow with her. He propped himself up so that he could loop his hands around where she clutched her blanket so tightly. “Have to relax, darling.”

She took in a few deep breaths, just how he taught her when she was trying something new, and her body released the tension as she made eye contact with him. Something about Harry was so contradictory. How could he make her feel so guarded and upset, but also make her feel so safe in her most vulnerable moments. As her grip loosened from the blanket, he asked if it was okay for him to remove it, to expose her body only dressed in her white nightgown. When she murmured a small yes, he peeled the blanket from her body. Cool air encompassed her, and she hadn’t realized just how hot she’d been under the blanket.

Y/N used her elbows to prop herself up, leaning back against the pillows, giving herself a full view as she sat up right, and Harry took this moment to lean back, so his upper body was still parallel to hers, but he still had enough room to use his fingers to work her to the brink of her orgasm. Fortunately for her, he was reading the situation thoroughly, checking for the signs that she wasn’t ready and verbally communicating with her to make sure she was feeling okay.

“How are you feeling, love?” Small touches is what he started with, using the arm that he wasn’t propped up on to trace heart shapes (though, Y/N couldn’t tell what shape he was making) with his forefinger around the bare skin of her hip.

“Feeling good,” her words were breathy, making his cock twitch in his pants, “I’m ready for you.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, his eyes glancing between both of her eyes as he spoke, “We’re going to take it very slow. I’m gonna teach you about pleasure, darling, with my fingers. How does that sound?”

“With your fingers?” She hated how demure it sounded, how underprepared and unknowledgeable the words sounded coming from her.

“Yes. With my fingers first,” he trailed his fingers from her hip, to her lower abdomen until he was over the cotton of her panties, feeling the wetness seep through, “You’re so wet, it feels like you’ve already reached your pinnacle. Did you?”

Sheepishly, she nodded. Though she may not know what it felt like when she was awake, she knew the signs when she woke up from a dream about him. Typically, she was as wet as she is now, a sticky feeling between her legs. “In my sleep.”

“Christ,” he breathed, pulling her panties to the side, but not taking them completely off in an effort to make her not feel so exposed. First, he used his thumb to touch her clit, using small circular motions at a very steady pace. When her breathing picked up once more, and small guttural moans fell from her lips in encouragement for him, he picked up the pace. Harry couldn’t help it, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing his lips against her own as he continued to rub in circular motions. Her back arched from the bed, his lips still on hers as he swallowed the noises she was making against him, and her mind was spinning with absolute desire. Pure bliss is what she felt, her flesh hot with each touch as he continued to work her most sensitive spot while his lips moved against hers. She didn’t know she could feel this… Good. In her dreams she was a sweaty, whiny, mess, but in this experience. In this very, very real experience, she couldn’t hold back the whines or the way her back kept arching into his touch. It was a complete parallel to the way she felt in her dreams, the way dream Harry took care of her and the way real Harry was taking care of her now was so similar.

____

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of emotion; he loved the way he was making her come undone beneath his fingers. While his thumb worked her clit, he slipped his middle finger in, the cool gold of his rings making her gasp against his mouth, and he took this moment to slick his tongue over her bottom lip and find his way into her mouth. Her mouth was warm, tasting of sweet fruit and honey… She was everything he could ever desire, and he hated the way he crumpled beneath her. She made him feel so out of control, but in this very moment, he had all the power. For a second, he removed his lips, staring down at her with her eyes shut. Her ribcage flared with each breath, her chest heaved as small whimpers tumbled from her lips with his name somewhere in the mix.

As soon as he found that spot inside of her, the spot he knew could make a woman buckle at the knees, she was finding her release and rocking against her hand. Normally, he would tell his partner to stop riding his hand to control the situation, to make them so pent up with frustration and desire that they could barely stand it. He loved to see tears form in his partner's eyes due to overstimulation and pure desire, but this time around, he just wanted her to feel good and comfortable as she reached her climax. This was a vulnerable moment for her, and he didn’t want her to remember it by looking back and thinking about how he wouldn’t let her cum… No, she was being such a good girl for him, rocking against him with such a politeness as she whimpered small pleases and thank you’s that he didn’t want to reprimand her for feeling what she was feeling. In fact, he decided she needed a good reminder.

“You’re being such a good girl, Y/N. So good for me,” as soon as those words filled her ears, her walls began pulsing around his fingers and he knew she was about to reach the brink of the universe, so he continued to encourage her, “Let it out, baby.”

“T-thank you,” she said, clutching the sheets in her hands as her back arched from the bed, and she clenched once more around his fingers, drenching his hand, his wrist, and the end of his pajama sleeves.

“So polite, darling,” Harry noted as her hips thrusted up once more, riding out her orgasm on his hand. Once she was completely fucked out against his hand, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as she tried to maintain eye contact with him, and when Harry brough his hands coated in her arousal to his mouth and licked them clean, another wave of arousal shot down her spine.

“Is it your turn?” She asked him, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Not tonight, darling,” his hands found their way to the quilt, covering her up with the blanket so she wouldn’t get cold after she fell asleep. Normally, he would clean his partner up before allowing them to get cozy in bed, but the thought of making her get out of bed and wash up felt too evil as she could barely keep her eyes open.

“When?” She muttered, eyes still closed, “I want to.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Y/N.” He lifted himself off the bed, and she mumbled a small okay as he walked out of the room.

Harry was so fucked.

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