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{golden} fifteen: the boy who touched the sun

golden Masterlist here.

Port Aransas was but a small town on the edge of an island off the coast of Texas. A town where nothing of consequence ever happened. And as such, the Depression had hit it hard. The Second War had hit it harder. Financial ruin and starvation had thinned the population in the thirties; bullets had nearly decimated it in the time of war. Not many who went off to fight came back to tell their tales. Those that did weren’t the same men who had shipped out.

The Howard Dandridge that put on his uniform had not returned from Europe. The Howard Dandridge who came back was a stranger in the guise of family.

Elizabeth’s fingernails tip-tapped against her knee, dirt spinning under the wheels of Harry’s buttery yellow convertible. With each passing second, with each spin of the tires, each breath, they drew closer and closer to the place she dreaded most.

Home.

The drive out to the Dandridge farm from town was arduous and lonesome without company. With company, still arduous. The road remained unpaved and there was no scenery but dying grass and the occasional patch of wildflowers. The farm was in the opposite direction of the beach, so there was no beautiful ocean horizon to set eyes on.

“Wanna tell me ‘bout ‘em? Before we get there?” Harry’s hand sat in the empty space between them. It had for several miles.

She didn’t have the energy necessary to even hold his hand. All her thoughts were of her family. How ill was her mother? What did taking a turn for the worse consist of exactly? Would the flowers in the nursery be alive and thriving? Was the vegetable garden still existent? Would her father be as absent-minded as ever? Would Howie be sober?

The ultimate question. Howie’s sobriety. He had been doing well for weeks, staying away from the sauce and any location where he could be tempted to stray from his wagon. He was trying and succeeding. But Howie loved their mother. He worshipped her and the ground she stood on. The sudden decline in her health, the hanging question of her mortality, was bound to deliver a fatal blow to his stability.

All of her hard work would be washed away.

“My father doesn’t know his ass from his face most days.” She told Harry without looking at him. This curve…only a few more minutes. “He isn’t always present. He gets on better with plants than people.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.” He finally reached over and grabbed onto her hand. His fingers curled around hers and he squeezed once lightly. “Your mum?”

Her mother.

Agnes Dandridge. What was there to say about her mother? For all her years, Elizabeth could not conjure up a single positive remark about the woman who had given her life. There were no happy memories or good times to reflect on. Each remembrance of her childhood was a sharp stab in the chest.

“She’s…” Her voice trailed off in search of something cordial, “She’s my mother, I suppose.” Harry asked what she meant. Truthfully, she couldn’t say. There was no great argument or moment to spark the disconnect between mother and daughter. It had simply always existed. Elizabeth had been born with the dislike of her mother. “I saw my first film with her. It was the three of us, me, Mama, and Howie. She took us to the pictures.”

“What did you see?”

Some things turned fuzzy in her mind as time wore on. But not that. Never that day. It was the day she knew who she was meant to become. What she was meant to become.

“The Gay Divorcee. The second I laid eyes on Ginger Rogers I knew I wanted what she had. She was a star. I didn’t want to be her. I wanted to be better than her.”

Harry squeezed her hand again. “You are better than her.”

Elizabeth shook her head as the small farmhouse came into view at the end of the red dirt road. The nauseating odor of chicken manure wafted through her nose. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry’s face pinch in disgust at the smell. Though it had been a long while since she had experienced it, her nose didn’t even bother on instinct. Enough years of the putrid scent had worn her senses down.

“Not yet.” Elizabeth said quietly. “But I will be.” She had to be.

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It was the way her brother hugged her. The bone deep purchase for contact and rescue. He was always the twin lost at sea and she was always the one with the life raft. It was Howie’s arms thrown around her midsection and his face smushed against hers. The rattled breath. The shivering arms.

Their mother was dying.

He shouldn’t have come here. Howie should have stayed back in California, far from this which would be another tragedy to rest on his unstable shoulders, another brutal wave to knock him down and drag him out to the open water. He should have found out of her passing from a letter or a phone call, not by a relentless bedside vigil.

If she told him to go, would he listen?

“I’m here.” She ran her fingers through his hair, the way Harry would do hers whenever she was upset. If it worked to calm her, surely it would work on her brother. “Where’s Pa?” She pulled back from Howie’s embrace and looked around the small kitchen.

Dishes piled in the sink, the table cluttered with papers and withered flower petals. The floor scuffed with marks from scooted chairs. Curtains over the windows pulled taut to shield from an unforgiving high noon sun.

Howie, after a brief hello to Harry, reported that their father was, of course, in the nursery. Elizabeth shed her hair scarf and tucked it into her handbag. Sliding her sunglasses up to her hair, she excused herself.

The vegetable garden was small, smaller than it had been before she left. Protected only by a barbed wire fence, the tomatoes looked puny, the cucumbers minuscule in relation to those in the past, and the yellow squash didn’t look an ounce of edible. If the vegetables looked so dismal…No, she would not assume the worst until she saw for herself.

“Pa?” She pushed open the door to the greenhouse and was met with a wave of moist hot air.

It was a festival of color. Violet hydrangeas, brilliant marigolds, blush tulips, eggshell daisies. Peonies of all variety. Not an orchid in sight.

She bit back a smile at that. He’d never been very good at nurturing things that required a bit of extra effort.

“Betty? That you?”

He peeked around a curtain of lilies of the valley. Face smudged with soil and his shirt coated in it. His gloves were worn, holes at the fingertips and the hems raggedy and frayed. Once, her mother would have mended them. She’d hated for any of them to look as worse off as they were. Being poor didn’t mean you had to look poor.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Her father whistled. “An actress, in my nursery! Say, could I get an autograph?”

Sweat prickled the back of her neck. It streamed down her back and began to pool around her clavicle.

She wondered if he wanted her to blush. To feel special. Proud of. If he wanted her to laugh and jest with him. Had they ever acted as such before?

Bags nested under his eyes and wrinkles cut through his face in lines of addled age and sorrow. She wondered if he had always looked so old, so mournful. His shoulders sagged and his fingers didn’t quite straighten all the way. His walk was an awkward shuffle.

Old age didn’t suite him well at all.

Then again, she didn’t think it suited anyone.

He stopped a few feet from her and rested himself against a table of empty planters. “Howard said he didn’t think you were comin’. Said you were making a new picture.” Picture came out as pitcher and she had to force herself not to wince at the sound.

“How long does she have?” Elizabeth didn’t feel much like making small talk. What was the point?

He touched a planter, crooked finger roaming the edge of the basin. “Doctor gave her weeks, at best. But-.”

“But it’s not the best.” She finished for him. “I can stay until after the funeral. Mr. Mayer said that’s perfectly fine, so long as it’s within fourteen days. After that, I’ll have to go home regardless.”

His face pinched. “Ya are home, Betty.”

She looked around the nursery. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “No, I very much am not.”

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The rental house she had secured for them was a short walk from the beach and a forty minute drive from her family’s farm. She made no use in offering Howie space, she knew better. He would not leave their mother when her time was so near.

She had neglected seeing her before leaving the house. There was no use. Her father said she barely knew him, her husband of so many years, and Howie was but a stranger. Apparently there had once been a mixture of good days and bad days when applied to her memory but now as the end drew nearer, the good days were a thing of the past.

Elizabeth meant to only see her mother once before she died and today was not that day.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have stayed there? Howie…” Harry didn’t bother finishing his sentence. It wasn’t hard to tell where it was going.

Howie was almost as unwell as their mother. Her impending death was taking an unimaginable toll on him. But, he remained sober. For that, she had no qualm about leaving him in that house.

“It wouldn’t matter.” Elizabeth said. “Whether we are here or there, it wouldn’t make a difference. He’ll be a ghost until she becomes one. You shouldn’t worry about him until he leaves. That’s when it will happen.”

Harry lifted her suitcase on the bed and placed it next to his. He unzipped it for her and opened it up. “When what will happen?”

She dug through her clothes, searching for a more comfortable option to wear around the house. “His spiral. He’s fine now, when he can fret over her and when there’s breath still in her lungs. And he’ll be fine when we put her in the ground. But when he’s back in Hollywood and he’s alone with his thoughts…he’ll decline. He will spiral and all his progress will be down the drain.”

She half considered locking him up in his room. Putting a bolt on the door, hiring someone to watch him and give him meals. Throwing out all the liquor in the house. After all his hard work- after all her hard work- she would not see him regress into the former shadow of his being. She had put too much time, effort, and money into fixing him. She had given too much, sacrificed too much, for him to fall back into a state of useless impropriety.

She placed a set of silken pajamas outside the suitcase to be donned later in the evening. The lavender of the material shone as she smoothed out the minuscule wrinkles.

“Pajamas.” Harry noted quietly.

“What about them?”

He fingered over the ruffled collar of the sleep blouse. The green of his eyes was dark, velvet almost, when he looked at her and caught her gaze. “You said…You said you forgot to pack pajamas. And yet…”

She didn’t bother to stop him as he rifled through her suitcase and found the several sets of sleep clothes she had hidden under days’ worth of outfits.

Harry laughed under his breath. “M’damn near convinced ya didn’t even need my help becomin’ a fox, love. I sure as shit didn’t teach ya that trick.”

Elizabeth took his hand from her suitcase and it encased it around her own. She lifted their conjoined hands and pressed her lips to his knuckles. “I can be quite resourceful when I want to be. Clever, as well.”

The black of his pupils swallowed the velvet green. A soft sigh escaped his mouth. A sigh that made her knees lose a bit of their reserve.

“You can, eh?” He mumbled, eyes dancing between her eyes and her mouth. “So, ya jus’ wanted to get me in your bed? Wanted me to lose my mind a little bit at the sight of ya in nothin’ but your slip?” His voice, with each word, became guttural and rasps of air. Hungered air. His free hand slid against her knee, fingers dancing up under the skirt of her dress. The pads of his fingers smooth and warm on their journey on her bare thigh. “Wanted to show me what I can’t have? Tease me?” His head hung on her shoulder as his hand halted on her hip. His handprint burned through the material of her underwear, fingers twitching in place. “I could’ve-the things I could’ve done to you, Elizabeth…”

Her breath hitched in her throat.

She knew. Some part of her knew exactly what would have happened. Had they not stopped, had Harry not separated himself from her and retreated to the far side of the motel bed, she would have let him take whatever he wanted. Any of her, all of her, had been up for grabs but he had resolved himself against it. Ready, willing as she was to hand over her virtue, he refused it.

The warmth of his breath blew against her chest. His fingers dug into her hip. He dropped her hand and pressed his palm against her sternum. “I wanna touch you. Lemme-lemme show you-lemme make you feel good. Can I make you feel good, baby?”

There was no lump in her throat to swallow. “Harry…”

His lips met hers briefly. Not quite a kiss, a resting place. His nose bumped next to hers and his mouth hovering so close to her own she could feel the quiver of his bottom lip when he spoke. “M’not gonna fuck you, Elizabeth, not tonight. But I promise you’ll be begging for me to by the time I’m done.”

She took a step back from him. It was agony to lose the fire of his hands, agonizing but necessary. His hands fell, fingers twitching at his sides and his lips parted in unquenchable thirst. Elizabeth had to force her hands to steady as she fiddled with the button at the very top of her dress. “You know I don’t beg.” The button popped open with shaking pressure.

Harry shifted and his hand went to the foot of the bed. His fingers curled into the blanket.

“But,” Elizabeth said slowly, her hands worked nimbly with the rest of the buttons on the torso of her dress, “you’re welcome to try and make me.”

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It was only a second. Nothing, really, when considering the bigger picture of life. But for a moment, when he first woke up, Harry was in Paris.

His eardrums rang with the aftermath of shells falling from the dark skies. Tangy rust and deposits of dirt burnt his tongue. Body frozen, unable to move despite every sense telling him to seek shelter, to save those around him.

And then her face is hovering over his.

Haloed by the soft glow of morning sunlight. Freckles of stardust sketched across her cheeks, eyes so dark he could almost see himself reflected back in her gaze. Those beautiful lips moving and the words lost upon the ringing in his ears.

She leaned closer to him as her palm lifted to gently touch his cheek. “-it’s only a nightmare.” Her voice shocked the rest of him into the present. “You’re not there anymore, Harry. You’re here with me. You’re safe. The war’s done, you made it.”

He reached and covered her hand with his own, closing his eyes. Two deep breaths. One that shook ragged in his chest, another that tried to not happen at all.

“You’re safe.” She repeated softly. “You’re all right.”

When Harry opened his eyes again, she was still in her same place. “Elizabeth.” Saying her name was being reborn; it was an act of cleansing the nightmare, the memory, from his brain.

She smiled the softest of smiles. “I love how you say my name. Like you’re praying.”

“Maybe I am.”

Her hand fell from his face and traced the slope of his shoulder. As she climbed out of the bed, he took in the bareness of her legs, her body shrouded only by the white tank top he’d had under his shirt the day before. Still dreaming…could this still be part of his nightmare? Things that had happened, things that never would? She reached into the suitcase that had been discarded last night and pulled out a white satin robe to wrap around her body.

Outside, the ocean only a short walk away, the water was wide awake. He knew if he looked out the window, he would see the water rolling in over itself as it rustled to the shore and then crashed, only to repeat the cycle endlessly. Instead of getting up from the bed and moving to the window, he found himself content with sitting and leaning up against the headboard and simply listening to the sound of the waves crashing into the shore. Birds cawing in the distance. He wondered if it was too early for anyone to be enjoying the beach, or if there were already families out ready to take advantage of something so beautiful.

The floor creaked and his head jerked toward the door. Elizabeth was in the doorway, a glass of water in one hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to creep up on you.” Her footsteps were light and soundless as she crossed the room and perched next to him on the bed. “Here, drink this.”

The cold of the glass shocked him when she pressed it into his hand. Without cease, she aided him in raising the glass to his lips and then took it back when he was finished.

“I’ve never seen you like this before.” Harry mentioned as she took his hand. Her thumb ran circles over the back of his hand.

“How do you mean?”

“Like…” he struggled to find the right word. Mothering seemed too uncomfortable. Caring wasn’t correct either but soft also didn’t sound right. “Nurturing.” He finally settled.

One of her eyebrows cocked up in inquiry. She sat back and crossed her legs. “Well,” she sighed out, “that’s because I’ve never slept next to you when you’ve had a nightmare. Drink.” She offered him the water glass again. This time, she left it in his hand and stared him down as he took a long drink. “You need to eat. I know the nightmares are draining.”

He circled his thumb around the rim of the glass before putting it down on the night table. “You’re good at this, the aftermath.” He noted. He assumed it took a lot of practice to become this adept at shushing away a horrific memory. Elizabeth didn’t spend much of her time with people, especially at night when someone would be unconscious. Which meant… “Howie gets them too, doesn’t he? Nightmares. About the war.”

Her tongue darted out, licking slowly over her bottom lip. She cradled her hand around her throat and looked up at the ceiling. “Often.” She confirmed in a small voice. Something in him broke when her bottom lip wobbled. “He doesn’t talk about what happened to him and I don’t push him to. He’s fragile.” Her voice stammered over the word like it ached her to say it. “But I know it was horrific, whatever it was. It comes out when he’s sleeping, I think because he can’t force himself to repress it then. Your nightmare…it isn’t like that for him. His are more terrifying, violent, I think.”

His mind replayed the way her shoulders shuddered. Until he was certain he would never be able to forget it.

“Violent?”

Her hand tightened around her throat, eyes fluttering shut. Her chest racked with a breath that huffed through her nose. “It’s almost as if he’s fighting for his life, tooth and nail trying to survive. He screams and he screams and he screams. Like he’s burning alive.”

Harry couldn’t help but think of how many nights Elizabeth had been awoken by the frantic screams of her brother. Screams of a man at war. He can imagine, to an extent, the things that Howie saw at war, the things that happened to him. But to wake screaming and in terror every time what happened to him would have had to be far worse than shells from the sky.

“You’re easier to wake up.” She finally spoke again. “You come back from it faster and you don’t spook so easy as him. Sometimes I’ll wake him but he’s not awake, not really. His mind is still there, in that awful place and he doesn’t know me…doesn’t know his own strength.”

Harry swallowed. Elizabeth’s hand finally fell from her throat. There were slight red marks from the pressure of her fingers pressed against the delicate column.

He doesn’t know me.

Doesn’t know his own strength.

Had he…had her brother hurt her? It would be easy, inevitable almost. A man shredded by his nightmares, forced to relive them over and over. The panic overtaking his body and his mind and putting him back in the place he was so desperately trying to forget. And his sister, in trying to care for him, to regain his peace, would be but a piece of that nightmare, she would be the enemy that threatened it all.

“Elizabeth…” Harry sighed softly.

Her eyes snapped to him. Perhaps she could see it on his face. The knowing. The understanding. The truth. “It was once, just once. And it wasn’t as bad as you’re probably thinking.” She must not know that when she lies, a divot appears just under her bottom lip. “He didn’t mean it.” Elizabeth cemented. “He didn’t know. It was my fault, really. I shouldn’t have grabbed him. He didn’t know me.”

Pushing the subject wouldn’t get him anywhere. She would burrow down and spend eternity concealing whatever her brother had done. As much as she got on to him and complained about him, Harry knew that when it came down to it, Elizabeth would do whatever it took to protect her brother.

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It was just a door. A simple wooden door. What halted her wasn’t the door so much as what lay beyond it. The door would creak as she pushed it open. The room would be dark-washed, only the barest of light coming from thick curtain covered windows. The bed would be there and in it…

Howie had called just after noon, right as Harry had managed to convince her to go down to the beach. Despite her annoyance at her freckles, Harry adored them and was willing to force her into the sunlight to bring them out further. The doctor, as Howie reported through the static-ridden phone, was leaving. Their mother had suffered a horrible night and most likely would not make it through the next forty-eight hours.

His voice had trembled when he said the words. When she’d asked about their father, Howie told her he was in the nursery, had been all morning.

Alone. He’d been left alone in the house with their dying mother and had received the news. Alone.

Elizabeth had slammed the phone down. She had wanted to throw something, to see something break and shatter.

Now, she stood outside the door of her parent’s bedroom and, as luck would have it, could not muster up the courage to open the damn door.

“Elizabeth?”

This was how the doctor knew. A good day for her memory. Howie said the doctor referred to it as being awake. She could remember things, faces, her life. She remembered and yet still knew the end was near. She had remembered that last day Elizabeth had spent before moving to Hollywood, remembered the argument, remembered and wanted to see her anyway.

Elizabeth didn’t expect an apology or kind words or much of anything in the way of mother-daughter bonding. What she expected was to be told to continue what she’d been doing: take care of her brother.

She didn’t need to be told or reminded. She’d always done so. She always would.

Elizabeth exhaled and pressed her palm against the door to push it open.

The room was dark, the air stale and warm. Little light bled through the curtains but she could tell that it looked the same as it always had. There were little embroidered cloths hanging on the walls. A picture of Elizabeth and Howie as children framed on the dresser next to a framed photo of their parents on their wedding day. In the window sat a lone blue poppy. Drooping in a pot of dry soil.

Howie.

Her mother was lying in the bed, only her head propped up by a pillow. The blankets were pulled taut around her with her hands folded neatly on top of them. She looked close enough to death that Elizabeth had to wonder if she could feel it happening to her. Her cheeks were sunken in and her eyes hollow with dark rings around them. Her skin was loose in places, tight in others, with a sickening pale grey look to it. Hair but a few patches spread far between on her scalp, riddled with scabs. And she was thin. The kind of thin that could not be fixed with a few helpings of meat and potatoes.

“Is it…it’s just the two of us?” Her voice was dry and feeble. Like it took every strength to get the words out.

Elizabeth looked back at the singular flower in the window. “As you asked, yes. Papa is in the nursery, of course. And I sent Harry and Howie into town for a few things.” The house was incredibly low on basic stocks of food. “Did you need something?”

The laugh that her mother produced sounded like a dying cough. Raspy gasps muddled with strangled by the inability to breathe properly. “You never much liked me, did you?”

So, they were going to do this then? Elizabeth pushed the door back, leaving it only open a crack before walking the rest of the way into the room. “Don’t be so-.”

“You didn’t.” Her mother snapped in a surprisingly ferocious tone. Who knew she still had the strength? “Don’t lie, it ain’t ladylike.” She coughed again, louder this time. “Ya didn’t like me, ever, and ya never needed me. Not the way Howie did.”

Elizabeth staved off the roll of her eyes. It was impossible for him not to need their mother when she had coddled him his entire childhood. “Howie,” Elizabeth reminded her, “has always been babied. I haven’t. I’ve always been mature.”

Her mother was quick to shoot that notion down. “Always quick to get outta here.” She corrected. “Saw it in your eyes first time I took ya to a picture. You were gone, very second that Ginger Rogers came on screen. She stole ya from me.”

The way her mother talked…as if their trip to that film showing had been an effort of bonding between mother and daughter. As if it hadn’t been for Howie’s sake but the other way around. There her mother lay dying and flippantly attempting to rewrite the past into one where they were close.

She remembered that day quite well. It had been the day that changed the trajectory of her whole life. The second she saw Ginger Rogers, life had a new meaning. There was true purpose, a path, a light in the darkness. She just hadn’t realized how apparent it would have been to everyone else. Especially the woman who had never paid her much mind.

And now she was trying to act like that film had taken something pivotal from her. As if taking Elizabeth and Howie to that film was the worst mistake of her life because it ignited Elizabeth’s dreams.

There was no way that Elizabeth could have been stolen from her mother. She had never had her in the first place. Elizabeth had never belonged to anyone but herself. “People aren’t stolen, Mama.”

Her mother clucked her tongue. “Their hearts can be. Their dreams. Just look at your brother.” Ah, there it was. The inevitable turn to Howie. Here now was the reason. “That war robbed him of everything. Now…now he’s nothing but a drunkard and a gambler.”

Perhaps more than her mother trying to rewrite their history was their mother dismissing her favored son. Writing off his hard work the past while. Dismissing progress she herself could not foster in him.

Elizabeth wouldn’t stand for it. She would not allow this woman to speak down on a son who loved her so much it would kill him to lose her. “He’s recovering.” She snapped at her mother. “And, might I add, with no assistance from you or Pa.”

If her sudden rise in tone affected her mother, the older woman didn’t show it. “He needed a fresh start. We couldn’t give him that here.”

Elizabeth scoffed so viciously that it caused real pain in the back of her throat. “That’s the lie you’ve been telling yourself for pawning him off on me? Is it working, Mama? Has it absolved your guilt for what you did?” Her cheeks burned with a desperate need to scream. She clenched her fists at her sides to keep from flinging and breaking things. The crescents of her nails dug deep into the skin of her palms so painfully she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from hissing. “You coddled him his entire life, made him weak and soft. You put those notions in his head about going off to fight in that war and coming back a hero. And then,” her voice shattered but she didn’t care, the part of her she had been trying for so long to suffocate broke free like a wild horse, “when he came home, he wasn’t the son you sent off and that wasn’t good enough for you.”

No one, no one, got the right to think they were able to talk down on her brother. No one had the right to be ashamed of him. Not when she had picked every broken piece of him up and rebuilt him. All by herself.

She didn’t give a damn that her mother was on her deathbed. She didn’t care that Death itself was quite literally in the next room awaiting her mother. Being close to death would not save her mother from this.

“Betty, please-.”

She barely registered the words, the non-affectionate nickname. Her mother was not among the small few who got to refer to her as anything but her Christian name. “So, what did it? Was it the gambling? The drinking?” Elizabeth paused. “Or, was it the nightmares?” Her mother didn’t utter a word. At her silence, Elizabeth smiled. “It was the screaming, wasn’t it?” If she focused hard enough, she could hear the echoes of Howie’s screams pounding against her skull. The phantom force of his hand around her throat, trying to stifle the breath from her until there was nothing left. “Middle of the night, worst sounds you’ve ever heard. Did it break your heart to hear him crying out for you, for you to help him, to bring him home? Or could you just not stand having a broken son?”

She had endured the screaming. She had endured the near death experience. She had fixed Howie when no one else would. And she would do it again soon. Whether she wanted the responsibility or not, she would do it. If she didn’t, there would be no one else to help him. And then he would wither away, crumble in upon himself and turn to nothing. He would be the death of himself.

Her mother looked away. The woman’s throat bobbed. If she cried, that was it. Elizabeth would walk out and drive straight back to Hollywood. No matter what. “Hollywood has made you cruel, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth leaned over the foot of the bed and her hands buried into the soft quilting of the blanket. Her movement caused her mother to look down the bed at her. “No, Mama, I’ve always been this.” This was the beast that Harry was so insistent lurked beneath her eyes. This was the secretive version of her that he had been adamant would one day show its teeth. “Had I been like Howie, needy and dependent and clinging to your skirts like a babe, I would have been soft. Weak. And then I never would have left this abysmal hell.”

“Like me.” Her mother spoke quietly. Not with ill will or malice. It was gentle knowing. Elizabeth didn’t bother confirming. “You meant everything you said that day?”

Elizabeth stood back up. “Every word.”

Her mother nodded once. “Do you ever wish you could take it back? Leave us on better terms?”

She can’t help but smile again. Try as she might, her mother would never understand her. They could have lived together a lifetime and Elizabeth would have remained a stranger to the woman that birthed her.

“See,” Elizabeth laughed hoarsely, “that really shows just how little you know me, Mama. I have never once regretted anything I’ve said or done. I don’t entertain regret, or shame, or guilt.”

This time, her mother was the one to smile. And she hated it. The way her mother looked amused. As if she had caught her in a trap. “You will, girl. Believe me. One day, when you’ve ruined yourself and that poor fella you’ve drug here, when you’ve burned the person you love to the core and all that’s left are ashes that choke the life outta ya, you’ll regret it all.”

Elizabeth stood, stunned. Her mouth went dry, tongue suddenly too big. How did she-?

“Howie talks to me. Tells me about ya. When we talk on the phone, when he’s here.” Her mother added as if reading her mind. “He may love me but you’re his lifeline, always have been. He raves about you, that brother of yours, about how you’ve pulled him up, taken care of him even though you don’t wanna. And he’s told me all about your little turtledove.”

She couldn’t even swallow. Humming filled her ears, liquid fire coursing through her veins.

“The contract, the clause, the sneaking around. How you love that man but you’re too afraid of losing your career to really show it, or say a word.”

“He had no right to-.”

But her mother wasn’t finished. Elizabeth had hashed herself and now it was her mother’s turn. “When it’s all gone, when you’ve lost everything and the only person you’ve got left in your corner is your weak and soft brother, you’ll see.” Elizabeth bit down so hard on her tongue, blood burst around her teeth. “You always did love flowers. So good with them. One day, soon, I think, you’ll reap what you’ve sown, Elizabeth. And you’ll be able to water the Garden itself with the tears you’ll spill.”

She wanted desperately to say something back. To spit back words of such hatred and vile obscenity that it would shock her mother dead. But the words would not come. She could think of nothing so horrid to say. All she could do was stare her mother down before she grabbed the poppy flower from the window and stormed from the room.

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The funeral was as debilitatingly morbid as Elizabeth had imagined it would be. Two hours of incessant prayer from the preacher- and in the heat no less. Howie’s strangled sobs.

When the time came, Elizabeth had to pry him from the six foot deep hole in the ground, afraid he was going to pitch himself down into the darkness with their mother. Like a good sister, she offered to stay with him or for him to stay in the house with she and Harry. But Howie refused and insisted on being there for their father. Their father who seemed to have barely noticed that his wife was no longer with them. Elizabeth had given Howie a healthy dose of laudanum and waited for him to sleep before leaving.

Now, she and Harry strolled along the beach. Day was losing its momentum fast as the sky turned from peach pinks, russet oranges, and ruby reds into hazy clouds of dark grey. Harry, in his fascinating way, would not speak. He only walked beside her, his hand wrapped around hers as they carried their shoes in their other hands. Up ahead, the old lighthouse loomed. The light no longer worked and for all intents and purposes, she wasn’t sure the last time it had properly been used. It was halfway abandoned when she was a girl.

From the moment Howie had called the night before to tell her that their mother had passed, all she could hear was the violent words she had been thrust through with the morning before. Would she regret everything one day? Would she ruin what was held between she and Harry? Had she already? Was there any way to keep him and her career? Or was the only way to keep from destroying what they had to end it now?

It would hurt like hell. At first, for sure. But maybe time would absolve the wound and smooth it over until it became nothing more than a dull ache. She could handle a dull ache. She could not handle the searing pain, the choking on the ashes of the fire she started.

Something cold pinched her forehead.

“-storm.”

“What was that?” She glanced around. She stopped, pulling him with her into pause. Another burst of cold dropped on the top of her head. “Did you feel-?”

“It’s about to storm, I think.” Harry looked out at the ocean. The water was as dark as the sky was becoming. The evening tide rolling back and then speeding toward the shore with fierce velocity. White seafood broke at her feet and cool water flooded over her ankles.

The rain came suddenly and without relent. Thick, heavy drops of cold water that broke harshly against her skin. Thunder rumbled over the sea and mere moments later, lightning struck. She looked back in the direction they’d come and realized just how far they had truly spent walking in silence. Their little rental house wasn’t to be seen at all.

And storms like this one…It wouldn’t do well for them to be out in the middle of it for long.

“It’s going to get worse.” She told him. “And we’re too far from the house.” Raindrops pelleted her face as she looked up at him. “We can’t stay out in this. We need to-.” The lighthouse. No one used it, not anymore, at least she assumed they didn’t. “We’ll be all right in the lighthouse until it calms down.”

His hand was warm and wet around hers as they ran toward the old lighthouse. Wet sand squished between her toes and she had to focus on her steps to keep from falling. Water seeped into her eyes and matted her hair to her face and bare shoulders. They’d freeze from drying off. She hoped there were blankets or something inside.

Harry dropped her hand when they reached the base of the lighthouse. The door didn’t open when he turned the knob. “Fuck.” He swore under his breath. He rolled his shoulders and bodied himself into the door. It budged but didn’t open. With one more slam of his shoulder, the door burst open.

He ushered her inside before following and slamming the door shut. He pushed once to ensure it wouldn’t falter against the storm winds.

Elizabeth dropped her shoes and looked around. It was evident no one had utilized the place in years. The surfaces were dusty, the air damp and stale. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of abandonment.

“You think there are candles or lamps in here?” Harry inquired. “Might be nice to have a little light when the last of it’s gone outside.”

She wrapped her arms around herself but couldn’t fight off the shiver. Without the constant feel of the rain mixing with the warm outside air, being drenched was getting cold fast. “I’ll look for blankets if you try to find something to light.”

Harry nodded. He pushed the wet tendrils of hair from her face and kissed her temple. “Watch your step, yeah? Don’t wanna get cut on something.”

They went their separate ways. Elizabeth found herself going up the spiraled metal stairs in search of the residential rooms. Most lighthouses had a keeper who lived inside to be in constant operation of the light. Hopefully, the last one had left some things behind. The stairs gave a little with each step she took, just enough that her hand stayed tight around the railing. She stopped at the second flight and ventured off toward the shut door.

The bedroom was small, or she assumed it had once been a bedroom. There wasn’t a bed, exactly. A tiny cot that looked it would break under the smallest amount of pressure. Just a mattress. But stacked on the shelf that sat caddy corner to the curved wall was a pile of blankets. She glanced down at the floor to check the footpath before walking to the shelf. The window next to it overlooked the sea. Even in the growing darkness, she could see the massive volume of the waves. They seemed to grow larger each time they came back to the shore. Out further, the sea looked malevolent, dangerous. Her stomach pulled itself in a knot and she stepped back. A shiver raked down her spine and had her snatching the pile of blankets from the shelf and hurrying back down the stairs.

She nearly tripped twice on her way back down to the main level. Her breath burned in her lungs and she set the blankets on the three legged table close to the wall.

An oil lamp set lit under a circular window. Harry had managed to find matches and seven candles, all now lit and left in a small perimeter.

“I found some-.”

Her words died in her throat.

He was naked. Well, almost naked. Harry had shed his shirt and pants, having laid them over the back of a chair to dry. All he was left in were a pair of damp looking white underwear. The fabric hugged the muscles of his thighs and was cut low enough at the waist to peekaboo two ferns inked into his hipbones. The butterfly at his sternum seemed like a personal invitation to hug herself to the warmth of him. And the sparrows at his shoulders seemed as good of places as any to place her hands.

What she had the most trouble with, though, was the certain bulge in his underwear.

Despite the chill of her wet clothes, her skin went very hot. She swallowed a breath and managed to tear her gaze to his face. “-blankets. I got blankets.”

Shit. She couldn’t do this. Something deep inside her cinched when her brain brought back the image of him standing there in his underwear, just…looking at her.

His hand went to her shoulder and she bit down on her lip. He was warm, so warm. Like a good fire on a cold night. “You’re going to catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes, Elizabeth.”

She knew that. God, she knew that.

“Uh, yeah. I k-know. Thank you.”

“I can turn around, you know. I’m not a heathen.”

She thought of the feel of his hands on her. That night in the motel when he had been hesitant to touch her but she had encouraged him. How he had stopped anything too overwhelming from happening between them. And two nights ago, when he had begged to touch her, to adore her.

Can I make you feel good, baby?

And she had let him. He had gone as far as he wanted, or at least, as far as he thought she was comfortable. He had used his hands to pleasure her over and over until she was nothing but a writhing, breathless heap on the bed. He’d been gentle but there was something savage in the way he controlled himself. As if it took everything he had to use only his hands. She’d seen the way he eyed what was between her legs, the way he licked his lips and his mouth hung open in reverie.

Elizabeth had never felt so…real but in those moments. Her insides twisting and coming apart in spirals of bright lights and his name breathless on her lips. The feel of his mouth, open and hot, against her skin.

She wanted it. Craved it. It had been tasted and now she feared she would starve for it forever.

“Elizabeth?”

It wasn’t a decision, not really. If it was, the deep most part of her brain made it without telling the rest. She took the step and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him down so their lips met in a heated kiss.

His hand slid down, barely brushing over her breast before resting on her lip. His fingers dug for purchase in the wet material of her dress. “You really should-,” he broke the kiss, his lips still hovering over hers, “-get this off you before you freeze.”

She debated doing it herself. Making him watch as she stripped herself down to her undergarments. She just didn’t think she could go that long without him touching her. “Then take it off me.”

His eyes flicked to hers in question and she refused to elaborate. She wasn’t bluffing. He had to know that.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers as his hands traveled to the button that was clasped at the place where her collarbones met. His hands shook as he undid the first button and she heard the little piece of air that he sucked in. He looked at her again.

“That one little button isn’t going to do much in terms of this dress coming off, Harry.” She gave him a small encouraging smile. “You’re going to have to do more than that.”

Harry took his time in undoing the buttons. She realized on the third that he was giving her time to change her mind. Being respectful, as always. By the time he got to her waist, the dress was hanging off her. He unclasped the final button, the one that rested just over the apex of her thighs. His throat bobbed but he didn’t speak. Instead, his roved his hands back up her chest and pushed the dress from her shoulders. His eyes met hers as the dress pooled at her feet.

“There.” His voice hitched. “Lemme get you a blanket to wrap around you.” His eyes flickered down to her chest before he turned away and went to the blankets.

Her skin all over was covered in gooseflesh. She shifted her weight on her feet and took the blanket that he offered her. But instead of wrapping it around her shoulders, she fluffed it out and laid it down on the floor.

“Elizabeth-.”

She ignored him as she took two more of the blankets and laid them on top of the other. With her foot, she pressed down on the three layers. That seemed comfortable enough…

She grabbed the last blanket from the table and sat down on the makeshift pallet on the floor. After spreading the blanket overtop the others, she looked up at him. “Well, are you going to join me or not? I’m getting cold down here all by myself.”

Wordlessly, he sat down next to her. She scooted closer to him so that her knee bumped his. Elizabeth cupped his jaw and turned his face, sealing her lips to his. His hand on his thigh, nails biting into the soft flesh there. His kiss burned with a fever so urgent it made her chest tight.

She slid herself into his lap and carded her fingers in his hair. Like a meal, she swallowed the moan that he slipped into her mouth. Calloused fingers scratched the skin of her chest as he explored her. The hardness of his erection pressed against her core and like a scratch with an itch, she rocked her body to damn herself with more of it.

Harry shuddered under her, his whole body moving and a groan catching in his throat. “‘Lizabeth, wait.”

She shook her head. “No, no. I don’t want to wait. I want this. I want you. Now. Always. Forever.”

His pressured his hands into her hips, stilling her rocking movements. The forests of his eyes bore into her. A singular chestnut curl rested on his forehead, solitary in its beauty. “Are you…you’re sure?” He didn’t bother to mask the crack in his voice.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was something that, if done, would not be able to be undone. It was not as simple as unbuttoning her dress. It wasn’t as chaste as a kiss. It was…it was becoming as physically close to him as she could be. It was giving away a part of herself that could never be gotten back. This would be the true unrecoverable intimacy.

“I am.” She breathed against his lips. “When it comes to you, I am always sure.”

He licked over his bottom lip and his tongue barely caught her own mouth. The fractal feel was just enough to tizzy her brain in several directions. None of which were innocent in nature. “But-but your contract…the clause…Elizabeth, this-.”

She cupped his face with her hands and kissed him lightly on the mouth. She was breaking every other rule. What was one more? “I don’t give a damn about any of that, Harry. Right now, all I care about is you. All I want is you. And I know you want me too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that righ’?”

Her mouth spread in a smile. “Yes.”

He jerked forward, kissing her again. It was with an passion that set all of her being alight. His own hips rocked up against hers, knocking his erection closer to her heat. He made a comment about the bedeviled nature of brassieres before promptly removing hers. The air was cool against her bare breasts and her nipples reacting pertly to the change, hardened and pointing.

“God-hell-.” His voice broke. Both his hands roamed over her breasts, kneading and massaging the supple flesh. “I’m dead. I mus’ be fuckin’ dead. Gone straigh’ up to Heaven.”

His thumbs rolled over her nipples before pinching them between his pointer fingers. Her head lolled back with a shuddering sigh as his nose traveled down her throat and between the valley of her breasts. She curled her fingers deep in his hair when his tongue licked over each breast and his teeth caught each nipple in a tantalizing play.

“Best fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen. My God, Elizabeth.”

It was insanely pleasuring to know that even her bare existence was perfect. She hadn’t any control over this part of her life, her body was simply the way it was made to be. And it was made perfect.

His nose bumped her chin before his mouth captured hers again. One hand continued to play with her breasts as the other trailed down to her underwear. She stilled when his fingers crept below the fabric of her underwear and skimmed over the skin. He delved further and found the wetness that had been pooling between her legs.

He smiled against her mouth. “So damn wet, my fuckin’ fox.” He pushed his fingers inside her, grinning as she gasped at the sensation. The two digits curved and beckoned inside her in a ceaseless pattern. “You like it when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you baby?”

“Y-yes. Fuck, yes.”

He chuckled quietly at the break in her voice. “I know you do, honey. Goddamn, you feel good. Can’t wait to get my cock in this perfect cunt of yours.” His teeth nipped at her earlobe. “Gonna fuck you good and right, like you deserve.”

Elizabeth undulated her hips with the rhythm of his hand, savoring the feeling of his fingers inside her. The pad of his thumb rubbed against the most sensitive part of her. The pressure in the pit of her stomach was mounting, rising like the waves of the ocean just outside their safe haven. With each new repetition of his pattern, it grew stronger and more intense inside her. She could feel it bubbling and boiling, reaching from her toes all the way up to her skull. “Please-,” she whimpered, “don’t stop.”

Their lips met again, this time a clash of teeth and spit. With one hand, he rolled and pinched at her nipple while his other worked tirelessly to bring forth a wave of pleasure. She let one of her hands slide down his shoulder and torso to the waistline of his underwear. His breath hiccuped as her hand slipped beneath the material.

The hairs there were coarse and thick. As her own release was building, her hand curved around the base of his cock. She didn’t move it, not yet, instead reveling in the pulsing thickness of him. She slid her hand up the length of him until she reached the wet tip.

“See what you do to me?” Harry asked hoarsely. “Feel what you do to me?”

His cock throbbed in her grasp and the thought of it doing that same thing while inside of her walls was enough to send her over the edge and spiraling through her own release. Harry’s fingers continued to coax every bit of her climax and then some.

“You look so pretty when you come all over my hand. Can’t wait to see what you look like coming on my cock.”

Harry laid her back on the blankets. He sat on his knees, staring over her in awed silence. In that moment, illicit and dangerous as it was, nowhere else had ever felt as good. She hadn’t been a great many places in the world but she knew that nowhere would ever feel the way being with him felt. Nowhere would be this lovely. Not even Heaven. She cocked her head to the side and reached, grabbing his hand.

“Harry.”

“Mon amoureuse.”

She sat up. “You feel like home. I’m with you and I’m home.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “I’m home with you too, Elizabeth.” He dropped her hand. “You can change your mind, I need you to know that.” But he was already slipping her underwear down past her knees. “If you’re not one hundred-.”

“I haven’t changed my mind.” She interceded. “Have you?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No. Fuck no.” He got her underwear past her ankles and tossed them aside. “It’s going to hurt a little at first.” He shimmed out of his own underwear and kicked them somewhere. Harry let his hands dance across her as he pushed her legs apart with his knee and hovered over her. I’ll try to make it as painless as I can but-.”

Elizabeth steeled herself. The tip of him was brushing against her folds like the world’s cruelest tease. “I’m Elizabeth goddamn Dandridge. I can take a little pain.”

A hand skirted up her thigh and hooked her leg around his. The only sound as he slowly and with the gentlest ease pushed into her was the sound of their combined breathing and the rage of the storm outside. The heaviness of him burrowed deep inside her more and more until at last he stopped and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Jesus-.” Harry’s sentence splintered. “So fuckin’ incredible.” His lips met hers briefly, tongue poking out to breach her lips. “Feel okay?”

She nodded, evening out her breath. The pressure was a bit intense but nothing she couldn’t get used to. “Can you-can you move? I want you to move.”

She didn’t miss him calling her needy under his breath. He pulled out slowly, just as slowly as he had pushed his way in, stopped for a second, and then burrowed back inside quicker than before. With each thrust, he moved faster and with each thrust, she began to meet movements in the same rhythm. Her hips moved with his.

“Doin’ so good, baby. Look a’ the way you take me.” Harry grunted into the shell of her ear. “Atta girl, ‘Lizabeth. That’s my girl.”

Her hips rose up from the floor to meet him prematurely and she rolled her hips once he was fully back inside her. It was like nothing she had experienced before. Something you couldn’t help but crave endlessly after tasting it once. She felt a fool for having denied them this pleasure for so long.

Each thrust brought forth a wave of decadent pleasure until they were creating a tsunami of it within her. Her breath tightened in her chest as Harry used his hand to attend to that sweet spot of nerves between her legs. Every part of her insides seemed to quiver with want, desire, need. It thrummed through her until her only thoughts were of the ecstasy that was escalating to a peak.

“One day m’gonna fuck you with my tongue. Won’t stop ’til I’ve got the taste of you on my tongue forever.”

“H-Harry-.”

His mouth was warm kissing her temple. “I know, baby, I can feel ya clenching up, pulsating ‘round my cock. Go on, wanna feel you come all over me, wanna see you.”

Though her eyes were cinched shut she could still feel him watching her as it finally became too much and the euphoria of her second climax barreled through her. Harry’s encouraging words were lost upon her in the humming in her ears. She barely felt his own release spurt onto her stomach. Her mind blissed out and it was only when he was returning, naked and with a dusty cloth, that she finally focused back in on reality.

“How do you feel?” Harry murmured as he rubbed the cloth over her stomach. “Any pain?”

There was a dull throb between her legs, yes, but she could hardly register it. Her mind was still not fully wrapped around the fact that she had committed perhaps the most atrocious crime against her career that she could have. And truthfully, she didn’t much care.

No one would ever know so how could it really be a crime? As long as they continued to be careful and remained a secret, everything would be perfectly well. She could have both. Her mother had been wrong. She could have Harry and have her career. Nothing would have to be sacrificed or get burnt.

Elizabeth sat up the moment he finished cleaning her stomach. Her index finger ran down the slope his jaw and she beckoned him forward in a sweet kiss. “I feel like you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #golden series #golden #harry styles x oc #1940s!AU #au #alternate universe #friends to lovers #SMUT #harry styles smut

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awideworldoffanfics · 1 year

Text

{Et In Ius} iv: beyond measure

Pairing: Demon!Harry x Y/N

Summary: Tuesday, day 3/7: All worries are forgotten with the promise of a nice day on Fort Gibson Lake and Y/N learns more about Harry’s past. “Greed, like the love of comfort, is a kind of fear.”-C.C.

Warning: language, mentions of Heaven and Hell, mentions of domestic abuse, demon!Harry being unnaturally soft, fluff, SMUT, stealing, the usual suspects

Read Part i, ii, and iii here

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They don’t meet in her dream. There’s no reunion in a vivid and wild dreamscape during her slumber. There’s only blank, solid sleep and pure rest. The thought tickles her brain as she fades back into consciousness. While grateful for the night of rest, she’s a bit disappointed that Harry forfeited their nightly escape.

That is, until she remembers where she is. Whose bed she’s in.

There was no need for him to saturate her mind during the night and take her somewhere fantastic and make her feel alive; he’d been asleep next to her all night long. They’d been wrapped in each other’s arms.

Raising up with a deep yawn and stretching out her arms, Y/N wonders if he slept as soundly as she did. Sunlight peaks through the mostly drawn curtains of his massive bedroom and she glances down to fully realize the empty spot of bed next to her.

With a worrying frown and a burgeoning dull ache all through her head, she tumbles from the bed. “Harry?” His name comes out timid, creeping fear of perhaps waking up totally alone in his personal space starting to coat her insides.

Until, “Kitchen,” is echoed through the apartment and she breathes a sigh of relief.

Smoothing over her nightgown, she pads out of his room and is greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and maple syrup. Harry’s at his stove, topless and wearing a slack pair of satiny salmon-toned pajama bottoms, back turned to her with a spatula in his hand. His hips sway to the rhythm of a mellow-natured song drifting from the radio above his fridge.

“You’re a horrible dancer.”

He spins around, hot cake on spatula and a betrayed expression on his face. She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other as his eyes canvas over her body, taking in the thin and hardly coverable material of the nightgown he so graciously-and sneakily- conjured up last night. His heated gaze brings forth the memory of his hands expertly peeling tight leather pants from her body, his mouth leaving hot panting kisses against her bare skin, dull nails scratching and awakening an itch she’s learning cannot be completely satiated.

“Baby, I’ve got moves that’ll stop that heart of yours.” He deadpans.

The tile floor of the kitchen is chilly under her bare feet as she takes the necessary steps toward him. Harry remains still until she’s standing right before him. Her eyes flick to the hot cake positioned on the spatula and she motions for him to free his hands. He does as demanded, dropping the breakfast delicacy onto a plate with several others and leaving the spatula next to the dish.

“Why don’t you show me some of those moves, daddy?”

Harry’s eyes shade a darker green before he lunges forward and grabs her by the back of the neck. Their mouths meet messily in a clamber of lips and grazing teeth. His fingers pressure into the back of her thigh and then he lifts her leg, securing it around his back. He grunts into her mouth and she follows the wordless command, circling her other leg in a similar fashion. His arm under her butt to hold her in place, he turns and hoists her onto the counter, never breaking their kiss.

Now at eye-level with him, she leans back to admire him. The dewy morning sunshine passes a cherubic light onto his features, making him appear delicately sculpted. She cards her fingers through his rough morning curls and dips down to hover her mouth over his. “That all you got?”

“That all I-? Fuckin’ brat, when’d you get so damn brazen?”

Before she can tell him that it’s purely and totally his fault, that he’s the one who coaxed this primal desire from a deeply-earthed part of her core, he’s yanking her to the edge of the counter and shoving her legs apart. He pauses, gaze hardened and stuck on the image of her panties beneath her nightie. Slowly, his line of sight lifts back until their eyes meet.

“Harry-.”

He shushes her. “M’gonna fuck you with my mouth. Since you woke up with an attitude. Unless you don’t-?”

“Shut up and do it.”

Y/N has never been vocal about her needs or wants. She’s gone through life submissively and silently. She’s done as told and accepted what everyone else has told her that she wants, what she needs. She didn’t need a mother. She didn’t want to be friends with those floozy girls from school. She didn’t need a college education. Of course she wanted to marry Jonah. Of course she wanted his children. She never gave a second thought about what she actually wanted or needed because she was never given the space to decide.

Enter: Harry. Copacetic, mind-boggling, freeing, kind-hearted Harry. He didn’t have to ask her about wants or needs. With a single touch, he knew. But he asked anyway. He encouraged, ordered even, that she speak her mind and ask-sometimes even demand- for what she wanted. He let her tell him what she needed. And always, always, he gives.

He’s allowed her for the space to pick and choose, to ask and tell. Her questions are allowed, her orders pressured. He’s given her freedom and now she’s drunk on it and how powerful it feels and she never wants to let it go.

With him, she doesn’t have to.

Harry’s mouth spreads in an impressed grin before he sinks down to his knees on the floor. He gives another good yank on her legs until she’s mostly off the counter and her legs are positioned around his shoulders. He exhales against the inside of her thigh, fingers dancing up the skin until he meets the hem of her nightdress. He orders her to hold it up and happily, she complies.

“Fuck,” he groans, nudging his nose into the soft skin of her thigh as his fingers play with the waistband of her underwear, “I’m bloody obsessed with you. What have you done to me?”

Using her pointer and middle finger, she lifts his chin up for him to look at her. “The same thing you’ve done to me.”

He presses his cheek against her thigh and hums contently. His mouth seals around the place where her thigh and pelvis meet and his teeth nip at sensitive skin. All at once, his fingers dig into the cottony material of her underwear and strip them down to her knees before ripping them clean down the middle. The torn shreds of fabric fall mercilessly to the tile floor.

“If you keep ripping my underwear, I won’t have any left and I’ll have to go bare under my clothes.”

At the thought of her wearing nothing under her pretty skirts and frilly dresses, he nips lovingly into her skin again. But then the thought of her bare ass rubbing against the leather of the pants she wore last night surges forward and he groans again. The mental image of pulling her pants down or removing a skirt and being greeted with nothing but her makes his dick painfully hard.

“What a tragedy that would be.” He mutters. He gives her no warning before going in face-first and greeting her bare sex with an enthusiastic nature. He keeps a hand clasped around her ass to force her close and prevent her from moving away, other hand secured at her hip.

She lets out a breathy sigh, arching her back and inching closer to him. Her body, soft, pliant, totally and completely his, squirms at the wet and foreign impression his tongue makes into her folds. With each lick of his tongue, his nose brushes over that overly sensitive section of nerves and her core tightens at the feeling.

Between licks and sucks and little nips of his teeth, her whole body feels as if it’s suspended in the air. Her brain is fuzzy and a whirlwind of thoughts she can’t begin to process. The one that stands out above everything else is the single, neon etching of his name in bold letters. The thought reverberates into vocalization, feathery mewls and ragged pants and broken iterations of his name.

When his mouth suctions against her bundle of nerves, her fingers jettison into his curly locks and tug hard. Harry grunts and leans back to stare up at her. From this angle, the dim yellow light above his stove halos and backlights her form curiously and spectacularly, making her appear as a finely tuned and exquisite angel. A sincerely fucked-out angel, but an angel nevertheless.

Sweat sheens the available expanse of her clavicle, shining beads rolling down toward the hills and valley of her cleavage. The column of her neck arched as her head reclines back in divine ecstasy. Bedridden hair swept behind her shoulders. Lips parted in the aching build of sweet release and half-lidded hazy eyes turned upward toward a God she’s on the path of abandoning.

Harry’s never much thought of God before. Truth be told, he’s never much thought of Lucifer either. Their twin existences are so far removed from the current reality, they remain bedtime stories and myths of old. But everyone knows, even the denizens of Hell, that God has to be credited for all things in Creation. From his hands stemmed all life. So, in a way, demons are his fault. Somehow. And he’s been off the grid for the past several millennia, everyone knows that too. His job done, he’s enjoying his eternal Sunday rest day.

But her...there’s no way. She’s no mere seam in the matrix, no clean cut descendent of the long line of mortality. It can’t be. Harry cannot and will not see her as such. God may be gone, but he came back one day to create her, specially crafting together all things beautiful and good and right and pure in the world and she was the end result.

His ducky.

When the cease of his oral ministrations registers, her face falls down toward his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry’s tongue polishes over dewy lips and he once again leans his cheek against the damp skin of her thigh. “You’re beautiful.” Her cheeks flare up with rose tinted blood rush and she turns away from him. “Hey,” his voice goes soft, “look at me.” When she turns back to him, her bottom lip is worried between her teeth. “This, me an’ you, I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.”

“You have to say that,” she spouts out wryly, “your tongue was just inside my vagina.”

Laughter sputters out of him and he tries to hide his widening smile in the crease of her knee. His chuckling dies down and sinks into her flesh to remain forever a piece of this happy moment before he looks back up at her. “I’ve done more with considerable less feeling. But you, you, duck, are the most important person that’s ever been in my life. And I’ve lived a long ass time.” He lifts her legs from his shoulders and plants her feet on the floor before he pulls himself to his feet, entire notion of having her for breakfast gone because his heart is stuttering and he wants to keep it while he can. These feelings don’t last forever, in his experience, and he’s got the mind and determination to relish in them until they disappear as all things inevitably do.

Harry tucks her hair back behind her ears and holds her face with his hands. Her eyes blink long and slow, doe eyes wide as dark lashes flutter with sincere tenderness. All of a sudden, she circles her arms around him and pushes herself flush against him. Her face buries in the crook of his neck as her fingers dig into the skin of his back.

“I want you,” he murmurs into her hairline, “and not just in the fucking way. I want to have you forever, for you to care about me the way I care about you.” She remains still in his arms and he hopes she understands the gravity of his statements. That she takes to heart these enormous confessions spilling from the revived carcass of his heart. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me. Hell, duck, I’d make a true sinner’s repent if you wanted and turn the right path if it meant I could keep you forever.”

Barely, her head reclines back and before he can process her expression, her forehead bumps against his and their noses brush. Her arms loosen but don’t fall away. The small breath she lets out fans over his lips and he inhales it for safe keeping. “You can.” She whispers, fingers dancing along the ridges of his spine and up to the hairs at the back of his neck. “Keep me forever, I mean. No repenting necessary; I prefer you this way. Any other way and you wouldn’t be you. And I do, by the way, care about you. More than...more than I thought people could. I didn’t know hearts had this much to give and I’m giving everything to you.”

It’s what he wanted. He wanted her affection, had hoped for it. On some level, he knew her feelings for him spanned the same space and time that his did for her. Intertwined like a rope, the two of them and their sick hearts. He wanted this, to hear her say that and know that she meant it.

But it hollows out his chest cavity and makes him stomach cave in because he knows it won’t last forever. He can’t keep her forever, no matter what either wishes or does.

If he was smart, if he was better equipped at denying himself pleasure, he’d dead halt it right there. He’d finish the job and not let their dalliance go a step further than what’s happened here in his kitchen. And while he is smart, he’s never been one to say no in the face of pleasure.

Thankfully, her stomach rumbles and cuts off his macabre train of thought. They both find themselves looking at the stack of hot cakes he’d made earlier. Harry unravels himself from her embrace and pets through her hair.

He gets to work making her a plate. Three hot cakes darned with three dollops of butter and a load of syrup. He places a fork on the plate and slides it onto the small circular eating table. He gestures for her to sit and she does. He pours her a cup of coffee, adding milk and a bit of sugar before passing it off to her. “Eat up, ducky. Big day ahead of us.”

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“What do you think? Wine or champagne?”

Harry is holding up two bottles. He regards both with equal satisfaction before looking back to her. Y/N can’t provide a decent answer for his question. She’s never had either. They had served champagne at her wedding, one small glass per person but her aversion came in two forms: she had been too nervous to drink it and wasn’t drinking a sin anyway?

Now, she knew the excess part was the sin. Maybe? All she knew was that getting drunk was not worth the lightweight and bubbly feeling. The after-effects were horrible.

“Which do you prefer? I’ve never had either.”

Harry, in his unusual tender way, frowns at her. He looks between both bottles and then places them in the small shopping buggy next to the finely wrapped block of fresh Swiss cheese. “Both, then.”

“That’s not necessary.” Y/N says quietly. “One is fine. How about wine, since we’re having lunch?” She’s pretty sure champagne is a celebratory drink and they’re only having a picnic, not a party.

Harry doesn’t take away either bottle from the buggy. “Both.” He tells her. “You should experience everything life has to offer. You only live once.” His voice breaks on live and she wants to ask if he’s remembering something from his own human life.

He’s pretty mum on the topic, never having brought it up. Nevertheless, she doesn’t want to ask and dredge up bad memories for him. People don’t talk about certain things for certain reasons and it’s best to let them aside until that person deems the time right. Eventually, though, she hopes he will tell her about his life before becoming a demon. She wants to know everything about him, and wants him to know everything about her.

The way he talks, she’s pretty certain they have a very long time ahead of them before they part ways. She’s glad for that.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Y/N’s head snaps up from the two bottles of alcohol in her shopping buggy. Harry is already staring at her, unbeknownst of the terror about to befall them both. She would know that voice anywhere. She hears it every Wednesday evening and every Sunday morning.

Eleanora, the deacon’s wife.

Y/N can’t tune out the click of Eleanora’s kitten heels on the linoleum flooring, the wheels of her buggy squeaking as she draws closer and closer. There’s no hiding or running away.

They’re caught. She’s seen Y/N, which means she has inevitably seen Harry as well. Within the close of the day, the entire town will know...something. They will all known Y/N was at the shopping market with a strange man who was most certainly not her husband. And that will be the end.

“Y/N? Dear?”

Harry’s pointer finger goes up to his lips in a shushing motion.

Y/N plasters on a wobbling smile and turns to greet the woman. “E-Eleanora, hello.”

Eleanora’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Goodness, dear. Your face is absolutely flushed. Are you still feeling unwell?”

If she notices Harry- and Y/N thinks it would be very difficult not to, considering he’s donned himself in abnormally tight salmon trousers, a flamboyantly yellow dress shirt that’s half buttoned and half tucked into his pants, and a pair of ivory loafers- she says nothing. She doesn’t even look in his general direction.

“Un-unwell?” Y/N tugs at the collar of her dress. She doesn’t remember that she was ill last Sunday and missed church until Eleanora blinks slowly and her mouth twitches. “Oh. No, no. It must have only been a twenty-four hour illness. I’m feeling much better. Much.”

Eleanora smiles widely, eyes twinkling. Her hand touches Y/N’s wrist delicately. “Between us ladies, isn’t the morning sickness a bit...annoying?”

This time, Y/N blinks. Morning sickness? Hadn’t she just said that it had been a day-long illness? Sure, it only lasted a few hours, courtesy to Harry’s fake sickness powers but no one else was aware of that.

“Huh?”

Eleanora smiles again. “Oh, sweetie, I forgot this will be your first. Do you not...Have you not seen a doctor?”

“I just told you that-.”

“Y/N, dear, forgive me if I’m overstepping but since the two of us are so close-” this is the longest conversation Y/N thinks they’ve ever had alone- “but I know how hard you and Jonah are trying to conceive. And, sweetheart, sometimes the morning sickness can last a whole day and come and go some days. Who knows what the poor soul who came up with the name was thinking?”

Oh. Oh.

Eleanora thinks she’s pregnant. This is...This is not good. She can’t say she isn’t with child without Eleanora running and telling her husband- and probably the whole congregation- who will then tell Jonah. And she can’t very well lie and say she is pregnant. Because then the very same thing will happen and everyone will think she’s with child and what will she do when she’s supposed to show but-?

A week. Seven days. Less than. Harry had promised two nights ago that she would be free in seven days. Women don’t show until they’re near halfway pregnant.

What’s one little lie?

Y/N sighs, something that sounds all together content and relieved. She grasps onto Eleanora’s hand. “Please don’t tell anyone. I’m so nervous and I don’t want to tell Jonah until I’m positively sure.”

Her skin tingles as Eleanora promises not to breathe a word of this secret between them. She makes sure to make Y/N swear to call her if she needs anything at all, including advice, before she bids her goodbye.

Y/N pays for all the items at the register, leaving the paper bags in the buggy and refusing to look at Harry until they’re safe outside and in his automobile. She quickly loads everything into the backseat and then slides up front, clicking on her seatbelt.

And it’s only when Harry begins driving that she remembers Eleanora saw them together.

“Oh, shit.” She breathes. The curse word slips, easy as breathing, she doesn’t even flinch at the thought of it coming from her lips.

Harry’s head whips around and he stares at her. “What?”

“She-she saw us. Oh, oh, no. This isn’t good.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. He grabs her hand. “Don’t worry. She didn’t see me.”

“But-.”

“She didn’t see me. Demon. Powers. Remember? She didn’t see me and she didn’t see the alcohol in the trolley either. I’ve got you taken care of. I’ll always take care of you.”

She didn’t see him. Oh, thank the Lord, she didn’t see him. Eleanora only would have seen Y/N on her own, buying simple groceries.

“Hey, Ducky.” Harry calls her attention. She looks over at him with a hum. “You’re getting really good at lying.” He seals the compliment with a kiss to her knuckles.

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The lake is a few hours drive from her town. Harry promises that although they won’t get back until the late hours of the evening, Jonah will never notice. Harry doesn’t go into specifics, but she assumes that he’s got her husband under some kind of demonic spell that keeps him from minding about her business.

She wishes Harry had found her sooner. Thankful God never answered her prayers.

Harry isn’t as generous with the champagne as he had been with the gin and sins last night. He only filled her glass up to the half point the first time and now he’s only filling it a quarter.

Last night. That had only been last night? Time flows differently when he’s involved. The hours she spends with him are never enough, not at heart, but at the same time, the days trudge on. They tick by at a tortoise pace as she waits tortured for this week to be over. Only a few more days and she’ll finally be free of Jonah.

She wonders what her new life will be like. Plenty of women work now. She could move far away, create herself into a new person, live her life in whatever way she pleases. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. All she cares about is that it will finally be her life.

There will be no one to tell her what to do or what she wants. No one to usher her back and forth to a church twice a week. There won’t be anyone disgusted with her existence of being a woman. No one to force her body into compliance.

She will be her own, for once. At last.

And like it has recently, her mind wanders back to the man-demon-being?- sitting across from her. What will he do once his plan is complete? She doubts he’d actually be content to live among humans and do menial mortal things for the rest of his existence. Besides, demons are immortal and she will not be doing that. She’ll age and he...he’ll stay the same.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The tips of his fingers dance across her bare knee. “Where’s that pretty little head of yours at now, ducky?”

She looks over at him. He is beautiful, achingly so, haloed by the afternoon sun, deep dimples embedded in his cheeks, eyes greener than spring grass. “Can you become human?”

He blinks once. Twice. His mouth opens as if he’s going to say something but no words fall. “I don’t know.” He finally replies. He puts his glass down and crosses his legs. “Demons were all human once. Ones condemned to Hell and tortured until the humanity is stripped away, but humans nonetheless. But I’ve never heard of a demon becoming human again. I don’t believe many would want to.”

Y/N’s brows furrow at the implication being human is undesirable. “What exactly is so bad about being human? Do you demons look down upon us so much?”

Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not necessarily what’s bad about being human, but what’s good about being a demon.” She says truthfully that she can’t think of anything good about being an immoral denizen of Hell and a servant of Lucifer himself. Harry’s grin is electric. “You are a real piece of work, Y/N, ya know that?” He pinches her knee. “It’s the power that comes with being a demon. The lack of consequences, the free will. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. There are no rules, no limits. We don’t have anyone to answer to but ourselves. Not to mention the immortality. I don’t know anyone who would give that up.”

She can’t deny that the freedom sounds appealing. Too appealing. But wrong. Despite her life and the way her father raised her, she can’t forgo all of her upbringing. To lose your soul is to lose yourself. Condemning it to Hell all for an non-expiring life and power and free will doesn’t seem like a fair trade.

“It isn’t worth it.” She murmurs.

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” She says firmly, looking him in the eye. “Losing your soul, every shard of your humanity, and for what? An eternity of uninterrupted hedonism? I don’t think that’s a fair trade in the end. I’d rather experience a short uneventful life as a human and secure peace for my soul than renounce it to Hellfire in order to be a demon, to be-.”

“Like me.” He whispers.

Harry is no longer looking at her. Rather, his eyes are trained on the line of ants traveling across the picnic blanket.

“I didn’t mean-.”

He looks up sharply, eyes dark and mouth downturned. “Yes, you did. Don’t lie.” He takes a labored breath. “You didn’t hurt my feelings, ducky. I promise.”

She shifts and takes his hand that has been resting on her knee. She brings his knuckles to her lips and kisses them softly. “It’s so easy to forget that you’re a demon sometimes. You act so much like a human.”

He smiles softly, mouth remaining closed. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. Without pulling away totally, he rests his forehead against hers and inhales deeply. “It isn’t an act, Y/N. I don’t pretend to be anything when I’m with you. I just...I am. You make me feel more human than I’ve felt in centuries. I’m starting to believe it could be possible. Maybe you could make me human again.”

She rouses her fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The thought echoes and hums and thrums to life in her mind. Maybe she could do that for him, after all he’s doing for her. Perhaps she could make him human. They could live a life together, be human together. Maybe that is the grand design for them. He can gift her freedom and she can gift him humanity. A soul. A gift five thousand times better than what he’s giving her.

“Would you want that, though?”

His lack of reply is answer enough.

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The canoe has been tied up to the unstable looking dock all day. And all day, no one has come to retrieve it or take it out on the water. She can see the oars laid across the seats, practically begging for the boat to be used.

It’s a gorgeous canoe. A dark wood finish that gleams in the sunlight. Intricate designs carved into the sides. It’s certainly too pretty a boat to go unused.

Harry’s hand stops mid-stroke down her cheek. Y/N makes a small noise of complaint.

“It is a nice boat, isn’t it?” Harry murmurs against her neck.

She nods thoughtlessly as his pointer finger continues down her cheek and across the curve of her jaw. “Yeah...”

“Pretty day out as well.” His nose bumps the shell of her ear. A warm fan of breath shivers through her skin.

“Uh-huh.”

His lips brush her ear when he whispers, “Why don’t we take it for a spin?”

It takes about ten seconds for her to realize what he’s suggesting. The canoe. He wants to take the canoe. A canoe that doesn’t belong to them.

It could be abandoned, a small voice in the back of her head says. It’s way too nice, too well cared for, to be abandoned. Well what does it matter anyway, the voice goes on, a few minutes on the water will do it good. Besides as long as you don’t get caught and no one gets hurt, is there really a problem?

It almost seems too bothersome to try and convince herself that the concept of taking the boat itself without permission is wrong. Stealing is wrong.

...Even though it’s really not fair that someone who could own a boat so beautiful is letting it go to waste on such a lovely day...

She manages to tear her eyes away from the canoe. Harry is looking right at her, as if he can see every thought in her head. When she realizes his hand is still curled around the back of her neck, she remembers that he can see every thought in her head. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

Despite not having the little gift he does, she’s finding it easier to read him.

He shakes his head, a baby smile beginning to form on his mouth. “I know you want to. Greedy little thing, you are.”

Y/N swallows. Admission is just as bad as the action itself.

The cool metal of his rings stings her flesh as his hand slowly skates up her thigh. “Tell ya what, ducky,” goosebumps prickle her arms when the tip of his tongue touches her throat, “you admit that you want that boat, and I’ll give ya a kiss.”

She squirms when he squeezes the inner part of her thigh. His grin is wicked at best, malevolent, eyes burning with a darkness she can’t put a name to. “Or,” her breath comes out shaking, “you could kiss me anyway.” It’s a vain attempt when Y/N shocks forward to press her lips to his and he dodges her kiss.

His grin widens at her failure, the devilish glint in his eyes growing stronger. “Not what I meant.” He tells her. Before she can question his intent, his gaze flicks down to where her thighs are pressed together in a flush heat. “I don’t even have to read your thoughts to know how badly you want me, Y/N.”

In the end, she tries to block out the sound of her own voice telling him that yes, she very much wants the canoe. She barely registers the movements of her body as Harry leads her away from the picnic basket down the small hill to the dock. The heat from his palms on her waist radiates through her dress as he steadies her on the rocking platform of rickety wood.

He climbs down into the boat first, a picture of inhuman grace and non-effort. The paddles make a soft screeching noise as he moves them aside to make room for her on the bench across from him. He moves in tandem each time the boat rocks from his motions and it never seems to stir his confidence or ease. Finally, he reaches his hand up to her. Silver metal glints in the rays of the sun and his normally green irises are ringed with a reddish orange.

Y/N clasps her hand around Harry’s and it’s impossible to ignore the tug in the very bottom of her gut that wants to alarm her. The trigger warning to ward against danger. An alarm that’s been blaring since that fateful day in the parking lot. The ringing in her ears is overwhelming as she steps carefully down into the boat, blood boiling in her veins. And like always, she tunes it out the moment her gaze meets his.

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Somewhere, as if the voices are traveling from a far off land, she can hear someone calling. Inquiring about a boat. A stolen boat.

A stolen canoe.

“Harry-.”

The dull edges of his fingernails bury into the skin of her stomach. His tongue is warm inside her, reverberations of pleasured groans sinking through her body like stones in water.

“Kinda busy here, ducky.”

The voices are getting closer. Someone assuring another person they will find his boat and make sure the person who took it faces proper punishment. The other voice admitting that something in the distance may resemble his missing canoe.

“But Harry-.” She chokes on the middle of her sentence when two of his fingers spear inside of her and begin to coax another relinquishing wave of relief.

He groans into her skin, teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh. “Look, when I said three times, I meant it, baby. So just sit back, relax, and-.”

“No, no, I think that’s it. I carved that dove for my late wife-.”

Harry stills. Every part of him freezes, even the two fingers that are knuckle-deep inside her. He looks up, their gazes catching briefly before his turns in the direction of the voices.

“Shit.”

She attempts to raise up, but he flattens his palm against her stomach and forces her back down. “I tried to tell you.” She hisses.

God, they are so busted. And how many crimes is this? Stealing a boat. Public indecency. Sexual encounters in public. Does adultery still count as a crime?

He looks her in the eye. “Don’t move. Stay still. Don’t say a word.” That’s it. No clarification, nothing. His tone is still enough that she doesn’t even want to ask what he’s about to do.

His hand slides from her stomach and he braces it on the edge of the boat. Her stomach knots in on itself over and over as the seconds drag on. She can practically feel the lake patrol boat getting closer and closer. The voices are still talking, except now one is apologizing for apparently seeing a mirage on the water. A trick of the sunlight or stress or lack of sleep. Nevertheless, the search for his boat will continue on.

Harry remains still and silent until the voices have faded. His chest heaves with a long breath and his hand falters from the edge of the boat. He glances back over his shoulder. Y/N leans up and finds that the patrol boat is now just a speck in the distance. Long gone.

She fixes her dress, pushing it back down over her thighs. She gives a forlorn look to the scrap of material at her feet that had once been underwear not too long ago. Harry chuckles softly and with a snap of his fingers, the material is gone.

“How did you do that?” She asks him. “Make sure they didn’t see us. They were so close.”

He shrugs, sucking the tips of his fingers as if he’d just enjoyed a delectable meal. “Magic.” Magic. A difference between magic and demonic abilities? She asks if all demons can use magic and he says no sharply. “A select few. Just the ones who were witches when we were human.”

It’s hard enough to wrap her mind around the fact that he’s a demon but he was a witch? Maybe he died because he was persecuted and burnt at the stake.

“Is that...” she treads carefully, not wanting to upset him, “Is that how you became a demon?”

He’s not ever divulged much of his human life. In fact, he’s been pretty mum on the topic. He’s never mentioned his family or his life, whether he had friends or a job or someone who loved him. Someone he loved.

Water laps against the boat, rocking it gently. The sun is beginning to lower toward the horizon. The sky is painted a million hues of pinks, oranges, and reds in a landscape more beautiful than any artist could ever create.

“Sold my soul to a demon when I was sixteen.” He says it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. As if it’s something that everyone does when they’re sixteen.

No wonder he doesn’t ever talk about his human life. It must have been miserable if he’d bargained his soul to a demon. Had it been like hers? Worse? Maybe he’d given it up for a noble reason, a just cause. Instead of a selfish case like her own. Perhaps his family had been starving, homeless. Maybe Harry too had prayed on deaf ears for too long before he turned the other way for help.

Maybe that was why he’d been so persistent to help her. He knew what it was like to beg and beg for help from someone who would never answer.

“You were like me.” She utters softly. “You needed help and that was the only option?” She doesn’t know what being to thank that she didn’t have to give Harry her soul in exchange for his help.

Harry guffaws. “No. I was nothing like you. Not even close. If I’d been like you...we wouldn’t be here right now. I would have died with my soul intact.”

He hadn’t....then...

“Then why?” The boat rocks with her movement toward him. “Why would you do that?” She curls her hand around his knee and he glances down at the sight of her fingers curved around his kneecap. At the wedding ring that still decorates her finger.

The crash of guilt that had once shaken her to the core now only makes mere tremors. Mild enough that she can forget them completely and pretend they never happen. What she is doing is wrong, what exists between her and Harry is sinful.

She just doesn’t care.

She leans back and spins the ring around her finger. And then removes it. Harry is watching her every move, dark green eyes unwavering, unblinking. She holds the ring up and inspects it in the dying light of the day.

It’s a ring. A metal circle that shines dully. There is nothing special about it, nothing sacred. What it represents isn’t even sacred. Not anymore. But maybe it never was. It represents something hideous and miserable, unloving and cruel. Oppressive.

Everything it represents is everything Harry isn’t.

“I wanted power.” Harry admits.

Power. What a strange concept. An odd idea. She’s never had that before. Her power in her life doesn’t exist. It has always been wielded by someone else, someone who knew better than she did. Imagine, someone who knows better for her life than her.

But isn’t that what Harry’s doing for her? Isn’t he giving the power to her? Doing for her at no expense something that cost him his soul and humanity? Something that subjected him to the fires of Hell to be tortured and torn apart until there was nothing left but a void of inhuman device. He’s sparing her that. Saving her not just from the misery of her life but the misery of something else too.

All for power. His soul, for power. She wonders how many others have made the deal he did. Traded the most invaluable thing they could ever own for a human lifetime of power and free will. An immeasurable cost. Didn’t they know that life was too short for such a trade? They’d spend an eternity damned, all for fifty years.

“No one could possibly want power so much they’d be willing to give their soul.” She turns the ring over in her hand. The metal warms more with each turn as if it’s going to burn through her skin at any moment.

He raises an eyebrow. “Everyone does.”

Y/N frowns and then shakes her head. “Not me.” She’d never do that. The reward was too small, the risk too great. Nothing was worth her soul. Nothing.

He captures her hand. “Yes you do.” He pries the ring from her grasp and holds it up for her to see. The varnish has faded, the ring barely resembling what it did only a short time ago. Harry extends his arm out so that his hand is over the water. The ring now dangles at the tip of his pinky. Harry regards her with a tilt of his head. “You’re just not ready to admit it yet. One day, though, you will. And ducky, it will set you free.”

One second, the ring is there. The next, her wedding band is disappearing in the murky lake water. It barely takes a breath before the metallic glint is swallowed by the depth’s darkness. And then Harry is rowing them back to the shore.

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Tags: @glimmering-darling-dolly @darkwandanat @megclair @coolhotsexygemini10

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #demon!harry #Demon!AU #Smut #harry styles smut #fluff #harry styles fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles x y/n #alternate universe #demonrry

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awideworldoffanfics · 1 year

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OMG ET EN LUS IS MY FAVORITE WORK OF YOURS!!!! are you planning to update it anymore? <3333

Hello!!! Happy to report that yes, I am planning on updating AND finishing Et En Ius!!! As of when…my writing process is a bit chaotic (to put it mildly) and on top of stubborn writer’s block, my personal life is sort of hectic right now.

But I promise I haven’t given up❤️

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awideworldoffanfics · 1 year

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Reblog if you're a fanfic writer and you wanna know what your followers' favorite story of yours is ❤

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

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Fucking fantastic 😗🤌

Thank you so much!!♥️♥️♥️

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

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Medalist

Pairing: Golf!Dilf!Harry Styles x Babysitter!Y/N x Golf!Dilf!Niall Horan

Summary: Final installment of the Milking the Grip series

��In stroke play, or medal play, the medalist is the person with the fewest amount of strokes- the lowest score- which deems them the winner.” 17 months after Y/N quit working at Valhalla Springs, she is now a private golf instructor for children; one of Harry’s oldest friends comes to town; Harry and Y/N’s relationship tests new boundaries

Warnings: SMUT, threesome, language, alcohol, slight self-slut-shaming, slight angst, Daddy kink, spit play, age gap, public indecency, jealous!Harry, praise kink, cockwarming, unprotected sex (wrap it up, y’all!), double penetration, who knows,

A/N: HI! Welcome to the last (maybe?) installment in the Milking the Grip series. The idea for this part was given to me by some very dear (and very horny) friends. Enjoy<3

Read parts i, ii, iii, and iv here.

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Garbled airplane noises, accompanied by bubbly toddler giggles, fill up the kitchen. Twice the airplane swooshes through to deliver a helping of blueberry pancakes to the roaring and laughing Godzilla impersonator in the booster seat. And then the train chugs through with the essential delivery of milk.

“‘Zilla more pancakes!” The almost four year old beats on her chest.

Y/N glances back from pouring her boyfriend’s coffee into the travel cup. Harry blows another exaggerated airplane noise through his lips while dramatically journeying a bright yellow fork toward Georgia’s face.

At least it’s a peaceful day to fly. Yesterday, Miss Godzilla-Georgia had decided the airplanes carrying strawberry yogurt were doomed to never reach their destinations. Poor Harry’d had to be late for work just to change out of a yogurt stained shirt.

“Hey, Godzilla Girl,” Y/N screws the lid onto Harry’s travel mug and slides it across the bar, “backpack and shoes.” She nods her head in the direction of the mudroom down the hall.

Georgia accepts one last bite of pancake before she slips down from her booster seat and scurries down the hall. Harry discards the fork and gets up from the table.

“Pancakes were delicious, baby. C’mere.” Though beckoning, he crosses the space from the table to behind the kitchen island and wraps his arms around her waist. Their lips meet briefly before Harry nudges his nose into her hairline. “Miss waking up to you in the mornings. Can’t yoga wait ‘til the evenings?”

Y/N shakes her head as he pouts into her temple. “Then you’d just complain that you miss soaking in the hot tub with me.”

“I like waking up to you more than being in the hot tub with you.” He grumbles, hands dancing dangerously close to the waistline of her shorts. “Miss feelin’ you against me, miss the way you sigh in your sleep when I put my hands-.”

“Ready!”

Harry is the one that forgets to bite back the audible groan as his daughter prances back into the room. Y/N smiles, kissing the bridge of his nose and pushing him away. Georgia indeed has her backpack and shoes on, but has not shed her Godzilla costume.

“George-.” She sighs, not ready enough to do this battle for the third day in a row.

“Not takin’ off!” With age, the toddler grows more obstinate. As she grows taller, her attitude becomes more stubborn. “’Zilla Girl!”

“Georgie, you know you can’t wear Godzilla to school...” Harry says gently. “You and Y/N picked out your outfit last night, remember? You were so excited. Today’s picture day.”

“Go’zilla.” Georgia crosses her costumed arms over her chest, staring them both down.

Harry and Y/N look at each other. It’s nearing 7:40, which means it’s definitely time to leave. Which also means if they pick this battle to fight today, they’re both most definitely going to be late to work and Georgia will be late to school. Again.

For three weeks, they’ve been waging the Godzilla war. Georgia is in the height of her obsessive stage and for almost the past month, it has been all things Godzilla. Neither of them is exactly sure where she picked it up, but she isn’t letting it go anytime soon.

She was late on Monday because they had to fight and fight over her taking the costume off for school. Tuesday was slightly better but she’d had to be told four times to go put on her school clothes. Wednesday was a knock-down drag-out explosion (where Harry wound up covered in pink yogurt, Georgia cried the entire way to school, and Y/N seriously considered getting her tubes tied). And today...well, today is picture day.

Harry’s phone dings on the counter. As he checks it, Y/N crosses to go to Georgia. She kneels down and helps the toddler uncross her arms.

“Not takin’ off.” Georgia says sharply. “’Zilla Girl stays.”

Y/N dreads the day Georgia turns twelve. She puts her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Make me a deal, Godzilla Girl. You can wear the costume all next week if you just take it off today. For pictures.”

Georgia’s eyes sparkle. She looks to be seriously considering the offer. “May not like ‘Zilla next week...” She mumbles. Her eyes narrow. “Nope. No deal.”

Y/N rocks back and her butt lands on the cool tile of the kitchen floor. Outwitted by a four year old. Damn.

“Any luck?” Harry sits down next to her as Georgia flits off to get her lunchbox. She shakes her head and asks who was texting so early. “Niall.”

Her head jerks up. “Horan? From the band?”

Harry nods as he gets up to his feet. He pulls her up and dutifully wipes off her butt. “He’s in town for the summer. Wants to know if I wanna get dinner sometime.”

“How long’s it been since you’ve seen him?” She hands him his bag and coffee from the island.

He ponders for a moment. “Years. I think the last time was a few months after Georgia was born. It was the first time I met his son, first time he met George.”

Wow. Niall had a kid? Did she already know that? Maybe...? Who knows. How old everyone was getting. All former members of the iconic band One Direction were now fathers. Damn.

Y/N kisses Harry’s earlobe. “You absolutely have to see him, Harry. Make plans for this weekend. Does he have his son with him?” Affirmative. “Well, if he’s comfortable, I don’t mind to watch both the kids while you guys go out and get hammered to the bone.”

She’s known Harry for over two years and still his smile has never changed. Every version looks the same as the first she saw it. The way his eyes crinkle and light up. His little bunny front teeth. His dimples. He smiles softly and leans his forehead against hers.

“You’re too good t’me, tiger. Love you so much.”

She runs a hand through the dark curls at the nape of his neck. “Love you a ton, Hare.”

From the mudroom, the ferocious roar of Godzilla Girl let them both know it was time to get the day going.

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For about two and a half months after the Valhalla Springs debacle, Y/N moped around her apartment and Harry’s house. On days she wanted to be alone to wallow in her misery and self-pity, she stayed home. Binging on cookie dough ice cream and KitKat bars until her stomach actually hurt and her head spun from sugar intake. On the days she needed a break from the constant re-rolls of her own stupidity and last three years, she hid out at Harry’s house. Between her boyfriend and his daughter, it was pretty easy to get her mind off the fact that she was essentially jobless and now had zero clue what her future was.

She isn’t sure when exactly she realized what she was going to do. If it just hit her all of a sudden one day or if it came slowly over the times Georgia asked for her own golf clubs or to play with Harry’s or Y/N’s. Or it could’ve really sunk in the time Hessman dragged her to the course he was now working at and she saw two parents on the driving range with their kids, teaching them how to properly hold clubs and where to keep their eyes and feet.

It was a few days after that she quietly told Harry she wanted to start giving lessons to kids. A week after that she was interviewing and then signing a contract at the same course Hessman worked at. It wasn’t every day, a Monday through Thursday gig, but it paid well, it got her out of the house, and she liked it.

“Okay, see how I have my feet? And how far I stand from the club?” Y/N looks back at the group of seven kids in her class. “You don’t wanna be too far from the club, then you can’t control your swing. But if you’re too close, you’re gonna be too preoccupied trying to make sure you don’t hit yourself in the stomach.” She follows through on the swing, hairs on the back of her neck raising at the sound of the metal swishing through the air. “Okay,” she turns back to them, “grab a club and lemme see how you do.”

The kids scramble for their clubs and go to take position at the markers set up for them on the driving range. She keeps them pretty distanced from each other when it comes to swinging clubs.

Out of the seven kids, the youngest is eight and the oldest is thirteen. Two girls and five boys. All these years later and girls are still scared of golf because it’s a ‘man’s sport’.

She watches a girl with uneven footing swing and stumble. “Lissy,” Y/N calls to the twelve year old girl, “scoot your left foot back about four centimeters. It’ll help your balance.” She waits until the girl does as instructed and then prompts her to swing again. This time, the swing is more balanced. Still a bit wobbly but at least the girl herself doesn’t move. “Better.”

“Y/N, are we actually gonna get to hit balls today?” The oldest kid is a thirteen year old boy named Petey. And unfortunately for him, she sees a lot of her younger self in him. He’s being raised by a single dad who’s done 2 and a half PGA tours and is the owner of a coveted green Masters sport jacket. Petey’s dad never completed his third PGA tour after tearing his rotator cuff.

Petey’s been on the courses since he was six months old. He’s had his own clubs since he was five. Just got a new set for his thirteenth birthday a few months ago, his name engraved on the shafts.

Y/N squares up little Jack’s shoulders as she walks over to Petey. “You’re ruining my surprise, Pete.” She smiles at him. “Is your dad picking you up today?”

He shakes his head and says the nanny is getting him.

She counts her blessings where she can. Petey’s dad reminds her a lot of the guys who golf at Valhalla Springs. And not in the good tipper kind of way.

The tires of a golf cart squeal as Hessman pulls up by the driving range. “Gotta order of about five buckets of balls.”

On occasion, when his breaks and lunch line up, Hessman makes the dearly coveted drop-in on lessons. The kids adore him, think he hung the moon. His jokes, which have the tendency to fall flat among adults, are always a raving hit with the kids. And he always, always manages to have the kitchen sneak lemonades and cookies before lessons end, whether he makes it by or not.

Petey and Lissy help him get the buckets from the cart. “So, the tyrant is finally letting you guys do the real work today, huh?” He grins, nudging Y/N with his elbow.

Hessman quit Valhalla Springs a week into his paid suspension. Apparently, there had been a very very short conversation with Coates about him not being able to stand seeing Jordan Clemmons walking around or being able to work without Y/N. Coates, although distraught to lose both his best cart girl and best caddy within the same two weeks, made a call and immediately got Hessmen the job at Oasis Palms.

Y/N suspects Coates also had something to do with her being immediately hired as well, but she’s been too chicken shit to call and ask him.

“The real work comes in about a month,” she tells him, “when they actually get out on the course.”

“Y/N, can we see you hit the ball first?” Jack asks her. The other six kids chorus around him, agreeing that they have to see her hit a ball first before they can try.

Hessman elbows her and mumbles for her not to be a showboat. She almost says that she’s never in her life been a showboat, but then she remembers several instances that would make that statement a bold faced lie.

He hands her the one wood, shaking his head as she grabs a ball from one of the buckets and produces a tee from her shorts pocket. She sticks the tee in the ground and drops the ball on, waiting as it balances.

“Hold on to your socks, kids.” Hessman has an air of mysticism in his voice.

All seven of the kids are silent.

Y/N looks out at the distance marking flags. She gnaws down on the inside of her cheek and then holds her club out to level it in her hand. She bounces twice on the balls of her feet before planting them firmly in the grass. Her sneakers don’t have the advantage of the rounded cleats that golf shoes have, but she’s never really needed extra help before. She doesn’t have to check to know her feet are exactly shoulder width apart and her right foot is precisely three centimeters off kilter from her left foot.

The head of the driver swishes across the top of the grass before she lines it up behind the ball on the tee. Her fingers flex instinctively before wrapping around the grip of the club. Right shoulder down, elbow bent, left arm line straight.

Over the past few months, she’s given a lot of thought about natural positions. Forms the body is meant to be in. Everyone has different natural positions, places they should be, places they feel most comfortable. A lot of the times, she can convince herself that her true natural position takes form at night, when she is curled into Harry’s body and his arms are around her. Because, it always feels like that should be her natural position. Her true form. It’s when she feels the most normal, the most like herself, at home in her skin, his heart beating in a rhythm to send her to sleep.

But then she gets a club in her hands and it’s impossible to deny that her true form is here. A golf course, any course. A club in her grasp and a ball at her feet, waiting to be sent wherever she wants it to go.

Her knees pop as she bends them, just slightly. She doesn’t even have to blink, or breathe, or think it through. The swing comes naturally, as if her brain knows this part and she goes on autopilot. The metal whistles through the air and in one fell swoop, the club face collides with the ball in a succinct clink and the ball is gone.

She doesn’t even have to watch to know it sails past the furthest flag.

“Holy-.”

“-crap.”

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Niall’s due to drop his son off and pick Harry up for their years long overdue dinner within the hour. Within sixty minutes and Harry hasn’t even decided what he’s going to wear. He can’t seem to get his mind off Y/N.

Or his dick out of her.

It isn’t for his lack of trying. They’d both put Georgia down for a nap an hour ago and they’ve fucked twice since. In the shower, both of them needy and breathless. All scalding water and slick hands and quick, merciless movements. He’d been unable to tear his eyes from the wet nakedness of her form as she padded back into their bedroom and bent over the dresser to search for clothes. Before he really knew what he was doing, he was taking her against the dresser, kneading his hands into the soft flesh of her breasts and skinning his teeth into her shoulder.

Somehow, they’ve winded up in the bed. Her legs are wound around his, her hands in the damp curls of his hair as she peppers soft kisses against his jaw and behind his ear. Harry can’t bring himself to pull his dick from the warmth of her cunt.

When her teeth graze the bottom of his earlobe, he turns his face and captures her mouth with his roughly. He groans into her mouth and grabs at the suppleness of her ass.

“Again?” She laughs quietly.

Blood rushes down to his cock as her nails dig into his skin and a sigh slips from her pretty lips. Harry doesn’t reply, just flips her on her back and grabs her knee to bend up her leg. He rears his head back as he pulls his hips back and then pushes back into her. He loves to revel in the way her face molds at the feel of him. How her lips part and her eyes roll back just a little.

“You’re intoxicating.” He breathes as his hand lifts her neck so he can kiss her again. Her leg furls around his waist, nails scraping his shoulder in a delightful burn. “I’m obsessed with you. Like I’m possessed and all I can do is think about fucking you.”

One of her hands pushes back on his chest until their position changes and she’s on top of him, her knees caging him in and her hips undulating in a rhythm that has his toes twitching. She takes his hands, guiding one to her breast and the thumb of the other to her clit. He relishes the inhale of breath she takes when he pressures his thumb down over that sweet spot.

“I’m obsessed with you too.” She says it like a secret. Like they haven’t been doing this for over a year. Like they aren’t madly, wildly, deeply in love with each other. Her own thumb skirts over his bottom lip, prying his mouth open. “You love me?”

His stomach jolts as her hips roll and her pussy clenches around him. “I love you. So fuckin’ much.” She leans over him, spitting delicately in his mouth. The good acolyte that he is, the fervent servant of her altar, he swallows. “Say it, tiger. Want you to say it.”

Her mouth splits into a wild grin. “Do you?” Yes, he very much does. She raises herself up off him before sinking slowly back down. “I love you, daddy.”

Harry grabs her by the waist, flipping her onto her stomach on the bed and thrusting back into her. He palms at the curve of her back as she arches, trying to force her ass closer to him. He watches her hands curl and grip at the comforter, honing in on the sound of her skin meeting his. One hand on her hip and the other snaking under her tummy to massage her clit.

“H-Harry-fu-don’t stop. Please.”

“C’mon, baby, wanna cum f’me? My good girl, know you can.”

His girl, his tiger, there’s nothing in the world she loves more than to be praised. She knows how good she is, she just likes to hear it from the mouths of her worshippers.

One of his favorite things that she does is place her hand over his, guiding his ministrations to her clit as she reaches her climax. He chuckles as her fingers lead his through the motions and she pushes herself up from the bed and leans her back against his chest. He lets her guide him, her head resting on his shoulder and her breathing shallowing out.

“That’s my girl.” He whispers when her breath becomes nothing more than a thin, desperate whistle through her nose. “Atta girl, tiger. So fuckin’ perfect.”

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By some force of miracle or sheer luck- probably both- Georgia has yet to don her Godzilla costume post-nap. Neither of them says anything or acts as if something is amiss in fear of reminding her that she has forgotten to put on what has become her complete identity the past few weeks.

Georgia sits in the living room, rocking her favorite doll in her arms and humming an incredibly offbeat rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Y/N is next to her, combing through a Barbie’s hair with a tiny brush.

The knock on the door excites only Harry. He’s been milling around for the past twenty minutes, fully dressed and ready to go. He comes back moments later with his old friend and a little boy who looks to be a little older than Georgia.

“That’s little G? God, she’s so big now.”

Y/N lifts her eyes from the doll. Niall’s voice is a little deeper than Harry’s, accentuated by the smooth thickness of Ireland in his words. He’s a little shorter than Harry, not by much, a full head of gorgeous brown hair. The slight shadow of stubble on the lower portion of his evenly tanned face. Beautiful, beautiful blue eyes. And God, the shoulders...his shoulders-.

What. The Fuck.

No. She is not, she is not thinking these things about Harry’s best friend.

Even his thighs look thick, encased in dark green trousers-.

Stop.

She averts her eyes back to Georgia’s doll. Harry has beckoned his daughter over to properly meet his old friend, affectionately referring to him as her Uncle Niall.

“-and Y/N, of course.”

She doesn’t move from her spot on the floor. Niall sort of waves half-heartedly, not really paying her any attention before pushing his boy forth to introduce to Georgia. He’s six, his name is Keegan. He too likes Godzilla and PJ Masks.

“We’re gonna go.” Harry says before kissing Georgia on the forehead. “Be back in a couple hours.”

Y/N nods, training her eyes on Harry. He smiles at her and she forces herself to remember earlier, wrapped up in each other. Her spit in his mouth, him balls deep inside her, telling each other how much they loved one another. “Have fun!” She plasters a smile on herself.

Hopefully, within a couple hours, she can get a grip on herself.

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Dinner flies by. Three hours in what feels like ten minutes. He and Niall spend the time catching up on their lives. Niall remains good friends with Keegan’s mum and the three have family dinners once a month. Keegan isn’t yet too big a fan of golf, which doesn’t seem to worry his dad too much, even though Niall is the very proud owner of a golf management company.

Niall’s days, much like Harry’s, are spent either golfing, at work, or trying to keep up with his child.

“-seeing anyone?” He catches the tail end of Niall’s question as the waiter brings the checks.

Harry’s cheeks warm at the thought of Y/N. She is, so clearly, the love of his life. So easily the image of her pops up in his head, face lit with a decadent smile. Her laugh rings in his ears. Harry leans back in his chair. “Tiger an’ I’ve been seein’ each other for a bit over a year, yeah.”

Niall nods thoughtfully. “Georgia like her?”

Harry can’t help but grin at the thought of his two girls. Most of Y/N’s time when she isn’t working is spent with Georgia. The girls have their own day once a month where Y/N takes her to the spa and they get mani-pedis and facials before lunch at Georgia’s favorite restaurant. Y/N is always game to play dress-up or Barbies and she throws lavish tea parties for Georgia’s stuffed animals whenever asked.

He thinks of all the times Georgia has accidentally slipped and referred to Y/N as mum, and how Y/N has never corrected her. She just...smiles softly.

“Loves her.” Harry nods. “They’re peas in a pod, those two. She’s...she’s great, mate. I’ve never felt this way about someone before, ya know? Like, I think she’s it for me. I look at her and I see her with Georgia and I’m just-I’m filled with love. Have you ever felt that before?”

Niall takes a hearty drink of the last of his beer. “Can’t say I have.” He laughs a little when he says it but Harry doesn’t miss the ache in his words. “You’re really lucky, Harry. If I could find someone who makes me half as happy as she makes you and Keegan liked her...” Harry is remiss to hear that Keegan has not liked the past few of Niall’s girlfriends.

With both their checks paid for, they make plans to get together to golf later in the week. The drive back to Harry’s is anything but awkward. Harry and Niall have always been able to get on with each other fascinatingly. They could both make a conversation up from nothing at all and then talk for hours. Niall talks about the latest golfer his company has signed and his plans to take Keegan back to Mullingar toward the end of summer to spend quality time with his family. Harry mentions Georgia’s Godzilla phase and how he is sure the proofs of her school pictures will be of her in the costume.

The house is quiet when they enter. They find Y/N in the living room, glass of wine in one hand and a golf magazine in the other.

“Kids asleep?” Harry tosses his jacket on the back of the couch.

She looks up from the magazine, eyes flitting over him and landing straight on Niall. She smiles softly. “For about half an hour. Lots of dinosaur action tonight. Playroom’s a bit of a mess.”

“Hope the boy didn’t give ya too much trouble?” Niall says to her. “He can be a bit of a rascal.”

Harry leans against the couch. Niall’s eyes never leave Y/N’s face- no, he totally just checked her out. It’s a heavily appreciative once over. The same sort of look Harry’s seen a million guys give her.

He knows his girlfriend is stunning. And he would be worried if no one else seemed to think so. But sometimes he can’t believe the audacity of other guys to stare at her so openly in front of him.

Y/N puts her wine glass down on the coffee table. She angles her whole body toward Niall. “Oh, no, he was great! Quite the charmer. And such a cutie. He must get that from you.”

Harry stares down at her.

Pink tints Niall’s cheeks as he laughs. Harry knows that laugh. He’d know that laugh anywhere. It’s Niall’s flirting laugh. “You must not see too many handsome fellas.”

Her face brightens. “No, no, I see plenty.” He cannot believe his fucking ears. “Where did you guys go for dinner?” Before Harry can even answer her, Niall is reporting that they ate at an Italian restaurant called Drago Centro. “No way! That’s my favorite place. Did you get dessert?”

It’s incredible-and a little sickening- the energy his best friend and girlfriend have created around him. Y/N, positively over the moon and adoring; Niall, unable to tear his eyes from her.

“The panna cotta.” Niall tells her. “It was sublime.”

Harry wants to say he sampled the cioccolato, but Y/N whistles through her nose before he gets the chance. “The cannoli is to die for. It’s the best dessert you’ll ever have.” The corner of her mouth twitches up. “Well, if you don’t have something better lined up for after the meal.”

She...She can’t be serious. Harry blinks, remembering a quite similar conversation between them where he’d promised to take her on a date and get her the cannoli she so coveted and he promised his own dessert- her- would be just as good for him, if not better, than her cannoli.

Niall’s eyebrows raise up at the suggestion. Harry wants him to think that she’s being too forward, off-putting, but he’s eating it up. “Is that so?” Niall asks. “I’ll have to try it next time.” He grins at her. “Both parts.”

He’s eerily reminded of when she worked at Valhalla Springs and Harry would show up just to watch her flirt with the golfers. They were so naive, so willing, to fall into her honeyed smiles and saccharine touches. And here she was, doing the same thing to his friend. Harry isn’t filled with the sensual jealousy that used to take him over when she was a cart girl. This is...this is angry.

Y/N flirted as a cart girl for tips. She’s flirting with Niall now for...for what? She isn’t getting paid to watch Keegan. There’s no money at stake. Which means-.

He doesn’t even want to finish that thought.

Y/N excuses herself to go upstairs and get Keegan from Georgia’s room. She pats Harry’s shoulder with a soft smile he can’t seem to return. As she pads up the stairs, Harry turns to Niall. It’s unsurprising that he finds Niall’s eyes trailing in the wake that Y/N has left.

“It’s a good ass, isn’t it?” Harry questions him.

Niall looks at him. He’s unable to hide how interested he is in Y/N, unable to cover up his attraction. “Best one I’ve seen. She’s...God, mate, I feel like I’m in a porno.” His guffaw of laughter echoes through the room. “Tell me you don’t. Coming home to a babysitter that looks like her all the time and you don’t feel like you’re in some naughty babysitter x flick?”

Babysitter?

Babysitter.

Babysitter!

Holy fuck. Niall just thinks she was the babysitter. Harry rewinds in his head. Introducing them, he’d never said she was his girlfriend, only her name. And at the restaurant, fuck, he’d only called her by her nickname. Niall’s totally unaware that Y/N and tiger are the same goddamn person. He hadn’t knowingly on purpose been flirting with his girlfriend!

Seventeen tons of pressure release from off his shoulders. Until he hears Y/N’s voice and she’s coming back down the stairs, Keegan on her hip. Y/N. Sure, Niall didn’t know that she was Harry’s girlfriend. But she knew. And she still-.

“Hey, little guy. You have a good time?” Niall takes Keegan from her arms and his son immediately lays his head against Niall’s chest. Keegan mumbles something before his eyes flutter closed again.

Y/N ruffles his hair, Niall looking at her like she’s hung the goddamn fucking sun, moon, and all the stars in the bloody sky. “They had a great time. You’ll have to bring him by again soon. Georgie loved having a Godzilla-crazy person to stomp around with.”

“And maybe we can get that cannoli sometime.” Niall offers.

Y/N looks over at Harry. He’s not moved from his spot against the couch. She’s looking at him like she’s so happy to see him, for him to be home. “Oh, that’d be great. The three of us could all grab dinner one night. It’d be fun.”

Niall blinks. Harry straightens up. “The-the three of us?” Niall looks between them.

Y/N waves a hand and says nothing needs to be planned at this current moment in time. She grabs her wine glass from the coffee table and assures Niall how fantastic it was to meet him. He’s in the middle of telling her the same thing when she winds her free arm around Harry’s chest and leans her head against his. She pours a sip of her wine into his mouth, catching a missed droplet with her thumb and then sucking her thumb into her mouth.

Harry watches the realization fall over his friend.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower. See you in a bit?” She says, just to Harry.

“Mhmm.”

She kisses his temple. “Love you.”

“Love you too, tiger.”

He swears he hears Niall gulp down a choke. She parts with one last goodnight to Niall before heading up the stairs. Niall’s eyes are squared to the floor.

“Harry-.”

Harry cuts him off. “You didn’t know. You didn’t-it’s okay, I hadn’t realized you didn’t know that she was-.”

“Tiger and Y/N...They’re both...you’re dating your babysitter. Is she still your babysitter? I’m kind of confused.”

He isn’t the only one. Harry explains that no, Y/N does not babysit for him anymore. She stopped accepting money for watching Georgia very soon after they started dating.

“I’m so sorry, mate.” Niall says softly. “I really had no idea. I wouldn’t have even looked at her if I’d known. I didn’t know.”

No, he hadn’t known. But she had.

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Harry is in bed when she gets out of the shower. The lights are off and his back is to her. Y/N is quiet as she switches out her towel for a pair of underwear and a tee shirt. Harry never so much as stirs as she crawls into the bed. His body remains still as she leans over to kiss him goodnight on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Hare. Love you a ton.” She whispers before laying down next to him. She wraps her arm around him.

“Niall likes you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck her.

God what is wrong with her? What had she been thinking? Oh, right, she hadn’t been! That’s not an excuse. There’s no excuse good enough for what she’s done. Openly flirting with another man- her boyfriend’s best friend- right in front of him. She’d hoped afterward that they had both perceived it as her being overly friendly but she realizes now how stupid that is. Especially for Harry. He’s seen her flirt ceaselessly. He knows what it looks like.

Y/N lets him go and sits up. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m-God-I can’t even put it into words.” She covers her face with her hands. “I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. I was just-it’s just that-.”

The lamp on Harry’s side flicks on. His hand rubs her shoulder as his forehead presses against her cheek. “Look a’ me.” Slowly, she lets her hands fall away. Harry smiles at her. “Stop apologizing, yeah? Know you didn’t mean any harm by it. Don’t worry about it, baby. Jus’ some innocent flirting.”

She blinks, not saying anything. She can’t tell him the truth but she can’t say it was innocent. Not when it wasn’t. Not when every time Niall met her gaze, she was imagining all of the ways he could make her come.

Harry pulls back from her. His hand falls from her shoulder. “Not innocent flirting...?”

She can’t speak. Speaking will ruin this. It will ruin their entire relationship and she can’t do that. No more than she already has.

“Harry, please, let’s-.”

“You wanna fuck him?”

Her chest tightens. Oh, God. What has she done? What has she done? She squeezes her eyes shut in the effort of blocking out oncoming tears. She looks at her boyfriend, grabbing onto his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too, tiger, but-.”

But. She hates that word. Despises it. I love you, but. I want to be with you, but. I want this to work, but. But, but, but. But you flirted with my best friend. But you want to fuck my best friend. “It’s okay.” She murmurs. “If you want to break up, it’s okay. I understand, I totally understand.”

Harry lets her hand go. “Break up with you? Why would I-? Because you want to fuck Niall?” The half glance she gives him must be enough for him to discern the truth. Yes. She does. “Am I-am I not satisfying you anymore?” His voice cuts and breaks through the question, his bottom lip pouting down.

She thinks back to earlier that day. Their quickie in the pool before Georgia had woken for the day. All three of the spine-tingling and mind-melting sessions before Niall had arrived that evening. She almost laughs at the idea of Harry not being able to satisfy her. But it isn’t the time, or the place.

“You are!” She assures him. “I don’t...I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She shakes her head, wanting to rid her brain of all things related to Niall Horan. “I love you. And I love what we have, every single piece of it.”

Harry licks over his bottom lip. “But it’s not enough anymore...?”

Y/N reaches over and grabs his jaw with both her hands, cupping his face. “It is. It is.”

There are tears welling in his eyes. If they spill, if her idiocy causes Harry to cry, she’ll never forgive herself.

“I’m not enough anymore?” He whispers.

She leans her forehead against his and bites down on her tongue. God, how could she have done this to him? “Yes, you are.” There’s never been anyone better than Harry. Even on days when he can be an unmitigated ass, he still manages to be a ball of sunshine. The stellar sex aside, Harry is the only life partner she could ever see herself being with forever. They’re so in tune, on the same wavelength, and she’s about a thousand percent sure he’s the love of her life. And yet... “But he-it’s just he’s-.”

“He’s Niall.” Harry’s sigh finishes her thought. It’s the perfect summation of what she had been trying to say. He was Niall. Harry raises his head to look her in the eye. “You’re just attracted to him, right? That’s it?” He fingers through her hair. “You don’t wanna run off with him and fuck him in a golf cart then date him, do ya?”

Y/N cracks a grin. It’s wobbly, but it’s a grin. She breathes a deep sigh of relief. “Correct. I think he’s handsome. That’s all.”

“...The part about the golf cart...?”

She wraps her arms around him, pulling herself into his lap. “You are the only person I wanna run off and fuck in a golf cart and date. I. Love. You.”

When he says it back, she thanks every god she can think to name that her five minutes of stupidity didn’t cost her the person- the people- she loves most.

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Harry considers it a stroke of genius, his idea. Gathering the two sublimely guilty parties for a scalding hot day of golf.

Golf is a great idea. He likes golf. Niall likes golf. Y/N, on good days, likes golf. It will be fun. He hopes. And if shit starts going downhill, well, Hessman will be there to buffer. Like the good ole days.

She reminds him of the old version of herself. Before everything transpired at Valhalla Springs. Before Jordan Clemmons. Her hair is French braided into two pigtails, wearing a collared v-neck pink golf dress that falls just at the middle of her thighs. Her visor is a little crooked and she’s preoccupied herself in the mirror of the golf cart trying to adjust it without messing up her hair.

“Can’t have our golf princess going out on the green looking raggedy.” Hessman beats his fist against the hood of the golf cart in a greeting.

Y/N swats her hand at him. “Okay, let’s go.” She leans back in the seat. “Ready to kick your ass kicked?” She grins at Harry.

So...maybe he neglected to mention to her that Niall would be joining them. But he knew if he told her, she’d back out.

“We’ve still got one more person, right?” Hessman loads Harry’s clubs and Y/N’s clubs into the back of the golf cart. “You said there were three of you.” He looks at Harry.

Y/N turns back and gives him a questioning look. She’s opening her mouth when Niall walks up, his bag of clubs slung over his shoulder. Y/N clamps her mouth shut and turns around.

“Here he is!” Harry claps Niall on the back. “Niall, this is Hessman, best caddy you’ll ever meet. Hessman, my best mate.”

The two shake hands and Hessman takes Niall’s clubs for him, putting them on the back of the cart. Y/N slides out of the front seat of the cart.

“Four’s too many for this cart.” She says. “Why don’t you and Niall get one and Isaac and I will take this one with the clubs?” There’s an undeniable edge to her voice. She’s righteously pissed off at him.

Oh, well.

Harry says that’s a great idea and ushers Hessman inside with him to grab the keys to another cart some tees for the course. Maybe if he can get the two of them alone together for a few minutes at a time, they won’t be so weird around one another.

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest, averting her eyes so she doesn’t look at Niall.

“Harry didn’t mention you were a big golfer.” Niall speaks tentatively.

So. He didn’t tell her that he invited Niall and he didn’t tell Niall he was about to get his ass kicked by an almost-pro. Harry’s keeping quite the number of secrets up his sleeves lately.

“I’m not.” She shrugs. “Only golf with Harry. He likes the outfits.”

She can feel him looking her over. The long legs, how the fabric of her golf dress can’t help but hug the curves of her body.

“I can see why.” He shouldn’t say it. He really shouldn’t have said it.

Y/N smirks at him, flipping a braid over her shoulder. “I love him. By the way.” She has to say it. Make it known. Mark her boundaries. Yes, Niall is hot. Numbingly, sweat-sheening hot. But she is also very, very in love with her boyfriend.

Niall nods. “Good. He loves you too.” And then, “He’s really lucky.”

Harry and Hessman return. Harry jingles a new set of golf cart keys at Niall. Hessman slides into the driver seat of the cart and starts it.

Harry grabs Y/N by the waist, pulling her in for a kiss. “You gonna kick my ass today, tiger? Or you gonna let daddy finally win a round?” His words are mumbled just for her, into her ear so no one else can hear. His teeth nip at her earlobe and he kisses her again, on the cheek.

“Please.” She lovingly shoves him away. “I’m so gonna kick your ass.”

He pinches at her ass. “That’s what I like to hear.”

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It’s been a while she’s she’s golfed. Not so long that she’s forgotten anything or isn’t as good, but long enough that she’s forgotten how good it feels for someone to be in awe of her.

Harry spends every waking second in awe. Morning to night he showers her in praise and all but worships the ground she walks on. She never gets fully used to it, it always erupts her stomach in butterflies every time he calls her his perfect girl, his good girl.

But she’d forgotten the splendor of the original awe. Of having someone find out for the first time just how spectacular she could be. She’s missed it. Watching someone’s face meld down into stupor and blank stares as she does what she can better than anyone else.

And chills coat her body each time she turns back from a swing to see Niall looking at her as if he’s never seen a woman before. Harry notices, he has to notice the way his friend stares at her. But if he does, he never mentions it. He greets her after every swing as he always has, a kiss to the cheek and the assurance that her talent is godly.

After the tenth hole is wrapped, Harry slides into the cart with Hessman and tells Niall and Y/N to meet them back at the club for lunch before the finish up the course. He and Hessman are gone before she can protest.

Diligently, she slides into the cart next to Niall and is silent as he starts it up.

“You and Hessman seem pretty familiar with each other.” He mentions, foot on the gas. “Has he always caddied for you and Harry?”

Y/N crosses her legs at the knees and curls her hand around the bar on the edge of her seat. “He’s always been Harry’s caddy, yeah. But we used to work together. At another golf course.” Niall asks what course. “Valhalla Springs. I was a beverage cart girl. It’s uh, it’s actually how Harry and I started dating.”

All conversation must focus on Harry. If he can’t be there physically, the idea of him will have to be there.

“Yeah? I thought you were his babysitter before you two starting seeing each other?”

It all seems so long ago in her head. Less than two years but forever away. She smiles fondly at the memories of trying to tiptoe around her feelings for Harry before everything crumbled apart and there was no denying what either of them felt.

“I was. Only on Tuesdays, though, when Harry would go golfing. I worked at the course Thursdays through Sundays and he only golfed there on Tuesdays. Imagine my fucking surprise when he shows up on a Saturday.” She laughs quietly. When she peeks over at Niall, he’s smiling with her. Not looking at her, but still, he’s smiling and he has a beautiful smile. Gorgeous teeth, a smile that comes from bone deep. “Hessman was his caddy, but he was out sick. And Harry-Harry decided to fuck with me and I had to caddy for him. Of course, he tried that dumbass thing all guys do. It worked but-.”

“What thing is that?” He inquires. “Yawning and putting his arm around your shoulders? He used to do that when we were in the band. Thought he was so slick.”

Y/N can just picture a teenage Harry sitting with a girl he liked, pretending to yawn so he can stretch and put his arm over her shoulders. Such a different person than the man he is now.

“Better.” She says. “He was trying to show me how to swing a club.” Niall mentions that she’s way too good to have just learned a year ago. “I am. But he didn’t know that. Back then...I wasn’t very open about my relationship with golf. But from then on...we were kind of just...together.” She decides to leave out all of the drama. From the cancelled dates to the jealousy and that fateful night at the charity gala and the subsequent fallout that was Jordan Clemmons.

“You are really good, by the way, at golf.” Niall finally says after a quiet moment. “Terrifyingly good. But,” he turns to glance at her, “you already know that.”

She did indeed. Not that it ever hurt to be reminded.

The cart hitches over a rock, jostling. Niall jerks the wheel to the side to avoid the bigger rock ahead and the wheels squeal and slide. The cart careens to the left and Niall’s hand grabs onto her thigh to hold her steady. The warmth of his hand shoots through her skin as his nails bite in for purchase and his callouses scrape across smooth flesh.

He slams the cart to a stop. Both breathing heavily from what easily could have been an overturned golf cart. She rests her head against the back of the seat and looks over at him.

He’s already looking at her.

And his hand...Fuck, his hand is still on her thigh and it’s much higher up than she originally thought.

He squeezes his fingers into her flesh, just the once, like he’s making sure he’s really touching her. “Are you okay?”

No, no she really is not okay. None of this is okay. And it’s so...it’s so simple, so clean. He had only grabbed her to keep her from falling out of the cart. But if that’s the case, why does it feel so salacious?

She swallows. He doesn’t move his hand. His lips are pink, the kind of pink you only read about in books. Kissable pink, she used to call it. They’re kissable pink and he’s right there and the scent of his cologne mixed with his sweat has her thighs clenching together and the core at the pit of her being is tightening up and tingling.

“I’m not-I’m not this person.” His voice creaks. “I’m not the person that has the hots for his best friend’s girlfriend.”

“Niall-.”

“Do you know how badly I want to lay you out on the front of this golf cart and fuck you, Y/N?”

Her breath catches in her throat. Has it been this uncomfortably hot all day? She pulls at the collar of her dress, fingers slicking on sweat and she’s sure that the apex of her thighs is probably just a slick. But not with sweat.

“I promised Harry that I wouldn’t fuck you on a golf cart.” She manages to breathe out. “So, uh,-.”

Niall barks out a laugh. “You promised him? Jesus fucking Christ, do you know how fucked up all of this is? Harry, poor fucking Harry, he’s stuck in the middle of-.”

She grabs his hand to push it from her leg but instead finds herself curling her fingers around his. “In the middle of nothing.” She cuts him off. “Nothing happened. Nothing is happening. Nothing is going to happen.” But she can’t seem to let go of his hand.

“He knows, Y/N. He knows what we both think when we look at each other. And I-.”

“You what?” She peers back at him.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my hands to myself.”

At that, she lets his hand go. He is slow dragging his fingers back across the skin of her other thigh before curling his hand around the steering wheel. Her skin burns where he touched her and she wants that same feeling across her whole body. Her core aches and throbs at the idea of how he would feel inside her.

This is bad. This is so bad.

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He means it when he says she’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. She’s undeniably perfect. His heart leaps into his chest every time he sees her, like every time is the first time.

Her bare back, her bare ass, are on full display as she lies on her stomach and flips through a magazine. Her hair has lazily been styled in a bun that seems on the course of falling apart and her legs are up in the air, ankles crossed.

“My baby.” Harry runs a hand down her calf, dipping into the crease of her knee, and then up her thigh. “S’pretty.”

She tosses aside the magazine, not caring to see where it falls on the bedroom floor. She turns her head, flashing him a brilliant smile. “You smell good. All clean after your shower. C’mere.”

He does her one better. He flips her over and climbs over top of her, caging her in with his knees. “Smells like sex in here.” He remarks, sniffing out the room. “You hiding someone in my closet?”

Her shoulders tense up. “No.”

Now, he knows good and fucking well there’s no one in the house but them. George is at his mum’s. It’s just the two of them. She’d never cheat on him and even if her resolve slipped, it would never happen in the house.

Which means...

Harry grabs her right hand. Her nose twitches as he lifts it up and then takes her index and middle fingers into his mouth. The taste of her arousal is sweet, fresh. He lets her fingers fall from his mouth and she burrows her hand under the sheets.

The shame. The guilt. The tension riling in her body. She’d been touching herself. But she hadn’t been thinking of him while she did it.

Niall.

He’d hoped after they all spent the day golfing, the two of them would become better acquainted with each other. Instead, they spent the entire day skirting around one another like skittish animals. And when they weren’t sneaking glances at each other, they were pretending like they hadn’t been.

Harry doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that they so badly want to fuck each other or how bad they are at trying to hide it.

“It’s okay.” He tells her. He retrieves her hand from under the sheet and kisses her palm. “Sometimes I touch myself to the thought of Eva Longoria.” The lie feels chalky in his mouth.

“Really?” She murmurs. He nods thoughtfully, hand trailing down her stomach. “You’re lying.”

He shrugs and says it was worth a shot to make her feel better. The pads of his fingers dance over her hip bones and back toward the inside of her thighs. This conversation is going to require a lot from him. A lot of control and a lot of buttering her up.

She wriggles under him, impatient as ever. He slides his hand down between her legs, inching a singular finger between her folds. “Tiger.” She hums and he slips in another finger. “Have you ever had a threesome?”

“Nope.”

Harry scissors his fingers, her hips lifting gently from the bed. His thumb circles over her clit and administers a pattern of applying pressure every other circulation. Her tongue darts out to whet her bottom lip but never fully goes back into her mouth. “Do you wanna?”

A soft moan slips from her lips just before he slides his fingers out. “Do I wanna what?” She blinks up at him. Y/N’s hand encircles his wrist and brings his hand to her mouth. In a filthier rendition of his actions earlier, she takes his index and middle fingers into her mouth and sucks on them.

The corner of his mouth edges up in a grin and she hooks a leg around his waist. Blood pumps down to his cock as she sucks on his fingers, her eyes boring into him. She lifts up her hips for him and in one smooth motion, he’s sheathing his cock inside her.

He takes his fingers from her mouth and removes the bun from her hair. He cards his fingers through the tresses, preparing himself for what he’s about to ask her. “Do you wanna have a threesome?”

She laughs. Cackles really. It’s an obnoxious noise that must come from the pit of her stomach and he loves every morsel of it. She only laughs like that when caught totally off guard.

He stares down at her, still languidly moving his hips to a soft and slow rhythm.

“Wait, what?” She stares back. “Are you-are you-?”

He pushes hairs from her face. His thumb catches over her bottom lip. “Me, you, and Niall. It could be fun.”

She grabs his hips, putting an effective stop to his motions. “Harry, what the fuck are you on right now? Are you high?”

He drops his head down on her shoulder and groans. When he picks it back up, her mouth is slack open. “C’mon, tiger, focus.”

“Me? Focus?” Her hands pat against him and as he lifts off her, his dick slides out. This...this is not how he expected this to go. Y/N sits up on the edge of the bed and stares at him. “You’re literally talking about both of us fucking your best friend. Are you making fun of me or something? I tried my fucking best today, Harry, I did and-.”

Harry reaches over and grabs her shoulder. He shushes her, rubbing his hand down her back. “Y/N, baby, I’m not making fun of you. I’m being deadass serious.” She doesn’t even blink. “Niall told me what happened between you two today. In the golf cart. None of us can ignore what’s going on and I think this is the best option.”

“...Do you?” Her voice is so quiet he can hardly hear her. “I can get over this, Harry, I can. Don’t proposition this, don’t ask this of our relationship because you’re afraid of what I’ll do. You can trust me. I know...I know right now you probably think that you can’t and I’m not doing a very good job of making it believable but-.”

Before he knows it, the tears are welling in her eyes and then they’re falling. Shit. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. She was supposed to just say yes and that be that. Not...Not be so ashamed of something that was so natural that she started crying.

“Tiger, baby, no.” He scoots across the bed and takes her in his arms. Her face burrows into the crook of his neck and her tears are warm on his shoulder as they trail. “I trust you. I trust you more than anyone else, you know that. I love you, and I know you love me and you would never do anything to hurt me or our relationship, okay? Please know that. Please don’t think I don’t trust you.”

“But-.”

He shushes her again. “But nothing, Y/N. What you feel is normal, it’s natural. Sometimes...sometimes there are people that you can’t help but be attracted to. It’s not your fault. It’s not Niall’s fault. It’s just nature, baby. And I wouldn’t-I wouldn’t offer this up if I didn’t mean it one hundred percent. I think it’s a good idea, it’s healthy to explore things like this, and ya know, I’ve always thought Niall was a pretty handsome bloke.”

His end comment earns a quiet, sniffling laugh. Her head raises and he wipes her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

“You’re serious?”

He nods. “If he was down, would you want to?”

It hurts him, how he can hear the pain in her voice when she chokes out a small yes. Her lips are salty when she kisses him chastely, her nose bumping his.

In the back of his head, he knows the threesome would be enough. For her and for Niall. But he also knows how uncomfortable something like that can be for two people who don’t have a lot of...experience with one another. “Y/N,” he strokes her cheek, “one more thing...”

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The bell that hangs over the coffee shop door dings at exactly 11:15 and Y/N has to fight every instinct in her body that tells her to get up and walk out. Instead, she bites down on her tongue and turns, plastering a smile on her face as she spots him walking through the door.

“Niall.”

His head snaps in her direction at the call of his name and she smiles again, waving him over to the small table in the back of the coffee shop. He slides in one smooth motion, hands bracing against the table. The veins are visible, flagrant, and she tries to push out the image of his hands wrapping around her waist, her legs, her throat-.

“I’m glad you called.” He says it quickly, like he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. But it also sounds like he regrets saying it as he says it. “About the other day-.”

She waves a hand and tells him to forget it. “You want a coffee?” He shakes his head. Shit. She’d really been banking on drinks to make this less awkward. She needs something to sip on and to nurse. There’s no easy way to have this conversation, to make it go down smooth.

How exactly do you tell a guy that his best friend, whom you are dating and very much in love with, has given you two a pass to fuck before you all engage in a threesome?

The thought makes her head swim. This stupid coffee date wasn’t even her idea, it was Harry’s. He wanted the two of them to meet up, hang out, get familiar with each other before Niall came over for dinner Friday night. Y/N assumes that Friday night has a scheduled dessert of a menage a trois.

“Is this awkward for you too?” She asks with a quiet laugh. “I don’t really know what to say...”

“Yeah, it is.” Niall agrees. “I had a lot I wanted to say but then I got here and...”

She cocks her head to the side. “And what?”

His neck bobs as he swallows. His eyes are so blue, so serene. “Honestly? I saw you in that dress. And you look-you look good.”

Y/N glances down at her dress. A mocha brown slip style dress that hit just at the middle of her thighs, a v neck that was maybe too deep for a coffee meetup. She wants to say that he looks good too. That his light colored khakis are yes, loose fitting, but she can clearly see how defined his thigh muscles are from the way he’s sitting. She wants to tell him that the shade of green on his undone button down compliments his skin tone so well and that the peek of chest hair from under his white tank top is making her neck prickle.

She could say all that. She could say more. And she wants to. But she’s afraid that if she does, it will run him off. And that is not the point of this meeting.

So she ducks her head and gives a half-bashful, “Thank you.”

Is honesty really always the best policy? Will this all go better if she’s just honest with herself, with him?

“Niall,” she breathes out, “can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.” His Irish accent is warm butter.

She looks around the coffee shop. No one is sitting at the tables near them. She leans forward, beckoning him to meet her halfway. Niall leans closer and she can smell his aftershave, the scent of the mint toothpaste he’d used that morning. “I’ve been making a total fool of myself the past week. All because of you.”

He goes to lean back but she grabs his hand as a way to tether him in place. “Y/N-.”

She shakes her head and asks him to let her finish. “I don’t know what it is about you, I don’t, but ever since the night we met, I’ve been a mess. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Under the table, she hooks her ankle around his. Her hand smoothes over his forearm, the hairs of his arm tickling her fingers. “And at the course the other day,” she glances around again, “I wish you could have felt what you did to me. Just from your hand on my leg.” Niall stiffens in his seat, but he makes no move to back away. “I touched myself that night. And I thought of you. I wished it was you instead of my hands.”

His eyes flutter shut. He takes a breath. “Jesus, fuck.” And then, under the table, his hand skirts over her knee. The tips of his fingers dig into her flesh and his eyes pop open. His head turns, eyes darting around the coffee shop. “I-I have to-.”

His words splinter off before he jolts up from the table and darts toward the bathrooms. Y/N sits back in her seat. Maybe that was all too much? Perhaps she should have gone slower?

Three minutes go by. Niall doesn’t return. She glances around the coffee shop and grabs her purse. She heads toward the bathroom. There’s a men’s, a women’s, and a family restroom. Each looks to be only one person at a time, per the vacant/occupied handles.

She knocks on the door to the men’s restroom. “Niall? Are you okay?”

She swears to God she hears a slight moan. “Gimme-gimme a minute.” The edge in his voice is unmistakeable.

Y/N tries the handle but it won’t budge. “Niall, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said so much, so fast. If you’ll just-.”

The door pops open. Barely two inches. Enough, though, that she can see what he’s so clearly trying to avoid. His pants are undone, the light pink- kissable pink- head of his cock is out and slicked over with precum. Her core cinches at. the sight, at the confirmation of what he’s been doing.

And she thinks back to when her hands were pleasuring herself and she was biting down on her tongue to keep from saying his name.

“Y/N, please-.”

She gives a hasty look over her shoulder before she pushes her way into the bathroom. Niall stumbles back as she leans against the door and turns the lock. She lets her purse fall to the floor.

“What-?”

She cuts him off. “Were you touching yourself?” She asks slowly. “Over what I said at the table?” The indignant jerk of his chin is the only answer she needs. “You can keep going. Don’t mind me.”

One of his eyebrows arches slightly, but he doesn’t ask her to clarify what she means. They both know. Tentatively, his hand snakes back down into his trousers and he pulls his cock. She tilts her head appreciatively as he begins to work himself back up. His breath is shallow, skin reddening and sheening over with sweat. He grunts as his own hand pumps his dick.

Y/N palms at her breast, moaning softly as a rush of pure want courses through her. With her other hand, she delves under the skirt of her dress and immediately pushes two of her fingers inside the wet, throbbing heat of her pussy.

“O-Oh.” Her shoulders sag at the brief relief. “God.”

“Wh-what are you-what are you doing?”

She lifts her head to find Niall staring at her. His hand is motionless, still wrapped around his dick, and his chest is heaving.

The back of her head thumps against the door. “You aren’t the only person here capable of fucking themselves. Do you have a problem with me touching myself?” He barely manages to grunt out a response. “Well,” she sighs, “unless you want to do it for me, I suggest-.”

“What did you say?”

“I said: unless you want to do it for me-.”

His hand falls from his dick. His face is flushed, eyes dark and heady. “What if I do? Then what?”

She doesn’t get to answer. Granted, she doesn’t know what she would have said but he saves her from attempting any kind of response. Niall grabs her by the back of the neck and pulls her to him. He jerks her head up and captures her mouth to his.

Yes, very kissable lips indeed.

The head of his cock bumps against her stomach as he turns her and backs her against the sink counter. He groans into her mouth, pushing up her dress and slicking two fingers through the folds of her pussy.

“Fuck.” His voice is a graveled mess. “S’fuckin’ soaked. From thinkin’ o’ me?” Even his laugh is low and garbled with need. “No panties? Naughty bad little thing, aren’t you?” He pumps those two fingers inside her and she audibly moans at the feeling. “Wan’ me to wet my cock in you? Been thinkin’ about it all goddamn week. Tell me you wan’ it.”

Y/N tries to meet his mouth again but he evades her. Tell me. Tell me how bad you want it. A whimper escapes her lips when his thumb skirts over her clit. “Fuck me. Fuck me now, Niall, please, God. I need-I need you to.”

His lips find hers and he hoists her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her back bumps against the wall as he pushes his trousers down. His mouth latches onto her jaw and he positions the head of his cock at her entrance. Just the tease, the slight notion of what’s to come, has her core rolling and her toes curling.

She bites down on her lip and leans her head against the wall. “Niall, please, for the fucking love of God would you-?”

He slams into her.

Y/N gasps out, the pressure enough to split her in half. There’s no mercy, no relent, absolutely no care. She grips her hand onto the paper towel dispenser, fingers grasping for some sort of physical purchase that will tether her to the physical realm.

Her back arches and she attempts to meet him stroke for stroke but the position is impossible and somehow it’s doing everything and nothing to quench the ache in her belly.

“Fuck, holy fuck.” Niall snarls into her shoulder. “You feel-fuck-most incredible fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever felt.”

She shakes her head fervently. It’s not enough. Not enough. She needs...this isn’t enough. “Harder.” Y/N digs her nails into his shoulder. “I need you to-harder-fuck me harder.”

He stops immediately. Drops her to her feet and spins her around so that her chest is flush against the wall. He pushes her dress up, immediately lining himself back up and thrusting into her from behind.

“God-oh-God.” Her whine is high pitched, needy and soaked in wanton desire.

She can feel him everywhere inside of her. Splicing into her roughly as his thumb presses and preens her clit, as his hand rolls over her breasts and pinches her nipples, his teeth sinking into her shoulders.

Her orgasm comes before she can even feel it beginning to rise up. It’s violent, crashing through her like a tidal wave. She can feel the walls of her pussy pulsating and clenching around his cock.

“Yes, yes,” Niall huffs out, “drench my cock with your cum. Lemme feel you.”

He never ceases the sharp and diabolical thrusts of his dick into the deepest parts of her. Not through her orgasm, when each stroke feels like it will bring its own individual orgasm, nor his own climax when his thighs stutter and shake and he turns her head to kiss her properly on the mouth as his cum coats the insides of her cunt and drips down her thighs. His movements only slow as his orgasm bottoms out and he rests his head on her shoulder.

His cock pulses inside of her but he makes no effort to move.

“Fuck.” His breath is hot against her skin. “Fuck.” His hair brushes against her. “Fuck.” He hisses. He stumbles back from her and the suddenness of his movements leaves an ache in her thighs. She turns to face him, keeping her back to the wall. He scrambles his pants back up. “Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it. What did I-we-oh, my God. What did I do? What did we do?”

He refuses to look at her.

“Niall-.”

“You-you-and I-oh my, God, Y/N. And Harry-.”

She pushes from the wall and grabs his shoulder. “Calm down. Calm down and look at me.” For moment, she doesn’t think he will, but finally his blue eyes land on her. “This is fine. It’s fine. He knows, okay? Harry knows. Or, he will when I go home and tell him. But he asked me to do this.”

Niall shakes his head. “No, no. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that he asked you to fuck me, Y/N. He’s secure but he’s not-.”

She runs her hands down his face and cups his jaw. “When you come over for dinner on Friday, one of us is going to proposition you. It will probably be me first. But then Harry is going to ask you a question. He’s going to ask you to have sex with us. Both of us.”

“W-what?”

Y/N brushes the hair from his face, the way Harry so often does her. She smiles at him softly. “The three of us, Niall. Me, you, and Harry. We’re going to all have sex on Friday night. Together. Unless you don’t want to...?”

Niall looks back at her. He blinks. “A threesome. We’re going to have a threesome...?” She nods. “Whose idea was this? Was it yours?”

She says no. “It was his. All of this, it was him. He asked me about the three of us after you told him what happened between us on the golf course. It was his idea. This coffee date was his idea. The two of us having sex before Friday was his idea. So we could be comfortable. So we all could enjoy each other Friday night.”

Niall looks around the restroom. She catches the sight of them in the mirror. Fucked out with mussed hair and flushed skin. Their clothes askew and the beginnings of bruises on her shoulders.

“Harry knows? Or he will know, about this?” He motions between their bodies. Y/N assures him that as soon as she gets home, she’s going to tell him everything. And while it feels wrong, it isn’t. They have permission. More than, they have encouragement. The corners of his mouth lift at the word. He curls his fingers in her hair and pulls her to him. “As long as we’re being encouraged, better make it worth while.”

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There have been many many times throughout the course of her life that Y/N has asked herself how did I get here? And there were dozens of occasions where she had to step back and ask herself where do I want to be?

At no point in her life did she ever imagine that she would be sitting between the two most gorgeous men she’s ever seen, waiting on someone to say something or make a move.

Niall’s trouser covered knee is barely touching her own bare knee, but that small piece of contact is enough to have her clenching her upper thighs together. Harry sits on her other side, his hand rubbing small circles at the small of her back. Neither of them has said a word about the real meaning of this dinner. No one has mentioned why Niall is sitting on the edge of the bed they share at almost ten at night.

How did I get here? That’s easy enough, she reminds herself, you couldn’t stop from slutting yourself out in front of Harry, and for his best friend. Harry proposed a threesome.

Where do I want to be? She almost lies and tells herself that she wants to be in bed, just her and Harry. She wants things to be normal, the way they were before Niall arrived last week. But the point of the night is to be totally, one hundred percent truthful. And her being honest means her admitting that she is perfectly happy right where she is. She wants Niall’s hands on her. She wants Harry’s mouth on her. She wants them-.

“Tiger,” Harry’s hand drifts across her hip bone in a singular brushing sweep, “m’gonna tell Niall what you like. Or would you rather show him?”

Y/N turns to Harry and then his mouth is on hers. It’s so easy to mold into the familiarity of him. The plush of his lips working against hers, his tongue in her mouth, his teeth grazing her lip. She sighs into him when his hand delves up her dress and his fingers skim the waistline of her panties. She wants him to move his hand, to feel the wetness in her underwear that has been pooling since Niall arrived hours ago.

He separates their lips, his own ghosting across her cheek to breathe into her ear. “She likes to be teased.” He tells Niall. “She’s always so eager, so ready. Was she drippin’ fo’ you the other day?”

She almost turns her head for Niall’s reaction to Harry’s words but Harry keeps her head in place with his hand on her neck. She wonders how dark Harry’s eyes are, how blown his pupils already must be.

“Soppin’.” The single word of Niall’s reply comes out choked and heady. “Wasn’t wearin’ panties either.”

Harry’s laugh is little and vicious in her ear. He nips at her earlobe and slowly removes his hand from up her dress. “Her favorite little trick. Isn’t it, sweet thing?” He pulls away to look at her. The green of his eyes is almost non-existent, irises swallowed whole by his pupils. He looks past her, at Niall. “She’s probably soaked her panties through already. Why don’t you give her a feel?”

This time, when she wants to turn to gauge Niall’s reaction, Harry lets her. His skin is flushed, eyes blown with fevered desire. Lips wet and parted and that damnable shade of kissable pink she’s spent so long daydreaming about. His hand, rested on his leg, twitches like he wants to follow Harry’s suggestion but he still hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to.

Y/N gives what she can only imagine is a sultry smile. She grabs Niall’s hand. “You can touch me. We know you want to, or you wouldn’t be here.” He doesn’t stop her from leading his hand up her dress and resting it at the top of her thigh. “You weren’t so shy two days ago.” She reminds him with a smirk.

He hadn’t been shy at all, shoving her up against the wall and fucking her like his life depended on it.

She squirms as the pads of his fingers brush over the thin lacy material of her panties. His movements are jerky, unsure, but feather light. Harry kisses her again, groaning into her mouth and tangling his fingers in the hairs at the back of her head. He jerks at her knees, spreading her legs apart. He flickers a grin at Niall and tells him not to be so timid with her.

“Show our girl a good time, Niall.” And then, “Don’t make me do all the work.” Harry’s lips trail across her cheek, his spit following in a damp wake. “Tell him, baby. Tell him how badly you want him to touch you. Let him feel how bad you want him.”

Y/N hiccoughs at the intensity Harry is throwing into this. Practically begging his best friend to touch her, feel her, all in front of his eyes.

She puts her hand over Niall’s and guides it down into her panties. “Touch me.” She breathes. “Touch me.”

He does as willed. The second his fingers brush across her wet heat, she finds somewhere else for her own hand to be. Niall doesn’t stifle his groan at the feel of her arousal.

“S’wet,” Niall fumbles out, “soakin’, absolutely drenched.”

Harry chuckles before licking his tongue up the column of her throat. “Atta girl, tiger.”

Y/N palms at the crotch of his pants, struggling with the zipper and button of Harry’s trousers. Her mind blacks and then starbursts as Niall slides two fingers into her dripping folds. Harry helps her into his pants and she grabs onto his cock, working the velveteen length through her fingers. All the while Niall is dragging his fingers along the walls of her cunt.

“She tastes better than she feels.” Harry tells Niall. “Why don’ you give her a lick?”

Niall looks at her in question and she barely breathes out the “God, please,” she needs to answer with. When his fingers leave her, she whines out and they both call her needy. Niall sinks to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed.

Harry maneuvers backward further up the bed. “Lie back, baby. Gonna let him taste you? Hmm? Gonna let him drown his face in that pretty pussy of yours?” He kisses her as he lays her back on the bed. He moves her hair from her face, smiling down at her like an angel. “Wan’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours? Wan’ me to fuck your mouth while Niall fucks you with his?”

“Yes. Yes.”

It’s a night of yes.

She can’t figure out what she’s supposed to focus on. Niall’s breath warm over her cunt, the precum glistening on the head of Harry’s cock. Niall’s nose bumping against her clit, Harry’s thighs beside her head. She groans the second that Niall’s tongue licks flat against her and then Harry’s dick is in her mouth.

He tastes the way he always does, salty, sweaty, sweet with his own excitement. He lets her control the movements, allowing her to bob her head and take as much of him or as little as she wants. Her throat constricts and she gags each time his cock head bumps the back of her throat and each time, it makes his cock jump against the roof of her mouth. He tells her to play nice when the edges of her teeth skim the soft skin of his shaft but he laughs when he says it.

Niall moans into her cunt as his tongue laps and licks away. He uses his thumb to stimulate her clit, his ring finger occasionally joining his tongue between her folds. “Tas’ so fuckin’ good.” He sinks his fingers into the muscles of her thighs.

Harry palms at her breasts, grabbing and kneading the soft flesh roughly. He rolls her nipples between his fingers and pinches at them as she sucks his cock between her lips.

The feeling bubbling in the deep pit of her core is rising, rising, rising. Her breath whistles out through her nose.

“Tiger baby, you about to cum? You about to cum all over Niall’s pretty face?” She can only nod, squeezing her eyes shut. And then Harry’s cock is gone, her mouth empty. He lifts her head up and gestures down at Niall, making her look as he tongue-fucks her relentlessly. “C’mon, baby, show him how good you are. Show him how good it feels to taste your cum on his tongue.”

Harry saddles up behind her, letting her rest her back against his chest. He sponges his open mouth across her clavicle and shoulders and neck, licking and suckling and nipping the skin. Her hands find purchase in his hair, in Niall’s hair, as Niall’s tongue continues without cease.

She can feel every bead of sweat rolling off her body, the flinching muscle of Niall’s tongue inside her, and the ridges of his thumb pad undulating on her clit.

Her chest rises in shallow breaths, stomach knotting and cinching tighter and tighter. Niall’s groan reverberates through her insides and it all comes crashing in on her. Harry seals his mouth over hers, the kiss sloppy and wet, all tongues and teeth and moans as both men ride her out through her release.

Niall sits back on his haunches, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His mouth and chin are slick with her arousal.

“Take off your clothes.” Her voice is hoarse. “Both of you.”

She takes off her own dress as they do. It gets tossed aside somewhere that’s neither close to the pile of Harry clothes or the pile of Niall’s garments. The three of them, naked and ready and willing, in the bedroom she shares with Harry feels like the crossing of a line. She isn’t sure what the line represents, what it separates, and with the two of them watching her, both of them palming at their hard cocks, waiting for her to make a decision, she can’t find it in herself to care.

“Who’s fucking me first?” She looks between them. She knows how this goes. She’s watched enough porn to know that one of them will fuck her in the mouth while the other while fuck her in the pussy.

She’s pretty sure the position is referred to as ‘Eiffel Towering’.

Harry gestures to Niall and says something about how he’s a guest and Harry is nothing if not a gracious host.

Each one of them takes her hands, leading her to the bed once again. Niall climbs in the bed first and she follows his suit. Harry waits, watching, as Niall tells her to get on her knees.

She obliges, kneeling on the bed in a raised position, Niall prepping himself behind her. His hands canvas across her back, over her stomach, between the valley of her breasts. His nose bumps the back of her head, the base of her skull, and his mouth sponges her shoulder.

She turns her head to look back at him, “Kiss me.”

His mouth meets hers, hand curling around her throat to keep her head turned while his other spreads her legs further apart and then dips back to slick through her folds. “Wan’ me to fuck you? With your boyfriend watchin’ us?”

She doesn’t have to look to know Harry is staring at them. She can feel the heat of his gaze burning into her soul. She can hear the soft groans he only makes when he’s using his hand to pleasure himself.

Y/N reaches down to feel Niall’s cock with her hand. Wedged up against her ass, it’s thick, long, throbbing, and slicked with his precum. Her mind flashes to the way he’d touched himself in the bathroom at the coffee shop. How he grabbed her, fucked her against that wall. How he felt inside of her, filling her-.

“Yes.”

Niall’s lips spread into a grin against hers. The second she removes her hand, he’s bending her forward slightly and slamming inside her. There’s nothing gentle or loving about it; it’s animalistic, wanton, primal. His hips snap and strike against her ass cheeks, the sound wet and fevered.

“God.”

She thinks it’s Niall at first, but quickly realizes it’s Harry speaking instead. He crawls onto the bed and Niall releases her throat in time for Harry to rush forward and melt his mouth to hers.

“S’fuckin’ hot, tiger. Look a’ you. Takin’ it like a good girl.”

Her whine pushes from her mouth into his. Yes, yes. That’s what she is. She’s a good girl.

His thumb and forefinger pinch at her clit, Niall’s hands ravaging over her breasts as he continues to rail into her. She can feel another orgasm swelling up, faster, more intense than the last. The walls of her cunt ache and flutter, her head falling to lean on Harry’s shoulder.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” Niall goads from behind her, fingers pinching her nipples, head of his cock burrowing deeper and deeper with each stroke. “I can feel you trembling ‘round my cock. Cum on my cock, jus’ like you did on my tongue. Be a good girl.”

Y/N’s thighs buckle, hips stuttering, toes going numb. Harry nibs at her swollen clit, breath heavy in her ear as he murmurs how proud he is of her, how pretty she looks getting fucked, how good she is.

The second wave is stronger, seven thousand times more intense. She grips onto Harry, pushing her backside closer and closer to Niall in the selfish attempt to feel as much as him as possible while her orgasm avalanches through her.

She barely has time to register what’s happening before Harry and Niall are switching places. Her walls quiver as Harry bends her down and slides into her with the ease of familiarity. He hisses out a breath, his own hips faltering before he can move.

“Fuck, tiger.”

She stutters out a breathy laugh, hands curling in the bedclothes. And then Niall lifts her chin up with his fingers, leaning down to kiss her once, twice, zealously before he leans back up and his cock is sliding between her lips.

Y/N has to hold onto his thighs for support. Harry’s vigorous thrusts provide momentum for how her head bobs along to work her mouth around Niall’s girth. Both men are groaning; Harry’s fingers purchasing deep into the divots of her hips and Niall’s tangling in her hair. His other hand winds down, tracing her cheekbone and jawline before grasping at her breast eagerly.

Harry makes a winded comment about the swell of her clit but it doesn’t stop him from applying two fingers of pressure to the overly sensitive bud. Y/N quakes and twitches at his ministrations; each bringing a new ripple of psychedelic euphoric pleasure through her body. His words are panted when he gasps out how good she feels, how perfect. His baby. His tiger.

The head of Niall’s cock drags the back of her throat and she chokes, edges of her teeth grazing the velvet shaft. He snarls out something wordless, pulling on her hair and telling her to go easy. Behind her, Harry laughs.

She tightens her jaw, swirling her tongue around his cock and sucking down gently. Niall’s hips buckle and he juts forward, grabbing her by the back of the head to force himself further in his mouth.

The both fuck her at their own pleasure. Niall ruthlessly thrusting himself as far back into her throat as he can get. Harry, pitiless in his own way, as he lifts up her ass to reach his cock into the deepest parts of her cunt. He pulls her hand from Niall’s thigh, pressing her palm flat against her lower tummy. With each thrust, she can feel him. Not just inside of her but under her skin, bumping against her palm.

Oh, God, she tries to moan, the words catching on Niall’s cock.

It’s enough to force his hips into a faulty movement. He stills his hand that bobs her head, hips barely stuttering out a semblance of a pattern as his cock twitches in her mouth and his cum spills down her throat.

Harry twines his fingers with hers, holding her hand against her stomach. Niall falls back on the bed, chest heaving and sordid breaths filling the air. His hand skims over her thigh in an electric brush as Harry wraps his other arm around her chest and pulls her up so that her back is pressed to his chest.

He speaks one word. One singular, monosyllabic word that teeters her over the edge. His nose coasts up the column of her throat, teeth catching, tongue slipping out. The tip of his nose dips into her ear canal and up to the shell of her ear. “Mine.”

If the second orgasm was intense, she can only describe the third one as frenzied. Passionate. Blazing through her nerves like wildfire until her vision blurs and the room spins around her. Vehement and scalding through her very soul to the point she barely feels when Harry’s own orgasm takes him over and his release is soaking her from the inside out.

Even then, blissfully fucked, there’s no denying that it’s the most he’s ever came.

His lips are wet and sticky when he kisses her under the jaw. Her head lolls back to rest against his shoulder. She wants to shower. Her skin is covered in sweat and three different coatings of arousal. She needs to shower. But she doesn’t think she can make the walk to the bathroom, let alone stand in the shower.

Her thighs are trembling, aching. Her throat feels raw and she knows if she tries to speak, her words will come out hoarse and hollow. And her pussy...God. She can’t even think of how sore it is without a rip wave of soreness tinging through her.

Harry kisses her again, on the temple this time and slowly eases out of her. She feels droplets of his release trickle down her thighs but she can’t be bothered to care as she crawls under the covers next to Niall. His breathing has shallowed out, chest rising and falling in even patterns.

His eyes flicker open and he greets her with a lazy smile. She smiles back, tracing the bow of his lips. Harry settles in on her other side and he reaches out, hand extended. Niall claps his hand to Harry’s, grabbing on and sliding their palms in a handshake they must have done a trillion times.

It’s only later on, deep in the hours of the morning, when the sound of Niall’s snores fill the room much like his breaths and grunts had earlier, that Y/N giggles quietly into Harry’s chest.

They just had a threesome. They invited someone else into the sacred intimacy of their bed.

“What’s so funny, tiger?” Harry mumbles.

Neither of them has been to sleep yet. The world is dark and silent and there’s a peace surrounding them that neither has wanted to yet leave. This has always been her favorite part of the day. The quiet obscurity when it feels like they are the only two people awake in the world. Harry’s arm around her shoulders and her head on his chest.

This is her favorite place. He is her favorite person.

Nothing has changed. She still loves him. She still wants to spend the rest of her life like this, with him.

She leans up so that they can look each other in the eye. He smiles sleepily up at her and runs his hand down her back. “We had a threesome.” She gives a jittery smile.

Harry laughs under his breath and shakes his head. “Yeah, we did.”

They both glance at Niall, sleeping peacefully on her other side.

Y/N giggles again and Harry once again asks what she finds funny. “Nothing,” she can’t stop giggling, “it’s just-ya know- I always thought if we were ever going to do this, have a threesome, our third person would be Hessman.”

Harry’s face goes still. He ponders for a moment and then shrugs as best he can. “Huh. Ya know what? I always kinda thought the same thing.”

He meets her halfway in an exhausted, weary kiss. They both let out a contented and lethargic sigh as she lays her head back on his chest.

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

Sleep burns her eyes as she closes them. “I love you a ton, Harry.”

Next to her, Niall stirs. “Both of you please shut up and go to sleep.”

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

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i neeeeeed pt4 of et in ius PLEASE it’s literally so fucking good

Hi!!!! I PROMISE i have not abandoned this fic (or any of them). I’m just in the worst rut of creativity and am battling the most severe case of writer’s block in the world. I’m trying, I swear.😭

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

Text

Muscleback

Pairing: Golf!Dilf!Harry Styles x Babysitter/Cart Girl!Y/N

Summary: Sequel to Milking the Grip, Match Play, and Mulligans

“A muscleback, or blade, refers to the design of a golf iron. These particular irons have full heads rather than cavity indentions, which allows for a lower shot trajectory and less forgiveness. Musclebacks are typically only used by the very best players who, when swinging, never miss the center of the clubface.” Y/N’s actions have unforeseen consequences; Hessman almost gets fired; Harry gets drunk and makes a confession; the finale

Warnings: SMUT (what else is new, amirite?), language, alcohol, violence, slut-shaming, some angst (love sad Harry), slight Daddy kink, slight spit play, slight edging, little bit of cockwarming

A/N: Thank you all so much for following the Match Play series to its completion and loving every bit of it.

Read parts i, ii, and iii here.

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For her fifteenth birthday, when it was becoming crystal clear that Y/N was going to become one of the golf greats, her parents bit the bullet and spent the big bucks. A full fourteen-club set of the highest quality clubs on the market. Custom made with ballerina pink and sterling silver shafts and heads. One might have found the purchase outrageous, ridiculous even, but they knew their daughter was destined for the Ladies Professional Golf Association. Before twenty-five, they were willing to bet.

And for good measure, her father made sure that every single of the six irons in the set was a muscleback. They were more difficult than a cavityback, sure, but Y/N never had any problem shying away from a challenge.

He was right, of course. In a short span of time, she mastered her new clubs and spent a particular amount of time learning the language of a muscleback iron. By the end of it, she was the only high school golfer in the state using the club. And, like she was prone to do, she won every single time.

She still has the clubs. Still uses them every time she golfs. While saturated with sour tasting memories, they are clubs that were custom made just for her and she’ll use them until they’re no longer playable. When that day comes, she’ll never play again.

“-and you know, I told the guy, I did, I said-!” Harlowe, for a grueling thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds, has been going on and on about Hank Eslinger, one of the regular guests. Apparently, last night at the gala, he hit on her several times and wasn’t too keen on hearing the word no from her.

Y/N has no choice but to listen. All the caddies are booked and busy and Vylet is out on the green. Hell, what Y/N wouldn’t give for her to come through the doors any second with the keys to the cart.

Her hangover is from hell

One more-.

“I mean, he’s cute and stuff, and rich as shit, but-.”

“Harlowe,” she growls out, “for the love of fuckin’ God, please shut up.”

Immediately, the other girl clamps her mouth shut. Y/N rolls the pads of her fingers around her temples in the vain attempt of massaging out the brutal migraine. The early morning coupled with such a stubborn hangover was partly assuaged by Harry’s above average cooking skills before she left for work. He makes a pretty mean breakfast sandwich.

“Geez, what’s got your braids in a knot this morning?” Harlowe twirls a piece of hair around her index finger. “You and Mr. Styles get into last night? Or,” she grins wildly, “he keep you up all night? ‘Cause, from what I could tell, you two looked preeeetty cozy-.”

Y/N’s head jerks up at the sound of the lobby door opening. Vylet, the pure saving grace that she is, comes flouncing in. The hem of her skirt flips up as she skips, keys to the beverage cart spinning around her finger. In a fashion that makes her stomach churn, Y/N bolts out from the magazine stand. One more minute of having to listen to Harlowe’s incessant and stupid blabbering and she would probably murder her. The green is going to be relentless, with the strong heat and high humidity, but honestly, anything is better than her current situation.

“Tank full?” She skids to a stop in front of Vylet. “Coolers?”

Vylet drops the keyset into her hand. “All good. No boyfriend on the course today?”

In the effort of trying to maintain some sense of dignity and decorum at work, Y/N hadn’t told anyone about her relationship with Harry. It made things weird and uncomfortable. He’d been more than happy to oblige when she suggested keeping it on the down low. Before last night, the only two people at the club to know were Coates and Hessman. And she’d only told Coates because her ass and her job both were on the line if things with Harry ever became...difficult at the club.

Now, everyone knows. And no one will shut the hell up about it.

Of course, over the past few weeks, Harry had been the hot gossip. Gorgeous single father who had made millions in the music industry. Once, he’d only graced the club with his presence once a week, Tuesdays. As of late, he came around more and more. Everyone, naturally, had to know why. Last night, they found out.

“No.”

At that, Y/N adjusts her white visor and darts out the doors. She hears Harlowe make a comment about her being grouchy, but it barely registers as she’s sliding in the cart.

God what she wouldn’t give to still be in Harry’s bed right now.

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The heat, as she accurately predicted, is unforgiving. Her neck and thighs are practically drenched in sweat and the pieces of hair that have fallen from her signature twin braids stick to her skin in damp tendrils.

This is miserable.

She knows Hessman is on the clock today. It feels like she’s been wandering the green all damn day looking for him. In the almost four years they’ve been friends, last night was the first time they ever actually talked about the fallout with her family.

He’s the only person who knows about the LPGA ditch. About her broken relationship with the sport. She hasn’t even told Harry. The guy she loves.

Wait. Hold up.

Love?

She slows the cart to a stop. Ponders the idea for a few minutes. She’s had a few serious relationships here and there. She can recall what being in love feels like. At least, what it felt like to love normal people. Because Harry’s not normal. He’s...he’s like a burst of energy, a comet, a supernova. He’s human and ethereal all at once. People dream their entire lives to be with someone like him.

In the past, she had never been one to spend copious amounts of time on the idea of love or relationships or happily ever afters. Girls she went to high school with had loved to ramble about their dream date, the names of their children; they bragged about having their whole wedding planned and what colors they would paint the houses they would buy with their high school sweetheart. Others wanted to know when their Prince Charming would come, when they would find love. They were more than willing to move to make it happen, to knock down doors and climb over walls, trade zip codes, dye their hair and alter their personalities.

Y/N had almost envied their blissful naive states. Reality, for her, had set in long before. You didn’t find love, it found you. It couldn’t be forced or hunted down or dragged out. It came only when ready, even if you weren’t. It would make you ready. You were on love’s time, not the other way around. As someone once told her, a watched pot never boils.

Maybe a little, she thinks of those things now. She thinks of how every date with him has been the essence of a dream date. There’s no wedding planned for their foreseeable future. But she imagines that their bedroom would be a pretty and light shade of seafoam green.

She hasn’t come up with names of their children, but that’s simply because they already have Georgia.

She loves him. She does. She loves Harry.

Up ahead, she sees the familiar outline of Hessman’s silhouette near Hole 12. He’s leaning against a propped up golf club bag, watching his golfer aim up with the tee. The combination of dark khaki pants and the salmon colored polo strike recognition in her mind. It’s only when she’s pulling the cart up to the hole that she realizes it’s Jordan Clemmons.

He’s shouldering up to swing by the time she’s parking the cart. Hessman turns at the noise and waves heartily. He makes a motion that suggests when Vylet was on the course, she’d given Mr. Clemmons plenty of attention. And booze. When Y/N steps out of the cart, she places both pigtails in front of her shoulders and then smooths over her navy pleated skirt.

This morning, Harry had swung her back around her place so she could get ready for work. She charged him with picking out her clothes while she showered. And based on the modest length of the skirt and almost full coverage of the shirt, he wasn’t planning on coming by the course today.

“You know,” Hessman is trying not to smile when she saddles up next to him and loops an arm through his, “I feel like ass today. Do you feel like ass?”

“Hundred percent. Head’s killin’ me. Know what we need?”

“Don’t say it.” He mutters.

“Couple bloody mary’s and we’d be good as new. Take your lunch when you guys wrap up this hole and I’ll meet you in the kitchens.” Everyone knows the ultimate cure for a hangover is simply supplying your body with more alcohol. She can feel like ass tomorrow, when she doesn’t work.

She’s already unwinding her arm from his when Jordan turns around from his swing. The second they register one another, she’s plastering a megawatt smile on her face and his mouth is melting into a frown.

“That was a great swing, Mr. Clemmons!” She sways up on the tip toes of her feet, straightens back, and then sways again but on the balls this time. “Want a drink? Got your favorite: Corona and some limes.”

He looks at her. His eyes are blank and dull and his face slack. She shifts as his eyes roam over her face, down to her covered breasts and stomach, her crotch and legs, and then back up. He sort of smirks and then shakes his head.

He holds his club out, an older looking 2-iron that’s definitely seen better days. But as she knows, most golfers are superstitious about their clubs and won’t buy a new set until absolutely necessary. He sort of wiggles the club as a signal for Hessman to take it from him.

“Put those in the cart.” He instructs as Hessman takes the club. Jordan turns his attention back to Y/N, giving her another appreciative, albeit ravenous, look over. “How ‘bout that drink?” He nods his head toward the beverage cart.

She swears that on the walk over to her cart, his fingers brush against the hem of her skirt. And maybe the back of her thighs. She could be imagining it. That’s what she tells herself anyway, as she leans down into the cooler and knows that his eyes are glued to the arch of her back, burning into the curve of her ass. She tells herself that the coal hot feeling of his eyes on her is normal, that he’s been this way before, that the way he’s looking at her isn’t different from every other time, every other golfer. The alarms that are beginning to sound in her head mean nothing.

Even the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach is wrong about the situation. Guys here look at her all the time. It’s part of the job. She likes it. She thinks it’s fun how they look at her as if she’s some sort of unobtainable treat, a delicacy that’s always just out of reach. A pretty cake to be only admired in a window, never to be touched or eaten.

Y/N’s hand closes around the ice cold neck of a Corona bottle and she pulls it out of the cooler, straightening her body back up. She turns to hand the bottle off to Jordan, immediately bumping into him. He’s a whole foot closer than he was when she turned around.

That’s when she realizes this situation is different. Dangerous.

He smells like a bottle of beer is the absolute last thing he needs. He reaches down for the bottle, hand closing over hers.

“Such a pretty thing...” His finger trails up her arm. A touch like that from the right person, from Harry, would have her throbbing and near salivating, but this...it has her frozen in her spot. “Shame to see you waste it away here, and with Styles...”

“Jordan-.”

His hand closes around her bicep. His other hand grabs at her ass as he leans his face down towards hers. She drops the bottle to the ground.

Not wanting to make a scene or attract Hessman’s attention, Y/N sort of shrugs him away and scurries out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” She hisses. “Are you nuts?”

In a split second, his expression molds from confusion into pure rage. “Oh, is that how you’re gonna be, then? Gonna be a little tease?” He says everything in such rapid succession that she doesn’t have time to process one thing before he’s spewing out something else.

“What-?”

His scoff cuts her off. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You know exactly what you are. A lying little whore.” Each punctured pronunciation is a punch in her gut. “You parade around this course in those short fucking skirts and your tits out, looking at all of us with those fuck-me eyes, what’d you expect? You’re not as goddamn innocent as you think, sweetheart. It takes a special kind of slut to do what you do. Might as well be a fucking prostitute, right? You pimp yourself out for all of us, wearing those tiny outfits and letting us ‘teach’ you how to swing a club.”

He isn’t yelling but he isn’t necessarily being quiet.

Y/N swallows and bites down on her tongue. Is he right? He can’t be right. There’s nothing wrong with what she does. She’s never given the slightest hint that she’d ever actually be interested in him, or anyone else. It’s always been innocent flirting. Hadn’t they known?

Her eyes are beginning to burn with the threat of tears. It feels like there is a giant gum-ball lodged in her throat and her nails are digging crescent shaped gashes into her palms where her hands are balled into fists.

“You know,” he laughs darkly, “if you’re going to fuck one golfer, you might as well fuck all of us.” When she blinks, a tear falls down her cheek. “What’d Styles do to get in your panties, huh? Or is he paying you for that, too?”

There’s no stopping the tears. She feels so stupid but all she can do is stand there and cry and listen to his hate filled words. One wrong move and she’s fired.

“Hey.” Hessman is there, suddenly, like a Disney prince or knight in shining armor. “What’s going-?”

Jordan shoots him a venomous glare. “Don’t waste your breath trying to stick up for the little cunt. She’s not worth-.”

His next words are effectively cut off by Hessman’s fist colliding with his nose. The sickening crunching sound of bone breaking doesn’t even make her flinch. Jordan falls to his knees on the ground, clutching his nose and wailing out.

“Be glad I don’t crack your fucking skull.” Hessman snaps at him.

Blood gushes from Jordan’s nose as he pulls his hands away. Hessman grabs onto Y/N’s wrist, tugging her away from him.

“I’ll have your job for this!” Jordan shouts at them. Blood runs into his mouth, coating his teeth. His gaze lands on Y/N. “Whore. You’ll never make another cent of a tip. I’m going to tell everyone what a fucking liar you are. I saw you on the range last night. You played everyone and they’re all going to know what a goddamn lying cunt you are.”

When Hessman is hauling her away, she says the only thing she can think of: “I may be a liar and a whore, but at least I can finish 18 holes under par.”

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Coates and Hessman have been screaming at each other for a solid fifteen minutes. Her distance from the closed door of Coates’ office has muffled the sounds so that she doesn’t exactly know what they’re saying each time. But she does know that Coates has threatened to fire the caddy at least twice already.

She never wanted him to lose his job. She never wanted any of this.

The door swings open. Both she and Vylet, who has been silently consoling her, turn to look. Coates is in the doorway, his face red and his jaw set. If he’s dead-set on firing Hessman, she’s going to quit. There’s no way in hell she’s going to still work at this country club without him.

“Y/N. Come in here, please.” She can tell he’s straining to sound nice.

Vylet squeezes her hand once before Y/N gets up. She doesn’t break eye contact with her manager as she walks into his office. He lingers behind her long enough to close the door. Hessman is slumped in one of the two chairs opposite Coates’ side of the desk.

Before Coates had dragged Hessman in, he’d spent a good half hour dealing with Jordan Clemmons. She doesn’t even want to think about what the golfer told her manager.

“Sit down, Y/N.” Coates gestures for her to take the other seat as he sits down n the white office chair.

She remains standing. He repeats his words. She looks at Hessman. His own face is still flushed and heated from his anger, though his breaths are now more relaxed. He had spewed hateful words the entire ride back to the club and had almost turned around several times on the whim of wanting to bash Jordan’s face in with his own clubs.

“Y/N-.”

“If you’re going to fire Isaac, I quit.” She says quietly.

“What?”

They both look at her.

She takes a deep breath. “I said I quit. I’m not going to work here without him. If you’re firing him, I quit.”

Coates sighs heavily. His eyes flicker over to Hessman. “You’re our best cart girl. And Isaac is our best caddy. He isn’t getting fired. And you aren’t quitting. Will you sit down now?”

Timidly, she takes the seat. She can’t find it in herself to relax and let her shoulders rest against the back of the seat, so she remains rigid and stiff.

“Jordan Clemmons is one of our best clients.” It’s not a good way for him to start off. Hessman immediately shoots forward in his seat but Y/N grabs his hand and squeezes hard. Coates looks between them. “Y/N, you’ve been nothing but the best girl we’ve ever had. You’ve always worked hard and gone above and beyond. I need you to tell me what happened out there today.”

It’s Hessman’s turn to squeeze her hand as she recounts what happened on the course. Her arrival at their hole. Offering Jordan a beer. The way he trailed after her to the cart and she was almost positive he had touched her then. Practically pinning her to the cart, grabbing her arm and her butt. Trying to kiss her. She restated everything he said perfectly, word for word. By the time she was done, Hessman was heated all over again; she was simply surprised she didn’t cry.

“I told you.” Hessman spits at Coates. “I told you that he practically assaulted her and was screaming at her. That asshole deserves-.”

“That asshole,” Coates interrupts, “is calling for your head on a silver platter. He wants you arrested, Isaac.”

The room is quiet. She can’t hear either of them breathe, not even the beat of her own heart. Arrested...?

“That was, of course, conditional. Charges and arrest only if you didn’t face repercussions here. I promised you would, naturally, to get him out.” Softly, Y/N asks what he promised. “I refused to fire him without hearing the full story. I’m sure he’ll settle for two weeks suspension, starting next pay period. It being paid doesn’t need to be common knowledge. His own membership will be facing termination if he should become a problem again.”

Two weeks paid suspension doesn’t seem to strike Hessman as a bad punishment.

Jordan’s words repeat and echo in her head. Is she as bad as he had made her sound? Sure, she’d pretty much given every guest an eyeful of what she had to offer, but that was different than actually fucking them. He’s only pissed because he’d seen her with Harry; the unobtainable had been obtained. Before, she had always been a possibility, there was always hope. But her having a boyfriend, another golfer that he knew, it threw all hope out the window. Choosing someone else rather than being single was a smack in the face.

And the golf thing...it was CJ all over again. But so much worse. If there’s anything a macho toxic masculinity guy hates, it’s a woman being better than him at something. Especially when he’s sort of awful at said thing.

Really, she knows the truth. He will tell everyone what she is. Who she is. Her past records and stats will be common knowledge for the golfers at Valhalla Springs. Her titles spread across the club like treacherous mugshots. Coupled with her newly revealed relationship status, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell that she ever makes another tip.

Jordan was right.

She hates to say it, but he was. She’s done at this place.

“Are we settled?” Coates looks between she and Hessman.

Hessman nods and begins to get up from his seat. He looks down at her. “Y/N?”

She blinks, once, before training her gaze on the view behind her boss. It’s a beautiful picture, the course sprawled out to the horizon. Bright green grass, picture perfect blue sky. What a shame it is to let it go.

“I quit.”

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The fifth time he calls her, much like the past four times, it rings and rings and rings. Eventually, he is once again greeted with the dial tone and an automated message reminding him that his girlfriend does not have a voicemail set up, which means he can’t leave a message for her.

She’s late.

Never in the time that she’s been watching Georgia has she been late. She’s always early; he doesn’t leave until about 8:15, when Georgia is up and at it for the day since he wants to say goodbye to her, which means Y/N has no reason to be there before 8am. But she’s always there at 7:30.

It’s now 8:20 and she’s MIA. Worrywart that he is, his mind continues to spiral toward all the worst possible scenarios. Harry tries to tell himself that she’s probably just stuck in traffic, or overslept, or...or anything.

The idea that she’s avoiding him is needling away at the back of his mind. It pushes its way past all the logical and reasonable explanations for her tardiness and makes itself the front-runner of his options.

It’s not that far fetched of an idea, really. He hasn’t exactly heard from her since Sunday. She had texted him and told him that Hessman was taking her home from work early because she was sick. She’d chalked it over to a horrible hangover she couldn’t shake. Except yesterday, when it came time for their Monday date, she cancelled. He’d believed her when she said it felt like a stomach bug. He’d offered to drop off sick necessities, take care of her. All of which she declined because she didn��t want to pass it on to him or Georgia.

There was no reason not to believe her.

Except that he’s never known her to be ill and she would’ve sent a text or answered a call to let him know she was still too sick to watch Georgia.

The slamming of a car door pulls him out of his doubts. By the time he’s registering that it’s her, Y/N is walking into his house. Well, it’s more of a skulk but he’s too relieved to see her to analyze her movements.

She hangs her jacket up on the coatrack and toes out of her shoes. Her keys are dropped deftly into the bowl on the entry table.

“You’re late.”

She startles at his words, clutching onto the entry table. “Jesus, what the fuck? You scared the shit out of me. Why are you just standing there?”

Harry leans back against the counter. Something is different about her. He can’t exactly place it, but there’s a change. She looks the same as always, albeit a little more tired. He can pass that over to the stomach bug she’s been- supposedly- fighting the past two days. There are dark circles under her eyes and he hates to notice that her hair, which is thrown in her tell-tale twin braids, looks as if the braids have been knotted together for at least a day. Her tee shirt is wrinkled and barely tucked into her denim shorts. Her socks don’t match.

“Been waiting on you.” Harry says quietly. “You’re usually here...” he checks the time on his watch, “about an hour ago.”

Y/N mutters something under her breath that he doesn’t quite catch. She glances around the room. “Where’s Georgia?” Harry reports that she’s still in bed. Not asleep, but she refused to get up until Y/N got here. Georgia was dead-set on going golfing with her dad today. And apparently, Y/N would only help the cause. “Okay,” she says dully, “take her golfing then.”

Harry, against his better judgement, decides that her icy demeanor and overall sourness is due to her recent illness. He has no other explanation for why she is being so...unlike herself.

His Y/N is always upbeat and bright. She’s bubbly and the human equivalent of sunshine. Sure, she has her downtrodden moments just as everyone else, but they happen rarely and are so few and far between, he’s still not accustomed to them. His Y/N has a glorious fire lit inside of her that fuels her entire being and shines out through her eyes and her smile, glowing through her skin and every breath.

“I think she maybe wants you to go as well. Like last time.” Y/N blinks slowly at him. His eyes rove over her face, trying to find what exactly it is that’s making his brain think she’s not the same person he’s always seen. “The last time she went, you were with us. She talks about it all the time.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. And for a second, he thinks she’s going to smile. But she doesn’t. Her mouth turns down and her eyes frost over. “No. I’m not going.” She says the words with such raw conviction that the sentence deflates his heart. He knows she doesn’t love the sport as much as she used to- though he’s still unaware as to the why- but she’s never passed up an opportunity to show him just how good she is.

His Y/N loves to be praised. She thrives on being told that she’s good- no, not just that she’s good, she has to be told that she’s perfect. Amazing. Immaculate. Paradisiacal. Not just at golf, either. It could be simple things. When she makes the casserole that he loves so well, her cheeks will brighten and pink up, her smile angelic as he tells her what a good cook she is.

And when they’re fucking...there are a million and one things he could say that she does exactly right. How she hollows out her cheeks when she’s sucking him off and takes his cock and doesn’t even gag the slightest when it bumps against her uvula. The pretty little sounds she makes, the way she squirms when he’s fucking her with his tongue. How her mouth feels against his. The warm plushness of her skin under his hands. The way she looks at him.

He used to wonder if it was reassurance-based, but he now knows that she simply likes to be told that she’s good. She always knows she is, she just wants to hear someone else say it.

Harry pushes off the counter. He takes the necessary steps until he’s right in front of her. When he reaches out to place his hands on her shoulders, he can’t help but notice the way her face screws up in a flinch and how her shoulders stiffen. So, instead, he lets his hands fall to his sides.

He’s done something. What it is, he doesn’t know. But he’s committed some foul thing to flare up this version of her. Avoidance, anger, apathy. This stranger in front of him looks like his girlfriend but it’s not her at all.

“If it’s ‘cause you’re better than me, I don’t care. You know I don’t.” He knows that a lot of male golfers would probably hate that their girlfriend was better than them at the sport, but he’s secure enough in his identity to not be threatened by her talent. Not to mention her confidence and pure self-assurance in her perfection only makes him love her more.

“C’mon tiger,” he goads when she doesn’t say anything back, “you don’t even have to go easy on me.” Her brows cut down, but she stays silent. Movement flickers at her sides and he glances down to see that her hands are clutching at the frayed hems of her shorts. “Actually,” he tries a cheeky smile in the hopes a little flirting will improve her mood, “I like it better when you don’t go easy on me.”

A little, his heart lifts when he notices the corners of her mouth turn up in a hint of a smile.

“Harry-.”

“Y/N!”

Georgia, in all her two-year-old glory, is at the mouth of the hallway. And apparently in one of her sneaky, mischievous moods. She’’s got on an adorable terry cloth pink dress that Y/N got her earlier in the year. Her socks are mismatched and her shoes on the wrong feet. He can’t help but smile at her eagerness.

All at once, Y/N’s frosty demeanor melts away. His girlfriend has a smile that’s a mile wide and her face is bright when she turns to the toddler. She drops down to her knees and opens her arms wide to catch the little girl as she comes running in for a hug.

“Georgie! Oh my goodness, hi!” Y/N squeals as Georgia tightens her arms around her neck. They stay like that, wrapped in one another, both gushing in excitement.

Even though the swelling of his heart, at the sight of his daughter and the woman he thinks he’s in love with adoring one another, he can feel the pit in his stomach growing larger and larger. Doubt and fear are threatening to swallow him whole this very second. She’d been so coarse and closed off to him only moments ago and now, she sits in the floor with his daughter, all smiles as she tickles the toddler’s stomach and arms.

Was it...was it him? Had he, perhaps, actually done something wrong? They’ve not seen one another or really talked since Saturday night/Sunday morning. Really, Sunday morning hadn’t left much room for conversation. She had work, so he got up and made her a breakfast sandwich before taking her home to get ready and then dropping her off at the course. They hadn’t spoken much, both battling raging hangovers from Saturday-.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Saturday night. They’d both been pretty drunk. Vaguely, and extremely fuzzy, he remembers thinking of her and then of a four letter word that starts with L. Contemplating the depth of his feelings between glasses of champagne and sloppy makeout sessions.

He’s been contemplating them more the past two days, sober and clear-headed. And he knows, he does, from the deepest parts of his soul all the way to the outer layer of his skin. He’s in love with her.

But...Surely...Surely he hadn’t...Fuck, had he? Jesus, fuck, God, had he slipped up Saturday night and told her that he loved her?

Was that why she was being so distant? But if that was the case then-?

He wants to vomit. It’s rising up in him the way that Georgia’s laugh is filling the air of the room. It’s clouding his mind as Y/N lovingly pets through Georgia’s curls.

She doesn’t love him back.

“Go golf?” Georgia flattens her palm against Y/N’s cheek. “Me, you, Daddy. Go golf?”

Harry watches her face. He searches for any change of expression at the mention of him. And yes, she twitches. Twice. But when golf is said, not his title.

“Georgie...” Y/N murmurs, twirling a little curl around her index finger.

“Pwease?” Georgia bats her eyelashes and juts out her bottom lip. Her puppy dog face isn’t perfect by any stretch of the means- though he’s sure she’ll learn to fine tune it over the years- but it’s sure goddamn effective. “Wanna golf wif you an’ Daddy!”

Y/N sighs. She places her hand over the one that Georgia has on her cheek. He watches her lean into the touch, eyes staring at Georgia’s face. It’s as if she’s contemplating the biggest decision she’ll ever make. He wonders if it’s the decision to break up with him.

And if that’s the case, what she will do about the little girl?

Finally, Y/N smiles. He can tell it’s fake, but Georgia definitely can’t. “Yeah. We’ll go golfing.” With a wide grin, Georgia once again encompasses her in a hug. Instead of returning the embrace, Y/N uses her hands to cover the girl’s ears. She meets Harry’s gaze, her face dead and void of any emotion it had just shown. “I’m not fucking golfing.”

The brazen harshness at which the words are said terrify him. With his heart in his throat, he can’t even say anything back because he thinks at the end of the day, the woman he loves is going to leave him.

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A weird wash of...something has been flooding over him all day. Since the second they got to the course and he rounded Hessman up. No, no. Since Hessman made it to the cart and enveloped Y/N in what Harry could only describe as a loving embrace.

A small piece, but a piece no less, of his heart withers and falls away when her fingers clutch into the caddy’s back, almost as if she is trying to anchor herself there to that moment in time. As if leaving that spot in space is too unbearable to conceive.

Hessman must know. Harry isn’t surprised at all by that fact. The two are thick as thieves. He has no doubt that Hessman was the first person she went to with her worries about their relationship. He wonders if his caddy vouched for him, he’d like to think so. But Hessman has known Y/N longer than he’s known Harry, so maybe he thinks she should break up with him.

Needles of fear prickle away at him all morning. Is there anything he can do to remedy this? He wishes that he remembered more of Saturday night. Perhaps it wasn’t just an impromptu but also truthful declaration of his love for her that is sending her off. Maybe he did something wrong. For the life of him, he doesn’t know what.

More than anything, he wants to know why his girlfriend won’t talk to him about it, but finds unprecedented ease confiding in Hessman. If Harry himself is the issue, why can’t she tell him?

It’s deja vu. He realizes it when they make it to the Hole 7. They’re all in one cart this time, a three row having been on hand when the made tee time. Harry’s clubs on the very back, Georgia and Y/N in the second row, Hessman up front with Harry. He can sense when they share a look, when Hessman tilts his head back to meet her eye. They’re conversing with only looks and it’s driving him insane. Harry will give the caddy credit though, because every so often, he makes a vain attempt to break the silence. Which, for the record, never works.

She keeps her head down, sunglasses covering her eyes and one of Harry’s blue caps atop her head. She hadn’t bothered changing, insistent she was not going to golf. While Harry golfs, she remains in the cart with Georgia or chases the little girl around the cart. Her smile is tight, her laughter hollow and forced. And now more than earlier, he can tell that the main difference in the dullness in her eyes.

As Harry towers above the golf ball that is perched atop a tee, the span of Hole 9 looming forward, the back of his neck tingles. He’s being watched.

“You seriously haven’t told him yet?” Hessman’s whisper isn’t exactly that. It’s muted, but Harry stills hears each word loud enough to know exactly what is being said. “It’s been two days, Y/N.”

As discreetly as he can, Harry turns his head so he can look back at them. Georgia is laying across the middle seat of the cart, eyes glued to a movie on her iPad. It was a last ditch effort at Hole 8. She was getting cranky, ready to eat lunch before her midday nap, and Y/N’s nonchalant answer was to let her watch a movie on her iPad. Mostly, she’d sat in the cart with her, toddler in her lap, and the’d watched it together. But now Y/N is leaning against the front of the cart with her arms wrapped around her torso and Hessman standing next to her.

And they’re both looking at him.

Before he settles his gaze back on the golf ball, Harry sees her shake her head in response to Hessman’s question. Nor does he miss the blatant frown that Hessman gives her in return.

It’s abundantly clear that Hessman knows about whatever is bothering her. And it seems that he wants her to tell Harry. He just doesn’t know if that’s good or bad for him.

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Harry, once again, is privy to a lunch he feels he’s intruding on. It isn’t difficult to feel as such when the only companions close to his age have closed ranks with one another and one refuses to acknowledge his existence.

He has a feeling that even if he were as secure as he normally is, he would still feel like an intruder. Y/N and Hessman have cultivated an entirely unique relationship with one another where, half the time, they don’t even communicate with words. A simple look or change in body language is all they need to understand something.

He wants that with her. He wants to create their own wordless communication system. He wants to be able to read her mind and feelings based purely on the shrug of her shoulders or turn of her mouth. More than anything, he wants their relationship to thrive and prosper but he can feel it slipping through his fingers and falling away.

“Hey.” Gently, while Georgia is distracted by showing Hessman her glazed sweet potatoes, Harry clasps his hand around Y/N’s. She looks up from her club sandwich. “What’s goin’ on with you today?”

At their circular table, Harry and Y/N are seated next to each other. Hessman sits on the other side of Y/N and Georgia sits between Hessman and her father.

She shakes her head. He takes it as a good sign that she doesn’t wretch her hand from him. Rather, she twines their fingers together. “Nothing. Why?” Her heart isn’t even in the lie.

Harry squeezes his fingers around hers. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you? If we’re gonna work-,” and he wants them to work so bad that his heart is straining, he doesn’t want to lose her- “we gotta be able to talk about stuff.”

Just by the way her jaw ticks, he can tell she’s biting on the inside of her cheek. Her hand is clammy in his. Her eyes scour over his face, wide and pained. In that moment, he knows that she wants to tell him whatever it is that is resting so heavily on her shoulders.

“Tiger-.” He whispers, just for her to hear.

It happens. All in the span of two seconds. One, her mouth falls open and Harry can almost hear the words she’s about to say. He can’t place the vowels or consonants but he knows that they’ll sound heartbreaking when they spill from her lips. Her mouth is open and she’s going to talk to him, finally. And with the start of a word on her tongue, someone across the dining room laughs, and the sound forces her mouth shut.

If at all possible, her eyes widen further. It’s reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights of a car just before contact is made, car totaled and deer lifeless. What makes less sense, to Harry, is the fact that next to her, Hessman is staring straight ahead to the source of the laughter. Well, not so much the staring, but the way that his shoulders are rigid and his eyes darkened and narrowed, jaw set harshly. Georgia no longer holds his attention and his hand is gripped dangerously around his knife.

It’s almost imperceptible when Y/N snakes her other hand and wraps it around Hessman’s wrist. Her knuckles are white from the pressure she’s producing. Harry shifts his sight, needing to know what- or who- has these two acting as such.

He recognizes Jordan Clemmons and Kyrie Littrell waiting to be seated at a table. A sour taste feels his mouth at the recollection of their last encounter. The things they said about his girl. How they said them. The way they looked at her.

Jordan turns and flashes Harry a grin that he doesn’t bother returning. The bridge of his nose is covered in white medical tape, as if it’s been broken. The skin under his eyes is yellowed and purpled with fresh bruises, which further confirms the fact that his nose has recently been broken.

Harry’d like to give whoever did that a clap on the back and maybe a couple million dollars. Maybe a little, he wishes he had done that the other night.

The wide smile fades as he takes in Harry’s company. Joy hunkers down into an unreadable expression when he looks over Y/N. And when he takes in Hessman, Jordan’s face shades an uncomfortable tone of red.

Jordan nudges Kyrie and motions towards Harry’s table. They both wear funny smiles as Kyrie gestures him on. Y/N averts her gaze to her lap. Her lips are pressed firmly together, eyes glazed over and blank. Jordan weaves through the other tables, hands stuffed in the pockets of his khaki pants.

Harry can only watch the way that Hessman and Y/N stare at each other during the penultimate moments that it takes for Jordan Clemmons to reach their table. Once again, they are communicating in their silent and exclusive manner. Y/N is turned away from Harry, so his only hints come from the looks that pass over Hessman’s face. His mouth is grimaced, jaw locked tight. His eyes rove slightly to gauge Y/N’s expressions and at once, his own expression shifts and melts into what Harry can only call comfort and worry.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the dynamic duo.” Jordan Clemmons leans down in the open gap of table between Hessman and Georgia. His hands splay out on the surface, a wide sharklike smile on his face.

Georgia wraps a tiny hand around a chunk of sweet potato and holds it up to him. “’Tato!” Even when he doesn’t give her a second look, she stills offers it to him. “’Tato?” Her bright eyes shift around the table. The food falls back onto her plate.

“I can honestly say I’m surprised to see you both here.” Jordan goes on. His eyes, though he’s speaking it seems to Y/N and Hessman, never leave her face. And she’s doing her best not to look at him at all.

“They work here.” Harry reminds him.

Y/N’s head snaps up. In a quick motion, she wrenches her hands from both Hessman and Harry and slides out of her seat. “I should take Georgie to the bathroom.” She swerves behind Harry’s seat and kneels down next to Georgia’s high chair. “I don’t want-.”

“Really?” Jordan interrupts her, breaking his gaze to meet Harry’s eye. “Because I was told this morning that she quit Sunday afternoon.” He mentions something about Hessman having been suspended for two weeks, but Harry barely hears it.

Her hands fall from the straps of Georgia’s high chair that keep her buckled in.

“Y/N...? Is that true? You quit?”

Slowly, she turns to face him. Something is written all over her face. A mixture of emotions all blended into one canvas of pain. Her knees pop when she stands up straight. Usually, when they pop she makes a twitchy face from the pain, but her expression remains the same.

“Wonder what else your girlfriend’s not telling you.”

The scoot of Hessman’s chair distracts Harry. He turns at the noise, surprised to see Hessman facing off against Clemmons. The golfer is taller and broader than the caddy, but just from the look of sheer wrath on Hessman’s face, Harry believes that his caddy could beat the shit out of this guy.

Jordan grins down at him. “Try me. Your ass will be fired before you can even land a hit.” The threat to his job doesn’t seem to scare Hessman. “Why don’t you go running after the little slut? I’m sure-.”

Harry cuts him off. “Did you just call my girlfriend a slut?”

When Jordan laughs, he wants to tear out his fucking vocal cords. “You’re wasting your time with her, just like we tried to tell you. She’s nothing but a lying dirty fucking whore. It’s all a big-.”

Harry doesn’t think. The fact that his daughter is present and watching doesn’t sink in or matter. It doesn’t matter that they’re in a public place or that Hessman seems more than ready to do the deed for him. He shoulders past Hessman, knocking him out of the way.

Bone splinters beneath Harry’s fist when it connects to Jordan’s already bandaged nose. The other man howls out in pain. “That’s for calling Y/N a slut.” Harry punches him again, the hit landing against Jordan’s jaw this time. “And that’s for calling her a whore.”

Kyrie comes from nowhere, grabbing Jordan by the shoulder and hauling him away.

“Y/N-.” Harry turns to her, finding her previous space empty. Georgia is still in her high chair, mushed sweet potatoes coating her hands in orange glazed goo. Where the fuck did she go?

He’s tired of waiting around to find out what the fuck is going on with her. It seems that everyone else in the goddamn world knows what his girlfriend’s deal is except for him. Even fucking Jordan Clemmons knows and nothing pisses Harry off more. Well, the fact that the asshole just insulted his girlfriend twice to his face.

“Hessman,” Harry grabs his caddy by the elbow, “what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t-.”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, man. Please.”

Honest to God, he does not think he can spend any more time in the dark about whatever the hell is happening. Y/N is upset about something that she won’t talk about, not acting like herself, quit her job. She didn’t even tell him that she quit her job(he’s just going to assume that she hasn’t actually been sick the past two days). Hessman obviously knows what’s going on and seems like he wants her to tell Harry. And Jordan...he’s involved too. Something has happened between these three people, something bad enough that no one will directly say what it was.

Hessman sighs quietly. “I-I’m sorry, Harry.” He’s gotta be fucking kidding. “I made her a promise. I swore I wouldn’t say anything. She’ll tell you, when she’s ready. She wants to.” Harry says that he really doubts that. “It’s just...it’s hard for her.”

He knows that. But it’s hard for him too. He hates to see her so obviously in pain and suffering and there be nothing he can do because he doesn’t have an inkling of a clue as to what has happened. All he wants is to help her and be there for her, but he doesn’t know how.

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. “If she’s gonna break up with me, I’d rather her just-.”

“Break up with you?” Hessman guffaws out. His outrageous laugh is reminiscent to glass shattering in a silent room. “Are you being serious right now?” Harry shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know anymore. “Look, if I’m being totally straight, your relationship is like, one of the last really good things she’s holding on to. She cares about you, dude, a lot. Just...just give her some time, but not space. She needs you, more than she’s gonna show. Trust me.”

There’s no way Harry won’t trust him. Hessman knows Y/N, apparently and evidently, better than everyone else. He’s her best friend and Harry would be stupid to let his advice fall on deaf ears.

“I’ll take Georgia and get her cleaned up.” Hessman offers. “Y/N’s probably in the break room. Why don’t you go check on her?”

Harry nods. He leans down and runs his hands through Georgia’s hair. He apologizes for being mean to someone in front of her before explaining that Hessman is gonna watch her for a few minutes while Daddy goes to get Y/N. He leaves them as Hessman is unbuckling her from the high chair.

As he walks through the inside of the country club, he tries to remember the way to the break room from the dining room. Through the glass walls of the front of the building, he can see Jordan and Kyrie in the parking lot engaged in what appears to be a heated argument.

“Hey.”

He recognizes the cart girl as Desi. Sometimes she works with Y/N. He thinks they hang out sometimes outside of work. A few feet away is the employee break room.

“Desi, hi.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. He sort of wants to ask if she knows where Y/N is but last time, she said she couldn’t tell him.

“You’re Y/N’s boyfriend, right?” She asks. He nods his head. “You punched Jordan Clemmons. Just now.” Another nod yes. “Good for you. He’s such a fucking prick. Honestly, Coates should’ve given Hessman a raise for what he did the other day, not suspended him.”

Harry can only stare blankly. He’s got no clue what she’s talking about.

“Anyway,” Desi glances around the room, “she’s in the break room if you’re looking for her. Technically, non-employees aren’t allowed in there, but it’s a better place to cry than the bathroom.”

“...Thanks.”

She smiles softly and pats his shoulder as they continue past each other. He crosses the space to the break room and hesitates as his hand wraps around the knob. He should at least give her a warning

He raps his knuckles against the wood gently. “Tiger, you in there?”

He hears the sniffle of her nose. “Uh, just a sec.”

“M’comin’ in.” He pushes the door open and slides inside before closing it shut softly. “Tiger...”

Her back is turned, hands braced flat on the table. Her shoulders are hunched over, as if she’s trying to curve her body around the table. Though muffled, he can still make out the quieted sounds of her choked cries.

“What’s goin’ on?” He asks carefully. Almost too promptly, she replies that her allergies are acting up. Harry grimaces. “Meant with you.”

“What do you mean?” She still doesn’t turn around to look at him.

“I know something happened Sunday. I dunno what and I’m not...I’m not mad at you, you need to know that. I just...I just wish you could tell me.” Harry walks slowly across the room, stopping every two or three steps in case she moves. “I wish you’d felt like you could tell me two days ago. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about anything because you can.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, holding his breath for sudden moves. Her body relaxes under his touch, tension dissolving. “I lo-I’m here for you, baby, I’m always here for you.” Harry pulls lovingly, spinning her around to face him.

Her eyes are watery and red, under-eyes puffy. Her face is splotchy and dewed from drying tears. The back of her hand swipes over her cheek and she sniffles quietly.

“I’m just being stupid.” She croaks out. “It’s not a big deal.”

Even though he wants to say that he knows that-whatever it is- is actually a very big deal and that she’s not being stupid, he remains silent. Hessman’s words echo in his mind. She’ll tell him when she’s ready. She needs time, not space.

As her arms fold around him and she buries her tear-stricken face in the crook of his neck, Harry resolves to not bringing it up again until she does.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Personally,” Y/N slugs back a large gulp of wine, “I think that cavity-backs are pussy clubs.”

It’s the lightest she’s felt all day. Really, since Saturday morning. Enough alcohol does that to a person. It can swallow up all the worry and fear and take the bad feelings away, leaving only the good stuff. Right now, she needs only the good stuff.

Her life has been a cluster-fuck of chaos since Sunday and all she wants is to feel like herself again. Her main source of income is gone. Three years down the drain. Poof. All that’s left to show for it are a few dozen skimpy outfits and a pair of pristinely white sneakers.

Working at Valhalla Springs was never meant to be longterm anyway. But as soon as she’d started there and met Hessman, the job pretty much molded into her life and leaving felt...wrong. She’s sure there’s something she could do with her Communications degree. Her brain is a little tipsy from all the wine but she tries to think back on all the selling points the Comms Department used to throw out.

Event planning? Ick. PR Specialist? Double ick. HR? Triple fucking ick.

God, what the fuck is she supposed to do? The Comms thing was just like, a degree. She never actually planned on having to use it. Pro golf had been the plan back then. The degree was a backup.

It’s not like she’s going to babysit Georgia forever. And even the one day a week wouldn’t be enough to sustain her. Eventually, babysitting won’t be the gig anymore. Either her relationship with Harry will grow serious enough that getting paid for watching his daughter will become an obsolete and ridiculous notion or they’ll break up and-.

No, no, that’s the last thing she wants to think of.

“You’re only saying that because you’ve never needed one. Some of us,” Harry jabs his thumb into his chest, “need all the help we can get.”

She shrugs and says it isn’t her fault she was born good at golf and that everyone else simply lacked what came naturally to her. “I can’t help that I’m good at it.” Y/N takes another long sip of wine.

The first bottle is already gone and they’re half through the second one. After the debacle at the course, Harry arranged for Georgia to stay with a friend from her Montessori school for the rest of the day and the night. He dropped Y/N off at his house and left to take Georgia. He came back two hours later with several canvas bags.

He never once brought up what happened or asked her to talk about. Not when he ran a scalding hot bath and put in her favorite scents and bubbles. Or when he helped her undress and slid into the tub with her. They sat in silence until the water went cold, his chest against her back and his arms embraced around her waist and his cheek on her shoulder. Sometimes, he would hum tunes of his songs against her skin but he never sang out loud.

He made her favorite meal for dinner and put on her favorite movie. They ate in the living room while it played on the tv and a word never passed between them. If it hadn’t been so comforting and relaxing, it would have been weird. But Harry made the silence welcoming. It was like he was saying that he was there and he cared without having to actually say the words. And it was almost like he knew that talking about anything else other than what was going on would be too difficult and he didn’t want to put either of them through it.

Every time he’s squeezed his hand around hers or brushed his lips against her cheek, she kind of wants to tell him that she loves him. Now just isn’t the time.

If she can’t tell him about Jordan Clemmons, she can’t tell him that she loves him. After, she’ll tell him.

“Know what else you’re good at?” The question is suggestive at best. And the funny thing is, he isn’t even giving her the look. Harry’s a bit more drunk than her- most of the first wine bottle having been put in his glass.

“What?” She laughs when his fingers squeeze the inside of her knee and he pulls her closer. “Tell me.”

He uses his other hand to grab the wine bottle. He brings the mouth to his lips and doesn’t break eye contact as he takes several gulps. Beads of red wine dribble down his chin and he lets them roll down his throat as he drinks. He breaks with a long sigh and puts the bottle back on the nightstand.

“Bein’ the prettiest girl in the world.”

The compliment is airy and his boyish grin has butterflies catapulting in her stomach.

She shakes her head. Leaning closer to him, she wipes the excess wine from his chin and throat. Harry tilts his head down, his tongue swiping across the back of her hand. He kisses the same place and his hand curls around her wrist. He presses his lips to the inside of her wrist and slowly begins to pepper kisses up her arm.

“Harry,” she wriggles on top of the duvet, “you’re drunk.”

His eyes flick up to her face as he sucks a spot on the inside of her elbow. “So?”

“So,” she pulls her arm away, “I’m not. Which means we are not having sex.”

His bottom lip juts out in a pout. He pummels forward, arms heavy as they encompass over her shoulders and pull their bodies closer. The combined weight sends them both falling on their sides against the plush bed and Harry snuggles his face into her neck.

His nose nudges up against the plane of her jawline. Y/N runs her fingers through the soft curls of his hair and he moans out against her throat.

“I really like you, Y/N. A lot. I care about you a lot.” The words are mumbled into her skin. “I feel like m’gonna puke up butterflies all the time when you’re around. I dream about you most nights and when I don’t, I wish I had. Never felt this way about someone before. It scares the fuck outta me. I don’t wanna lose you.”

Harry’s fingers pressurize into her lower back and shoulder, legs tangling with hers amidst the duvet. His breath is warm and damp on her collarbone. The space behind her ear. The hollow of her throat. He isn’t even really kissing her, just mouthing over her skin. Ultimately, she thinks that’s hotter and if she were a little more drunk or he was a little more sober...

“Ya know, I wanted to ask you out a long time ago.” He admits quietly. He pulls away, far enough that they’re properly looking each other in the eyes. “Like, the first time we met, basically.”

Y/N’s face goes warm. He’d wanted her just as long as she’d wanted him. Something about that feels cosmic. “Really?”

He nods, grinning at her. “Only waited so long ‘cause you’re so much younger. Didn’t want you to think I was some creepy perv.”

The eight year difference between them doesn’t seem like so wide a gap. He’s older, sure, and has his life all put together and figured out. Not to mention he’s a single father. Even the status gap between them, his previous life of a famous musician, is never a problem. She doesn’t put much stock in thinks like fate, but it’s hard not to when it comes to Harry.

“You’re not a creepy perv.” She promises him. “And I wouldn’t have thought that back then either. I had a crush on you the second I laid eyes on you. I was dying for you to make a move.”

His eyes light up. They’re a beautiful and hazing shade of green that always throws her off kilter for a few seconds. No one has eyes that pretty, they just don’t. Nothing about him ever feels real. His entire existence and presence in her life is like one big dream. And she’s ready to stab the person who tries to wake her up.

Harry leans over and presses his mouth to hers. It’s one of those kisses that’s pretty much over the second it starts but it’s enough to send tingling sparks down to her toes. The tip of his nose bumps against hers.

“I wish you could talk to me.” He mumbles.

Already, she knows where this is going. Sober Harry was restrained enough to let it be until she caved. Drunk Harry, it seems, is not. The pads of her fingers slide up and down his face in invisible and random patterns. “I am talking to you.”

He groans and shakes his head. “Somethin’s botherin’ you. Has been for a couple days. You’re weird and quiet and your smile is wrong and-.”

“My smile is wrong?”

“Yeah,” he says, “doesn’t reach your eyes like normal. You looked sad all day. And at the club-,” his words are broken by a wine-scented hiccup, “-you and Hessman got all weird when Jordan showed up. You quit your job and didn’t even tell me.”

She looks away from him. She can’t stand the gullible, broken-heart, puppy-dog look he isn’t meaning to give. She trains her eyes on the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan circulate in their forced pattern. The knot in her stomach is slowly clawing its way up to her throat. If she doesn’t say it tonight, she never may. But that means telling him about Jordan first.

“I don’t wanna push. M’sorry if it feels like I am, I jus’ want you to know that you can always trust me. Tell me anything, even if you’re scared it’s going to hurt me. I love you and I will no matter what happened.”

I love you.

He just...He just said that. He just told her that he loves her.

Y/N turns toward him. His eyes are closed and he’s humming a soft tune. His breath is coated in the smell of wine and his skin is the same flushed shade of pink it always is when he’s drunk. Odds are, he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.

She sighs softly. Here goes fucking nothing. “Harry. You’re not gonna remember any of this tomorrow, are you?”

“Tiger baby.” Eyes still closed, he’s got a small smile on his lips when he addresses her. “Probably not.”

She looks away, back to the ceiling. Squints her eyes shut and tries to remove her presence from the memory. She doesn’t want to stutter. She doesn’t want to cry or even get choked up. She wants to tell him and move on.

“Jordan is the reason I quit the course on Sunday.”

She has a sinking feeling that he’s staring at her. “What do you mean?” He whispers.

Y/N tucks her hands under her thighs. Looking back, and she’s tried hard not to the past couple days, it all burns more. In hindsight, it hurts worse. If hindsight is 20/20, she must have been goddam blind as a bat Sunday. “He was at the course. I offered him a drink. He followed me to the cart. I-I think he touched me but I’m not really sure. He grabbed me and he tried to kiss me.” The sharp intake of his breath is enough to make her nauseous. “I said no. I mean, I rejected him, I did. And he started saying all these things. He called me a lying little whore. A tease. A slut. He practically said I was a prostitute and then he brought you into it and-.” She ends the sentence there when her throat begins to burn. She coughs to try and hide the sob that is fighting tooth and nail to break free. “A-and-and he said if I was fucking you, I might as well fuck every other guy who golfs there.”

She untangles herself from him and sits up. She cradles her knees to her chest, burying her face in a wedged gap between her kneecaps. The bed shifts and then Harry’s hand is on her back. It never moves, his palm is simply pressed flat against the middle of her back.

Her tears are blinked from her eyes and have no place to go but on the bed. Some make different paths and wet her knees, rolling down her legs.

“Hessman...?” He asks quietly.

“He was caddying for Jordan. He heard everything, saw it.” She mutters. “When he tried to shut him up, Jordan told him not to waste his breath on a little cunt like me. Isaac broke his nose. He almost got fired. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to do something stupid and-.”

“I punched him.” Harry cuts her off.

She looks back at him. He’s on his knees next to her, hand still on her back. “What?”

He blinks once. “Jordan Clemmons. I punched him earlier. Twice. He called you a slut and a whore. Right in front of me. I should’ve fuckin’ killed him. I should’ve-.”

Y/N twists around. She grabs his shoulders. “No, no. It’s...he isn’t worth it. It’s...it’s fine.”

Harry frowns at her. “It’s not goddamn fine, Y/N. He was trying to fucking assault you. And you had to lose your job over it.”

She shrugs. Even though she really liked her job, it was over. It was time for greener pastures, or whatever. “He would’ve told everyone. I never would’ve made another cent in tips.”

“Wait. Huh?” He asks. “You wouldn’t have been tipped because you refused to let some jackass kiss you? How does that work?”

Her hands fall from his shoulders. “It’s not just that, Harry. He saw me and Hessman at the gala Saturday. We always go out on the range and swing around. Jordan saw me. I never missed a ball. He realized I’ve been faking everything for three years for tips. I didn’t let him kiss me and now everyone who’s ever met me at that course is going to know about me. I quit because I knew I’d never get anything else.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long while. He sits on his knees and he stares at her face. His expression never changes. “He’s insecure because you’re better than him at golf.”

She nods once. It’s a sad fact that she’s had to grow up with. Lots of men did not like when women performed their sport better than them. Golfing seemed to carry the brunt of toxic masculinity. She’s spent her life weeding out men who were threatened because she was better than they were. Jordan Clemmons was Carlton Chase dialed to fucking one hundred.

That’s one of the things she likes so well about Harry. He isn’t threatened by the fact that she’s better at golf than he is. In fact, he kind of relishes in it. He likes getting his ass handed to him and he likes telling her how good she is. Atta girl, tiger. That’s my baby. Such a good girl.

“Right.” Y/N agrees. “He sucks at golf and I had to quit my job because he can’t handle a girl being better than him.”

Harry shakes his head and says something about guys being stupid. He kisses her forehead. “You’re perfect, Y/N. I wouldn’t change anything about you, ‘specially not your golfing. You’re brilliant and you’re wonderful. And I’m the absolute luckiest guy in the goddamn world. You shouldn’t ever feel bad for being better than someone at something.”

He digs his chin into her shoulder, arms snaking around her waist and holding her flush to him. The world feels so much fucking lighter now that it’s off her chest.

I don’t wanna lose you. I love you.

His words swirl around in her brain like cotton candy in a floss machine. However drunk he was when he said it, she knows he meant it. He isn’t in the habit of saying things he doesn’t mean. He probably won’t remember saying it in the morning. And he probably won’t remember her telling him about Jordan either. Which means...

“Harry?” He hums in response when she whispers his name into his cheek. “I love you too.”

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For the first time in three days, when Y/N wakes up, she doesn’t feel like absolute ass.

She isn’t hungover. The hurt from being insulted and quitting her job isn’t looming over her. The fear and worry and doubt of facing her boyfriend and trying to tell him about quitting her job and the reason for it are not present. It’s a new day. She told Harry everything, even if he probably won’t remember it when he wakes up.

He’s asleep next to her, face buried in her hair and his arm and legs wrapped around her like vines. His skin is warm against hers and his breaths are even and quiet. She likes that he doesn’t snore.

She’s careful when she gets out of bed. She doesn’t want to wake him. He’s been such an angel the past couple days- especially yesterday, he deserves a little extra sleep. She shrugs on his discarded shirt from last night and swipes a pair of socks from his dresser. After brushing her teeth, she tiptoes down to the kitchen.

He also deserves a nice breakfast in bed, she thinks.

Harry’s not really like her in the fact that his kitchen is always fully stocked. He goes grocery shopping like it’s his favorite thing to do. There’s always a grocery list stuck to the fridge, which she thinks is kind of pointless considering he will make a trip to the store if he has three eggs left and he’ll come back with several bags of stuff.

He likes his eggs over medium, seasoned with a tad of paprika, and on buttered toast that’s slightly burnt. He isn’t a big fan of orange juice and only buys milk for Georgia, so Y/N puts a pot of coffee on while she’s waiting for the stove to heat up.

Four eggs and two pieces of toast. She gets the butter out to soften up after sticking two pieces of bread in the toaster oven. She cracks four eggs in a bowl and whips them together with a fork. She sprinkles in a bit of paprika and and mixes again before pouring them in a pan on the stove.

Thankfully, it all finishes up around the same time. She grabs a plate, tossing the two pieces of toast on. Slathers them up with butter before evenly piling the scrambled eggs on top. She makes his cup of coffee- two sugar and a touch of milk. Puts everything on a tray.

Y/N smiles to herself, satisfied. Yes, she can be a little domestic on days that aren’t Tuesday. She’s careful going back up the stairs so she doesn’t spill anything or trip. She toes the bedroom door back open.

Harry is still peacefully asleep in bed. The cover is tangled around his legs, chest bare and exposed to the air. Dark inked tattoos and soft-defined muscle decorate his torso and arms. His hair is a mess of dark brown curls over his face and pillow. He looks like an angel.

Hell, he really is one.

She pads over to the side of the bed that he’s on. “Harry,” she coos softly, “baby, wake up.”

It’s like watching a painting come to life. He blinks awake slowly, a little the way Georgia does when she wakes up from a longer than usual nap. His fists rub against his eyes and he looks up at her.

“Love wakin’ up to your pretty face.” His smile is sleepy, voice drowsy and hoarse. “G’mornin’ gorgeous. Wha’s tha?” He pulls himself up into sitting position and peers at the tray.

“Made you breakfast in bed.” She passes the tray off to him and helps him sit it in his lap. “Eggs-with paprika- on buttered toast and some coffee. Two sugar and a little milk. Just how you like it.”

Harry eyes her carefully. He lifts up a piece of toast and takes a hearty bite. His moan reverberates and shivers down her spine. His words are muffled when he says it tastes good as shit. But still, he puts the tray on his nightstand after he swallows.

“What’s-?”

Her question is spliced apart when Harry grabs her by the backs of her thighs and pulls her into bed on top of him. She straddles his waist, hands on his chest. His fingers rub against her bare thighs. “As much as I love eggs on toast and coffee, when I think about you and breakfast in bed...tiger, you’re the breakfast.”

She’s already tugging her shirt off. “I think I can figure something out.”

His mouth latches onto her shoulder and his hands are squeezing into her thighs, her waist, her ass. He raises his ass up off the bed for her to shimmy his underwear down and off. Already, he’s sporting a major morning wood. As his fingers inch up and under her panties, she recalls his words from last night.

I dream about you.

“You dream about me last night?” She whispers, two of his fingers sinking up into the dampening folds of her pussy. “That why you’re so hard?” She furls her hand around his cock, slowly pumping up and down.

A breath hisses out between his teeth. “Y-yeah.”

Y/N grins. “Tell me about it.” His fingers scissor apart inside her and he smiles back at her, knowing exactly what she wants.

It’s dirty, raunchy really, but she loves to listen to him describe how he wants to fuck her. He possesses an uncanny ability to string words together and paint a picture in her head that almost feels like the real thing. Mostly, it happens over phone sex on FaceTime; they will be in their respective beds, phones propped up and Harry with his sugary voice will be saying the filthiest of things. He’ll slowly be working his hand over his dick as he describes just how hard he’d be railing into her if they were together. Exactly how he’d hold her, perfectly recalling the way her cunt would taste on his tongue and how fuckin’ good she feels around him. All while watching her fuck herself on her fingers.

“Filthy girl.” He clucks his tongue. “Jus’ lemme show you.” Harry offers. There’s no chance to accept it before his fingers are gone and he’s ripping her panties off her hips. The flimsy material falls away on the bed.

He hoists her up off his lap and lays her back against the bed. Slowly, like a lion in a nature documentary she saw once, he gets on his knees and crawls to her. He mouths hot breaths from her ankle all the way up to her kneecap and the inside of her thigh. He palms at her tits as he licks a single stripe through her folds.

“You’re my favorite meal.” He admits. “Could do this with you forever. All of it. Not jus’ the fucking.”

“Yeah?” She props herself up on her elbows. “I could do this with you forever too.”

As if the mood is totally shifted and different, he kisses right next to her bellybutton. His eyes flash when he looks at her and then his face is buried in her pussy. He twists and pinches her nipples between his fingers, tongue mercilessly fucking into her. His teeth graze at her clit.

Her emotions are a wreck. Everything is out of whack from the past few days. Every small touch from him sends waves of need and desire through her core. It isn’t going to take much to bring an orgasm out of her.

“F-fuck-Harry-Harry-stop. Stop.”

He freezes. When he pulls away, the lower part of his face is slick with her juices and his own spit.

“What? What’s wrong? What’d I-?”

“I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

She likes that he never needs any sort of elaboration. She likes that he never has to be told or asked something twice. He simply...does.

Harry hooks her legs around his waist and lifts her pelvis off the bed. “Wan’ me to fuck ya?” She nods, twisting her fingers into the covers.

One of her favorite feelings in the world is when he first eases into her. He always goes so slow and gently at first. He takes his time in the beginning, eyes cinched shut and his mouth on hers. He likes kissing her when he pushes his cock into her and she likes feeling his moans in her mouth.

She relishes in it while it happens, a physical knot undoing in her stomach.

“Hi, baby.” He leans over her, hips rocking gently into hers. Each movement sends a rush to her core as he, over and over again, hits that savory spot. He pushes hair from her face, smiling softly down at her.

“Hi, handsome. How’d I taste this morning?”

His hand curls around her neck and he lifts her head up. “Same as always. Like heaven. Wanna taste?” Yes, she breathes. “Open up.” His finger taps against her bottom lip.

Like his good girl, because she has to be, because she wants to always be his good girl, she pops her mouth open on his command. Her tummy flutters when he breathes out that she is, in fact, his good girl. There is no other warning before he spits into her mouth and pushes her lips closed.

She swallows, discerning the taste of her wetness from his spit. Harry is looking down at her expectantly, as if waiting for some revelation. She meets his hips rhythm for rhythm and leans up further to seal their mouths together. His mouth retains more of her than his spit, the taste more prominent.

“Fuck-oh,” he leans back to kneel on the bed, pulling her up into his lap as he continues to fuck into her. “love fuckin’ you. S’like you were made for me and I was made for you.” He breathes, burying his face in her clavicle.

Hands on his shoulders, she stills his movements. Y/N takes over with her own rhythm, gyrating her hips down on him. She hooks an arm around his shoulders, resting her forehead against his. He takes her by surprise when he juts up quickly, once, and his dick hits an untouched spot.

“Holy-Jesus-fuck, daddy.”

No. No. She did not...She did not just-.

“Y/N.” Harry says lowly. “Did you just call me daddy?” He stills both their movements. His hands sit clutched into the supple flesh of her waist, fingers anchoring into her lower back.

If she could shrivel up and turn to dust, she would. She can’t believe she just fucking said that. She’s going to die of mortification. Why the fuck had she said that? And she can’t even come up with a good explanation, there’s no explanation at all. At this point, she can’t remember if she’d been thinking it or not. But she sure as shit said it.

All she wants to do is climb off his lap and hide and never show her face again. This is more embarrassing than being screamed at by Jordan Clemmons in the middle of the golf course.

“Harry, I’m so sorry, oh my God, it was an accident. I didn’t-.”

“Say it again.”

What. The. Fuck?

She blinks down at him. “Huh?”

“Say it again.” He repeats. His face never changes, his gaze never averts from hers. His hand slides down her waist and around to the front of her thighs. The pads of his fingers brush over her pelvic bone and down the front of her crotch. With his other hand he grips the back of her neck, digging his fingers into her hair. “C’mon, tiger.” He coaxes in a coarse voice as his thumb circles against her clit.

Her eyes flutter shut, head lolling back as he continues to rub patterns on the most sensitive part of her. He, however, does not pick back up the movements of his hips; his cock remains deep inside her, filling her with its thick presence. Every time she tries to relieve the pressure by moving her own hips, he hisses out a stop and squeezes his hand around the back of her neck.

Harry’s tongue licks up the column of her throat. Across her jawline until his teeth nip at her earlobe. “Are you my good girl?”

Now how the fuck is she supposed to form a single cohesive thought-let alone a sentence!- when he’s acting like this?

He nips again at her earlobe before suckling his mouth at the spot of her neck behind her earlobe. He rakes his fingers up through her hair. His thumb- that goddamn fucking thumb- presses against her clit before he slowly, slightly rocks his hips upward.

Just that simple movement is enough to send a tingle to her toes and have her keening against him in vain effort. He’s being so mean for no good reason.

“Answer me, Y/N.”

“Y-yes.” The word is comes out choppy and choked but it’s the best she can do. She feels like she’s going to combust any second from the tension building in her core.

She can feel his grin in her skin. “Yes what?”

She screws her eyes shut tighter. She’s so so fucking close she can practically taste her own release on the tip of her tongue.

“Look at me.” He orders. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

There’s something in his tone that makes disobeying sound like a very bad idea.

Y/N reclines her head back and opens her eyes. Harry is staring at her so hard he must be trying to see inside to her soul. “Yes,” the word is strained at best, “I’m your good girl.”

“Damn fucking right you are.” Again, he barely rocks his hips, hardly providing any relief at all. It’s enough and not even close at the same time. She wants to-no, needs to cum so badly that her head is going fuzzy. And Harry is playing some sick game with her, like he knows when she’s about to cum because everything she starts to teeter over the edge, he either stops or slows down the ministrations of his thumb to a point of insignificance. “You need to cum, don’t you, baby?”

All she can do is whimper out a pathetic sounding, “Please.”

Thoughtfully, Harry hums. As if he feels bad that she hasn’t orgasmed yet. As if it isn’t his doing that it’s being withheld from her. “I’ll tell ya what.” A tiny sound passes through her lips, a wordless beg for him to go on and get to the point. “I’ll let you cum if you call me daddy again. How does-?”

“Fuck me, daddy.”

Harry, when he wants, can throw all niceties out the window. For the most part, sex with him is passionate and loving and, at times, a little lazy. But other times, he can flip like a light switch and become a totally different kind of lover.

It’s sort of terrifying. In the best possible way.

Y/N’s head goes thick with haze. He’s made her body, in his deranged way, hypersensitive to everything. More than usual, she can feel the thick layer of sweat that has been permeating on her body, mixing in with Harry’s own sweat and creating a distinct mixture of their scents and the smell of their sex. It might be her favorite scent ever. She can feel the sharp puncture of his hip bones against hers; the achingly delicious junction of the sweet place his cock rams into with each loaded thrust. His spit dribbling down her throat as he messily holds his mouth to her skin in a limbo place between kissing and suckling. God, she thinks she can feel the vibrations of his moans deep in her chest.

And, more than anything, she can feel the impending tsunami of her orgasm rising and rising each time he pulls out and slams back into her.

“Harry-oh God-fuck-!”

Her legs instinctively tighten, knees constricting around his waist. At the same time, she’s trying to push herself further down on him to make sure he’s as far inside her as he can be. He buries his face in the valley between her tits, sloppy open mouthed kisses smearing his spit across her chest.

“Tha’s right, baby.” He does’t cease his rapid and harsh thrusts. If anything, he picks up speed. “Be my good girl and make a mess all over my cock. Wan’ me to cum in your cunt, huh? Wan’ me to paint your pretty pussy?”

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

“Please.” She whine. Harry squeezes his hand around her throat. “Please, Daddy. Cum in me. I want-I want you too.”

She does. God, she fuckin’ does. Maybe she never wants to exist again without him inside her. This could be how it always will be. The two of them wrapped in each other, passionate and senseless and totally absorbed in one another.

Harry kisses her on the mouth, teeth chinking into hers and his tongue smushing into hers, his blunt fingernails digging into her skin. Her core cinches at the moan he elicits in her mouth and then she’s coming undone.

Her vision shines white and gold and she pinches her eyes closed, locking her limbs around him. Harry never stops moving, insistent on fucking her through the tidal wave of shaking bliss that is coursing through her.

“Tha’s it, tiger. So good, baby, so fuckin’ good.” His voice hitches up, splintering his words in differing octaves. His hips stutter, “God-I’m-.”

“Don’t stop.” Y/N begs out in a quiet cry.

She doesn’t think he can control the erratic snapping of his hips anymore. His own release is too close to hers. He grunts her name in her mouth, groaning out as he reaches his climax and she feels the warmth of it saturating her insides.

Harry’s chest heaves against hers and he rests his forehead against her shoulder. “Tiger.” He breathes out her name. “Gotta tell you something.”

She peeks her eyes open to look at him. His face is dewy with sweat. Still hard inside her, he makes no move to change their current position. “...Okay...”

He nuzzles his nose against her clavicle. His sigh is a push of cold air on her heated skin. “I remember.” He says simply. “Last night. I didn’t wanna say anything earlier but I don’t wanna pretend either and feel like I’m lying. I remember what you told me. About Jordan.”

Her breath catches in her throat. Truthfully she’s a little glad that she isn’t going to have to repeat it again at a later date. Sure, she had only told him last night because she was sure he wouldn’t remember but she’s honestly thankful that he does. It’s better this way.

“Oh. Um, okay. Good. That’s, uh, that’s good.” Her tongue is heavy in her mouth and she feels clammy all over.

“I remember what I said to you too.” He adds. “Everything I said.”

Everything he...What did he say? Everyth-. Oh. Oh shit. I love you. Goddamn it. He told her he loved her last night. Fuck. She said it back. And he remembers. Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

“Oh.” She can’t really think of anything else to say.

Harry pulls his head back and peers at her. He swipes sweaty hairs from her forehead and cups her jaw. “I meant it. I know it’s maybe early to say and it probably scares you but I think it should be said as soon as you feel it because life’s too short and-.”

“Harry-.” She tries to interrupt but he keeps going.

“-if you just said it back because you felt like you had to-.”

No. No. “Harry, please listen to-.”

“-that’s fine, I get it. Say it when you’re ready but I want you to know that-.”

Y/N makes a noise in her throat. Fed up and not sure what else to do, she leans forward and kisses him. One of his arms wraps around her waist and pulls her closer. Inside her, his cock is beginning to soften but she can feel it throbbing as he kisses her back. His teeth graze against her bottom lip before she pulls away.

“What was that for?” He whispers.

“To shut you up.” She says bluntly. An indignant noise comes from his throat and he looks like he’s going to say something but she shushes him. “Harry, if you’d shut the hell up for five seconds, I could tell you that I meant it too.”

“You-you meant it?”

She smiles, taking his face in her hands. “Yes, you doofus. I love you.”

Harry turns his face in her hands, kissing both her palms. He’s grinning like an idiot when he presses his mouth to hers and mumbles, “I love you too, tiger.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #Smut #golf!harry #golfrry #golf!dilf!Harry x babysitter!Y/N #harry styles x y/n #slight angst #boyfriend!harry #dad!harry #older!harry #spit play #cockwarming #daddy k!nk #edging

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

Note

milking the grip series is so good!!! can't wait for the next one!

Thank you!!! Currently in the process of writing it now :)

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

Text

Mulligans

Pairing: Golf!Dilf!Harry Styles x Babysitter!Y/N

Summary: Sequel to Milking the Grip and Match Play

“In golf, a ‘mulligan’ is a chance for a player to redo a shot by their opponent. A mulligan will not count as an extra stroke. As they aren’t allowed in competition, mulligans are most often seen in casual play.” ; Y/N meets Harry’s family; Valhalla Springs hosts their annual charity gala and employees are allowed to attend for the first time;

Warnings: SMUT (you guys are used to it for this by now, right?), unprotected sex- wrap it up folks!, language, drinking, protective!Harry, praise kink, slight gag kink,

Read part i and part ii

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Once the first date was out of the way, the next few came rapidly. They were regular. She and Harry had standing dates, twice a week, every week. Mondays at...whenever and Fridays at nine when she got off work. He’d always be waiting at her house at 9:15, Range Rover still running on the curb while he sat on the front steps of her rental house, usually with a half dozen flowers. He’d wait on the porch while she rushed to change and then they’d find a food joint open late and stay ‘til closing.

They could talk about anything and everything under the sun. She was never afraid to say the first thing that came to mind. Harry was a good listener and he always seemed to know if she just needed him to listen or to actually come up with a resolution to whatever she was ranting about. He liked to talk about his family; he spoke highly of his mom and sister. He told bad jokes. He didn’t like ketchup or mayo, just like her.

Once, he brought up Georgia’s mom. It was in passing and she never said anything to suggest elaboration. All he’d said was that she had left and apparently had no qualms about leaving an infant daughter behind. But when he laughed after, it sounded a little choked to her.

And they’d never really spoken about her family. She doesn’t like to talk about them and Harry’s been kind enough so far to not broach the topic.

A month later, after their ninth date, Harry stood in front of her door and kissed her cheek goodnight, just like always. His mouth had kind of opened and closed like that of a fish trying to breathe out of water. She kept waiting for him to say whatever it was that was so evidently on his mind, but he never did. He kissed her cheek again, touched her face softly, and started to back away. Y/N stood with her front door open, a frown on her face as he walked to his car with his hands shoved in his pockets. She kind of wanted to ask what was on his mind, but knew he’d say something when he was ready.

She was about to step inside when he called her name. He said her name a lot and each time it sent an army of swooping butterflies from her stomach to her chest. She’d heard him say her name in a soft whisper when he said goodbye; or moaning it out when they snuck a quick fuck in his laundry room, or his car in the parking lot of a restaurant, or the linen closet at the club, or-well, you get it.

Something about this time felt different. Almost like he was trying to get something out before he forgot or lost the courage.

When she turned, his hands were no longer in his pockets but fidgeting at his sides. “Harry-?”

“Be my girlfriend.”

She didn’t think she’d ever said yes to anything else so quick.

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They’ve officially been dating for two weeks. Seeing each other for a little over a month and a half. When Harry called her last night and asked if she was okay to meet his mom and sister, she had panicked.

Sure, she’d met them before but that was forever ago and just as Georgia’s babysitter. It had been in passing, really quick and kind of a blur. She remembers thinking that something was definitely going right in their gene pool because both of the women were absolutely gorgeous. They’d come in for a week visit and Y/N had left her wallet at Harry’s the day before. Vividly, she does remember being mistaken for his girlfriend because she’d just walked right into the house, no knocking, no doorbell. But hell, she had a key.

His mom, Anne, had made both of them blush as she went on about being appalled that he hadn’t mentioned he was seeing someone. Gemma, his sister, teased him about managing to land such a pretty girl. A bit too loudly, Y/N had stated that she was Georgia’s babysitter. His family had fallen silent and Harry had stared at her for a long time before handing her wallet over.

Things are different now. They were actually dating. That puts a lot of pressure on her. Two of the three most important women in his life are his mother and his sister.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” Harry reaches across the center console of his car and grabs her hand. He’d offered to pick her up from her house when she was perfectly fine to drive herself. If she drove alone, she had plenty of time to freak out by herself. But ever the gentleman, he’d already been on his way when he called to offer to drive her.

He’s right, she knows that. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. She’s met them before and they’re just having a super low-key lunch at Harry’s house. Georgia wouldn’t even be there. She’s at a playdate with a girl from her preschool.

Y/N looks over at him, thumbnail wedged between her teeth. “M’not nervous.” She tells him.

He laughs and squeezes her hand in her lap. “You’re biting your nails. You only bite your nails when you’re nervous.” She looks over at him before asking how he knew something like that. It’s not a state secret or anything but she really doesn’t think she’d ever been nervous in front of him before. “I pay attention to you.”

They arrive at his house in no time- too soon, really. She hesitates getting out of the car when Harry comes around to open the door for her. A rental car is already parked at the top of his driveway.

“What if-?” She begins to ask as he shuts the car door behind her.

Harry takes both her her hands in his and brings her knuckles to his mouth. “They-are-gonna-love-you.” Each word is effectively enunciated with a soft his to her knuckles. “I promise. And hey,” he tugs her back to him when she starts toward the walkway to the house, “when you realize how right I was later, there’s something special in it for you.”

“Oh yeah?” On primal instinct alone, she leans forward and secures her arms around his neck. “What would that be?”

Harry nuzzles his mouth at the shell of her ear. The words that come murmuring out leave an electric tingle from the top of her spine to the tips of her toes. When he pulls back, he’s grinning wickedly, like he knows exactly the effect he has on her and enjoys every second of making her squirm.

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He’s in the midst of something special.

Wonderful.

Rare.

Once in a lifetime.

They’ve only been seeing each other for a little under two months but he’s been alive long enough to recognize when a good thing is more than just that. Harry knows feelings like this don’t come around often. They have to be cherished dearly, nurtured, protected, and he plans to do exactly that.

“So, Y/N,” his mum puts her fork down, “Harry told us that you’re quite the skilled golfer yourself.”

Seated next to him at the table, Y/N glances discreetly at him before shooting an uneasy smile at his mum. “I, well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” She pokes her fork around the glazed sweet potatoes on her plate.

Harry can’t contain the guffaw of laughter that escapes him. Y/N is a lot of things. She’s beautiful, whip-smart, dryly humorous, a goddamn goddess when it comes to sex; in the long list of her traits, he doesn’t think modest makes the cut.

Her confidence in herself and her abilities was one of the first things that attracted him to her. She’s always been so sure of herself and, sometimes, a little too headstrong. But he knows that she’s fully aware that she’s a sublime golfer. She’s shown him on several occasions and been none too shy about bragging.

After all, she’s the only person he’s ever known to manage two albatross’ on the same round.

Gemma asks what he finds so funny.

Y/N catches his eye.

“She’s being modest.” Harry tells his mum and sister. “Dunno what for, either. If I was half as good her, I’d never shut up about it.” Under the table, Y/N kicks the toe of her shoe into his ankle. “What?” He gives her a look. “Babe, seriously, it’s wicked how phenomenal you are.” He reaches over and cups his hand around the back of her neck. He massages his fingers lightly over her shoulder. “Lemme brag on you, tiger, please?”

The nickname was entirely accidental. They’d been golfing the other day, at the course she liked near Bakersfield and he’d jokingly related her to golf great Tiger Woods. C’mon, Tiger, show me how it’s done. But the way she looked at him when he spoke the nickname had resulted in a quickie against a tree off Hole 13. So, it stayed.

He barely catches the sly smirks that his mother and sister share with one another. They rattle off all kinds of questions for Y/N to answer. How long have you been golfing, to which she replies that she started when she was five or six. Who got you into it, is answered with a quiet response that both her parents had been national title-holders, as well as both her grandfathers. With each question, he can feel her physically relax beneath his fingers. Her shoulders loosen and her breaths become more even and confident. Her hand comes up to tangle in with his at the nape of her neck.

“And where’s your family from?” His mum asks her.

In retrospect, he thinks he should have warned his family that Y/N does not like to talk about her own. It’s a thing he’s noticed over time. She expertly diverts the conversation away from them any time they get brought up, she can manage to talk about her entire childhood while never once mentioning her parents’ involvement in it. While she’s never come out and explicitly said that something is wrong there, it doesn’t take much for him to pick up on it.

So he simply leaves it alone. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

Her fingers flex together around his. Once again he feels her shoulders tighten up. “Oh, just a few hours north from here, in Bakersfield. My parents still live up there.” Then his mum asks if she went to University of California- Los Angeles. “No,” she shakes her head, “I went to Stanford. I got a golf scholarship.”

Bakersfield, Harry knows, is maybe two hours from L.A. A pretty fair drive for a weekend trip. He also knows that in the near eight months she’s been with them, she’s never once gone up to see her family. And he’s pretty sure they’ve never come down for a visit either.

He had assumed the whole time that her family was somewhere pretty far off that warranted a long visit, and considering her work hours, wasn’t possible at the moment.

“Do you see them a lot?”

Once again, she shakes her head no.

“Mum-.” Harry starts on. He doesn’t think the topic is such a good idea. Not if she won’t even talk about it when they’re alone.

“We had a falling out.” Y/N interjects casually. “A few years ago, right before I graduated school. It was pretty bad. We haven’t spoken since.” If she feels pressure from three pairs of eyes staring, waiting and hanging from her every word, she doesn’t show it. Quietly, Gemma asks what their fight was over. “Golf,” is all she says before she goes back to her potatoes.

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The bubbles have long dissipated, some still linger here and there; occasionally, Harry will pop one on her knee or accidentally brush some into the hairs at the nape of her neck. The water, while not melting hot anymore, is still a comforting warm.

His arms rest around her, chin tucked into her clavicle while her head rests on his shoulder. Every so often, his hands travel up to smooth over her tits before snaking back down over her stomach and skimming along her inner thighs. And each time, he’ll puff a breath of hot air against her throat before sponging a damp kiss.

“Mum and Gems love you.” Harry mumbles into her neck. “Told you so, didn’t I? I was right?”

Y/N grins. If she tells him he was right, she’s in for it. If she doesn’t...hell, she’s probably still in for a good fucking- not that they aren’t all good, because they are- but he likes being gratified and she likes giving him what he wants.

“Mhmm.” She arches her neck up to plant a kiss on his jaw. “You were so right, baby.”

He groans, fingers gripping into her thighs. “C’mere.” With enough force to send water splashing up, he pulls her as close to him as he can. One of his arms reaches across her chest, his other hand splaying across her tummy. “You know how happy you make me? How crazy I am about you?” The slow, gradual movement of his hand down toward her sex, if he were anyone else, would be barely noticeable to her. But, he’s him and the slightest contact of his skin on hers puts her entire nervous system on high alert.

She sucks in a breath when his middle finger slides down between the lips of her pussy. She holds the breath, waiting for the inevitable moment where he’ll sink his finger inside of her. But it never comes. He continues to run his finger along the same route, occasionally pressing the tip against her clit, but never anything more.

“Harry...” She wriggles her back against his chest. He hums in accordance. “Why aren’t you playing nice?”

His teeth nip against her throat. “Answer my questions, baby, and I’ll be as nice as you want. Or,” he pauses, “as mean. It’s your world, I’m just living in it.” He palms over her breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. “’Member what I promised you earlier?”

Even the sheer memory of it sends a pulsating rhythm through her center.

Y/N sinks her hand down into the warm bathwater. She places her hand over his before grinding her hips against it. With her other, she moves his other hand rougher across her tits. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Styles,” because the downright lewdness of it makes him insane, “I don’t know the answer to those questions. So,” she releases his hands and turns around in the bathtub to sit on her knees in front of him, “why don’t you show me?”

His eyes melt into a wanton darkness and he lunges forward to grab her by the waist. He pushes her up against the steps of his in-floor stone bathtub and lifts her onto the top step just out of the water.

“You’re absolutely fuckin’ filthy, know that?” He snarls out, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder. Water drips down from her heel onto his back. Baby pieces of hair stick to his face in damp perspiration and she can’t tell if it’s from sweat or the overall heat of the water. “Want me to show you? I’ll goddamn show you.”

She’s left unable to even choke out a response when he tongues one hot stripe from her entrance to her clit. Without breaking eye contact. He grabs at her tit, squeezing roughly before suctioning his mouth to her pussy.

“O-Oh-Fuck-.”

She can feel that demented little smile he’s sporting. His tongue delves inside of her right as he pinches her nipple between his fingers.

“Tell me.” He murmurs against her inner thigh. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Feels like an acid trip.” She gasps out when he pushes two fingers inside her and grazes his teeth against her clit. “Like fuckin’ molly or-.”

“Shrooms?” He bats his eyelashes up at her; droplets of water roll down his cheeks. She doesn’t even have to respond.

His fingers slip back out and he anchors them into her thighs, all put diving headfirst into her pussy. A deep groan rumbles from him when she bucks toward his face and he presses himself closer to her. She reaches down and tangles her fingers in his hair as the all too familiar ache begins to build inside of her.

With wild eyes, Harry looks up at her, his tongue creating merciless and deviant patterns inside her core. He keeps one arm curved around her thigh and wraps his other hand down around his cock. Even through the water, she can see that it’s a throbbing velvet shade of reddish purple. He moans into her at the feel of his hand around himself.

“Fuck my face, tiger, baby.” He grunts. “Make me yours. Ride your sweet fuckin’ cunt all over my face and cum on my tongue.”

She doesn’t have to be told twice.

Her hips buckle and and rotate, spreading his own spit and her juices across the lower half of his face. Each movement is met with an enthusiastic moan from deep in Harry’s throat, the tightening of his fingers in her skin, hoarse and broken whimpers from her.

“So good, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.” He sucks his mouth to her clit before returning to lapping his tongue relentlessly inside her. Every piece of her is pulsating at the rhythm of her heartbeat, impossibly unsteady and hypnotically fast. “Gonna cum for me? Be a good girl and cum all over my face, Y/N.”

The split second of eye contact does her in. The utterance of the words good girl and that manically debauched look in his eyes. The orgasm gushes through her, the wave of a tsunami, and he continues to tongue away like a parched dog.

“Taste divine. Sweet as sin.” He releases his hold on his dick. When the last shudders ripple through her body, he leans away from her. His mouth and chin are slick and sheeny with the affects of her orgasm. “Here, see for yourself.” He pulls her back into the large tub and seals his mouth to hers.

The kiss is long, flavored with the taste of her cunt and deepened when he pushes his cock into her.

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“Any clue what this is about?” Vylet slides into the seat next to Y/N at the table in the staff break room.

Considering it’s near the end of June, there’s only one thing this all-staff meeting could be about. The annual golf scramble and charity auction gala that Valhalla Springs hosts every year. All the proceeds went to funding inner city shelters for the homeless and disadvantaged in Los Angeles. Every year, they raised tons of money. And every year, each employee got stuck in a stupid uniform and slapped with catering duties.

Yay them.

Y/N and Hessman share a look but neither says a word. They started at the club around the same time three years ago and have suffered through three galas together, sneaking flutes of champagne and sips of vodka at the bar. If it wasn’t for him, she’d never make it through one of these things.

“Okay, everyone, thanks for carving time out for this meeting.” Coates sways into the room, not bothering to shut the door. It’s a Monday and the club is closed. Which means when this meeting s over, she’s hitting the green with Hessman and Diamond. “Make sure to grab some food before you go.” He gestures to the table.

There’s a full spread of finger foods. She squirms around in her seat. Last month, she’d been spread on that table and Harry had been fingering her.

Hessman pales when Vylet reaches and plucks a croissant sandwich from a tray. He shoots Y/N a look. They both know the table has been cleaning hundreds of times over since the incident- as they’ve taken to calling it- but she guesses it’s a principle matter sort of thing for him.

She gets it.

Kind of.

“I’m sure you’re all aware that our annual golf scramble and gala are coming up this weekend.” Coates goes on. “Now, as usual, you’ll all need to be here at 7:30 Saturday morning to work the scramble. Caddies, you know the drill, you’re per team and not per golfer. And girls,” he gives each of the cart girls a solid once over, “we’ve got a big shipment of all our favored beers coming in. You’ll do a variation of your routine, per usual, there will just be...more of you on the course than what we’re used to. Y/N, any pointers for our girls who weren’t here last year?”

She doesn’t like to brag- oh, wait, yes she does. She’s excellent at her job. She makes selling beer look like a refined art, and to her, maybe it is. It’s not her fault that she’s the sort of girl guys love to look at and flirt with. And so what if she uses that to her advantage? That’s her job.

In the past, she’s always flaunted that she made the most tips during the scramble. Hell, she even got tipped working the gala and all she did was pass around flutes of champagne. And flutter her eyelashes. And touch biceps. And flip her hair. And-well, you get the point.

The key to the art is to not be obnoxious about it. You have to be subtle and quiet, while demure, you also have to be a teeny bit slutty because guys go fuckin’ nuts for that shit.

She shrugs, leaning forward and snagging a banana. As she peels it, she looks directly at Hessman. “Be a slut. Don’t be a whore. And, before you ask,” she bites off part of the banana, “yes, there is a difference.” She chews and swallows before continuing on. “If a guy says he doesn’t want a beer, take the no. Trust me, it’ll save you a pain in the ass later. If he’s with his wife-,” because couples love to come to the scramble together, “-offer her a drink first. Do not look at him, seriously. It’s...I don’t know, you all know how to do your jobs and this is no different. Oh, and don’t poach guests from other girls. It’s fucking rude.”

Coates thanks her for the insight, shaking his head with laughter. They don’t always get along but she respects how seriously he takes all their jobs and she’s pretty sure he likes that she’s actually really good at her job and actually knows something about golf.

“One last thing,” he says as Frehly starts to get up, “the gala.”

A collective groan rolls through the room. Working the golf scramble is business as usual, just with double the amount of guests on the green. The gala though...that requires tuxes from the guys and black dresses from the girls. It requires balancing trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, walking around the room with fake smiles and faker niceties.

No one, no one looks forward to that.

Coates has a sympathetic smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, the dread of working the gala. I get it.” He really doesn’t. He never has to work that thing. He gets to chill with the owners and the guests all night. “You’ll all be ecstatic to know that this year, we swung a little extra and sprung for caterers and waitstaff. And as a treat,” he pauses for dramatic effect, looking around the room at each of them, “you all get to attend as guests this year.”

Vylet is reaching out to grip Y/N’s wrist in excitement but she moves first. She tosses her arms around Hessman and all but vaults into his chair. She could just imagine it. A full night of dancing and classy drinking, in a beautiful dress, Harry at her side. It would be like something from a movie.

In the three years she’s been at Valhalla Springs, she’s never seen him at the scramble or the gala. He always donates something for the charity auction, but he never actually goes.

She hopes he’ll want to go with her when she asks. This daydream feels like fresh spun cotton candy and she wants it to be a reality so badly.

Dully, she hears someone ask how many tickets they get. And ever clear, she hears Coates reply that it’s one ticket each, since the event is already out of tickets.

And just like that, the cotton candy dissolves and all she’s left with is a bitter toothache.

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Ever since he picked her up, Y/N has been in a sour mood. Harry gives her a lot of credit for the way she’s tried to hide it with beaming smiles and sweet kisses but he also takes a little offense to her assumption that he doesn’t know her well enough to notice when her eyes don’t crinkle enough when she smiles. He wonders if his news would be enough to bring her out of it.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to guess?” He asks from across the table.

He’s brought her to her favorite Italian restaurant to try and cheer her up. She’s barely picked at her pasta and the cannoli she usually raves about remains untouched.

Y/N looks up from her plate, fork moving lazily through a sea of noodles bathed in a buttery wine sauce. “I’m fine.”

He frowns back at her. “Y/N, come on, I know when something’s bothering my girlfriend. Tell me what’s got you in such a mood.”

With a non-committal shrug and a hefty sip of her wine, she admits that their all-staff meeting this morning at the club was less than ideal. And in her down-trodden mood, she’d let both Hessman and Diamond beat her on the green.

Clearly, whatever happened at that meeting took a toll on her.

“They cuttin’ your hours or something?”

She takes another drink. Her eyes cut across the room, she slithers down in her chair. Holding the rim of her glass close to her mouth and decidedly not looking at him, she huffs quietly. “You know the big golf scramble and charity gala the club hosts every year?” He says yes, he does know. “We usually have to work it, all of us.”

And all at once, the righteous excitement of his gift goes out the window. If she has to work the day of the gala...

Harry’s never gone to the scramble or the gala. There’s no one he likes golfing with enough- besides his girlfriend but this is a new thing- and he’s never felt the urge to attend the gala before. He’s never had a date and he doesn’t much care for attending those things alone. His patience for them is quite thin unless he’s got a person there to make it worthwhile.

In his totally biased opinion, Harry believes wholeheartedly that she would be the ideal date for those kinds of things.

“Coates told us this morning we’re off the hook for the gala.” She goes on. She tells him that she doesn’t mind working the golf scramble itself, it’s a killer day for tips. “We all can go to the gala, but,” finally she looks over at him and her eyes are what he can only call melancholy, “we each only got one ticket.”

At first, he doesn’t see her issue. She’s the kind of person who could go dateless to an event like that and not have a care in the world about it. But it takes a single, longing look to bring it all home.

She’d wanted to ask him. She only had one ticket and she had planned to ask him to go with her.

If he didn’t find the situation so hilarious, he would have reached across the table and kissed her. But the hilarity of it is not lost upon him. She’s upset about not being able to take him to the gala. A gala hosted by her employer that neither has ever attended as a guest. A gala he just so happened to get two tickets for that morning.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.” He says quietly. “It’s about us, you and me.”

A little too forcefully, she places her wine glass back on the table. “If you’re about to break up with me-.”

Whoa, what?

“Break up- break up with you? Why the hell would I break up with you?”

Her eyes flash. “Why else would you say something like I need to talk to you about us?”

“I was trying to be mysterious!” He defends. She mutters that it sounded like the beginning of a poorly rehearsed breakup speech. “I just wanted to tell you that I stopped by the club this morning and got two tickets to the charity gala.”

Rigidly, she pops up in her seat. Her shoulders square. “...Two?”

Harry nods slowly. “I’ve never gone before ‘cause I’ve never had a date but...but now I’m dating you and I thought it’d be fun. Would you wanna? Go with me, I mean?”

He knows she wants to. She’s just been pouting about not being able to take him with her one ticket. Her face brightens. She practically hops out of her chair and darts over to his side of the side, clambering into his lap. She throws her arms around his neck, peppering his cheek in kisses.

“You’re the best.” She says between each kiss. “Of course I wanna go with you. I’ve spent all fucking day depressed over not being able to go with you. Goddamnit, Harry, you’re serious?”

He laughs, letting his hand skim up her bare thigh before wrapping her in an embrace. Chill bumps trail behind his fingers. “Yes, baby, I’m serious. Only wanna go if it’s with you.”

Part of him, the really demented and possessive side of him, can’t wait to show up to that gala with her on his arm. She’s the most gorgeous girl in the world and he’s sure everyone who has ever set eyes on her knows it. He’s seen the way those guys at the club stare at her when she parades around the course in those teensy skirts and her tits practically bursting from her shirt. He knows what they’re thinking, what they want to do to her. He’s watched them eye-fuck her and try to hide their hardening dicks behind their golf clubs or hands. Some don’t even try to hide it at all.

He’s ecstatic to be able to go with her and show all those fucks that he’s the one she chose; that she’s his and he gets to be the one to bury his cock inside her and eat her pussy ‘til she has tears in her eyes.

It’s his name she cries out when she cums.

Y/N squeezes her arms around him and lightly, but perfectly un-subtly, gyrates her hips against his. “How ‘bout you ask for the bill and then take me out to the car so I can show you how happy I am?”

Harry’s never called out for a check quicker.

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Getting ready for an event like the Valhalla Springs charity gala- where women wore expensive gowns, even more expensive shoes, and bid thousands of dollars on items that had little to no practical use- became a weeklong event for Y/N.

She got her ticket on Monday, which also happened to be the same day that Harry got two tickets and asked her to go with him. And after dinner that night, she took him out to his car and gave what she thoroughly believed was the best blowjob ever. Harry even said so himself, and while she was all too aware that most guys said this in passing as a confidence booster, she knew that he meant it. No ones legs just shook like that unless the orgasm was life-altering.

On Tuesday, while Harry was enjoying a day of golf, she took Georgia to the mall. They perused the luxury wing and Georgia grabbed tiny fists at each shiny thing while Y/N tried to locate the perfect outfit. She’d never gone to something like the gala-as a guest- and she needed a dress and a pair of shoes that demanded attention and adoration. The perfect dress was found in Barneys and with a price tag that made her eyeballs burn, she resolved to a lot of hard work through the week. Her shoes, a pair of gorgeous white Jimmy Choo sandal heels with big oversized white bows on the back of the straps couldn’t be passed up. She and Georgia both watched with wide, unblinking eyes as the saleswoman wrapped them carefully before putting them in the box for Y/N to take home.

On Wednesday, Harry and Georgia picked her up. Harry wouldn’t tell them where he was taking them until they got there. It was one of the more upscale salons in Los Angeles and Harry had decided that a good spa day was in order. It was mani-pedis all around for the three of them. To be safe, Y/N sided with the typical faded French tips on both her fingers and toes. Georgia squealed with delight when the nail technician supplied her with a rainbow of colors. Harry, while leaving his toes unpainted, let his daughter pick out the color to go on his nails and seemed more than satisfied when she returned with a baby blue color.

Thursday, she worked her ass off. She’d told Harry all about the dress-leaving out several key details for the element of surprise- on Wednesday night and, over FaceTime after he dropped her off and put Georgia to bed, they formulated a plan to make sure she got it. He helped her pick out the perfect outfit for work, a lipstick color, and a hairstyle. She didn’t think most guys would be that keen on helping their girlfriend put together an iconically slutty outfit in order to flirt a couple grand out of some country club regulars. But then again, most guys just sucked and Harry was different.

By the end of her twelve-hour shift on Thursday, she’d amassed all the money she needed for her dress. Plus a little extra. In reality, she had already had the money to cover the cost of the dress but she hadn’t wanted to put that big a dent in her account.

When five pm on Friday came around- she switched Desi her Thursday for her Friday to have time to get to the mall and get her dress- she practically jetted from the club and sped to the mall. Her dress was there, still on the beautiful cream satin hanger. She tried it on once more, just to admire herself in the full-length gold-framed mirror. With the shoes and her hair and makeup done, she didn’t have a single doubt that Harry would be speechless.

The golf scramble on Saturday was her best to date. She raked in the cash and spent a solid ninety minutes getting fucked against the side of Harry’s car after all was said and done. For the first time, he actually participated in the scramble, partnering with some poor guy whose partner cancelled last minute but they didn’t want to waste the money. He had pouted when he pulled her aside that morning and asked her to circle around his vicinity all day. It only helped his cause when his fingers brushed against the crotch of her skirt. Something about watching her parade around the course and seduce other guys into buying beer and giving her cash made him insanely horny.

Sunday came along slowly and surely. She got up early, spent an entire hour in the shower shaving and exfoliating. Did a face mask. She splurged and went to the salon to get her hair done. Paid for her makeup to be applied and perfectly. And when the time came, she slipped into the dress and slid her feet into the thousand dollar heels.

The full length mirror in her room doesn’t quite do her justice. Or maybe it’s the lighting. Either way, she knows the floor length robe dress looks way better than it does as she stares at herself in the mirror. And she still looks insanely stunning, which says something.

From the moment she saw it, she knew the dress was it. Ballerina pink- because Harry had mentioned that he thought she looked so pretty in that shade-, satin with a scandalously deep v neckline that made her tits look fan-fucking-tastic, a tie waist, and a high leg split that nearly went up to the line where her panties sat on her waist. With downy soft white feathers at the cuffs of the sleeves and the hem of the dress, she feels like one of those old-fashioned Hollywood starlets that just oozed sex appeal.

The doorbell rings.

She’s decidedly more nervous than she had been to meet his mom and sister. That, after fifteen minutes, had passed. This...This is different. It’s a big event and she’s technically supposed to appear available to all the male guests but she had even talked to Coates about it yesterday and he hadn’t cared. In fact, he almost seemed...happy.

Y/N exhales slowly and smoothes her hands over the fabric of the dress. This will be a good night. This will be the best night.

Her heels click as she maneuvers through her house. Through the frosted glass of the door, she can make out Harry’s figure and the large bouquet of flowers in his hands. She plucks her small clutch bag from the wall rack by the door and swings the door open.

“Well, don’t you look handsome.” She breathes, all nerves immediately dissipating.

Harry looks up from the bouquet of red roses. He does, in fact, look handsome. His hair is styled in that perfect wet look, a single curly tendril hanging down on his forehead. His bowtie, a shade of pink to perfectly match her dress, is tied exceptionally and stands out against his plain but sexy black tuxedo and white dress shirt. He seems to have a ring on each finger; the ring he wears on the wedding finger is a simple silver ring engraved with a poppy flower to commemorate Georgia’s birth.

“I-fuck.”

She waits as his eyes rove over her. From her hair to her makeup, the deep neckline of her dress that left very little to the imagination, the way the material clung to each curve and divot of her body, the telling slit, the softened and gleaming curves of her legs.

His mouth parts but no words come out. His cheeks are rosy pink and the same shade is tinging his neck. Already, she can make out the hardening bulge in the crotch of his pants.

“Y-you look-I-Y/N...” He stammers out. Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Beautiful.” He finally spits out, voice hoarse and throaty. “You look beautiful.”

She knows. But she can’t help but beam a smile when he says it. It’s the best feeling in the world to be complimented by the most beautiful person to ever live.

“Shall we?” She nods toward the black town car paralleled in front of her house. It’s so like him to rent a car for something like this. She pulls the door shut to the house and locks it, fully stepping onto the porch.

Harry extends his hand and after she takes it, he helps her down the small set of steps. “So gorgeous, baby. Makes my chest hurt.” He murmurs before wrapping an arm around her waist. “M’the luckiest guy in the world, can’t believe you’re mine.” His fingers squeeze into her waist.

He opens the door to the backseat. He holds the hem of her dress up as she climbs in and carefully places it before clambering in after her. The flowers, as soon as the door is shut, are tossed aside. The partition to separate them from the driver is already up.

“What-?” She barely has the time to whisper the first word of her question before Harry’s hand is snaking up the open path the dress’ slit has left and his fingers are hooking around her panties. Her eyes flicker to the partition. She can’t even make out the outline of the driver, which means he can’t see them either. But that doesn’t mean he won’t hear.

“Missed you.” He pants a kiss against the middle of her sternum. “Did you miss me?” Her voice hiking up, she reminds him that they say each other yesterday. He pauses, tongue pressed flat against her sternum, and looks up at her. “Not what I meant.”

She cards her fingers through his gelled curls. “You know I did.”

“Can I show you how much I missed you?” He breathes. His fingers are already peeling her underwear down. “Look so pretty tonight, wanna have my mouth all over you.”

He has an undeniable way with words that leaves her skin flushed and her heart racing. She’s pretty sure if he tried, he could coax an orgasm from her using only his words. His mouth burns as it wakes across her collarbone and up her throat. The tips of his fingers brush against the folds of her pussy.

“S’fuckin’ wet already, tiger. Jesus. Wan’ me to drown my face in your sweet fuckin’ pussy?”

“Here?” She murmurs, again looking at the partition.

He’s completely honest when he says he doesn’t want to wait until later in the night. And truthfully, when he’s nipping at her earlobes and teasingly pinching her clit the way he knows she likes, she doesn’t want to wait either.

She grabs his pants and hastily pulls open his belt, unbuttons his pants, and pulls the zipper down. Without any sort of unnecessary grace, she wriggles her hand into his underwear and wraps it around his dick. On instinct, he hisses out a breath and his hips buckle forward.

“God, fuck.” He shimmies his pants down toward his knees. “C’mere.” He secures both hands on her waist and pulls her into his lap. “Pretty baby, gimme a kiss.” He rakes his fingers through her hair before securing a handful at the base of her skull and pushing her down towards him. The second their mouths meet, he ruts his pelvis up and his cock is inside her.

There’s something so indescribably good about the way he feels inside her. The sensation of being full, satiated, satisfied, and yet knowing there is still more to come.

“Feel good?” He grins against her mouth, effectively smudging her precariously applied lipstick all over both their faces.

Y/N moans, cupping her fingers around his neck and resting her forehead against his. “I missed this.” She admits, rolling her hips in the motion he likes best. “Missed you inside me.”

“Fuck, yes, just-just like that. So good, so good.” He anchors his fingers into her lower back when she raises up off of his lap and sinks back down slowly. “Missed bein’ inside you.” He tells her. “Love fillin’ you up with my cock. Love fuckin’ you senseless.”

Harry brushes her hair from her shoulders and pushes her dress down. His hands roam over her tits, soft moans escaping from both of them. When Harry flicks his finger against her clit, a high pitched squeal ripples out of her mouth.

Up front, the driver clears his throat.

They both still.

Caught and red hot with embarrassment, Y/N lets go of Harry’s shoulders and tries to raise up to slide off his lap. He grips her firmly and forces her back down onto his dick.

“Harry-.”

“Jus’ be quiet.”

She arches an eyebrow. He’s either underestimating his ability to fuck or he’s overestimating her ability to be quiet while he fucks her. Knowing him, it’s definitely the second one. “But-.”

“Y/N,” he says quietly, “do you want me to finish fucking you?” Almost inaudibly, she says yes. “Then keep your goddamn mouth shut. Can you do that?”

She really doesn’t think so.

Harry deepens his hold on her hips and presses himself further inside of her. The angle and the rough manner of his hips jerking has his cock slamming into a spot that no one’s ever reached before. Each thrust has her toes curling and her stomach knotting together.

Her hand skims down his arm and across the leather interior of the car’s seat. Her nails scrape over the surface and she grabs onto the rest on the door. Another unforgiving pummel of his dick into that newly discovered sweet spot. Her hand fumbles over the cool surface of the window. Harry grunts out her name. Her fingers curl around the grab handle at the top of the car. His hand finds her shoulder and he applies pressure to push her further down on his cock as he thrusts up.

“H-Harry-oh-!”

He splices off her impassioned pants, grabbing something from the floor and shoving it in her mouth. The material is thin and lacy, damp and- her goddamn panties.

He’s gagging her with her own fuckin’ panties.

“I told you to stay quiet.” He mutters.

For whatever it’s worth, her underwear- tinted with the taste of her own arousal- keep her quiet while he relentlessly fucks into her. Y/N’s moans are stifled by the material of the underwear she bought specifically for tonight. Harry controls his own noises by burying his face in her neck, her hair, her clavicle, her tits. Sweat sheens his skin and she can feel it pooling on her chest.

The familiar sensation of her orgasm is bubbling inside her. Their mouths slot together and his tongue delves into her mouth. He pants out her name, how fucking good she feels, how he loves burying his cock in her pretty little pussy. He grabs at her tits, canvassing his hand down her tummy and brushing his fingertip over her hip bone before punching her clit between his thumb and forefinger.

His teeth scrape down the column of her throat. “Cum on my cock, Y/N. Show me what a good girl you are and cum all over my cock.”

It’s almost as if her body was waiting for him to give his approval that she could climax. All it takes is him practically ordering the orgasm from her for it to happen. She thanks every single divine being for the panties crammed in her mouth as her release explodes. The edges of her sight blur, the feeling in her fingers and toes tingling out of existence and then simmering back in.

Harry continues to fuck her throughout the supernova being created inside her body. His own noises are lost as her ears ring. Through it, she barely feels when he cums inside her, or hears him rasp out her name when he does.

Harry wraps his arms around her and holds her close to his chest. He kisses her temple and pries open her mouth, pulling her panties out and then dropping them to the seat. They both stare at the wadded up white lace. He brushes her hair out from her face and grimaces.

“Uh, I hope you brought some cotton swabs and extra lipstick, baby. Your face is wrecked.”

Y/N swats at him. “Gee, I wonder who’s fault that is?” Harry holds her face in his hands and kisses her sweetly. He apologizes for pretty much attacking her and shoving her underwear in her mouth. “Please.” She huffs, putting her hands over his. “That was hot as fuck, Harry. Put stuff in my mouth more often.”

The green of his eyes sparkles. “You asked for it. Remember that.”

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When the driver announced that they had arrived at the country club- less than five minutes after they’d finished fucking like animals-, Harry and Y/N spent thirteen minutes hurriedly putting themselves together in order to be presentable for an entire slew of people.

Y/N pretty much had to put her whole dress back on and finger comb her hair. Harry redid his bowtie twice just to be safe and triple checked his pants to ensure they were correctly buttoned and zipped. Y/N tousled his hair, trying her best to make it look somewhat the way it had when he picked her up. She handed over her cotton swabs and tube of lip color and entrusted him to fix her face back up. As he swiped the pads of his thumbs and the tip of the cotton swab over the smeared parts of her makeup, he solemnly admired what a work of art she really was. Pretty, smooth skin defined by planes and curves; glittering eyes decorated with long curved lashes; finely sculpted lips. He spent a precious amount of time reapplying her lipstick.

They spent the first five minutes attached at the hip. When she excused herself to the restroom, she never returned to his side. He didn’t mind it so much as he had thought he would. There were plenty of people at the gala that he knew and that occupied his time with pleasant conversation. Though for a golf course, the sport rarely came up in talk. Those he knew on a more friendly basis inquired about Georgia and Harry rambled on and on about what a darling she was and how proud he was of her.

Every so often, his eyes would glance around the room and he would find her. And always, always, she was engaged in some type of conversation. As usual, Isaac Hessman was glued to her side. Both equipped with champagne and full of boisterous laughter. Occasionally, she’d catch his eye and give him a smile he knew was only meant for him.

It never failed that every fifteen minutes or so, she would slide by him and rub her palm across his ass, his crotch, his thigh. He was sure no one noticed each time but the idea. of someone seeing almost made him as hard as her actually grabbing at him. Several times, they snuck away to a darkened corner outside or a linen closet. Mouths sealed together and hands sneaking down pants or inside dresses. And each time, he had to wipe her lipstick off his face before reapplying it to her mouth.

He didn’t mind. Really, he liked it. There was something so intimately raw and refreshing about holding her face steady with one hand while using the other to paint lipstick on her face. Once, while they were hidden away in a one-person bathroom, he made the comment about how he’d rather be painting her mouth with his cum than lipstick.

They wound up locked in there another fifteen minutes while she backed him against the door and gagged on his cock until his cum was spurting down her throat.

Now, he is trying to pay attention to something that Walter Gibbons, an apparently notorious Porsche dealer, is droning about but all he can think about is the way Y/N’s cunt pulsates while she’s orgasming. He isn’t sure how to got sucked into a conversation about which Italian villa is better to rent during August or how he wound up in a circle of aged forty-something married men who avoid their wives like the plague.

He wonders why people get married to people they don’t actually like. He’s never actually given marriage a lot of thought, but he knows if he were to ever go through with it, he’d not only want to love the person, but also like them.

He likes Y/N. That he knows.

He also knows that he lov-. Whoa, slow down there, buddy. Too soon. Is there such a thing? He isn’t for sure that’s what it is yet. He knows it could be, definitely with time. And maybe too soon is just an idea, one he doesn’t have to believe. Life’s too short to follow something like that.

But he’s not in love with her.

He doesn’t think.

Across the room, her midnight laugh draws his attention. She’s surrounded by some of her coworkers; Hessman, of course, and two guys he’s pretty sure are Frehly and Kollings. In that satin and feather dress, a flute of champagne in her hand, and her bright expression, she looks like a dream come true. She’s his dream come true.

Her head turns and her eyes land on him. Her lips pull up in a soft, warm smile and she wiggles her fingers at him in a delicate wave. He knows he has a goofy grin on his face when he waves back but goddamn, his girlfriend is gorgeous and he still can’t believe he’s so lucky.

Korbin Duke nudges him with his elbow. “Ahh, so, you know Venus, huh?”

He’s slow on the uptake. Harry has no clue who the hell Venus is. He looks over at Korbin and frowns. “I don’t know who you mean.” All he knows is that one second he’d been grinning like an idiot at Y/N, and the next he was getting elbowed in the ribs.

“The cart girl,” Kyrie Littrell supplies in the midst of Harry’s confused expression and all of a sudden Harry’s got a bad feeling about this conversation, “Y/N. We all just call her Venus, ya know, like the goddess of beauty.”

Harry is stuck watching the four men he’s been speaking with give his girlfriend their full attention. Usually, he likes this part. He likes seeing other men appreciate her beauty and he likes watching her pretend to care. But this is different. She has no clue that four men- all married- are taking their sweet time mentally fucking her brains out. She hasn’t provoked this; he doesn’t even think she’s spoken to them all night.

He swallows and takes a long drink of his champagne, wishing it’s something stronger. Y/N catches his eye again but this time she takes special care to blow him a kiss and then wink. Thankfully, none of his conversational partners see when he pretends to catch the kiss and pat it against his chest.

Korbin turns around right after. “Looks like she likes what she sees, man.” He’s smirking when he claps Harry on the back.

“God,” Walter sighs, “what I’d give for her to look at me like that.” Kyrie makes a comment about Walter not letting his wife hear him say that. “When Helen’s rack goes back to looking like that and her ass looks that good in a skirt, she can tell me what to say.”

The room is growing hotter by the second. This is so much worse than watching them lust after her. Hearing the things they say, what they really think of her, it’s making him sick to his stomach. They don’t even see her as a real person. She’s just some object to stick their dicks in. A living, breathing sex toy.

He hates it.

He hates them.

Barely, he hears Kyrie ask what he’s done to get her much desired attention. Harry tugs on one side of his bowtie, regretting ever saying hello to Walter ten minutes ago. “Well, she’s my girlfriend so...”

Without fail, they all erupt in laughter. Jordan Clemmons physically has a grip on Korbin’s bicep to keep from doubling over with his obnoxiously nasal cackle. Walter commends him for having such a good sense of humor but Harry genuinely cannot locate what about his statement was supposed to be a joke.

She’s his girlfriend. Generally, that means she will look at him every so often.

“Yeah?” Kyrie is wiping tears from his cheeks. “Well if she’s dating you, she’s dating all of us, buddy.”

Harry, on his worst inhibition, frees his hand up as the waiter comes around. He places his champagne flute on the moving tray and turns his attention back to Kyrie. His heart pounds in his chest, blood thumping in his ears. One wrong word and they’ll have to wheel this guy out on a stretcher.

“What,” Harry says through gritted teeth, “exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, man, just look at her.” Jordan gestures in Y/N’s direction. She’s got her arm wrapped around Hessman’s, her hand on his shoulder as they laugh at something Kollings is telling them.

He sees the most amazing person he’s ever known. Harry is looking at her and all he sees is radiance.

“All we mean is,” Korbin wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder to pull him in, “you’ve seen her working that cart, right?” It takes everything in him to expertly maneuver out from under Korbin’s hold and not just sock him right in the goddamn face. “Those little outfits she likes to wear, with her ass out and that little innocent act; all the flirting and hair twirling and show me how to hold a club.” He gives a piss poor imitation of her voice, caricaturing her as high-pitched and porn-ish.

Kyrie shrugs. He gives Y/N another thoughtful look. “We’re just trying to make sure you don’t waste any breath on trying to buy a free cow.” Did this guy really just refer to his girlfriend as a cow? Harry blinks slowly, evening out his ragged breaths. Kyrie takes this as a misunderstanding and continues in a gentler voice. “Girls like her don’t date, Harry. They aren’t good for it anyway. Only thing they’re really good for is-.”

Harry’s fists ball at his sides. He shoves them deep into his pockets to keep from beating the ever-loving fuck out of this dude. He would, he absolutely wants to, but it would probably get Y/N fired. And while in the defense of her honor, he still doesn’t think she would appreciate it.

“Watch how you talk about my-.”

“‘Scuse me!”

Y/N comes gliding into their circle, cutting between Jordan and Walter while her words cut through Harry’s near threat. Her face is positively glowing and he feels all his wrath and bitterness fade away at the sight of her. She looks so pretty in her pink dress and her perfume smells so sweet and he knows her skin is smooth and buttery soft.

Jordan, Kyrie, Korbin, and Walter all pretend as if they weren’t just slut-shaming the hell out of her. They greet her warmly and all compliment how great she looks. She doesn’t even seem to hear them. Jordan’s smile visibly falters when Y/N plants herself in front of Harry, snakes both arms around him, and kisses him full on the mouth.

She tastes like cherries and champagne.

“Hiii.” She whispers when she pulls away. Her eyelashes bat lazily as a languid smile greets him.

“Hey, baby.” He could have just said hey. He could have left it as a partial greeting. But she’s his and they’re all going to know it. Harry winds his arm behind her back and lets his hand rest just where the slit of her dress begins.

Y/N saddles to his side and rests her head against his shoulder. Finally, she turns her attention to the others. “Oh, my goodness, Kyrie Littrell, hi! How are you?”

Kyrie is less than enthusiastic when he makes small talk with her. Harry can feel all their eyes on him, judging, wondering exactly the colossal size of the mistakes they’ve made. He had warned them and they didn’t heed it. At some point, they would reap the seeds they sowed.

Harry can only keep his eyes on her. If he looks anywhere else, if he makes eye contact with any of them, he’ll do his worst. This is going to be a good night; his temper won’t ruin it.

“You boys mind if I steal him for minute?” She asks after congratulating Walter on his success at the scramble yesterday.

“Not at all.” Korbin manages to make it sound sweet but Harry detects the bitter jealousy rooted beneath. Good.

He’d done what they considerable unthinkable. Impossible. He had taken their Venus, a general and open to the public commodity, and harnessed her. He had stolen from the many. Tainted her. Ruined everyone’s fun. Not only is it a primal and disgusting line of thinking but Harry’s pretty sure he’s the one harnessed. He’s at her every beck and call and he doesn’t mind a bit.

Y/N’s hand laces in with his and she leads him away from the group. She doesn’t say a word as she weaves them through the crowd.

“Where are we going?”

All she gives him in a wicked smile. It’s enough to send a rush of blood down his body and straight to his dick. She’s fucking insatiable. He loves it.

He knows exactly what is going to happen when he is presented with the sight of the employee break room. It’s in a part of the club that’s off limits for the gala. No one should disturb them. She leads him inside and then barricades herself against the door after locking it.

Y/N grabs him by the lapels of his tux jacket and yanks him towards her. Pulling him down by his neck, she latches her mouth to his. She forces his jacket down and off his shoulders, leaving it to crumple on the floor.

“Whoa,”Harry pulls away for a breath, “easy, tiger.” Her chest heaves, tits near the point of busting out the front of her dress. “What’re you-?” He starts to ask as she fiddles with the waist tie of her dress. One little pull and the bow unravels. The dress shifts but it doesn’t open up.

“I just thought you’d like to know...I’m not wearing any panties.”

All the saliva evaporates from his mouth. She most certainly had panties on in the car. He knows because he had stuffed them in her mouth to keep her quiet.

“Uh-.”

“I didn’t put them back on. They’re still in the car. I bet they still taste like me.”

He pulls on his bowtie. Fuck. She always knows just what to say. And do. She takes a step toward him and her dress ripples open. True to her statement, she’s wearing no panties. Her cunt- and God al-fucking-mighty what a beautiful one it is- is just right there. Practically begging to be fucked.

She shrugs the dress from her shoulders and he watches it pool around her feet. In beautiful white shoes with ostentatious bows, she steps out from the fabric fully naked and, yes, he now sees why they call her Venus.

“Do you want me to ask you?” She runs a finger down the torso of his dress shirt. “Do you want me to beg?”

He grabs her by the back of her neck and forces their mouths together. Her hands are up his shirt, in his hair, grabbing at his cock from above his pants as he spins her around and pushes her against the table. He’s fucked her against it once already and he doesn’t care to do so again. He grabs her by the back of the thighs, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he puts her on the table.

“Want me to fuck you?” He growls in her ear, hand slithering around to palm her sex. She’s already so goddamn wet, needy little thing. Y/N whimpers out a heady yes, please. “Can you stay quiet or am I going to have to keep you quiet?”

Put stuff in my mouth more often. That’s what she had told him earlier.

She bats her eyelashes at him while unbuckling his belt. The jingle of the favored Gucci logo snapping apart rings. Her fingers are cool when they traipse down beneath his underwear. Shivers encapsulate his body and goosebumps rise from the skin when her cold hand wraps around his cock and gives a gentle, non-committal stroke.

“Better be safe.” She whispers, licking over her bottom lip. “You make it really hard to stay quiet.”

If they were at home, or anywhere where sound wouldn’t be a problem, he wouldn’t care. He likes the noises she makes. He relishes when she moans out his name or squeaks out when he hits that savored sweet spot.

Harry snaps his belt off and holds it up before her. Her mouth falls open. He wedges the leather strap into her mouth and pulls the two ends taut behind her head. “Okay?” She nods eagerly, eyes shining. “M’gonna fuck the shit out of you, tiger.”

Her legs tighten around his hips. She helps him shimmy his pants and underwear down to his knees. He thinks, in retrospect, this is his favorite part. The heavenly smell of her arousal tingling his nose; how her eyes are already hazy and fucked out; the pliable flexibility of her body moving whatever way he wants it to; and the knowledge that the throbbing velvet of her cunt is mere seconds away.

Anticipation.

Harry revels in it for another millisecond. Then, she arches her back and wriggles her hips. Impatient. Needy. He knows the feeling. In his favorite form, he likes to kiss her when he first enters her. But with his belt in her mouth, that option is void. Instead, he latches his mouth to her shoulder and in one powerful rut of his hips, puts his dick in her.

The belt muffles her moan; her skin quietens his. She feels like...he doesn’t know, really. Heaven? Divinity itself? It takes all he has not to cum in her right then.

“God, baby, you feel so good.” He throats out. “Perfect fo’ me.”

She mumbles something that’s unintelligible through the leather of his belt. He also hates that. He wants to know how she feels. He wants to know all the filthy thoughts running rampant in her dirty little head. He just also wants no one to hear him railing into her.

She scoots closer to the edge of the table, widening her legs. With those fuck me I’m yours eyes and the heavy smell of her arousal in the air, what else is he supposed to do?

He eases out slowly, soaking up the way she whimpers in shameless and pure want before he thrusts back into her. It elicits a harmonious noise from the bottom of her throat, one more beautiful than any note he could ever sing. He hisses when her fingernails scrape into the cheeks of his ass. He presses his chest against hers, leaning her back against the surface of the table. Without having to be gestured or told, she locks a leg over his shoulder.

Harry fusses with the tulle bow on her shoe, fabric tickling the side of his neck. He turns his head, pounding his cock deep into her, and kisses her ankle. The tip of his nose runs along the smooth skin of her calf and he takes in the peach scent of her lotion.

Maybe he’ll write a song about peaches. Just for her. Rather, about her.

She tugs on his shirt front and urges him down. Never one to deny her anything, simply because he is inclined to give her everything she could ever want, he obliges and hovers over her. Harry grabs at her hand, lacing their fingers together and resting the joined extremities next to her head.

“Could fuck you for the rest o’ my life, Y/N. Know that?” All she can do is nod her head, panting out softly. It’s not good enough.

He misses her noises. The way getting fucked scrambles her brain so much she can’t even finish a word. He taps her chin and instructs her to open up wide. When she does, he pulls the belt from her mouth and tosses it aside. If they get caught, if this gets her fired, he’ll give her double of what she’d earn in a year at this place.

It’s worth it.

“Hi, baby. Lemme hear you.” He coaxes. His fingers brush over her clit before running a pattern and then pinching gently. He’s rewarded sevenfold with a soft and breathy more, Harry, please.

With a hand on her thigh to keep her leg in place on his shoulder, he leans down and puts his mouth to hers. Her back arches off the table, moaning in his mouth as he ferociously fucks into her.

Her pussy is sopping, her arousal leaking and sticking to his pubes. He loves the sound that it makes when he slams into her over and over. She is soaking and throbbing around his cock and it’s almost enough to make him bust his load immediately.

But he’s got a rule about that: ladies first.

“You gonna cum?” He huffs as he grabs at her breasts. Her nipples roll between his fingertips. “Gonna make a mess all over my cock?”

Y/N’s hips rut up against his, perfectly matching his rhythm. “Yes.” She pants. “Just-fuck- more, Harry. Harder.”

He jerks her down closer to the end of the table. Propping one knee next to her thigh, he lifts up her hips. She keens and whines at the new angle, his dick hitting a previously untouched spot.

“God, yes.” The rhythm of her hips falters towards erratic, pupils blown and her hands curled for anchoring on the table’s surface. “I’m gonna-Harry-it’s-.”

“Again?”

Harry’s head whips around as he continues to fuck her through her orgasm. He locks eyes with Hessman, the walls of her cunt pulsing, her legs trembling, and her mewls floating in the air.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, what is it with you two?” Hessman hisses. He’s swinging the door shut when Harry launches his belt at him.

Not caring to check if the door gets locked by his caddy, Harry turns his attention back to his girlfriend. Laid back on the table, her skin flushed and shining with sweat, her chest heaves with panting breaths.

“You’re not done, are you?” She asks as his thrusts slow.

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “No, tiger, not even close. Turn around and lemme fill you up with my cum.”

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“Aren’t you drunk?”

Hessman wildly swings the driver club in the air. He looks over at her before taking a less than delicate slug from the bottle of tequila he swiped from Harlowe’s locker.

Y/N drops a shoulder in a casual shrug and lines the head of her club up with the ball on the tee. Well, one of the balls because right now, it looks like there’s three. If she squints, she can focus on the one in the middle, which she knows is the right one.

This is their fourth gala together. The fourth year in a row they’ve gotten shit-faced near the end and snuck away to swing on the driving range. She’s had enough experience to still be able to get a decent shot even while dizzy-headed and swishy.

Y/N is thankful that he hasn’t brought up the scene he walked in on thirty minutes ago. He keeps side-eyeing her and smiling, though, which she takes as a good sign. Hessman had simply shown up almost immediately after she and Harry snuck back out of the break room, both trying to discreetly fix their clothes and hair. He’d grabbed her by the crook of her elbow and asked Harry if he could take her off his hands for a while. Gala ritual, can’t be tampered with.

“Oh yeah. For sure.” She says right before swinging. The familiar sound of metal against the balata cover of the golf ball rings in her ears as the ball goes flying across the range.

Hessman whistles. “How are you this drunk and you can still swing like that?” He hands the bottle off to her and she takes a generous drink, no longer tasting the bitter alcohol as it burns a path down her throat.

She hands the bottle back and drops another ball on the tee. “It’s called skill and talent, Isaac. You should try it sometime.” He mocks her by repeating her words in a high-pitched and overly feminine voice. “You’re a dick.” She swings again, smacking the club against the ball and not even bothering to see where it flies.

“And you’re a fuckin’ golf god.” He passes the bottle and drops a ball on his tee after she takes the tequila. As he squares himself up, she takes a long sip. “You know, I looked up your records once.” He doesn’t swing, not yet. “Back when we first started working together. Your name was so damn familiar. And the first day we all golfed together, I knew why. I watched you at a tournament once when we were in high school. I didn’t qualify but I went anyway because some other dude from my school was in and we had to all go for support. Carlton Chase?”

She’s in the middle of another drink when he says the name. She spits the tequila out and coughs. Fuck Carlton Chase.

“Yeah,” she mutters, “I remember him.”

Carlton, who went by CJ, had been her first serious boyfriend. They’d met at a golf scramble in South Carolina one year, both playing with their dads. She thought he was cute and he was a pretty decent golfer too. They had dinner together at their shared resort and found out that they only lived forty minutes away from each other. He complimented her skills a lot, told her she was pretty. Bought her a tennis bracelet with sea turtle and golf club charms. They dated until their regional tournament that year.

“You guys dated.” Hessman states. She doesn’t like his memory. “You broke up after that tournament, right?” Quietly, she confirms. “He got hounded a lot for breaking up with you, by the whole team. I even-.”

Wait a damn minute.

She nearly drops the bottle. She places it next to the emptied bucket of balls. “Did you just- he said-? Are you fucking kidding me?” She grabs the driver she’s been using and thrashes it through the air. “He said that he broke up with me? For fucking what?”

It was so long ago but the lie eats away at her. She’s just drunk enough for something so trivial to really wind her up. CJ had been such a little bitch when it came to golf and tournaments. For fun, they’d do couples scrambles together but he’d always get pissed when her personal score was lower than his.

Hessman glances at her. “Said you were a bitch. A crazy bitch. Too needy.” He fully looks at her and grins. The sight makes her anger dissipate and she laughs at him. It says everything she needs to know. He’d never believed it for a second.

“Well,” she watches him re-align his shot, “he was right about the bitch part. He could be a real cunt, though, too. He got pissed after that regional, because I placed over him. Didn’t like the fact that I was better, couldn’t handle that a girl was better than him. So I broke up with him.”

Hessman chuckles under his breath and says that makes a lot more sense than the bullshit CJ Chase fed everyone at their school.

“So,” he swings and his backswing is too loose and wobbly and he barely strikes the ball, “why didn’t you go pro? You could have.”

She knows this. She almost had.

Once, she had dreamt of being a professional golfer. She’d get to travel, see the world, make plenty of money. All while doing what she loved. She could’ve had her own line of clubs, or a line of golf attire for women because honestly, there needed to be cuter options. It was her dream. She practically spent her chlidhood being prepped for it and praying to posters of Karrie Webb and Annika Sorenstam.

For twenty-one years, professional golf was her dream. And then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

Still, now, the thought makes her sad. She misses the excitement and the cool nerves, the slow chill of ice in her veins at the start of a tournament. She misses golf being fun.

He tosses her a ball. She bends down and readjusts her tee before placing the ball. She stands back up and does a practice swing before lining the shot. “I dunno,” ever so lightly, the head of the club brushes the ball, “fell outta love with it.”

After she sends the ball soaring into the night, she explains the realization. A junior in college, having just finished first in a showcase. Scouts were there eyeing potentials for managements and then her dream smacked her in the face. A rep from the LPGA was there and was thoroughly impressed with her above average low score and the hole-in-one she managed after a birdie and an eagle. She invited her to the qualifier for the LPGA; if Y/N scored well enough, she’d have a spot on the LPGA tour. They’d work it out so she could still finish her degree.

It was everything she had ever wanted.

Her parents, of course, had been over the damn moon. They talked for weeks about the qualifying school and argued with Y/N’s college coach and her personal trainer about her training schedule because she had to be in peak condition. This was everything they-and she- had ever hoped for. Her entire life had been for this.

And while everyone else scurried and doted and preened for the qualifier, she just...existed. She should’ve been over the moon. She was going to be the next Kathy Whitworth, everyone knew it. But she didn’t care. Excitement didn’t flood. her brain. Plans for the future didn’t overload her. Practices became grueling. Training sessions were dreaded. She fielded calls from the LPGA rep.

She no longer loved her life companion. And she definitely didn’t love it enough to play as a lifestyle.

She tells him that she ditched the qualifier because there was no way she could go and not be offered a spot on the tour. There was no possibility of her botching it, purposeful or otherwise.

“My, uh, my parents were really pissed off when I threw it all away.” She looks out at the horizon. “They still are. My mom never got the chance to go pro, because of me. She got pregnant and the recovery was pretty rough on her. Then Dad blew his shoulder out when I was two and lost the PGA deal he was trying to secure.”

“Y/N...”

“I haven’t seen or spoken to them since I graduated college. That was two weeks before I moved down here and started working here. They came to graduation, smiled for the pictures, but we never said a word.”

She holds her hand out for another ball and is instead met with the cool glass of the tequila bottle. That’ll work too. She grasps her fingers around the neck and brings the rim to her mouth, taking a savoring drink.

“Can I give you some friendly advice?” Hessman offers in a cautious, tepid voice. She waves her hand and ushers him to go on. “Don’t marry Harry.”

The bottle slips from her grasp. It shatters against the grass, glass flying up and tequila going everywhere. They both look at the mess but neither makes a move to clean it up.

“Isaac, what the fuck?” She takes a step back. If he’s about to make some weird unrequited love declaration, she’s going inside. That is not something she can deal with tonight. “Who the fuck- who ever said we were getting married? We’ve been dating like two months. We haven’t even said I love you yet.”

“Do you? Love him, I mean.”

That she can’t answer. But she almost says yes anyway. Because she could, she knows she could. Being with Harry feels better than anything else in the world. It’s how she was supposed to feel the day that LPGA rep offered her a slot at the qualifying school. It feels right, it feels like home.

“I could, yeah.” She whispers softly.

Unsuspectingly, he smiles at her. “Good, that’s good. And if he’s smart, if he’s sane- and I think he is- he’ll love you too. But,” he holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to interrupt,” don’t marry him. Ever.”

How does that make any sense at all?

“How drunk are you?” She inquires. “Because you aren’t making a lick of damn sense.”

“Y/N, how’re you gonna get paid to take care of his kid- and I know he pays you the big bucks for that shit- and then goo marry him and do it for free?”

Her eyes widen. It’s not a warning at all. He’s fucking around. She reaches out and tries to shove him. But in her drunken state, she slips in the wet grass. Hessman reaches out and grabs onto her. Both eyeing the shards of broken glass that she could’ve just killed herself on, they bust out laughing.

“You’re such a fucking idiot, I swear to God.” She rolls her eyes.

He reminds her that he’s being serous before suggesting they go get some stuff to clean the broken bottle up with. They both toss the clubs aside for later and he swings an arm over her shoulders. “Hey, for real though, what the fuck is up with you two and that table?”

Unbeknownst to both of them is Jordan Clemmons, who has been watching them from the window the past thirty minutes.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #Smut #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #golf!harry #golf!dilf!Harry x babysitter!Y/N #golfrry #babysitter!y/n #dilf!harry #filth #pure filth

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

Text

Match Play

Pairing: Golf Dad! Harry Styles x Babysitter/Cart Girl!Y/N

Summary: Sequel to Milking the Grip.

“In golf, ‘match play’ refers to playing a game based on the amount of holes won or lost rather than the number of strokes.” Four rain-checks and cancellations of their first official date leave Harry and Y/N in a weird in-between; that’s why his eyes are so green, they’re full of jealousy.

Warning: SMUT, more smut and more plot, language, (legal) age gap, jealousy, public indecency (sort of?)

Read part i here.

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She was, in a sense, not surprised when Harry texted her at 8:57pm and informed her that their date-made mere hours beforehand- for the evening required a rain-check. Georgia had caught a stomach bug suddenly and was, as Harry had put it through text, down for the count.

Yeah, right.

In the months that Y/N had been babysitting Georgia, the two-year-old had never once had so much as the sniffles. She wasn’t sick. He just needed a valid excuse to get out of a date he hadn’t wanted to go on. She knew the rules of men easily enough. Asking a girl on a date mid-sex was just the nice thing to do. Granted, most guys usually held up for at least one date, just to keep up appearances.

Once again, Harry proved that he was not like most guys. Usually, though, it was in a good sense.

Y/N had stared in the bathroom mirror of the break lounge until 9:30 that night. She’d stared at her messy and unraveling twin French braids and chastised herself for not fixing them before returning from the green. Hastily, she ripped them out of the rubber band holders and raked her fingers through until she was less satisfied than the start. Her face was still flushed from the entirely indecent and proper fucking she had received on top of cart 17. Her top was too small and her boobs were practically crawling out of the halter neckline. Her skirt was too short and she regretted not wearing boy cut underwear.

She berated herself for having sex with her boss. For even flirting with him at all, ever. And she absolutely let herself have it for believing he actually wanted to take her on a date.

After her self-thrown pity party, she’d felt pretty bad because Frehly was the late caddy and that meant he had to wait on her to walk her to her car. Coates was an ass sometimes but he always made sure the late caddy walked the late cart girl to her car every night.

That was three days ago.

Now, she’s sitting in her car in front of Harry’s house trying to muster up enough courage to go inside. It’s Tuesday and she’s due to walk in at any second to watch Georgia. She’s not spoken to him since Saturday night when she replied to his cancellation with a ‘thumbs up’ reaction. He never responded.

“Just fucking go inside.” She tells herself. “He’s literally just a guy. It’s not a big deal. He clearly doesn’t care and neither should you.”

It’s just the push she needs to throw all her hurt feelings in the wind and get out of the car. It’s just another Tuesday babysitting little Georgia. He’s just her boss. Definitely not some guy she’s been crushing on for weeks and just fucked at her other job three days ago. Nope. Just another guy!

Y/N instantly regrets, once she makes it to the door, her outfit choice. Six-thirty AM Y/N had been a salty bitch and in the mood to show him who was actually missing out. Now, in hindsight, she probably should not have put on the tight white tank top and the fitted 70s pattern denim shorts- that he had once called cute.

She knocks twice on the door, sucking on the inside of her cheek and hoping he’s ready to head out as soon as she gets there. She really can’t handle any sort of confrontation with him so early in the morning.

The door is thrown open. Momentarily, Y/N is taken aback by how stunningly handsome he can look in simple golfing attire.

“Y/N.” He breathes out her name quietly. “What, uh, what’re you doing here?”

He’s got to be joking. Right? It’s Tuesday. She always babysits Georgia on Tuesdays. He golfs. She watches his kid. That’s the routine. Plain and fucking simple.

Unless...No. No way.

She frowns back at him. “It’s Tuesday...?”

He scrambles in the pocket of his khakis, producing his phone. “I thought I...Oh, shit, well. That makes sense.” He flips his phone around to show an alert for a message unable to be delivered. “George’s been begging me to take her to the course. Meant to text you ‘round the time you get up to let you know she’d be with me today but I guess that was a bust, huh?”

Golfing with a two year old sounds like a goddamn nightmare to her. And as seriously as he takes the sport, she doesn’t think it’s such a good idea to tote his toddler around the green all day.

“Oh.” She says. “Right. Um, okay. I’ll just...I’ll just go, then.”

She’s halfway to spinning around on the ball of her foot and jetting back down the drive when he reaches out and wraps his hand around her wrist. His hand is large enough that it fully encompasses over her wrist and his thumb rests on top of his other fingers.

Softly, almost breathlessly, he says, “Go with us.” It’s not a suggestion. It isn’t a question.

She blinks back at him. The last time they’d been on the course together, it had been an afternoon full of purposeful brushes and agonizing cockteases before they’d made a bet that neither of them could lose. In a secluded part of the country club grounds, far enough off course that no one would accidentally stumble upon them, she and Harry had defiled guest cart 17.

His mouth had ravished over her body, just like all of her most illicit fantasies of him. His hands had squeezed her, dug into her skin, pleasured her. His body had moved against hers.

He had been inside of her.

There are two ways in which the day plays out if she agrees. One: in a much similar fashion as three days ago, they spend the day eye-fucking one another and creating situations in which they have to touch the other. Therein, at the end of the day, there must be either a brutal confrontation or glorious sex (she’s fine with either). Or, two: they act as their proper roles wherein Harry is a loving father who couldn’t say no to taking his toddler golfing but he’s just serious enough about the sport to force the babysitter along to entertain the kid. Therein, at the end of the day, he pays her the normal daily fee and she goes on her way.

That one, honestly, sounds like less fun. But way better for her mental health and emotional well-being.

At her hesitation, Harry clears his throat. “You’re already here and Georgie adores you so much.” His brilliant green eyes seem so earnest she almost wants to believe the sincerity of his tone. “If you want, I’ll pay your round. Lunch and dinner on me, too. ‘Course, you’re still getting paid for the day if you come-.”

The phrase, entirely out of context, makes her shiver. If you come. He’s talking about her accompanying them to the course for the day and her brain is so rotted from the last time she was around him that she can’t even think straight. This is admittedly harder than she’d expected it to be. All she can think of is the snap of his hips against hers, his tongue in her mouth, the jingle of that damn Gucci belt-.

“Y/N?”

“Huh?” She blinks rapidly back into focus.

His head tilts to the side. “What do ya say? Up for a round with me and the kid?” She mumbles out a yeah and that she will need to run home to change and grab her clubs- an adventure he seems more than happy to make. When he agrees to run her home real quick, he’s grinning at her like he knows exactly what she’d been thinking moments before.

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Her golf clubs are pink. The same shade of pink as one associates with a ballerina dress. Pink and sleek silver. They’re slightly shorter to accommodate her body’s range, even though he remembers her playing just fine with his own club last weekend.

Then again, if she could pull off a hole in one with a club that wasn’t built for her, she’d probably kick his ass with her own clubs.

Her quarter-zip white tank golf dress is short enough to be terrifyingly tempting but long enough to onset her modest babysitter’s gig. She’s not on the clock for the country club; she’s on the clock for him.

Somehow, that makes everything so much worse.

Albeit uncomfortably, all for of them could fit on one cart. Georgia will no doubt spend most of the driving either in Harry’s lap or Y/N’s, and really, there’s plenty of room for Hessman on the back of the cart if he wedges himself between Harry’s club bag and Y/N’s club bag. But Harry never has never before let the caddy ride on the back of the cart and he isn’t going to start now. Golfer up front and caddy on the back has always seemed a bit archaic, formal, and downright rude.

He watches Y/N look between the cart, the two sets of clubs, Georgia, and then Hessman. Her pretty mouth is twisted up in a frown with her bottom lip secured between her teeth.

“Well,” she sighs loudly after releasing her lip, “only one way to fix this.” Her hand smacks against Hessman’s chest before she winds her arm around his shoulders. She knocks her temple against his chin lightly. “Guests on one cart, the help on another, yeah?”

The...the help? Does she honestly think that’s how he sees them? Just little worker bees?

“You’re not-.” He starts to say.

She cuts him off effectively. “Isaac and I’ll take the clubs and follow behind you and Princess Georgie.” She gets to work securing Georgia’s carseat to the passenger side of the golf cart. Still strapped in, Georgia laughs when Y/N bops their noses together and pinches her cherubic cheeks.

Harry’s never heard anyone refer to Hessman by his first name. He’d tried once, when he first picked him up as a caddy but Hessman had been pretty staunch about everyone referring to him by his last name only. In fact, it seemed that most of the caddies at the club went by their last names.

But he doesn’t seem to mind at all that she just called him by his first name.

Y/N’s loose pigtail braids flip when she whirls around- the skirt of her dress swishing up and he tries his damndest not to look- and blows out a shrill whistle. Almost too sweetly, she calls to another one of the caddies- Diamond, she shouts out- to bring an extra set of cart keys.

“Y/N!” A guy wearing a uniform near identical to Hessman’s- powder blue dri-fit polo and light toned khakis- jogs out of the club’s lobby. “Lookin’ good today!” A set of keys jingle in his hand and he tosses them to Hessman who catches them.

Y/N is in the process of adjusting Georgia’s ribboned pigtails. When Georgia first saw her earlier that morning, she’d ooh’d over Y/N’s hairstyle and brought herself to tears until Y/N sat down with her and styled her hair in an almost identical fashion. Georgia just has a glittery white ribbon bowed at the bottom of each pigtail braid.

Harry can’t lie. The sight of Y/N and Georgia sitting in the bathroom and Y/N doing her hair had made his heart skip several beats. He isn’t just physically attracted to her. He genuinely likes her. She’s a rockstar with his daughter, Georgia absolutely love her. She’s a hell of a cook. Sardonically funny in a way that didn’t make him uneasy. Killer golfer (he’d looked up her old stats the other day and had been plum impressed).

Harry likes her. This girl who just so happens to be his daughter’s babysitter. This girl who works at his golf course. The girl he fucked on top of golf cart 17 three days ago.

He’d hated to raincheck their date. Had Georgie not gotten sick, or perhaps if she got sick more often...But very rarely did she ever come down with something and this time it was bad. The stomach bug hit like a bullet train and stayed well into yesterday morning.

And really, he’s been meaning to reschedule their date. But with Georgia’s bug, he hasn’t had much else time to plan anything at all. He’d sort of hoped today would be good for them. They could talk, make some definite plans. He wants to kiss her again. To really kiss her and just exist in that perfect moment and it not be rushed or on the hurried road to something else.

He likes her. So maybe that’s why his stomach is in knots at her taciturn behavior toward him and her bubbly demeanor with everyone else.

Y/N hoists Georgia up onto her waist and turns to Diamond. Harry watches his daughter tug lightly on one of Y/N’s braids and then wrap her arms around her neck in a tight hug.

“Whoa, hold up.” Diamond glances between Y/N and the little girl. “Since when do you have a kid?”

Harry freezes adjusting the velcro strap of his glove. Through his eyelashes, he watches for her reaction.

Y/N simply laughs, shaking her head and peeling Georgia’s arms from her neck. “Not mine, you doofus. I babysit for,” she gestures a loose arm towards Harry, “Mr. Styles.”

Wait.

Since when is he Mr. Styles?

She secures Georgia in her carseat once again and gives her nose a little kiss. She takes several steps away before leaning against the hood of the cart next to Hessman.

For the first time, Diamond looks at Harry. They give each other a half-wave. The other caddy tilts his head to the side.

“Huh.” He huffs out. “You got like, a maid or somethin’ you could hook me up with?”

“Diamond-.” Hessman starts.

“Corey, wait-.” Y/N tries to interject.

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t miss the way, before the words are even said, Y/N and Hessman step away from each other. Hessman shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at the clear sky. Y/N stands straight up with her shoulders squared, eyes directly on Harry.

“Well, ya know, ‘cause you’ve gotta be like some kinda matchmaker boss right? They both work for you? She’s your babysitter, he’s your caddy?” Quietly, with a bubbling in the pit of his stomach, Harry says yes, but he doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. The saying goes don’t shoot the messenger, but when Corey Diamond says, “Well, look at ‘em. You see it too, right? They’re dating, we all think it. And if they’re not, they should be. Don’t you think”, Harry wants to do exactly that.

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After Diamond put his foot in everyone’s ass, Harry had slunk into his cart, made sure Georgia was strapped in safely, and sped off to Hole 1.

Y/N and Hessman shared a depleted look of annoyance before taking off behind him.

She never thought to bring it up to Harry before. It wasn’t important, what all the people at the club thought. There was no reason for Harry to ever know that every other employee at the country club wanted her and Hessman to date.

“So,” Hessman taps his fingers against the wheel of the cart as they head towards Hole Four, “wanna tell me what happened between you two?”

Y/N glances over at him. She adjusts her visor. “Nothing happened.”

He laughs and tries to cover it with lousy attempt at a fake cough. “Sorry, hold on.” He coughs a few more times. “I’m choking on the load of bullshit you just tried to feed me. Seriously,” his tone drops, “what the hell is going on?”

Without thinking or any sort of warning- and she probably needed to give him some shred of warning- Y/N rambles off about the entire ordeal. Her stupid crush on her stupid hot boss. Making out in his kitchen. Leaving when he asked her not to. Avoiding him. All but fucking him when she had to be his caddy. Actually fucking him when she was his caddy.

“Shit.” She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Do not breathe a word about that to anyone, Isaac!”

When he promises not to say a word, she continues on. Their cancelled date. Her sour mood. And today.

Hessman parks the cart behind Harry’s. He turns in the seat to look her head on. “Oh, yeah.” He says dryly. “You’re sure showing him.” He rolls his eyes before sliding out of the cart.

Harry is busy unstrapping Georgia from the carseat. As he sets her on the grass, he calls for Hessman to pull his 5 wood from the bag.

Hole 4 is one of the longer holes of the course. It was five par, meaning it could be done in 5 strokes. Typically guests tend to average a six or seven, effectively bogeying and double-bogeying themselves down the shitter. Which, wasn’t awful, but she could do better.

Cart girls got asked all the time to swing around with the guests. And most of the girls didn’t know jack shit about golf. The golfers liked to pretend to be teaching them something and in return, the girls got pretty big tips for letting some 55 year old guy drunk off Budweiser put his arms around her. The guests felt good about themselves and the girls made bank. Everyone won.

There’s a reason Y/N never golfs at the club. When she’s in the mood, she drives an hour and twenty minutes to the next best course. Even if t’s just to practice at the driving or putting range. Guests don’t much care for a cart girl who’s a better shot than them. Makes for bad tips.

If she could purposefully be bad, it would be different. But bad at golf isn’t in her DNA. Her parents are good golfers and so were both her grandpas. Quite literally, golf is in her blood.

But she’s not working for tips today and it’s a Tuesday which means none of her normal guests are out on the course today. She’s in a mood and she wants to show Harry who the goddamn boss really is.

She slides out of the cart. “Gimme my driver, Isaac.”

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Harry knows he’s fucked when she asks for her driver.

Really, he knew he was fucked the moment she decided to ride with Hessman and not him. She’s making a point. He just isn’t sure what it is.

Hole 4, for being pretty early on, is strenuous and what he considers a challenge. It’s easily the worst part of the first half of the course, therefore the worst he will play today. He’s not going through all 18 holes with Georgia there.

He’s never managed to hit below par on Hole 4. Most of the time, he’s one or two over par.

And really, he’s not on his A game today anyway. Something about golfing with Y/N is making him nervous. She seems to scrutinize his every move. And the flirting...he’s half considered telling her and Hessman to get a damn room.

Apart, they’ve never much mentioned the other. But ever since that other caddy mentioned that literally everyone who worked at the club either wanted them to date or thought they already were, all Harry can see is the way the act with each other.

He’s constantly touching her braids or fingering the hem of her dress. She likes to adjust his collar or embrace him in what look to be bone-crushing hugs. They whisper to each other all the fucking time. While driving, Harry couldn’t stop himself from occasionally looking back to watch them. They’d be laughing, her pretty bare legs swung over his lap and his arm over her thighs.

He likes Hessman as a person, he really does. But he also kind of wants to bash his face in with the 5 wood.

He’s ever aware of both of them watching him as he lines the head of his club up with the ball on the tee. Georgia, wrapped in Y/N’s arms, claps loudly.

“Daddy! Go!” She squeals out.

Okay. He can do this. As long as his kid thinks he’s good, nothing else matters. He takes a deep breath, relaxes his shoulders, and swings.

Hessman whistles as the ball soars through the sky. The 5′s got a pretty decent loft to it and if Harry swings just so, he can get a fair amount of distance. Most people don’t like to use a 3 or 5 for the first shot, but he’s found that he can make it work.

The first face he looks to is Y/N’s. She seems mildly impressed.

“Nice.” She comments plainly. Without another word, she hands him his daughter and swings her club up, the shaft resting on her shoulder. Several wisps of hair fan out on her forehead and by her ears as she breezes past him.

He can’t tear his eyes off her. She takes her stance before dropping down to place a tee and then a ball on top of it. Her movements are, as he figures, entirely routine and wholly methodical. She circles around the ball, occasionally eyeing the far off Hole 4 flag. Finally, she inhales a sharp breath and takes her final stance.

A little diagonal from the ball. Y/N bounces twice on the balls of her feet before firming her position. Feet shoulder width apart, right foot slightly further back than the left. She milks the grip of her club once, twice, three times before her right shoulder drops down, elbow bending, and her left arm goes rigid straight. Her knees bend.

It’s sort of terrifying how natural she looks this way. Even more, it’s scary how serious she looks now. She’s now making it very clear that Holes 1-3 were not with any effort on her part. She was merely having fun. They’re really playing golf now.

There’s no hesitation or pause before it happens. Just like the first time he ever saw her swing, it’s gorgeous. A flawless shot. He doubts a serious critic could find any sort of error in any piece of it.

As soon as the ball is in the air, her back is turned and she’s strutting toward the cart she’s been sharing with Hessman. Harry, Georgia, and Hessman all are still watching the ball soar out and then disappear into the brilliant rays of sun. Y/N slips her club back into her bag and slides into the cart.

“Well?” She draws their attention to her. “We’ve still got five holes after this one. Let’s get a move on.”

Harry’s stomach bubbles when Hessman smirks at her. Wordlessly, he takes Harry’s club back and stuffs it in the bag. Harry doesn’t hear whatever his caddy whispers to his babysitter but he does hear her silvery laugh.

Blood boils under his skin as he stands there like a fool, his daughter next to him and holding his hand. He had thought Y/N might have really liked him, before today.

It’s easy to recognize the feeling of jealousy taking hold of his system. If this were a different place, if Georgia were not present, he’d grab Y/N by the back of the neck and make sure everyone knew who the fuck she was for. If he were a lesser person, he’d happily bend her over that stupid magazine stand in the lobby just to drive the point home.

Unless...unless that was the point.

She’s fucking with him. Flirting with Hessman to rile him up. It’s all a game. She’s making her own point and she wants him to do something about it. Fine.

Two can play this game.

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They call it an albatross. It’s elusive. Out of reach. A fantasy for most golfers. Unless, of course, you knew exactly what the fuck you were doing.

And it just so happens that Y/N knows exactly what the fuck she’s doing. She knows the course at Valhalla Springs inside and out. While she does her daytime golfing at other courses, that’s not to say she’s never made that course her bitch. Because she has. Several times.

The course is closed on Mondays. Therefore, when she wants to golf on Mondays, she golfs at Valhalla Springs. An outrageously awesome pro of being an employee. None of the other cart girls much liked golf as a serious sport. They’d dick around at the driving range some. Usually, the caddies played some on Mondays but they’d gotten to the point that they were too embarrassed to match her anymore.

In college, she’d earned a pretty hearty reputation for her low scores. And everyone knows that in golf, the lower the better. She couldn’t explain it. She simply had a knack for making the ball go where she wanted. Mostly, she got by with a shit ton of birdies and a few eagles. But every once in a while, if she was in a real mood, the golden egg of all golfers was hers.

The albatross.

Also called a double-eagle- which she thinks makes zero damn sense-, it’s the rarity of shooting three under par. Only possible, really, on a five par hole, they rarely, if ever, happen. You’ve got to have a killer first stroke and then sink the ball on the second.

Harry had put her in a ripe enough mood that she knew with a little bit of effort, she could pull it off. And she had.

Hessman had shaken his head when, after her second swing, she had declared herself an albatross. He’d contested, said there was no way. Harry never spoke. He bogeyed, one over par. Sure enough, when he went to putt that sixth stroke, her ball had to be fished from the hole first.

By the time they get to Hole 6, she’s bored enough to extend an offer. A pity olive branch, if anything.

Georgia’s fussy and doesn’t want to be bothered with the usuals, so Hessman is now on toddler time. He’s entertaining her by laying all of Harry’s clubs out on the green and explaining what each is. In turn, she’s playing with his hair.

“Harry...?” Her voice is tentative, soft. She’s been making an ass of herself this entire round. And making him look back in front of his kid. Granted, said kid is two and doesn’t have a clue about golf or anything. But still.

“Y/N.” He doesn’t turn toward her. His face is directed out toward the distant sight of the green Hole 6 flag.

She leans against her 3 wood. “Match play?”

It’s a heavy suggestion. For her. She hates match play. She hates gilligans, mulligans, and shiperios. Why would anyone ever need a redo shot? Just be fucking better. God, and match play. What a disgrace to the name of good golf. Basing the game based on the number of holes won or lost rather than total number of strokes has never rubbed her right.

She supposes things like these are meant for players who aren’t as naturally gifted as her. After all, she doesn’t know anyone else who can force a goddamn albatross the way she can. Or even a hole-in-one.

Harry turns slowly to look at her. If he can tell she’s uncomfortable with the idea, he doesn’t say. It’s a big offer. If they match play, they’re tied right now. “You sure? ‘Cause...if we don’t, you’re gonna win.”

She shrugs. It’s not a competition anyway. “I don’t mind. Just a game, yeah?”

He nods solemnly. “Y/N-.”

“Hey guys!”

The beverage cart skids to a stop on the other side of Hessman’s cart. Harlowe lumbers out gracefully, all long legs and tittering laughter. Her skirt is hiked shorter than it was earlier that morning and it looks like she’s forgone her bra.

“You guys look thirsty.” She beams at Harry. “Drink?”

Mr. Sex-On-Legs. That’s what Harlowe had called Harry last week. And when Y/N had returned from...caddying, Harlowe had pestered her non-fucking-stop about Harry. Was he single? Was he as rich as everyone said? Was his dick big (because Harlowe had an ESP for things like that and it was absolutely raving)? At that, Y/N had stalked away to the employee bathroom and barricaded herself in.

By the way: yes, yes, and hell motherfucking yes.

At this moment, Y/N hates Harlowe. She hates the way she’s smacking the wad of gum in her mouth. She hates the way she’s giving Harry that do me smile. Most of all, she hates the fact that he’s eating it right up.

He follows her over to the cart, laughing at whatever stupid thing she’s just said. He lets her take his club and pretend to swing it. Lets her touch his damn bicep. He says something that makes her laugh and the sound makes Y/N want to bash Harlowe’s face in with her 3 wood.

She’s never been a very jealous person. Never cared enough to be. Which means, she’s never cared enough about someone and their relationship to her in order to become jealous. This is the problem.

Y/N likes her boss a little bit too much. It goes beyond lust, beyond a little crush. She has feelings for him.

Which was why that stupid date cancellation hurt so bad.

And here he is, throwing it in her face that she’d been right all along. She was just a quick fuck three days ago. There’s no way in hell he’s getting away with this.

If this was now match play, she’s going to kick his ass. They’re 3-2 with him in the lead, and there are three holes left after this one. All she has to do is win this one and two more to solidify her win. He could make her look like a fool, just not on her goddamn green.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Before she can properly place the voice, her heart flutters at thinking it’s Harry. She grabs anther tee from her bag and realizes it’s Hessman.

“Still on for Friday night after work?”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Harry glance over at them. To anyone who wasn’t an employee at Valhalla Springs, this question sounds like a date proposal. Friday night was practically synonymous with date night.

She sticks her tee in the ground and drops the ball on it. With a sugary sweet smile in Hessman’s direction and a venomous glare in Harry’s, she adjusts her position. “Can’t wait,” she says as she swings for her hole-in-one.

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In a game of match play, it only matters how many of the holes you win. That’s how you win in match play. Not your total number of strokes, but the amount of holes won. Of course, to win a hole you had to have less strokes than the other person.

In a round of nine holes, two people playing, a player would only need to win 5 holes to win the round.

That was exactly what Y/N did. She was a totally different person when it came to golf. Icy, competitive, territorial. A fearsome opponent who wasted no time making sure he knew she was better than him.

They broke for lunch after Hole 9 and ate at the club. Per tradition, that was when Hessman also took his lunch. Usually, the two ate at a small table in the back and strategized about how Harry could lower his personal par and keep from bogeying most of the course. But not today.

Today they had Y/N and Georgia. Harry, for once, felt like the odd person out. He took the shaded backseat and was forced to watch Y/N spread her sunlight onto Hessman and his own daughter. She cut up Georgia’s food into small non-choking bites; she gave the french fries personalities and names and characterized them before Georgia ate them. She jokingly shoved Hessman and laughed loudly when he said something dumb. She stole food from his plate and leaned closer to him when he spoke.

The whole time, Harry felt someone’s eyes on him. Every time he looked up, that cart girl Harlowe was staring at him. When she caught him looking, she’d flash him a girlish wave and a simpering smile. Once, when their gazes were locked, he heard Y/N clear her throat loudly. She’d shot him a withering glare before returning her attention to Georgia.

Harry didn’t know what was wrong. Or what he was doing wrong. She’d been in a foul mood all day. The only time she had seemed hospitable was when she offered up the chance of match play to give him a fair shot at winning. Not even three minutes later, she had physically rescinded it by swinging a hole-in-one.

He didn’t know what had happened- Harlowe.

She’d gotten crabby again right when Harlowe showed up and started flirting with him. She was jealous. The same way he was jealous of the way she acted with Hessman.

He smiled the whole way home.

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Dinner, on all accounts, was a quiet affair. Not even Georgia contributed to the eerie silence. The little girl was tuckered from a long day of golf and then a few hours of running the rest of her energy out at the park with Y/N. Harry had delegated to remaining home to get some work done and promised to have dinner ready by the time they returned.

Tired as she was, Georgia never let twenty minutes go by without reminding them what a good day she’d had with them.

After dinner, Harry offered to be the one to bathe Georgia and put her to bed. It wasn’t any kind of light suggestion or inquiry when Harry told Y/N to wait on him.

Y/N’s mouth dried at the order. While she waited, she cleaned up the table and rinsed the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. Satisfied with the cleanliness, she eyed the pool in the backyard. It was still warm out and regardless, the pool was heated. She kept a bathing suit in the pool house.

It only took her a few minutes to pad out to the pool house, strip off her golf dress and shoes, and change into the little red bikini. The pool water was warm when she entered, welcoming and calming after a long and strenuous day.

Being a jealous and hateful bitch really took a lot out of her.

She’s swimming careless and languid laps when “Y/N” is uttered from above her. She pulls to a slow stop and looks at the poolside. Harry is standing at the edge of the pool. A baby monitor in one hand, a towel in the other. Still fully dressed in the sweats and tee he’d changed into earlier.

“Harry.” She raises her chest out of the water just so he can get a good look at how awesome her tits look in this bathing suit. “Come swim with me.”

She likes that he doesn’t have to be asked or told twice. She likes that he doesn’t hesitate.

He tosses the towel down and the baby monitor on top of it. Toes out of his socks and shimmies his sweats down before kicking them off. She bites back a grin at the half-hard dick in his boxer briefs that he isn’t even trying to hide. When his shirt is gone, revealing dozens of tattoos, he slides down into the water.

She pushes back from him to put plenty of space between them. But each time she moves back, he comes forward. Her back bumps against the siding of the pool and Harry cocks an eyebrow. He glides forward once more and it’s enough to be right in front of her.

He rests his hands on the edges of the pool next to her shoulders, caging her in. “You made me look like an idiot out there today.” His voice is raspy and dry. Mouth close enough to her that she can feel the fan of his breath against her skin.

“Please.” She whispers, looking up at him through her lashes, “like you really care.” He asks what that’s supposed to mean. “C’mon. The last four fucking holes, you wouldn’t let Harlowe off your dick enough to make a decent damn shot. Don’t blame that on me.”

Harlowe had followed them from Hole 6 to 9, simpering and preening over Harry. She was like a cat in heat the way she prowled around him and cooed over his form and backswing. Even when he double-bogeyed Hole 8, she congratulated him with a wet kiss on the cheek. Y/N threw up in her mouth and Hessman had to fake cough to hide his laughter.

Harry leans his head down to fully look at her. “The hell do you care for? You and your boyfriend seemed plenty cozy enough-.”

“Hessman?” She interrupts. “Isaac is not my boyfriend.” Harry mentions that he’d overheard them twice solidifying plans for Friday night at 9:30. Y/N barks out a laugh. “You think-? Oh my God, it’s poker night. We all play poker every Friday night. Were you...Were you jealous?”

There’s no pause before he speaks. Like he doesn’t have to even think about what she’s just asked him. “Goddamn right I was fucking jealous. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her chin juts out and she turns her head away from him. She really doesn’t feel like explaining her recent logic to him. Especially since now it sounds so stupid. He’s just admitted to being jealous of freakin’ Hessman, which definitely means he likes her. But then, if he liked her, why would he lie to get out of a date?

Her brain hasn’t been this dazed over a guy since- well, since ever.

Harry’s hand curves over her jaw and he forces her line of sight back to him. “What’d I do, huh? Why’re you being so distant with me lately? Thought we...I thought we were getting somewhere.” The break in his voice isn’t in the way she first expects it to me. She knows his voice will shatter off when he’s too horny to properly formulate a sentence. But this...it’s more like he’s hurt.

She’s spent so much time the past few days trying to make sure she herself didn’t get hurt; she never stopped to think maybe she’d be the one to hurt him.

“Was Georgia really sick last weekend?” She blurts out.

Harry pulls away from her. His brows knit together. “Yes.” He says softly. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Is that what’s been wrong with you?” Quietly, she confirms. A low groan sounds in his throat. He leans his head down to rest their foreheads together. “You’ve spent the last three days thinking all I wanted was to get in your pants?”

“Yeah.”

His hand drops down into the water. Ever so lightly, his fingertips skim up her thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. “I was really excited to take you out. Had an outfit picked and everything. Made a reservation at that Italian place, just like I said I would.” Harry’s other hand, once on her jaw, now drops down to rest on her shoulder. He fiddles with the strap of her bikini top. He snaps it against her skin before pushing it down to her bicep. “Spent hours thinking about you.”

Her breath hitches when he purposefully jerks his hip against hers. “A-about me?”

Harry nods before nuzzling his nose into her hairline. The tip of his nose trails down until he reaches her jaw and then-fuck, his tongue is swiping a wet hot stripe up her neck. “Yeah.” He breathes in her ear. “The little sounds you make.” Her spine tingles when his fingers dip up into her bathing suit bottoms. She makes one of those little sounds when, without warning, two of his fingers go inside her. “Mostly, though,” the words are constricted in a hoarse voice, “I thought about how you must taste.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

All sense of self-control gone, she yearns forward in the express interest of sealing their mouths together. Harry darts away from her, swerving his torso to the side to avoid her kiss. All while he’s knuckle deep in her pussy.

He’s got a beautiful mouth, with full pink lips and white, even teeth. But it’s annoying when he gives her a mocking smile at her failed attempt. “You still wanna kiss me?” He questions. “After you thought I bailed on you?”

“Harry-.”

He clicks his tongue at her. “Tell ya what, I’ll kiss you and I’ll eat your pussy ‘til you’re begging me to stop if you go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Pick me up at 8.”

He smiles before leaning down and pecking his mouth to hers. The kiss quickly melts, running into tongues and teeth knocking together, hot breathless pants and nibbled lips. She gasps when he plants both hands on her waist and hoists her out of the water and sits her on the edge of the pool.

His fingernails scrape gently up and down her thighs as he pulls her closer to the edge. He wraps her legs over his shoulders and she hooks her ankles together behind his back. As he peppers open-mouthed kisses to the insides of her thighs, she rakes her hands through his hair.

“Y/N,” his teeth clamp around the waistline of her bottoms, nose nudging into her bellybutton, “I like you. I mean,” he rests his cheek against her stomach, “I really like you. I want you to know that.”

For a second, a split second, her heart doesn’t beat.

Never in her life did she imagine Harry Styles saying those words to her. Not even in her most vivid fantasies did he ever utter something like that. That’s how impossible she found the situation. But there he is, Harry Styles, pulling her bikini bottoms off and telling her that he has feelings for her.

“I really like you too, Harry.”

Even in the darkness, partially illuminated by the pool lights, she can see the blush creep in his cheeks. He smiles into her thigh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She laughs quietly.

He shimmies her bottoms down off her legs and tosses them somewhere else. She hates to imagine having to scramble around for them later. Against her skin, he murmurs something about having dreamt about this moment. And she almost says that she’s dreamt the same thing.

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Their Wednesday night date quickly became a Thursday night date when he had to raincheck again because of work. Thursday night turned into Saturday night which became Sunday. He’s never hated his job until now.

It’s Sunday now and he’s once again breaking his weekly routine. Golf was a last minute decision. Georgia got invited to a playdate. He hadn’t seen Y/N since Tuesday and he didn’t feel like waiting any longer.

They’re seven holes in and he hasn’t seen her once. A girl he didn’t know had been at the magazine stand in the lobby. But he knows she’s at work because she always works Thursday through Sunday.

Hessman’s been on his ass about her all morning. In a way, Harry kind of likes it. Makes him feel good that she talks about him. Hessman even went so far as to tell him that at their poker game two days ago, Y/N got wasted and admitted that she was getting frustrated at all the rain-checks of their date. Which was directly before she admitted that she’d masturbated to the thought of him every day since Tuesday.

The familiar sound of her laugh pulls him out of a burgeoning thought that would’ve probably been a good porno idea.

She’s at the start of Hole 8, maybe 150 yards away. And almost immediately, his skin clams up at the sight of her. Her skirt is...goddamn, there’s no other word but short seems an understatement. Even from the distance, he feels as if he can see the under-curves of her ass cheeks. The top she has on is teeny, a strip of skin showing between the hem of her shirt and the waist of her skirt. Her hair, per usual, in twin braids and capped with a black visor.

There’s a guy with her, a golfer. They’re next to her beverage cart and he’s got one arm propped against it and he’s holding his club in the other.

Her arms are crossed over her chest, and he knows it’s to bring attention to her tits. One finger is twirling the end of a braid. Her shoes keep scuffing the grass each time she laughs, her head ducking down. And...fuck, she’s playing him the same goddamn way she must scam everyone else.

He hands her his club and she laughs out again. The sound chills Harry to the bone. Y/N pretends to swing it badly and then he hears the guy laugh and lie, saying she did great. Harry knows what great looks like for her. And that’s far from it.

Hessman’s hand smacks against his shoulder blade. “Don’t worry about it.” He tells him. Harry looks back at him, her laugh still ringing in his ears. “All the cart girls act that way with the guests. It makes for a pretty good tip.”

Last week, Harry had been that guy. He guesses that, in a way, he still kinda is.

“Yeah, sure.” He mutters. “That’s it.”

Hessman frowns but doesn’t say anything and Harry is glad for it. Now, he just wants this day over with.

She’s still there when they make it to the start of Hole 8. Bent over the cooler of her cart looking for something. Harry half wants to speak, to let her know he’s there and that he’s there for her, but he decides against it. What would she care anyway? He takes his own driver from his bag and stalks off to place his ball and tee.

“Y/N, what’re you doing?” Hessman calls out to her.

“Oh! Isaac, hey, who’re you-?”

Harry does his best not to freeze when he feels her eyes on him. He practically shoves the small tee into soft earth and then drops the ball on it. His knees crack when he stands back up.

“Harry, hi!”

When he looks at her, all he sees is her with that other guy. Twirling her hair. Playing with his golf club. Did she make a bet with him too? Say I swing, get a hole in one. What would you give me for it?

His own jealousy, his own need for her, for her to want and need him back, makes him sick.

“Hey.” He manages.

He doesn’t miss the look she shares with Hessman. The water bottle in her grasp dangles against her thigh. A bead of water rolls down toward her knee. A memory of her on the edge of his pool flashes through his mind. She had writhed, made the prettiest little sounds as he fucked her with his tongue.

Y/N leans against her cart. “You want a drink or-?”

“No.” He snaps at her.

The water bottle drops to the ground. Her half-smile wilts away. Without another word to either of them, she slides into the seat of her cart and speeds away.

He makes it to the start of the next hole before Hessman says something. And really, he’s surprised it took him that long. He’s about to get out of the cart when Hessman grabs him by the sleeve of his polo and jerks him back into the seat.

“Ya know, I’d like to think we’re friends.” He doesn’t let him go.

Harry glances at Hessman’s fist enclosed around the fabric of his shirt. “Uh-huh...” He likes to think they’re friends too, but he isn’t sure where this is going.

“I’m probably overstepping a billion lines right now so don’t tell Coates, but Y/N lights up like the fucking sun every time someone mentions your name.” Hessman tells him. “She actually likes you and I know you like her. So if you’re pissed about what you saw earlier, cut the shit. All that flirting with the golfers, for her, that’s not real. Whatever happened with you two, whatever is happening with you two, that’s what’s real.”

Deep down, Harry knows Hessman is telling him the truth. He knows that Y/N likes him. She told him so. He just can’t fucking stand to see her flirt with other guys. Whether it’s real or not doesn’t matter in the moment. Jealousy is a monster he hasn’t yet learned to control.

Harry peels his caddy’s hand from his shirt. “Why’re you telling me this?”

Hessman shrugs. “You’re crabby when you’re jealous. It makes me uncomfortable. And I want you to apologize to her.” Do you, Harry asks. “Yes, I do. Now’s a pretty good time for a break, you know, considering,” he checks his watch, “her lunch is in ten.”

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By the time Harry is speeding into the lobby, sweat is prickling his chest. The unknown girl at the magazine counter is grabbing a visor from a hook and he’s pretty sure that means she’s about to hit the course with the beer cart. Hessman claps him on the back and disappears through the lobby.

“Hey!” He reaches out to grab her arm and then realizes how bad that would probably be to do. “Uh, sorry, I uh, your name-?”

“Desi...”

“Great name, beautiful name. Look, Desi, have you seen Y/N?”

Maybe they have a code on stuff like this. He knows some places aren’t allowed to tell people where employees are. Could be dangerous.

“I’m not allowed-.”

He doesn’t hear the rest of what she says. Y/N is walking towards the door labeled KITCHEN. He darts past Desi, apologizing rapidly.

“Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

She spins around. Her face immediately pinches together. “Harry, I don’t-.”

“Please? Is there somewhere we can talk?” He begs.

Her face softens. She glances at the kitchen door and then around the lobby. She extends her hand and he bites his lip before he takes it. “C’mon.”

Y/N leads him back through the lobby and to the employee break room. Once he’s inside, she pushes the door shut and locks it. She presses her back against the door, hands folded at her lower back.

“You know,” she says in a low voice, “you’ve got some fucking nerve, Harry. I’m trying to be patient but between the constant reschedules of the same damn date four times and your shitty attitude today...” She looks away from him. Only then does he realize her bottom lip is wobbling. She’s upset. Not just upset, she’s hurt. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

It’s the same as getting punched in the gut.

All the wind goes out of him. His heart misses several beats. His skin feels cold and hot at the same time. He wants to throw up a little.

He takes a slow step towards her. He’s sure if she could back up anymore, she would. “Y/N,” he doesn’t recognize the pleading tone of his voice, “please. M’sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I just...I don’t know, okay? I saw you with that guy and it looked like all the stuff you were doing and saying to me last week and-.”

Her face whips around. Her eyes are cold. “And you just decided to be a dick instead of asking me? Or just trusting me?”

He does the only thing he knows to do. Harry drops down on his knees in front of her and presses his face into her pelvis. His hands anchor into her ass cheeks and he takes a deep breath. Her perfume is one of those flowery scents he likes. Mixed with the scent of her sweat, she smells like everything he’s always associated with the word good.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles into the material of her white skirt. “I can’t think around you. I lose all my common sense. I don’t know what to do when it comes to you. I swear, I swear it’s tonight, okay? I’ll quit my job if something else comes up-.”

“No you won’t.” He swears it’s a laugh.

He hides his smile in the pleats of her skirt. “No,” he agrees, “I won’t. But I’m for real. It’s me and you tonight and we can do whatever you want. You don’t know how much I hated all the cancelling and rescheduling. And I’m sorry about earlier, I am. I know it’s my fault, my problem. I know me and you are what’s real.”

He could cry when her hands ruffle through his hair. She puts a finger under his chin and lifts his head up so he’s looking at her. “I forgive you.” She says softly. “But you definitely owe me.”

He knows just how to make it up to her.

Harry rockets up straight and pulls her into his arms. With a fistful of her hair, he smashes their mouths together. He spins her around and backs her up into the table. With her legs wound around his waist, he lifts her onto the table and then pulls her to the edge.

Her hands fumble with undoing his belt and then his jeans but she quickly shoves them down to his knees. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” She whispers as she reaches her hand down his underwear.

His breath catches in his throat. “Yeah. Do you?” He already knows the answer. But warmth blooms in his chest all the same when she breathes out a yes.

He isn’t surprised when his hands slither up underneath her skirt and find that it’s exactly that and not at all a skort. She must not like those. He decides that’s the answer he likes, so he’ll go with that. He hooks his fingers around her panties and pulls them down. She unwinds her legs from his waist to let the flimsy pink material fall to the ground before snaking her legs back to their position.

Her hand has steadily been pumping up and down his dick and he’s so hard it almost hurts. She hisses out a sharp breath when he pushes two fingers inside of her.

She wraps her fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and careens him forward. Their mouths slot together. Her legs yearn him closer and he feels her push closer to the edge of the table. Her mouth, wet and warm, slides against his cheek.

“Stop dicking around and fuck me, Mr. Styles.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Y/N anchors her hand on his shoulder and with one sharp jut of his hips, he’s inside her.

“Oh-.”

“-fuck.”

He stops. Just...He just needs a minute. His forehead rests against her shoulder. She presses a chaste kiss to his clavicle. Slowly, carefully so he doesn’t bust his load in her before getting at least two orgasms out of her, he pulls almost all the way out of her and then languidly pushes back in.

“You feel so fuckin’ good.” He groans, palming one of her tits. “I could stay in you forever.”

Somewhere, a door opens. Harry chocks it over to being somewhere else. Nowhere close to them.

“You know,” a voice sighs out, “people eat on that table.”

They both freeze.

Harry looks over her shoulder. Y/N turns her head in the same direction.

Hessman is standing in the doorway of the bathroom at the back of the employee break room, arms folded over his chest and his face turned to the ground. “But I’m goddamn glad you two are getting such good use of it.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #golf!harry #golf!dilf!Harry x babysitter!Y/N #babysitter!y/n

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

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I hope you all had a great holiday season!!!

Excited to announce that I actually made New Years Resolutions this year and will be sticking to them!

My goals are to:

1. Write a little bit every day. At least a sentence so I feel a bit accomplished.

2. Finish IWTWYAS this year (In February, I will have been working on it for 2 years!)

3. Finish golden

As always, I am so grateful for each and every one of you and couldn’t ask for better people to be with me on my writing journal.

Happy tidings, all!

#harry styles #marvel #bucky barnes #steve rogers #fanfiction #fanfic writing #harry styles fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #steve fanfic

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

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I Want To Write You A Song {h.s.} xiii: Stole My Heart-Harry

Pairing: Harry Styles x OC (Ruby Manning)

Summary: It’s Ruby’s birthday and Harry has the perfect day planned. It’ll be just the two of them, a dozen different surprises, the best birthday gift, and his bleeding heart.

Warning: language, pining, there’s a LOT of pining in this one, uh birthdays if you don’t like those?, not sure what else, have fun!

Series Masterlist

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The light shines

It’s getting hot on my shoulder

I don’t mind

This time it doesn’t matter

Cause your friends

They look good but you look better

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At exactly 11:57pm, Harry knocked his fist against the door of his best friend’s apartment three times. In three minutes’ time, it would be the start of the best twenty-four hours of his life. An entire day, midnight to midnight, spent only with his best friend- who also happened to be the person he was desperately in love with.

He had begun planning out the special day right when she agreed to it. Having finalized the smaller details not two days ago, he was jittery with excitement. He wanted her birthday to be the best day ever, and not just because he was leaving at 9am the day after to return to London.

Harry had a hard time remembering what his life was like before seeing her almost every day. Despite the constant assurances he had been giving her that nothing would change when he left, there was a sickening bubble forming in his gut over the whole matter.

“It’s open!”

Now used to her quirks and antics, he wasn’t surprised by the fact that, in the middle of the night, her apartment door remained unlocked. Knowing that a comment wouldn’t change her mind, he uttered one out anyways as he walked through.

“Not safe to be in here alone with the door unlocked. Anyone could come barging in on you.”

Except, she wasn’t in the kitchen/ living room to hear him. A large duffle bag sat on her couch, with a cardigan and heavier coat thrown over top.

“Huh?”

Her head poked out of her bedroom. She smiled brightly, albeit a tad sleepily, at the sight of him. Tucked in the crook of her arm were a curling iron and a hair straightener, as well as a bag of cosmetics.

“Goin’ somewhere?” He flourished a hand at the bag on her couch.

Padding into the room on socked feet, she tossed the new items onto the bag. Her gaze kept to the items as she put her hands on her hips and thought for a moment.

She smiled at him again and pronounced she was ready to go. “I’ve got everything I could possibly need for whatever you have planned. Four different outfits according to potential activity, all toiletries possible, my writing stuff, some books, couple movies-.”

“Are you doomsday prepping or packing for a twenty-four hour birthday adventure?” He couldn’t help but grin.

She pursed her lips and began to speak again before he assured her that whatever she had put together was perfect. He wondered what sort of clothes she had packed away for their day. Further, what did she think they were doing?

“They’re the same thing, H.” She shook her head before tucking the cosmetics bag into one pocket of the duffel and the hair items into another. “Okay, let’s go.”

She went and grabbed her purse from the hook by the door. Hand on the knob of the door, she looked back at him as if to say, well come on then.

“Angel,” he stifled a laugh as he hoisted her duffel bag onto his shoulder, “yeh’ve not got any shoes on.” He pointed to her feet, covered by patterned knit socks that stopped half way up her calf.

Ruby muttered something under her breath about being a dumbass. She jammed her feet into a pair of Birkenstock sandals that had been kicked off next to the door. She threw open the door and waved her hand outward. “Can we go now?”

“You know,” he made sure her bag was comfortable on his shoulder, with the coat and cardigan tucked around, “dare I say, you sound a bit…excited for the upcoming festivities?”

She snorted, shutting and locking the door once he was in the hall with her. “Not the festivities. Just to spend a whole day annoying the shit out of you.”

His heart softened. Harry learned down and planted a firm kiss to her cheek. “You can annoy me for the rest of our lives if you want. Free of charge.”

She took the coat and cardigan from around her duffel and tossed them over her arm. They began to walk down the hall, her shoulder knocking his free one. “I’m glad you’re on board because I had planned to. So,” she spun around in front of him when they got to the lift, “what are we doing first? I napped all day so I could stay up ’til tomorrow. I’m ready for anything.”

She leaned forward and pressed the button to call the lift to them. Rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, she kept his eye contact as if to try and pull the surprises from him. His resolve, though, was firmly planted. This was a sacred day and even though she loathed surprises, he had planned it all perfectly.

There was nothing that anyone could really consider to be too much, therefore he didn’t think she’d protest anything he had planned. He had organized everything specifically to her personality, character, and taste and was confident she would be happy as a clam at the end.

“How’s breakfast sound?”

Her face lit up and the lift arrived, doors sliding open. “Fuck, yes. I’m starving.”

Once they were in the lift and the doors slid shut, he reached down and took her hand. He squeezed it gently before bringing it to his mouth to press a light kiss to her knuckles. “Happy birthday, Ruby Jane.”

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Unlike the usual proper breakfast he’d had as a child, this one included an array of greasy and scrumptious foods. From stacks of buttery golden waffles, eggs scrambled and doused in three different kinds of hot sauces, bacon and sausage and ham slices, potatoes cooked in various manners (diced into little pieces, fried, in tater tot form, in shreds), toast and biscuits slathered down in butter and strawberry jam, and grits. Just alone, there was enough grits to sustain a family of six.

Also quite unlike his childhood breakfasts, this one happened to occur at 1 a.m. at a Waffle House. For good measure- and to ensure that her birthday remained an affair between the two of them as solemnly promised- the twenty-four hour restaurant was open only to them. Between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m., they were to be the only customers.

“These,” Ruby dipped in for another spoonful of buttered and sugary grits, “are fuckin’ fantastic. My gran is probably running for her money as we speak.”

They’d only been there for about three quarters of an hour, only digging into the food for maybe the past twenty minutes, and still there was only about half left. He’d definitely have the waffles and meats boxed away for leftovers but those seemed to be the only things manageable of keeping for later.

Harry took another bite of waffle, failing to bite back a moan of satisfaction. All of the food was beyond compare. Waffle House, believe it or not, was good when sober too.

“Is there time in this jam-packed schedule of yours for a nap?” She asked after taking a drink of orange juice.

“You know,” Harry leaned back against his booth seat, “I actually did pencil in a nap for the post-breakfast activity. Figured we’d be so stuffed we’d be pretty much useless for a bit. But, only for about three hours. And after that, I’m fully stocked on coffee to keep you wired all day.”

She clutched her hand to the place of her chest where her heart lay. “You know me too well. Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

If it’s if I’m in love with you, the answer is yes.

He told her to go for it.

“Tomorrow morning,” a dreaded time when he would be leaving her behind for an undisclosed period of time, “I was wondering if maybe…if I could drive you to the airport?”

Harry’s eyebrow lifted up in confused inquiry. Of all the questions she could have asked…it was the most unexpected. She didn’t do well with goodbyes, loathed them really. He’d assumed that their goodbye would take place at his place before he departed for the airport in the morning. An on-scene goodbye just sounded like a disaster for her. But, there she sat, proposing exactly that.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She huffed. “I can keep it together, I swear. I just…it’s so soon and I already miss you and-.”

He reached across the table, grabbing her hand. Had she been wearing short-sleeves or the sleeve of her sweatshirt pushed up, he would have seen the now vacant spot of skin where a temporary tattoo used to sit. One that, for two weeks, had bound her to him as a welcome gift into the city and her physical realm.

“I know.” He said softly. He did know; he understood. It was less than thirty-six hours away and, on the day of her birthday, the fracturing of his heart once he stepped onto the plane was all he could think of. “You really wanna come?” His thumb ran circles over the back of her hand. Ruby, from across the table, nodded slowly. “Then I couldn’t ask for a better driver. But just so you know, if you cry, I’m making you turn right back around.”

“H!” She used her free hand to swat his wrist. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”

He laced their fingers together, rolling his eyes as he did. “No. It’s only that…seeing you cry is my least favorite thing in the world. If you start up, I won’t get on that plane.”

“Guess I better drink plenty of water today.”

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Don’t you know all night I’ve been waiting for a girl like

you to come around, round, round

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By the time they woke up, the sun was preening over the edge of the horizon. The sky was painted a dozen shades of sherbet, from hazy pink to brilliant yellow. Soft light streamed in through the window of Ruby’s room at his house, broken through the gauzy white curtains with their embroidered sunflowers.

“Mmm.” Ruby shifted, rolling over and burying her face in his shoulder. “We should stay in bed all day. Do absolutely nothing.”

The idea sounded tantalizing. And had it been any other day than her birthday, he would have obliged to the thought and spent the entire day cuddled up in that bed, relishing his diminishing time with her. Unfortunately, it was her birthday- and their last day together for a while- and he meant to make the absolute most of it.

“C’mon,” he smacked his palm against her thigh under the blanket, “lots to do, no time to waste.”

As he pulled away, she captured his hand and laced their fingers together. She pulled him closer, nose bumping against his. “Harry.” He hummed. “This is already my best birthday ever. Thank you.”

Harry let his eyes flick down to her lips and he thought about how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss her, how ruinous it would be. He imagined how soft her lips would be, if her mouth would still taste like maple syrup or maybe hot sauce. He thought of the noises she’d make, of the way she’d wrap around him, let him devour her.

And then he thought of how, tomorrow morning, he’d be boarding a plane for London and didn’t have a clue as to when he’d be back. Harry had kissed plenty of girls and gone on a jet soon after, back when he was a bit more reckless, when there was less feeling, less at stake. He wouldn’t do that to her, he couldn’t. She already hated when people left, he wouldn’t add something as heartbreaking as a kiss to the pain, like salt in a fresh wound.

He rolled out of the bed after dropping her hand. “Anything for you, angel. ‘Cept staying in bed on this gorgeous day. What’d you bring to wear?”

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After he had to confirm several times that they were indeed not doing any sort of physical or otherwise strenuous activity for the remainder of the day, Ruby donned a flattering white and yellow flower print skirt with a decent-sized slit on the left thigh, paired with a billowy and sheer sleeved white shirt French-tucked in the front, and paired with her trusty old white Vans slip-ons.

She did a slight model spin around in his massive closet for him as he tucked his plain white tee into black and white thick pinstriped trousers.

“This okay?” She tugged down the hem of her skirt and kicked her heels together in true Wizard of Oz fashion. “Overdressed, underdressed?”

“Just right, Goldilocks. Absolutely on key for the day.” Harry slipped his feet into his own beat up white Vans and they touched the toes of their right feet together with big smiles. He tucked his sunglasses into the neck of his shirt. “You’re beautiful, ya know. Smashingly gorgeous.”

With no enthusiasm, she swatted his chest. “Shut up.” And then, with a growing smile and pink cheeks, “You aren’t so bad yourself, ya know.” She imitated his accent dramatically, before peering into the glass-encased jewelry collection.

He outstretched his hand, wiggling his fingers. Time was of the essence. Their nap had lasted longer than he planned and Ruby had gone through all her outfits, trying each one on twice, before forcing him to decide a favorite.

“What’s next on the agenda, rockstar? Lemme guess…surfing? Road trip? Bookstore?” She clasped her hand onto his.

Harry laughed as they walked out of his closet and from his bedroom. “You’ll never guess, but you’ll love it. I promise.” She asked what happened if she didn’t love it, even though she was sure she would because he knew her better than anyone else. As best friends typically did. “If you don’t love it…Hmm…” he tapped his finger against his chin as if in deep critical thought, “if you don’t love this next thing, I’ll just have to delay my leaving until I find something you do love.”

He saw the gears turning in her head before she even spoke the words. The corners of her mouth turned down. “Well then,” she huffed a breath, “I hate whatever it is. Absolutely loathe it entirely.”

Harry smiled sadly. He wished more than anything in the world he could delay his trip back to London once again. Or he wished she could go with him and could spend two months traipsing around his home the way he’d done hers. But it couldn’t go that way. It was simply one of the times the universe wasn’t in their favor.

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Under the lights tonight

You turned around and you stole my heart

With just one look when I saw your face

I fell in love

It took a minute girl to steal my heart tonight

With just one look yeah

Been waiting for a girl like you

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To see the woman who he believed to be the most beautiful in the world surrounded by hundreds and thousands of different flowers was enough of a sight to make his heart gallop in his chest wildly.

She was beautiful, with her fingertips fluttering over the petals of bright yellow tulips; she was beautiful, with her nose buried in the sweet aroma of gardenias; and she was beautiful with her eyes lit up at the sight of hundreds of perfectly in bloom sunflowers.

Harry stood, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, admiring the the view before him. He was sure that, if he looked in a mirror or if someone took a picture of him, he would have a dopey smile on his face. And although he was sure he would remember this day perfectly, every second without flaw or stain, he took out his phone and took the picture anyway. A brown paper wrapped bundle of sunflowers nestled in the crook of her arm and half her hair secured back by a sherbet orange claw clip, the rest spilling over her shoulders, waves of liquid sunshine.

He’d been taking a picture for every little thing that day, even though he had a billion photos of her-and them- on his phone, he wanted to remember this day. The last day. A photo of her with her cheeks stuffed full of pancakes at breakfast, a fuzzy picture of both of them drowsy just before slipping off to sleep off their heavy breakfast. And now this.

His sunflower in the sunflowers.

Ruby had mentioned offhandedly several times that despite living in Los Angeles for years, she’d never once been to the Original Flower Market. Upon his upcoming departure, Harry decided to show her the place he spent an hour once a week finding the perfect bouquet of sunflowers to decorate her kitchen table.

She turned on him, a brilliant smile illuminating her face. His heart quit momentarily.

“What’re you doing?” She narrowed her eyes playfully.

Harry turned the screen of his phone toward her, showing her his favorite of the photos he had just taken. “You’re so pretty, can’t help it.”

Her cheeks tinged a soft pink but she said nothing. She didn’t chastise him or worry her lip between her teeth at the notion of him taking and then posting a photo of her. Things on the social media front were rocky as of late. He assured her that he wouldn’t post anything until after they were back home for the night, to ensure they weren’t bombarded out in public; or if she wanted, he wouldn’t post them at all.

Ruby’s shoulders squared and her chest puffed out a little. “You know, it’s me and you, Harry. Us against the world, right?” He nodded, confused as to where she was going with this. “You should post them, whenever you want. I don’t mind, honest. But,” she stopped with a glimmer in her bright eyes, “we need some pictures together too. May be my birthday, but it’s our day.”

Harry caught the next person walking by who didn’t look in a bad mood or totally checked out. Politely, he asked the woman to take a photo of he and Ruby. With a smile, she obliged and he handed off his phone. Harry saddled up behind Ruby, conscious of the effort she put into looking nice for the day-a solid half hour at least of trying on all her outfits over and over- to make sure she was totally shown off.

He wound his arms around her waist, hooking his hands together in front of her bellybutton and gently pulled her flush against his chest. In their matching puzzle piece way, they molded together perfectly, her head crocked against his shoulder and her face against his jaw. The bundle of sunflowers rested in one hand and her other reached up to cradle the other side of her neck.

He wondered if she was smiling as big as he was.

The woman holding his phone grinned at them both. “You two make such a beautiful pair!”

Harry mumbled out a stuttering thanks, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to say considering Ruby looked as if she hadn’t noticed at all.

“M’favorite person in the whole world.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as the flash went off. “I love you.” Because if he didn’t say it right then, he was going to combust from the pressure in his heart.

“I love you too.”

He wondered if she meant it the way he did.

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It was a quick trip to her apartment before the next stop in order to put the two bundles of sunflowers in water. She had since acquired a small collection of vintage vases, rather than her collectible Twilight movie theater cup.

One dozen went into a white and blue specked porcelain vase with a short and stubby demeanor, meaning the stems of the sunflowers had to be considerably chopped down. She placed them on the center of the small table in the kitchen, lightly fluffing the feathers. The other set went in a muted green glass vase, blown out with decors of bees and butterflies. Those she displayed in her bedroom, on the bedside table.

“I’m going to miss your weekly flowers.” Ruby said as they left her apartment and she locked the door. She gave a sad look to her door. “It won’t feel like home without them.”

Harry didn’t want to admit to the fact that, on the day he found out his exact date of departure, he went to the Flower Market and arranged for his favorite seller’s delivery boy to drop off a dozen fresh sunflowers at Ruby’s doorstep every week. The same time, the same day, each week. Because, he too would miss his weekly delivery of her favorite flowers.

He draped an arm over her shoulders and squeezed her bicep with his hand. “We’ll figure something out.” He lied gently. As if he didn’t already have something figured out. “Ready for your next surprise?”

“Does it include food?” She rubbed her tummy. “Getting a bit hungry…”

As a matter of fact, he beamed, it did include their lunch.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m weaker

My words fall and they hit the ground

Oh life come on head don’t you fail me now

I start to say

“I think I love you” but I make no sound

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two funnel cakes, two cotton candies, and a vegan-gluten free pizza later, they were both equally satisfied and satiated in terms of happiness and hunger.

“Remember when we came here the first time?” Harry knocked his hand against hers, swapping her blue cotton candy for his pink one. Together, he thought the colors complemented each other well and would look nice on a color palette or a picture maybe.

Ruby happily took his cotton candy and took a hunk of the side, smushing it in her mouth. “We hid in the coves after we almost k-got caught up with by the paparazzi.”

Was that what she actually meant to say?

Harry nodded, reflecting back on the days when they had first met. Things had felt sticky, new, and awkward. He’d spent most his life writing letters to her and the transition into her physical realm was rocky and uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to act or what to say most of the time. Hell, he still didn’t most days. He was having a hard enough time trying to make sure he didn’t blurt out that he was in love with her.

“I always feel like I’ve dragged you into a big mess. I hate that your life isn’t quiet anymore because of me.”

Ruby shrugged and said quiet lives were for boring people and she didn’t see herself as a very boring person. Harry had to agree; she was anything but boring.

Even on the nights where they just simply were, whether it was a reading or writing session or an easy dinner and movie, she wasn’t boring. She liked to commentate during movies, imitating and poking fun or making jokes at the characters’ expense; she squealed when she ready something overly romantic, threw the book when upset, and cried at the words often; she was easily frustrated when writing, leaving heaps of crumbled papers and broken pens and inkwells in the floor, or she would pace the room with a pen between her teeth and ink stains on her hands with a crazed look in her eye trying to find the perfect word or phrase.

She could never be boring.

“It doesn’t seem like it was two months ago.” She said quietly as they passed an airbrush vendor. “I mean, almost ten weeks?” He made a comment about time flying when you’re having fun. It made her smile, even if it was a tad watery. “I was so excited to finally meet you. And when we met-when we first met, I didn’t even know it was you.”

Their first meeting, the first real time they ever met was at a party in the Hills. He’d been with the band- Mitch, mainly. She’d been with her friends. It was at Fresno’s, a birthday party for a mutual college friend named Russ- who was now dating Mandy. Harry had been utterly transfixed by Ruby, even though he hadn’t known her name, let alone that the girl across the room was his long time pen pal. They’d spoken, she’d known who he was and hadn’t much cared that he was famous and had nearly introduced herself right before Mandy puked all over Mitch’s shoes.

Minutely, Harry had pined about the girl from the party. He’d thought about her, regretted not getting her number before she was whisked away, not even knowing her name. But all thoughts of her had been erased the second he remembered the reason he was in L.A., the real reason. Ruby. Back then, he’d been a little sure of where he feelings lay, not quite certain. He had to meet her to be sure, really get to know her off paper. Paper and person were two wholly different things.

And then he’d been run into that bookstore, like fate. As if the universe knew exactly what he needed- who he needed. It was her, behind the counter. The girl from the party. One and the same as the girl he’d been writing letters to most of his life.

Fate was funny.

“I freaked you the hell out that second time, didn’t I?” Harry chuckled, switching their cotton candies back. He slung an arm over her shoulders, wincing at the cringing memory of embarrassing himself and weirding her out. “Couldn’t properly say who I was, just kept goin’ on about that stuff dog. Felt like such an idiot.”

She reached up and grabbed onto his hand, weaving their fingers together. “I totally thought you were on drugs.” She laughed quietly. “Doesn’t it feel sort of like…I don’t know…it’s weird that we met twice, before we were really supposed to. It’s strange, huh?”

Once, he maybe would have called it strange. He didn’t find it so anymore. As he had been telling himself, it was fate. It was the universe pushing them together over and over because time was limited and life was short. They were, he believed, as integral as time and space, as set in stone. Those early meetings were proof of that; they weren’t coincidence at all.

“Nah,” he sighed, “s’not weird or strange. It was the universe telling us something.”

“What’s that?”

“That we’re supposed to be in each other’s lives.”

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Commitment, Harry thought, was no big deal. Not when you were wholly invested in the other person, not when you were convinced the other person was your soulmate.

Commitment in the form of tattoos was as easy as breathing for him. Some of his tattoos meant a great deal, some he just thought were cool.

This one…this meant everything.

Ruby stood next to him, peering down with her thumb nail lodged between her teeth. He promised to go first as a sign of warm feet and typical assurance. As such, he sat in a chair with a damp post-alcohol swabbed piece of blank skin above his left elbow. It had been shaved down and then cleaned with an alcohol prep pad and now he was simply waiting on the artist.

“Are you sure it looked okay?” Ruby tried to peak over the artist’s shoulder using her tiptoes. “My writing isn’t always pretty…”

Harry clasped onto her hand. “Was perfect, love. And mine?”

She swiped the small piece of transfer paper off the side of his chair and held it up for inspection. On it was a messily written capital H done out in his own transcription.

“You write like a chicken with a pencil.” She deadpanned. “But it’s adorable. And I’ve kept all your letters so I can’t think your writing’s really so awful.”

He cocked an eyebrow as the artist spun around, needle in hand. She kept his letters. The thought swirled around as the artist pressed the buzzing needle to the crook of his arm, but Harry barely felt it because she kept his letters.

The same way he’d kept all of hers.

“There.”

It hadn’t even taken two minutes. Granted, it was a small piece of work. Just a capital R written in Ruby’s perfunctory lettering inked in bright red. The artist wiped it and pressed a piece of Saniderm over it.

Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile.

He traded Ruby places. She took the chair and he took the obligatory and coveted spot standing next to her. This would make her third tattoo. She had a pearl oyster on her wrist, a commemoration for her deceased father, and a strawberry on her upper ass cheek which was the result of a drunken week in Florida for spring break one year.

She flexed out her fingers after her arm was prepped and she looked up at Harry as the transfer paper was put on her arm to transfer over the purple outline. Her pointer finger poked a spot next to his newest ink.

“By the way,” Ruby didn’t wince as a buzzing new needle was pressed into her skin, “I hated the Flower Market. Absolutely loathed it entirely.” Her words from earlier in the day echoed back out playfully with a slivered piece of melancholia.

“Oh, did you now?”

She nodded resolutely as one side of the letter was completed. “So, now you have to stay.” She didn’t look at him when she said it. Her eyes were trained somewhere across the room and her cheek was sucked hollow, the way she bit the inside when forcing herself not to cry.

Harry allowed himself to focus in on the small mole on her tragus. It looked as if she’d gone to get it pierced and the marker for where the needle needed to pierce had never been washed away. “Ruby-.”

“All done.” The artist wiped her tattoo to smear away any blood or running ink and then placed a piece of Saniderm over it to keep it protected. He rambled through the basic tattoo aftercare and made them both promise not to remove the Saniderm until tomorrow and only wash their tattoos gently with non-scented soap and to apply the aftercare cream for a week.

Ruby jettisoned up from her chair, hiking her canvas bag over her shoulder before taking off back outside to the boardwalk. Harry had to speedwell with little effort to catch up to her, tangling his hand around her wrist.

“Ruby.”

Her eyes were turning red. Tears filled her waterlines. Her bottom lip was wobbling and had a puncture mark from where she’d bitten down on it too hard. “I know, Harry. I know. It’s just…it’s just nice to think so, isn’t it?”

It was. He thought of it often: what life would be like if he didn’t have to go. Or if she could leave with him. He thought about what would become of them, if they’d be stuck in this sticky, torturous limbo forever, or if, with a few more days, with a little more time, they’d move on to something more. And he thought about how being separated would inevitably catapult them back to square one.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “it is.”

The butts of her palms pressed into her eyes to stop the oncoming flow of tears. She sniffled once, twice, and took a deep breath before lowering her hands. Her smile was a bit forced and her face was flushed. “Jesus, I’m such a buzzkill, huh?” Not even her laugh, which he always found uplifting, did much to improve the now stale mood. “Real quick before we move on. Pretty sure me having an emotional breakdown wasn’t on the agenda so we’re behind schedule, aren’t we?”

Per birthday activity ritual, he took out his phone. It was as if a switch flipped. Her smile when she posed for the picture, with her arm out to proudly display her tattoo of his initial, did not look morose or forced, it was the same smile she always had. She took his phone and took an identical picture of him, where he mustered up his most charming interview smile. He thought it would be difficult, pretending to be happy in that photo. But one look at the R now etched forever into his body, the way she herself was etched into his heart, it wasn’t hard at all.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know cause all my life I’ve been waiting for a girl

Like you to come around

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their time at the boardwalk lasted longer than he had intended. Between another shared funnel cake, watching a fire-breather, getting their caricatures drawn, and attempting to learn how to skateboard- something Ruby said, quite ruefully- she had always wanted to try, they were in fact behind schedule and practically on two wheels entering the old Sears parking lot. It was just past sunset, the sky now a darkening shade of blue overtaking the soft oranges and reds.

“Where’s everyone else?” Ruby swiveled around in her seat, but the parking lot was totally empty except for their car.

She’d been a bit confused when he had picked her up at the beginning of the day and insisted on driving her car. He’d gone on some tangent about how her strawberry toned convertible was a great set of wheels to spend the day driving and since she didn’t much care for being behind the wheel, he swiped the keys from her purse and that was that. In truth, the convertible was only needed for this specific activity.

There was something antiquated and fun about sitting in an old vintage Mustang convertible at one of the oldest drive-ins in California.

“Huh?” Harry geared the car into park and undid his seatbelt. He pushed the seat back as far as it would go and reclined it back until he was comfortable and confident he could see the large screen well enough.

Ruby cocked an eyebrow. “The other cars. The movie’s,” she gestured a finger to the countdown- paused at 10- on the movie screen, “about to start. There’s no one else here.”

Harry shrugged a shoulder and muttered something about it being a slow night. Two attendants came shuffling out of the snack bar, each holding a covered silver tray. Quietly, Ruby asked what was going on and Harry replied that he had no earthly idea and perhaps car service was a perk of being the only people there.

He sat up as they drew closer. “Hello!”

They each gave a semblance of a cordial greeting. One uncovered her tray, revealing two extra large brown paper cups. Harry gladly took them, putting them in the center cupholders. The male attendant took the lid from his tray, showing off a full plate of chocolate covered strawberries, Snickerdoodles, and a bowl of popcorn.

“Thanks!” Harry took the food, passing the strawberries to Ruby and putting the cookies and popcorn in the backseat. He slipped each of the attendants an American fifty note and grinned as they walked away.

“Harry.”

“Ruby.”

“What the hell is going on?”

The last piece of sunlight fell away. The countdown on the screen began. It ticked down from ten seconds until it got to one and then the screen went dark.

“Harry.”

“Shhh, movie’s starting.” He pressed a finger to his lips, not looking at her. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

Screen still dark, birds began to chirp. A foggy dusk setting faded into view with the sharp intake of Ruby’s breath. Opening credits appeared in mute white lettering as a piano began to play in the background and the sunlight on the screen grew brighter.

“H…” She murmured, reaching across the middle console and grabbing onto his hand. She sighed softly as the words Pride & Prejudice materialized over the sunrise.

He let himself look at her. Her bottom lip was jutted out and her eyes wide as she looked back at the screen. “Well?” He whispered. “Are you surprised?”

She squeezed his hand once, for yes.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Under the lights tonight

You turned around and you stole my heart

With just one look when I saw your face

I fell in love

It took a minute girl to steal my heart tonight

With just one look yeah

Been waiting for a girl like you

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth Bennet wore stones that symbolized pearls, in his eyes anyway, in her done up hair. She had just been asked to dance the next with Mr. Darcy and Ruby was practically wriggling in her seat.

Harry leaned over to her. “You know the dance, don’t you?”

She tore away from the screen as Elizabeth and Charlotte Lucas fretted away in the night. “What?” He repeated himself.

Harry vividly remembered her telling him, the first time they watched the movie together at the villa, that she had memorized not only the entire dialogue of the movie, but also the dance performed by Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy at the ball.

“Um, yeah, but what does-?”

Harry pushed open his car door, shutting it softly even though there was no one around. He walked round to her side and opened the door, extending his hand.

“May I have the next dance, Miss Ruby?”

Her eyes brightened with realization. The corners of her mouth tugged up in a smile. “You may.”

She clasped her hand around his and Harry helped her from the car, bumping the door shut with his thigh. Once they were in front of the car, he let their hands fall and he walked a few paces away before turning to face her again.

On the screen, the music began to play. True to her statement, Ruby bowed her head at the same time Elizabeth did. Harry stepped forward, just as Darcy did, and they met in the center, circling one another with their gazes locked, before switching sides. They came forward again, this time joining hands.

“You memorized this.” She spoke before their hands slipped away and they separated once more.

Harry spun on his heel, turning back to her in time with the music playing overhead. “I did.”

She passed him, her shoulder lightly grazing his chest. “Why?”

They met again in the middle, after each pretended to circle a nonexistent secondary partner. Their arms bent and hands resting atop one another.

“Well,” he licked over his bottom lip, “it’s your favorite movie yeah? And your favorite overall dance scene in a film. Plus, made it kinda easy that you already had it memorized. And I remembered you telling me that you’d always wanted to dance it. So…”

By the time he finished his brief explanation, they had departed sides once more and were again circling each other. Another round of pretending to go round someone who did not exist before once more meeting in the middle.

“For me? For my birthday?” Slightly, ever so slightly, he felt her fingers begin to interweave with his as her hand lay atop his. They remained so, halfway woven together as they took several paces forward, spun, and moved back to their original positions.

“For you.”

They fell silent, continuing on with the dance. It was only then that she realized the sound of the screen had been muted and the music coming from elsewhere. Blushing pink crept up her neck and tinged the apples of her cheeks.

The quietude of the night was deranging. His thoughts were bursting with making sure not to mess up the dance. He’d never been very light of foot and had always struggled to memorize and replicate dances. One of the handful of reasons they’d never done choreographed dances in the band.

Blood pumped in his ears, heart threatening to rip from the cage in his chest and leap into her hands. He was…he was nervous. Clammy palms and ringing ears, sweat beading down his neck. Three words weighing heavily on his tongue, trying so hard to spill away and ruin everything. Would it ruin everything?

His thoughts were loud, his heart was crystallizing, and she was beautiful.

She was beautiful and she was achingly hilarious in a way he would never be. She was wickedly quick-witted. Terrifyingly lacking in control of her temper- a fact which scared him to admit that he found all the more lovely. She was not accomplished in any of the manners that Mr. Darcy or Caroline Bingley would find acceptable, other than being exceptionally well read, and that made her all the more accomplished in Harry’s eyes. A more than hopeless romantic who had confessed on several occasions that Valentine’s Day deserved far more credit than it was given. She happened to be one of the few, if not the only person, who clearly understood his method of creating art.

His best friend.

The person who, as a certain character had put it, had bewitched him body and soul. No matter what happened, no matter what became of him or her or them or the world, he would love her.

The music faded to an end. Ruby bowed her head and he bowed his.

And his fingers twitched with the echoing remembrance of her hand on his.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is no other place that I would rather be

Than right here with you tonight

As we lay on the ground I put my arms around you

And we can stay here tonight

Cause there’s so much I wanna say, I wanna say

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You really think this is the best idea? Me helping in the kitchen?” There was a loud pop and the swish of wine filling a glass. “Because me, personally, I think it’s a terrible idea. It’s okay to admit what everyone already knows. I’m a horrible cook and a disgrace to all kitchens.”

She handed him off a half-full glass of pink tinted wine.

“It’s just dinner, angel.”

He pretended to rifle through the open refrigerator and freezer.

Ruby snorted. “Remember that time I made you dinner?” As a matter of fact, he did. Because it had been horrid. “I under and overcooked literally everything. You really sure you want my help?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. He hated to say it, but she was right: she was a disastrous cook. Even instant macaroni and cheese wasn’t safe. He bumped shut the fridge and freezer doors, turned, and took a hearty sip of his wine. “You’re right.” He nodded sagely. “Good thing I ordered in.”

Her eyes widened and she stopped mid-pour on her own glass. He’d only said the bit about cooking dinner together to psych her out a bit.

At precisely 8:45, the doorbell rang. Harry motioned for her to stay put and he went to pick up the food. Yesterday, he arranged for a delivery from her favorite restaurant, Ramen on Greene to drop off her usual order and the order he’d gotten last time at this exact time.

He tipped the delivery boy a fifty and kicked the door shut, slipping the plastic bag on his wrist. In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

It had been on Do Not Disturb all day, to warrant away any calls or texts. If it was an emergency, Jeff, Mitch, and Sarah all constantly had his location. Plus, a second or third call would come through. So far, no emergencies.

He paused, frowning as he took out the phone. No messages had come through all day, so why had this one now? It was, he realized, upon unlocking his phone, a triple text.

Sarah had texted him three times. The first to remind him to be ready to leave at 7:30 in the morning, since their flight was at 9 and Jeff was eternally anal about not being late to the airport. Even though they were taking a private plane back. The second was an apology about disturbing him, accompanied by several exclamation points and then asking how Ruby was and if the day was going to plan.

The last message, in all caps: TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL.

He was still looking at the messages when he walked back into the kitchen. Still not entirely familiar with the house, he bumped into the island counter edge and hissed out a pained breath. For the best, he locked his phone back and decided to wait to tell Sarah anything until tomorrow on the plane ride back. When it would be far too late for her to properly chastise or judge him for not saying a word about his true feelings.

Ruby’s eyes lit at the sight of the familiar bag as he placed it on the counter. “You’re such a devil, Harry Styles. God, you know me so well it’s scary.”

As he took out the to-go bowls and chopsticks from the bag, she went to work getting down two bright yellow bowls from the cabinet, soy sauce for him and hot sauce for her.

“Doin’ good so far?” He asked, dumping his noodles into a porcelain bowl. “On the birthday front?”

“You’re doing perfect. Really,” she gushed, picking around her noodles with a limp chopstick, “this is the best birthday I’ve ever had. And not just ‘cause of all the stuff we’ve done, either. But…but ‘cause I’m getting to spend it with you.”

He almost said that it was easily the best day he could remember having.

“And,” she continued on, hooking her fingers around a second chopstick, “I know I’ve been kinda mopey about tomorrow but it’s fine. I’m fine, really.” She gave him a tiny smile. “Like you said, it’s just a hop and skip over the pond. Hell, I’ve probably got a hell of a lot of vacation days racked up so I could come over soon…?”

Harry imagined her coming to London to visit him, much like he’d come to L.A. for her. He would take her around to all his favorite restaurants, the studio they used to record, they’d create a room for her at his place there- much like they had done here. They could traipse around to all the good vintage and used bookstores, maybe go up on the Eye. He could introduce her to sweet old Linette and her little dog. And he’d take her back to Holmes Chapel to meet his mum and his sister.

Maybe…and maybe in London, it would all come to fruition. Maybe in London they’d quit toeing around what he was sure was to come and they’d finally move past this agonizing pocket of space and time.

“You don’t know how much I’d love that.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Under the lights tonight

You turned around and you stole my heart

With just one look when I saw your face

I fell in love

It took a minute girl to steal my heart tonight

“All right,” Harry sighed, “one last thing.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ruby was seated, formally and alone, at the dining table. Her eyes were closed; remnants of sparkly pink and gold eyeshadow glimmered under the dim lighting of the chandelier overhead.

“Keep ‘em closed now, Ruby Jane. I’ll know if you peek.” He warned her.

He didn’t actually think she’d keep them shut the required amount of time. It would take a bit of a stretch to go down into the one cellar and grab the cake that was stored hidden in the small fridge down there and then bring it back up.

“Who are you, Santa Claus?” She snickered.

“Yeah,” he rubbed her shoulder sparingly, “so I always know when you’re naughty and nice. Remember,” he stepped away, “eyes closed.”

“Aye-aye, captain.”

He waved his hands in front of her face but she never popped a smile or eyelid. Satisfied, he quietly padded out of the room and then around the corner to the door to the cellar. He made it a quick trip, taking the steps three at a time, speeding to the fridge before carefully removing the cake.

It looked just as pretty and delicious as it had yesterday when he picked it up from the bakery. Two layers of strawberry vanilla cake, coated in a creamy white cream cheese frosting, topped with halved strawberries. Beautifully etched on the top was the elegant and simple message, Happy Birthday Ruby Jane.

All in all, he was quite pleased with himself. The day had been wildly successful and, excluding her little tears at the boardwalk, she’d been in high and happy spirits all day.

He still had to give her his gift but that would come after cake.

When he got back up to the kitchen, he placed the cake on the counter and found the two large gold tinseled candles he’d hidden earlier. He stuck them in the top, careful to avoid strawberries and the scripting, and then used a lighter to spark them. They were the kind that, when lit, also emitted little sparklers. She’d written in a letter once that she liked those.

She had also once written that she despised the Happy Birthday song. It made her uncomfortable and awkward. So, when he walked back into the dining room, cake platter in his hands, he didn’t sing it. Harry slid the cake on the table, putting it down in front of her and then walked around to stand behind her. He put his hands over her eyes and leaned down.

His lips grazed the shell of her ear and she shuddered. “Happy birthday, angel.”

He removed his hands.

Based on the barely audible gasp, she had opened her eyes.

“H…”

“Your favorite cake. Strawberry vanilla with cream cheese frosting.” She softly asked how he knew that. “Talked to Grant while he was here. Told him I had some stuff planned.”

He sat down next to her and picked up the knife he’d laid down earlier.

“Grant acted like he had no idea when I told him you had something planned for my birthday.” She huffed. But she looked mildly pleased that the two closest men in her life had been conspiring about her so well.

Harry offhandedly mentioned he was pretty much a super spy when it came to stuff like this. Only when he cut two triangular pieces of cake did he realize he had forgotten plates. And forks.

“Damn it. Hold on.” He muttered, about to stand up.

Ruby shook her head and plunged an entire hand into the cake before forcing it into his face. Her cackling laughter was Christmas morning as a child, tree base full of new presents and leftover cookie crumbs from Santa.

The cake was really good, smooth frosting and moist but solid basing. It tasted a bit like how he imagined she would.

“How is it?” Her laughter subsided into giggles.

He licked his lips, trying to rid his mouth of frosting but he could still feel bits of it and cake morsels all over his chin and the area surrounding his mouth. “Really good. Here,” he grabbed a handful of cake, “try some!” He pushed it against her mouth.

She swatted at him with a cake-coated hand as she chewed, trying not to laugh. It soon dissolved into a full-fledged fight. By the end, the cake was destroyed. Pieces of it clung to their hair and clothes, specks of icing decorated the room. The candles had to be squashed out completely before being put on the table. Their hands were a mess of creamy frosting and chunks of pink. There was a strawberry halve stuck in Ruby’s hair.

Much like the now gone cake, laughter was all in the room. And Harry couldn’t think of a time he’d been happier.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Under the lights tonight

You turned around and you stole my heart

With just one look when I saw your face

I fell in love

It took a minute girl to steal my heart tonight

With just one look yeah

Been waiting for a girl like you

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ten to midnight. Her birthday would be over in ten minutes. It had been a fantastic day, the best day. Just the two of them, a billion of her smiles and laughs. A good final day together.

He had turned his notifications for Instagram and Twitter off before posting all the photos he had taken of her, captioned sweetly and impeccably- so he thought- with: happy birthday to the love and light of the universe @itsrubyj thank you for existing.

In true form, he had made the very last of the ten pictures the one of the two of them at the Flower Market, his lips to her temple in a contented half-kiss. He’d even geo-tagged the location as happy place.

Similarly, she had silenced her notifications when creating her own birthday post on the two platforms. And rather than say anything at all about turning twenty-four, she had simply posted the same picture of them at the Flower Market and simply put: 10/30 best day with best person xx H, thank you.

“So,” he tapped his fingers against her knee cap, “was it really the best day? Anything you didn’t like?”

She shook her head, tossing her phone aside after replying to a text from her mother. “Yes to the first. Definitely not to the second. It really was perfect H, and I never thought I’d say that about a birthday again. Thank you, thank you.”

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him flush to her. He breathed in the scent of her strawberry shampoo as his arms circled her waist. They stayed like that for what he thought was forever until his phone alarm went off, signaling it was 11:55.

“Why do you have an alarm set for,” she checked the time, “11:55?”

Harry let her go and pulled away. “I got ya something. A gift. For your birthday.”

She paled. The surprises, a whole day to themselves, those he could get away with. They were all activities, things they could do any time. But a gift, a gift meant for a birthday was not a little thing. She hated gifts.

He slid off the couch.

“H, c’mon, you know I hate gifts.”

He did know that. “You also hate surprises and you’ve dealt with lots of those today.” She made an indignant noise. “I couldn’t resist. I really couldn’t. And when you see, when you open it, you won’t be pouting.”

She blew out a breath and said it better be a pack of Ritz Crackers or a Cracker Jack bracelet or something. After everything he’d done for her birthday, anything else was far too much.

Harry’s face heated when reality set in. He was giving her something magnificent, something huge. Possibly something no other person could achieve to deliver for her. On top of all the things he’d done earlier that day.

“Eyes.” He instructed. They fluttered shut. "Good girl.”

He double-checked to make sure they were shut before he ventured out of the living room. He’d had the gift for ages, since departing for L.A. two months ago. And he had been precautious about hiding it, which was why, up until yesterday, it had resided at the top of the closet in Derry’s bedroom. Ruby would have never looked there and surprisingly, Derry Simmons was pretty good at keeping it a secret. Even though Harry hadn’t divulged to anyone, not even his mum, what he had gotten Ruby for her birthday. The more people who knew, the less of a surprise it became.

He took the wrapped box from the second floor coat closet and double checked it. The paper was still in tact, the way he had wrapped it weeks ago. It was simple brown paper. He’d decided to go for casual because no pretty wrapping paper seemed justified or correct enough. The actual gift would make up for it. He was careful the entire way back to the living room and even more so when he put it on the coffee table. He swiped an invisible speck of dust off the top and hurriedly moved to sit next to her on the couch.

“Open.”

He watched as her eyes slowly opened. She looked first at him and only when he pointed to the gift on the table did she see it. It was a moderately sized box, seemingly home to nothing too fancy.

“What is…?”

Harry tried to fight away the smile. “Go on.” He urged. “Open it.”

He had been waiting for this for weeks, well, months really. It was by accident that he had happened into that shop one day, completely happenstance. And he couldn’t help but notice the prized collection encased in a glass shelf with a price someone else would probably find absurd but with her happiness in mind, it amounted to mere pennies from his checking.

Her fingers were ginger as she tore open the brown wrapping paper. He had double wrapped it and it took her a minute to get through both layers. By no stretch of means were the books in bad condition. For them to be over a century old, the seven brown hardbacks looked rather well to do. There were some tattered places on the spines and the pages had worn brown as time eased on, some words faded, but the gold inscriptions on each spine made it very clear that these were real, rare, and first edition.

“Oh, my God. Harry…”

Her pointer finger twitched as it gently ran over the spine of the middle book.

“All seven of her novels. First editions.” He reported quickly.

Tears welled in her eyes. She turned to him. “You shouldn’t…really…it’s too much…” She whispered before looking back at the books.

Seven brown cased books with crinkly spines and old pages and a bit of a musty smell from age. Seven books he didn’t think she’d actually be reckless enough to read but that he knew she would treasure to the end of her days. Seven books that all had different titles but one identical transcription at the lower spine where the author’s surname would be: Austen.

He pushed her hair back from her face, pinning it behind her ear. “No such thing when it comes to you.” He garnered her attention back on the books. “Know you probably don’t wanna open these up, but I’ve got my copy of P&P in the library. Fancy reading me a bedtime story?”

She blinked and tears rolled down her reddening cheeks. “Yeah, yeah I’ll read it to you.” She nodded vigorously before once again throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. “Thank you, Harry. I loved today. I love the books. I love you, thank you.”

His heart surged and then puttered out like an old rundown car. He ran his fingers through her hair. “Love you too, Ruby, you’re welcome.”

If tomorrow wasn’t tomorrow, if was just another day they had together in Los Angeles…

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With just one look, yeah

Been waiting for a girl like you

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #iwtwyas #harry styles x oc #harry styles x ofc #best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #fluff #pining #mutual pining #fanfiction #fanfic #one direction

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awideworldoffanfics · 2 years

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{golden} fourteen: it’s all yellow

golden Masterlist here.

“No.”

“Bet, c’mon-.”

“I said no.” Her voice spiked an octave, the final word coming out much harsher than she had intended. She sighed and put the silver watering can between the two ferns that decorated the window view table. “I can’t just up and leave. I have a job, one that requires all of my time and energy.” Well, not all of it lately.

Truth be told, she had been a woman possessed as of late. Her thoughts and her chest riddled and plagued with Harry. Her free time was consumed by him, for him. Stolen hours tucked away in his hotel room, in her house during Howie’s absences. Shadowed kisses behind closed curtains and under the secret cover of nine gigantic letters to spell out the name of the city they met in. The quiet strum of a guitar. Dirt under fingernails digging in the garden behind her house.

Each day she went to filming, she performed her best. Her brain imagined that Gregory wasn’t himself or his character at all. He was Harry. And she wasn’t Vivian, she was simply herself. She wasn’t acting or performing. All her words were spoken as if she had said them to Harry. Each fleeting touch and lingering gaze as if it were for him. And each day when filming was over, she was praised to the heavens and her talent commending for being so raw and real.

“Ma’s sick.” Howie muttered. “If ya cared ‘bout anyone but yerself, ya’d take a couple days an’ go see ‘er with me.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the insinuation. The sheer fact that someone she had sheltered and pulled up from the trenches had the nerve to call her selfish. And even if she was selfish, didn’t she have a right? Who could argue against someone’s selfishness with their own life? It was her time to do with as she-.

That was it. Everything Gregory had pressed onto her. It was her life. Her career. A contract was just, well it was just a piece of paper saying she was employed by the studio. Louis Mayer commanded her employment with MGM, not her feelings or her heart.

“Bet?”

Howie had relied on their mother more than she ever had. Especially after she nursed them back to health after their scarlet fever scare. He clung to her skirts and lived to please her. Elizabeth expected that had he not been called into the war, he would have spent his life in Port Aransas and dedicated it to doing whatever their mother wished of him. A tragedy in itself, only killed by another.

“I can’t. Perhaps when the filming is over. I’ll have a small break and I’ll go out to see her.” He had to surely understand how detrimental missing filming could be. If they saw her as a flake…

“Sure,” Howie muttered, “when it’s over.”

He didn’t give her the chance to say anything else before he was walking out of the kitchen.

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“Oh, I just can’t stand him!”

Harry raised an eyebrow as the lavender heeled shoe was launched across the vast closet and fell against a plain black purse.

“He thinks he’s so much better than I am because he can drop everything and fly out to Texas for-.” Her voice broke off in the middle of her babbling rant. Elizabeth froze in her spot, a lime neck scarf draped over her forearm and her hand curled around the wooden handle of a fuchsia tote bag. “Harry?”

“Beth.”

Her lips drew together in a disquieting frown. “Do you think I’m selfish?”

Selfish. It wasn’t necessarily a word he would use to describe her. Motivated. Driven. Ambitious. Determined. But selfish? No.

Though it was carefully concealed and often masked by her hateful outbursts and ravenous career-brain, Harry knew that Elizabeth was the reluctant owner of a heart six sizes too big. It was revealed in her considerate caretaking of flora, her painstaking methods of forcing life into the green stems for them to produce vivacious blossoms. More recently, shown in her out-of-the-way kindness to Greta Peck, Gregory’s wife. Since her revelation that her co-star was a happily married family man, Elizabeth had taken to hand-delivering flowers from her garden for them to decorate their new home. She spoke fondly of Greta and even doted on their small son.

Harry had never much imagined her as someone who took kindly to children, for whatever reason. But Elizabeth, upon her recollections of her biweekly visits to the Peck household, never failed to light her face with stories of how little Jonathan swept her away.

Elizabeth had also, in recent light, taken up with one of her acting lesson girls. Harry had met Siobhan once and could only describe her as a fiery and startling Irish-gal. Not near as lucky as his own girl in the department of film-making, Siobhan was hoping to land a good supporting role in a film to start shooting a few months after Elizabeth’s ended. Her trouble, however, came from her accent. Most films weren’t in the market for an Irish voice and hers didn’t seem to be going far off. Enter Elizabeth Dandridge and her jackhammer determination to completely transform a voice into the desired and hard-won movie star lilt.

Harry hardly felt the need to even think of the worlds of good she’d done towards her brother. From taking him in, repaying his debts, dealing at all with Claymont. Not to mention her…incidents as she called them. When she even acknowledged that they happened.

She had forbidden him of mentioning them to Howie- calling it unnecessary stress towards him- and refused to talk about it when the incidents were brought up. As far as she was concerned, they had never happened.

“You think so too, then.” She huffed suddenly. Her face twisted disastrously.

His mouth popped open. “Actually, darling, I was thinking quite the opposite.” But, never mind it, she hadn’t heard him.

She placed the tote bag back onto the rack and admired it before tying the neck scarf around the handle. She tugged lightly on the ends of the bow until satisfied. “I do care about Mama and I’m sure sorry she’s under the weather, he’s jus’ so stuck up her hindend that anyone who doesn’t worship the ground she walks on must be selfish.” The longer she went on, the more and more a distinct twang came through her words. It sounded like honeycomb, and maple syrup. It wasn’t the posh stars’ valley he had grown so accustomed to falling for; rather, it was a drowsy sort of tone, words long and drawn out and sort of mushed together with the ends chopped off. “And he never thought that maybe I didn’t wanna go to Aransas, no, not a second. Lord have mercy on my soul, it’ll eat me righ’ up the minute I step foot there and I’ll be swallowed whole like Jonah in the whale.” She shook her head furiously, completely unaware he was hearing every drawled word she spoke. Her chin jutted up in some sudden realization, and then her face fell.

“Beth?” He cocked an eyebrow.

Her shoulders slumped forward, breaking her prized perfect posture. She twisted her mouth into displeasure. “Jesus Christ almighty, I hate when he’s right.”

In their growing acquaintance, she hardly ever admitted wrongdoing. And rarely, rarely, admitted if someone else was the least bit right. “Wha’s that?”

Elizabeth half-turned and plucked a navy dress from her closet rack. She fingered at the starch white collar before folding it over her forearm and then collected a pair of navy patent heels. “Howie. He was…Oh, well, you know.” She waved her free hand. “Nevermind it. I’ve got to start packing immediately.” And then, “Oh, and I need to make sure I’ve plenty of money for the drive and-.”

Harry frowned. Packing? Drive? Surely-surely, she wasn’t planning on making that trip home by driving. He wasn’t exactly sure how far a drive Port Aransas, Texas was from Hollywood, California but it didn’t seem close at all.

“Elizabeth, what are you goin’ on about?” He blinked. “Are you gonna head home to see your mum?”

She paused in the motion of picking another dress. “I suppose I’ve got to, haven’t I?” According to Howie, Mrs. Dandridge had been steadily ill for the past couple weeks and had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. And according to Elizabeth, Howie had flown out that morning to go back to Port Aransas, but not before a short and quick-tempered argument arose between the Dandridge twins.

He leaned against the jamb of her closet. It was a massive feature in her house. Perhaps bigger than her bathroom. All her jewelry was confined to the island in the middle of the closet. Baubles, brooches, dangling earrings, shimmering necklaces, and glittering bracelets. Two of the four walls lined with an extensive collection of dresses, blouses, skirts, and a select few pairs of trousers. One wall was dedicated to shoes and handbags and scarves. And the last wall displayed an elegant array of evening gowns. Upon first showing him her closet, Elizabeth had mentioned that most of the gowns had never been worn. Two had been to the premiers of her films, some on nights of celebration with fellow castmates- he had eagerly pointed out that divine gown of gossamer which she had worn on the night they first met- but most of the articles had been gifts sent by various designers earnest to gain her favor. Still hanging was that fateful dress of midnight serpentine. Easily, faithfully, joyously, he recalled her presence in his dressing room, the slick of red across her mouth, the dazzle of her eyes, and the confession.

He loved that dress.

“Jus’ book a plane ticket, honey. Flying’s a hell of a lot easier, not to mention quicker.”

She dropped the navy heels. “Oh, no, no.” She shook her head furiously with a nervous laugh. “There is no way I’m getting in one of those contraptions. Driving will do just fine.”

It was going to be at least a day trip. Her, all alone in a car. What if something happened? The car could break down- she was mighty good with flowers but he didn’t see that expertise shifting to vehicles. And then she’d be stranded and what if some creep-?

He vaulted those thoughts away. They did him no good, only made him the more worrisome over her. “Alone?”

“Huh?” She scurried to pick up the shoes. She brushed them against her trousers. “Oh, yes. I told you, Howie flew out already.”

He took the shoes and dress from her. After placing them on the jewelry island, he took her hands. “You’re not driving all that way alone, Beth. It’s got to be at least a days’ trip.” At least.

She tightened her hands around his. “Harry, I’m not flying, those-.”

The words were out before he’d had the chance to think them. “I’ll drive you.”

There were worse things that spending a trip to Texas and back alone in the car with Elizabeth Dandridge.

Her face softened. “It’s so sweet of you, really, but you’ve got work and so many people come to see you now. I can’t ask that of you. I’ll only be gone a few days and when I come back, you can have me a whole weekend, I swear. Just the two of us. We could go somewhere, out of town, even.”

She was right. The lounge, due to the increasing visits from Hollywood’s elite, was garnering more and more publicity. They’d been mentioned- and photographed- on the front page of the Hollywood Bazaar! It was a full house each night.

But he couldn’t in good conscience, let her make that drive alone. Not with her and Howie both on Claymont’s bad side. Not with all the dangers being a woman posed, especially one traveling alone.

Her words rang in his ears.

“I’m offering, belle fleur. It’d make me feel better knowing you weren’t alone. Besides, you said only a few days. I’m sure I could ask Frank for a month, and we’d have the green to stay shuttered.”

Her resolve caved as quick as it had built up. She smiled softly and leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “You’re as darling as you are divine, Mr. Styles. And quite impossible to say no to. Pick me up at seven tomorrow morning?” Her face blanched. “Oh, oh no. I’m going to have to call Mr. Mayer.”

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The trunk to Harry’s butter yellow Cadillac had to be forced down four times before it would properly click shut.

“There,” Harry sighed contentedly, “all packed away and ready for takeoff.”

Elizabeth stood near him, arms wound around her body. Her eyes were obscured with large pale pink sunglasses, fiery crown of hair hidden beneath a gauzy yellow scarf that perfectly matched her simple cotton dress and his own car. “Thank you for going with me. You’re such a dream.”

Harry said nothing but couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. He asked one final time if she was ready to go and she glanced back at her sunset house before easing into the car with unnatural elegance.

He tapped the hood twice before climbing in and pressing the little button that cranked the top of the car down.

“What did Mayer say when you asked for a few days away?”

He spun out of her drive and headed back through the city toward the freeway.

“I truly didn’t give him much a choice to say anything but yes. I explained that my mother was gravely ill and the doctors weren’t giving her much time to live. I even went on to say that we parted on nasty terms when I left for Hollywood three years ago and my soul required amends to be made.” She gave herself a haughty little smile at the end, proud and pleased of having gotten what she wanted from a man who held her entire career in his measly hands. “I may have spun him a little tale of how great an interview it would make when I returned: young Hollywood starlet gives a tearful goodbye to her estranged mother after a deathbed forgiveness.”

Harry was, frankly, too stunned to speak. She hadn’t let up any reins to get what she wanted. She had practically promised a full interview into her mother’s pre-assumed death, just to be allowed leave. Then again, had she not spun it in a way that Mayer favored, she probably would not have been allowed to go.

Harry took the ramp onto the freeway.

“What did you tell Frank?” She asked, looking at him through darkly tinted sunglasses.

Harry shrugged. There truthfully wasn’t much to tell. It had been pretty cut and dry. “I said I needed a few days off and he gave them to me. Booked some up and comer to fill my spot ’til we get back into town.”

She pulled a face, apparently disgusted with the ease at which he could take his leave from his job. He reminded her that not all of them had the future of Hollywood’s immortality resting on their shoulders.

Elizabeth reached across the unoccupied middle piece of the benched front seat and grabbed his hand. With a reassuring squeeze she breathed, “We won’t be staying at my parents’. I’ve arranged for us to let a small place on the beach. It’ll be just us.”

Just…just them.

He tore his eyes from the road for a fraction of a second to look at her. Her smile was wide, toothy, not at all as composed as it usually was. At closer inspection, he noted that her bottom lip wobbled.

“Beth, you…you know that I don’t expect anything from you, right? I came to be with you, to support you, not to get in your knickers.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Good golly, your mind must live in a gutter!” She dropped his hand playfully. “I rented the house so no one would bother us, not to give you an opportunity to bed me! You’re such a cad, Harry, honestly.” But even with her acrid words, he could sense the playful demeanor under them and her laugh shaking through her shoulders.

“Up!”

“I like it down.”

“Well I prefer it up.”

“Good thing it’s my car, then.”

The onslaught of wind wasn’t so vicious or cold that Harry believed having the roof of the convertible up was necessary. It was a beautiful day, a gorgeously bright sun, overwhelmingly blue sky patterned with fluffy white clouds. The highway wasn’t so busy that traffic was bumper to bumper but it wasn’t exactly sparse either.

It was a beautiful day, made even more so by the fact that the woman he very much believed himself to be falling in love with was next to him.

It was funny to think, to imagine, even to believe. They’d only known one another just shy of two months and already, life before Elizabeth Dandridge seemed a fuzzy, distant memory. And all the same, he couldn’t bear to imagine a future in which she did not coat his life with sugared delicacy.

“Harry,” she let go of his hand and soon his fingers were met with the unwelcome breeze of fresh air that meant she was no longer interested, “if you insist on keeping the top of the car down, I’ll have to insist on sitting all the way over here.”

The blunt edges of his fingernails slid against the pure leather of the now empty middle seat of the front bench. For the past three hours she had occupied the middle seat, saddled up right next to him. He had listened contentedly as she, with her head resting on his shoulder, rambled aimlessly on about how she hated the way in which they were shooting the movie- rather than focusing on different scenes each day, they were starting at the beginning and stopping at the end, which she said was ridiculous and not entirely productive. She doted adoringly on Gregory’s wife and even the young son Jonathan, despite the fact that Elizabeth did not much care for children. But when she spoke of the little boy, her eyes lit up like the sun. She loved to play little games with him, running around the yard to catch him, hiding in the house; she had even go so far as to gift him a tiny berry bush and helped him plant it in the back lawn of the Peck house.

Harry, as someone who became increasingly aware of her cues the more time they spent together, realized that she began to speed through her words and stories as a way to deflect from the true nature of her thoughts. He could only guess that her current worries were cemented in the ill-awaited return to a place she once likened to a “prison cell in Purgatory”.

She didn’t much care for her family or the place where she grew up. In fact, once, she had confided that any day she went back would be much too soon. She was only going now out of familial obligation to visit her mother’s supposed deathbed.

Howie had made her feel guilty, for once, and that was not a feeling she tended to shoulder well.

Harry reached across the bench seat and grasped for her. His fingers secured around the soft flesh of the place just above her knee. “Come back over here.”

With a defining hmph, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t.”

Softly, but with enough pressure for realization, he dug his fingers into her skin. “Elizabeth,” his other hand tightened around the steering wheel, “come back.”

She whipped her head over to stare at him. Harry locked his jaw, focusing on the road. From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance down at his hand and then back to his face.

“Put the top up.” She steeled.

“No.”

She sighed, the noise elongated and dramatized. She sunk lower in the seat, resting her head just below the rest. Her movement effectively slid his hand higher up her leg, to the point it brushed just under the hem of her dress.

Harry choked on the air

Was she…?

Fuck, she was.

Perhaps he’d been a bit too good at helping her unlock the more devious side of her femininity. She’d quickly become an ace at using it to help with the movie, but there she sat turning his own teachings against him. Just to get the goddamn top of the car up.

“Are you all right?” She turned her torso toward him and cocked her head to the side with false sympathy. Elizabeth angled herself toward him, turning so that her back rested against the door.

He tore his eyes away from the road to look at her. Her smile was cunning, sharp and knowing. She fiddled with his fingers and each time she dropped them, placed them slightly higher on her leg before picking them back up.

Fuckin’ fox.

“You really want the top up?”

“Please.” She simpered. “It’s awfully lonely over here by myself.”

If she wasn’t the death of him, he’d find himself immortal.

“Fine.” Harry eased on the gas and swerved the car over onto the shoulder of the road before pressing down on the brake. He slammed the car into park and pressed the button to raise the roof of the car. As it rose, he clambered across the bench seat, one hand still on her leg and the other resting on the door of the car. His gaze flickered down at her mouth just before he pressed his lips to hers. “Top’s up.” He groaned into her mouth as she yanked on the collar of his shirt.

He wound his arm around her back, lowering her to lay her against the seat. He hovered over her, their legs between each other’s, her knee knocking against his hip. The hem of her dress fell up, resting high near her pelvis and exposing a dark toned mole he had only seen once before. She even had freckles on her thighs.

“Is this…is this okay?” He fingered the edges of the gauzy and now mussed scarf that was meant to shield her hair from the wind, and her identity from wandering eyes.

Her eyes were wide, pupils enlarged to the point he didn’t know where they ended and the iris began. It was his truth- the truth- that he wasn’t keenly interested in getting into her knickers. He’d only been to bed with a woman once in his life, and honest to fucking God didn’t remember most of it. It’d been the early days of the war, the really bad days, and he had been convinced he was going to die. The Germans were bombing France day in and day out and more oft than not, he saw his fellow soldiers become nothing but pink mist. He’d gotten unceremoniously sloshed one evening with a superior officer and wound up the next morning with a killer hangover and a naked courtesan next to him.

His little experience in the department was worlds more than Elizabeth’s. She’d told him that he was her first real kiss, everything beforehand had been a succession of rapid-take three second lip locks on sets for movies. She had never really kissed someone before, let alone felt for them.

She wasn’t ready and he didn’t think he was either. He wanted to, at some point, but not right then. Not on the side of the road. Not when their relationship was new and fresh and secretive.

“Yes.” She breathed.

He gently pulled on the scarf, letting it fall to the floorboard. Harry ran his fingers through her ginger curls before leaning down and sealing his mouth to hers once more. Her sigh resonated in his chest and shuddered through his heart. He rested his forehead against hers, inhaling the scent of her floral perfume and relishing the fact that the impossible had been made possible. His hope for her, for this, had been waning exponentially before that fateful kiss in his hotel room some days ago and now hope blossomed forth from his heart like the flowers in her garden.

This was real, they were here. The future, their future, seemed unknowingly bright and teeming with happiness.

“Harry, is everything okay?” She murmured, carding her fingers through his un-gelled hair.

He nodded, throat constricting with unbridled emotion. “Yes, yeah, everything is perfect. I just…”

“You just what? Did I do something wrong?”

He fought back an amused smile. She’d go crass in an instant if she thought she was being teased. And while he loved her crass and in ill-humor, this version was his favorite. Soft with no barriers to lock away her true feelings, untempered and as delicate as a newly bloomed flower.

“No, you’re exquisite, love. Divine, heavenly. Ethereal. Just…Soaking it in, soaking you in. This is a dream, a real good fuckin’ dream, you know.”

She laughed quietly, brushing her nose against his with an agreeable hum. “If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.”

Harry leaned back. Her eyes were fluttered closed with a slight smile on her pink lips. Her hair fanned like a halo of fire and dust from the universe scattered across her nose and cheeks. His heart beat weakly in his chest, too overcome with the rawness of his feelings and the sight of her. This could only end well…Right?

He peppered a kiss to each of her eyelids, then her nose, both cheeks, her forehead and chin, and a longer, deeper one to her lips. “Je suit en train de timber amoureux de toi. S’il vous plait soyez doux avec moi.”

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“Oh, I love this song!” Elizabeth darted forward and spun the dial to increase the volume. The familiar intro of keys had tickled her ears and, at the recognition, she had gotten a bit too excited.

Truth be told, she hadn’t much cared for music until Harry. The way he spoke about melodies or strummed his long fingers across the strings of his beloved guitar or breathily sang made-up lullabies through the phone at night struck chords in her she hadn’t realized had existed. He was changing her and she was realizing it wasn’t entirely for the worse.

Up until recently, she had believed that any change of her person past the initial transformation into a Hollywood darling would be unnecessary, therefore horrible and unthinkable. She’d been an extraordinary girl in Port Aransas and had made herself an exquisite find in Hollywood. That was all she needed. Or…so she thought.

For too long she had been suppressing parts of herself, vital pieces, in order to maintain the air and elegance that a starlet needed to have. They were without flaw, perfect beyond measure with no irredeemable qualities. That was not her, not at all. She was far from perfect, no matter what the world saw; she had too many flaws to count, and enough irredeemable qualities to make the Devil tuck tail and run.

Harry saw it all; he craved it all. He wasn’t afraid or disgusted or repulsed by the true nature of her self. Rather, he was enchanted and curious and often did everything in his power to draw it forward. She didn’t know if he was brave or stupid.

Nevertheless, she found herself in want-in need- of him. His constant company, his asinine jokes, keenness to help in the garden, his fierce protective state, his laugh, his touch. His kiss.

He was affectionate and handsy in a chivalrous manner, always asking before he put his hands in a new place or if he was being too forward, too rough. It was unladylike to admit that she enjoyed every second they were connected physically, that she had to sometimes restrain herself from touching him under his clothes, and especially that she was experiencing and unknown tug in her lower stomach and oft had to clench her thighs together when he kissed her neck or shoulder as he was prone to do. And since it was unladylike, she kept her thoughts to herself but always said yes when he became adventurous with his hands on her body.

Worse, she found her heart in a constant state of yearning and from her limited knowledge of romance novels, she understood perfectly what was happening to her.

She was falling in love.

What a lovely, dangerous thing.

“Isn’t Bing’s voice sublime?” She inched closer to Harry, hooking her arm around his. For most of the trip, he’d been driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on her knee. Since their last impromptu stop on the side of the road, where they’d spent over half an hour breathlessly entangled and their mouths sealed together, he had been nothing but gentlemanly with his hand placement.

The corner of his mouth edged up in a smile. “Didn’t take you for a love song kinda gal.”

Elizabeth shrugged, lacing her fingers with his. “It reminds me of you.” More and more, the longer she exposed herself to him, the more she found herself able to speak freely of her wants and feelings. He was liberation.

Harry lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. His lips lingered before dragging them down the length of her finger and then gently nipping at her fingertip. He gripped her hand, holding it against his chest. “I make such pretty speeches/ whenever we’re apart/ but when you’re near, the words I choose/ refuse to leave my heart,” his singing voice, as it usually did when performing songs as such, had a somber lilt to it, “so take the sweetest phrases the world has ever known/ and make believe I’ve said ‘em all to you.”

“Does it ever drive you crazy that I can’t give you as pretty words as you give me?”

He didn’t take his eyes from the road. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth leaned forward and turned the volume back down. Though further diluted by the noise of traffic, she could still make out Bing Crosby’s soft-serve voice resonating a feeling similar to her own. Both of them unable to provide much verbal reassurance in the affairs of the heart.

“You always say such beautiful and heartfelt things to me. I never have to guess your feelings or what I mean to you. But I can’t give you those things. I’m not good at it, I don’t know how to be. I-I’ve never had to express myself this way before and I feel…”

“If you say ‘inadequate’, I’m pulling this car over.”

She shook her head. “Not inadequate, not precisely that. Almost…almost inferior. And ashamed.” Inferior and ashamed. Two things she’s never once felt before.

“Close enough.” Harry glanced over his shoulder and swerved the car into the right lane before pulling off on the shoulder. He geared into park and turned to face her. “Inferior? Ashamed?” He took her face in his hands, green eyes dark. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Elizabeth. Nor are you inadequate for not being able to do something you’ve never had to do before. You’ve spent your entire life suppressing every real thing about yourself, I can’t hold it against you that I is taking you time to unlearn that.”

“But,” she sighed, grabbing onto his wrists, “don’t you ever feel badly that I can’t give what you can? Or what someone else could give you? Don’t you wish I was better, or different than I am?” She didn’t know how to change that aspect of herself. Other pieces transformed slowly, but her inability at expressing her feelings remained concrete and resolved. She didn’t possess the capabilities to tell him how quickly her heart picked up when he said her name or that when he laughed, it sounded like the trumpets of Heaven. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t simply tell him that the safest and most comfortable she had ever felt was when she was with him, or why she couldn’t say that he made her happier than anyone deserved to be. Or that she was certain she was falling in love with him. If it were him, she knew he would say those things in a heartbeat, without hesitation, without fear of consequence.

“No.” Harry’s fingers dug into her hair. “Absolutely not. You give what you can and I’m grateful for every single bit. We may say different things at different speeds, or different amounts, but I know we’re on equal measure emotionally. It isn’t about the words, Beth, it’s about the meaning. And we mean the same thing, don’t we?” She nodded once. “There.” He kissed her forehead and then each temple. “And,” he pulled back, eyes stern and mouth in a hard line, “don’t you ever again suggest that any other version of you would be better than this one. I l-I care for you exactly as you are and couldn’t wish for anything else. And don’t ever even think that I’d want someone else, I never will. No one could make me happier, I could never want anyone else now that there is you.”

Elizabeth swallowed, licking her tongue over her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

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The last leg of their road trip- for the day anyhow- was a grueling five hours of desolate Arizona highways. The sun had long set over the desert horizon and the only light came from the headlights of Harry’s car and the occasional beams from the rare fellow automobile. Long trips by car exhausted her to points beyond belief and she found herself nodding off more and more as the night grew chillier and the road emptier.

“Beth.” Harry’s finger prodded into her bicep. “Love, wake up.”

They were stationary. The car was parked in front of a low, long building that stretched eleven doors to the left and eleven to the right. Their car was parked in front of Room 12. In between Room 11 and Room 12 was a door labeled “Check-In Here”. Attached to the roof was a large white sign, half-illuminated that read “Oasis Motor Motel, No Vacancy”, the “no” was darkened, leading her to believe they indeed had rooms available. Unless that part of the sign just wasn’t working.

“What time is it?” Elizabeth yawned, stretching out her arms. Her hands bumped against the roof of the car. Harry checked his watch and said it was well past ten. They’d been driving almost twelve hours.

“M’gonna head in and get us a room. Stay here, maybe put that hair scarf thing on, and your sunglasses.”

He slipped out the door in a wink and she reached across, locking his door and then her own. When he disappeared into the manager’s office, she pulled out her scarf and sunglasses from the glove box. She’d forgone the scarf ever since Harry pulled it off earlier and had ditched the sunglasses once the sun began to set. Surely it would seem strange to have them on at night, but Harry was right, it was best that she look odd rather than someone recognize her. If she was noticed, that was effectively it on her career.

Elizabeth pulled her hair off her neck and tied the scarf before securing it up over the crown of her head. She unfolded the sunglasses and pushed them over her face. She glanced up and down the row of rooms, taking in the few cars that littered the lot. The place didn’t seem too busy. She wondered how many full motels he passed up before arriving at this one. And how long she had been asleep. She did feel a bit bad about falling asleep and leaving him up to drive all by himself, but she had tried to stay awake at first.

They’d spent the last hours playing I-Spy, using the other cars or the scenery as their objects. Harry serenaded her with every song that came on the radio that he knew the words to. When there were songs he didn’t know, he prattled about his family. He liked to talk about his sister, with whom he was inexplicably close. His eyes always held a bit of extra shine when he spoke of his angelic and saintlike mother. He laughed from his belly when he mimed her reaction to his first tattoos and got teary-eyed when he reminisced about their tearful goodbye went he went into the war and then when he departed for the States. He spoke little of his father, but when he did there was pride at being his son and how his dad had been the one to get him into music.

His talk of his family brought out talk on hers. When he mentioned his father’s goading him into music, she admitted that her obsession with gardening came from her father and the secret: if acting hadn’t worked out, she planned to open her own nursery. She told him, embarrassed and ashamed, about the fight with her mother the day she left for Hollywood. She even told him about the day, during the Dark Times, when she trudged out to the garden with her father and found that all the crops had dried and withered, and she’d been so sure of death, she hadn’t even been scared anymore. After all, Mama said death, and in consequence Heaven, was where all people were well and safe again.

Harry knocked his fist against the window. He grinned, dangling a silver key on a small chain. He nodded his head to the left and beckoned her out of the car.

“Here,” he dropped the key in her hand, “you go on. I’ll grab our things. You hungry? Manager said there’s a diner a few miles out that’s open all night.”

The thought of food made her stomach swirl. She couldn’t possibly think of food at such an hour. All she wanted was a soft bed and a good night’s rest.

“Not particularly. I’m exhausted more than anything.” Harry agreed and said they’d stop for a big breakfast before heading out early in the morning. He wanted to be gone by the time the sun was rising.

Elizabeth looked at the key and noticed it was for Room 15, just three doors down from their car. There were no cars in the lot down until you reached Room 19, which made her feel a tad more safe and relaxed. No one to bother them, no one to see them.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was dark and the smell of must was powerful. She flipped the light switch on and her nose wrinkled at the thick layer of dust on the dresser. A beat up old Bible lay on the nightstand next to the bed.

The bed.

Not a bed. The bed. Only one. She’d never stayed in motels before but did they usually not have two beds? She blinked and looked around the room again. Still only one bed. She rubbed her fists into her eyes. One bed. They’d have to share a bed.

In retrospect, she didn’t know why it was such a big matter at first. They had shared a bed before. And it wasn’t as if anyone would ever know. They were a secret, which meant this was a secret too.

“Oh.”

The door kicked shut behind her and two suitcases thudded against the floor. She looked back at Harry, the key dangling from her hand.

“I’ll take the chair.” He gestured to the weathered brown fabric chair in the corner by the shaded window. The chair didn’t look an ounce of comfortable or fit for even sitting, let alone sleeping.

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth picked up her travel bag and put it on the bed. “We’ve shared a bed before, Harry, this time’s no different. It’s only sleeping.”

He didn’t give an answer. He rifled through his own bag after tossing it in the chair and announced he was going to change in the bathroom. When the door wavered shut, he called out, “Beth, I’m more than happy to share a bed with you, but I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

She unzipped her suitcase and let the top fall against the bed. “As long as you don’t hit or kick me in your sleep, I can’t think of a single reason as to why I’d be uncomfortable. I mean, we are going steady, after all.”

Something fell in the bathroom. Harry cursed.

Elizabeth laughed quietly to herself, taking out two pairs of trousers and refolding them over several sets of silk pajamas. She took out her cold cream and toothpaste and toothbrush, laying them on the bed.

“We-we are, are we?” His voice cracked.

“Uh-huh.” She plastered a frown on her face, canvassing over the bag again. “Oh, holy mackerel.” She groaned.

“What’s wrong?” When she turned, Harry’s head was poked out of he bathroom. From the looks of it, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Her cheeks heated as she solidified herself in her little scheme. She’d felt poor over it at first but now that she saw he didn’t plan on wearing a shirt, her spirits lifted themselves.

“I’m such a dunce.” She shook her head, pulling off the scarf and tossing it in the bag, along with her sunglasses. “I went and forgot pajamas. I’ve not packed any for the whole trip.”

Harry strode out of the bathroom, his day clothes meticulously folded in his arms. As she suspected, he was only in a pair of plaid sleep pants. His torso remained bare, leaving no piece of inked skin to the imagination. “How’d you forget something like that?” He placed his clothes on top of his bag before looking at her, head cocked to the side in keen intrigue.

Elizabeth shrugged, zipping her bag shut. “I was in such a terror over Howie and our words and then the stress of the whole trip…I can’ believe I was such a yuck.”

Harry promised they’d stop tomorrow and secure her plenty of pajamas for the duration of the trip. There was sure to be somewhere close by that sold the variety she liked, even if they weren’t an exact match. She preferred a specific store in Los Angeles, one that shipped the materials over from Milan. She had a set in every available color and pattern and was on an exclusive list to shop new collections early.

“That’s fine.” She resolved falsely. “But tonight…I’ve only got my slip.” She fingered at the hem of her yellow dress, under which she wore a simple white slip, as she did with most of her dresses.

The inside of Harry’s cheeks hollowed out as his neck blushed red. He glanced at the chair where his belongings resided. “I can sleep in the-.”

She cut him off quickly, “No, no, it’s quite all right.” Was she speaking too fast? Playing too loose and quick? Perhaps, but all she really knew- or cared about- was that there was a bubbling in the pit of her stomach that was making her legs feel like Jell-O Surprise and as billowy as a willow in the summer breeze. He was creating that feeling in her and she wanted more of it. She just wasn’t sure what part of her decided this was the key to that. “You’ve seen me in less,” she referenced their trip to the beach some weeks ago in which she had worn a scandalous two piece swimsuit, “and we’re only sleeping, aren’t we?”

If he noticed the dangerous shimmer in her eyes, he didn’t make it known.

Elizabeth worked quickly once in the bathroom. She sped through her nightly routine of removing her makeup and cleansing her face with her sworn-by cold cream and then brushing her teeth. She removed the cotton-made yellow dress, folding it on the bathroom counter. Nerves bounced around her veins and she half-considered leaving her brassiere. She mentally chastised herself and unclasped it, hiding it away in the folds of her dress.

The white slip was shorter than the ones she normally wore, due to the shorter hem of the yellow dress she had bought specifically for the drive. The straps were thin, the neckline a deep sweetheart and embroidered with a delicate lace that curved under her breasts, creating a triangular illusion across the chest. The hem of the slip was embroidered with the same lace and had a daring two inch slit.

Did Peggy feel this empowered, this brazen and daring when she shortened the hems of her skirts and dressing? If she did, Elizabeth was mighty sorry she ever judged her for it at all. The first thing she would do when back in town was apologize to Peggy and ask her to help with her hems too.

With a deep breath, she gave herself one last confident look in the spotty mirror and pushed open the door.

Harry was already in the bed, flipping through a worn book he’d brought along. “Ya know, it’s a bit chilled in here, we might have to huddle for warmth, is that-?” His sentence died a slow death when he lifted his head and his eyes found her.

Instinctively, she wanted to cover herself, hide this daring new version with her hands or skitter back into the bathroom. But she didn’t. The slack look on his face, his widened, darkening eyes, he way his book toppled into the floor, it’s all enough for her to stand there with her shoulders squared and her arms at her sides.

“Personally,” Elizabeth drew back the blanket on her side of the bed, “being wrapped up in each other all night sounds pretty damn good to me. Although, I’m feeling much more hot than I am cold.”

Harry gulped down a swallow. His fingers twitched in his lap. “A-are you?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, crawling into the bed. She didn’t situate herself under the blanket and sheet as he had, rather she crawled straight toward him. Her hair fell on her shoulders in soft waves, bouncing slightly with each movement of her arms. “Harry,” she skirted her hand up his covered thigh, “you can touch me. If you want.”

She took his hand and placed it on his hip.

“Oh.” He breathed out. His eyes flickered from hers to her mouth to the laced neckline. “Oh.”

“And kiss me. It’s okay if you kiss me. I don’t mind.” She whispered, sitting herself on his lap. She ran a finger down from his hairline to the edge of his jaw, letting it drop off to run down the line between his pectoral muscles. “I hope you know how much you mean to me. How much I care about you. I think you’re the most stunning person who’s ever lived and I don’t ever want to be without you.”

His tongue darted out and licked over his lips. “‘Lizabeth, if we start this…if we go there…there’s no going back, you know that…”

Elizabeth hovered over him, much in the same way he had done to her earlier that day. He was beautiful, easily the most beautiful person to ever exist. His green eyes were expressive and soft, his chocolate curls unruly and smooth, the mole above his lip was undeniably endearing, and his bubbly and charming character only amplified his physicality.

“Maybe I don’t want to go back. Then what?”

His breath, warm and scented like the mint gum he’d been chewing the last leg of the trip, blew out against her clavicle. “Then this.” His free hand curved around the back of her neck and pulled her down to him, their mouths meeting within the second.

The hand at her waist dug into the satin material of the slip. He tightened his hold and then flipped her on her back, laying his body on top of hers. Their chests pressed together, he hiked her leg around his waist, dancing his fingers from her ankle to her thigh. The kiss he left at the base of her throat made her spine tingle and at once, she realized what the feeling was. What the feeling of intense need and to have his hands and his mouth on her. It was desire.

The one thing women were not supposed to have.

The one thing she had far too much of.

“Is this what you want?” His words were panted breaths into her shoulder, nose brushing against her throat. His hands raked up her thighs, blunt fingernails scratching lightly into the skin. Electric fire burned at the trails he left as he edged up under the dress and his hand grazed over the fabric of her underwear. His nose brushed against the strap of the slip, pushing it down her shoulder. His mouth imprinted hot, open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder, her exposed chest. “Tell me, ‘Lizabeth, please. Is this what you want?”

The world outside Room 15 of the Oasis Motor Motel fell away. The only existence was within those four walls, inside that full-size bed. The world, the only things that mattered were the breathless whispers of her name falling from his mouth, the tightness cinching in her lower stomach each time his fingers painted over the material of her underwear, the way he held her hand impossibly tight with their fingers woven together.

“You are what I want. Nothing else.” He was it. His sunshine, his clouds, his storms. Whatever weather, whatever humor. Harry was it. Without him, it all meant nothing. Everything was nothing in his absence and callous as she could be, she recognized this and it wouldn’t do.

He was all she wanted, all she would truly ever want. Because in that time, that moment where the world outside of that bed fell away, Hollywood did not exist. There was no Elizabeth Dandridge, there was no Harry Styles; there was only Elizabeth and Harry, in their own world.

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