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#harry styles x ofc
barkrry · 2 years
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dilf | harry styles
harry styles x wife!yn in which your eldest daughter comes home with a very interesting question for her father.
With the twins in the living room playing with their father, she was able to clean up the mess from dinner. Harry had tried to offer, insist even just because she had cooked - a good husband shares the chores, he reminded her, but the twins were begging for him to play with them as he had been out at the studio all day.
The eldest, Juniper, was over at a friend's house after school. Apparently a few of the girls were going over, and who were Harry and YN to say no. If anything, they were excited that their daughter even had friends.
The doorbell rang, and she was dropping the damp cloth on the counter top before walking through to the door. On the other side of the door was Juni, with her friend, Emma, and Emma’s mother.
“Hey, Juni, did you have fun?” She asked softly, happily accepting the hug she was receiving from her daughter, stroking her hair gently.
School uniform was a mess, as it usually was after she finished a day of education, with her ponytail just barely holding together. But the smile on her face was as bright as ever.
“Tons, mummy!” Juni replied, as she was looking back at her friend.
“Was she good?” She asked the other mother, Kate, as she was gently rocking with her eldest.
“Oh! She was absolute gold to have around, she even told the other girls off for making a mess of Emma’s room with her toys!” Kate laughed softly, resting her hand on her daughter's shoulder.
“Well, next time, we shall host a little girls get together, maybe even a sleepover,” YN replied, a warm smile spread across her lips. She had been a bit worried that it wouldn’t be that much fun for her daughter, that the girls would change their mind and start saying nasty things.
“I’m sure all the girls would love that, we wish you could have come over though! Joined me and the other mums for a coffee,” Kate spoke, smiling back at her.
“I wish I could have, but I still had three other rugrats to keep tamed,” she joked in reply, as the sounds of squeals coming from the twins sounded at whatever game they were playing with their dad.
“Ah, next time then?”
“Of course, we will arrange something!”
With the door closing, she was carefully hanging up Juniper’s bag on its correct hook with her coat, as the young girl was taking off her shoes and following the noise to the living room.
Harry was on his knees, his trusty claw clip holding his hair away from his face as he tickled the elder twin, Teddy. Laying beside his brother, Jazz was kicking his feet in the air with loud giggles.
“Alright, you three. If you wake Rose from her nap, you’ll be changing her stinky nappy together,” YN warned as she was walking through to grab her phone from the side table. Harry laughed at her threat, his face bright with happiness as he was pulling his eldest daughter towards him.
“Hey, June-Bug,” he greeted her softly, pressing a soft kiss to her head as he was hugging her to his chest, even though he was panting.
“Daddy, you’re all sweaty,” she complained, but she was giggling at the kisses he was smothering her face with.
“Did you have fun with all your friends, poppet?” He asked her, as the twins were now rolling around on the floor and laughing at the new game they had invented.
“Yes! We played with all Emma’s toys, and— and—“ she stuttered as she tried to think of what she wanted to say, her brow furrowing just like her fathers. “Daddy, what’s a DILF?”
The question had both Harry and YN pausing, her eyes slowly rising from her phone where she had been replying to a text from her mother. Catching his eye as they looked over the top of Juniper’s head.
“Where— where did you hear that?” He asked her curiously, moving to sit on his bum as he held her in his lap.
“Emma and Amara’s mums said it. They said Harry is such a DILF, but me and the other girls didn’t know what that meant.”
YN’s eyes were wide at the words her daughter came out with, shaking her head and carefully stepping around the twin boys on the floor to head back to the kitchen. She trusted Harry to handle the subject appropriately, but honestly, she had to deal with so many people ogling and checking out her husband over the years, she wished she could have kept it hidden from her children for a bit longer.
“Well, it’s a not very nice term some people use,” Harry explained to her, as he stroked her back gently with his brow creased. “It’s a very inappropriate way to say that someone finds someone else nice looking, but we know there’s better ways, right, poppet?”
“You say they’re pretty or handsome or beautiful!” Juniper beamed proudly, nodding her head. “But why didn’t they say Harry is beautiful? I bet they are!”
He really wanted to beam at her for using gender neutral pronouns like they had been teaching her, to never assume someone’s gender.  But he was still concerned about her overhearing someone saying that about him.
“Some people are just not very nice, sometimes,” he explained, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Does that answer your question, sweetheart?”
She nodded, her arms wrapping around his neck as she hugged him tightly. He held her against his chest for a moment, rubbing her back before carefully releasing her.
“Alright, why don’t you three head into the play room for a bit before bathtime? Keep the noise down too, y’sisters sleeping.”
The three kids were instantly running off to the other room, and he had zero worries about them fighting. In the early days, once the boys were more mobile and could speak a little, they had to have lots of talks about sharing the space and the toys. Now it was like second nature to them.
Walking into the kitchen, he stepped up behind his wife with his arms carefully snaking around her waist. Pressing a line of kisses along her shoulder and up her neck, feeling the stress leave her body as she relaxed back against him.
“Only got eyes for you,” he whispered against her skin, smiling as he gently nibbled a small mark on her pulse point.
“I don’t doubt that, H,” she breathed out, her fingers reaching back to gently wind in the hair on the back of his neck. “I know we have to explain some difficult things to our babies, but I was hoping we could skip the ‘everyone finds your dad so incredibly sexy they had to let everyone know’ chat.” A sigh left her, a shake of her head. He massaged her hips gently, letting her know that he was there, he wasn’t leaving. “Gonna have to mark you up, never let you leave without the biggest hickey on your neck.”
He chuckled against her skin, raising his head to kiss her cheek as he hummed there. “Sounds sexy, count me in,” he whispered, mostly teasing as he held her close. “Plus, they missed out completely on the total MILF that Harry is married to,” he mumbled, smirking as he could feel her cheeks heat up under the words. “Her body after carrying his four kids? God, it’s incredible,” he moaned against her cheek, eyes closed as he pressed his nose against her face. “Kinda wanna make it five—“
“Rose is two months, you animal!” She gasped, laughing as she swatted at his arms. “You do not want another baby.”
“Not right now,” he whispered, brushing her nose against the tip of hers. “Maybe, one day. If you want it,” he added, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
And maybe the next school day, Harry may have been a bit inappropriate after dropping off the twins and Juniper. Standing in the playground, Rose in her pram, with his arms wrapped around his wife. Lips dragging against hers slowly. And when she asked, What was that for?, he would respond, Just showing ‘em who I belong to, with the cheekiest smirk on his face.
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harry-on-broadway · 6 months
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Loving You Always: A Tying You to Me Extra
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Word Count: 5.8K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M
***
It was the countdown Quinn noticed first. One of those widgets you could add to the home screen of your phone. There wasn’t a picture or description, but 34 days were left when she first saw it and she quickly tried to calculate what the date could mean. 
It wasn’t the end of Harry’s tour and the date didn’t correspond to any notable birthdays or anniversaries. Unless it was something new Harry had up his sleeve, she had no clue what it could be. 
“Big plans for the summer?” Quinn tried hard to sound casual when she brought it up later that night. Harry was chopping vegetables for a stir-fry as she heated oil in the pan. He paused, a thoughtful smirk on his face, and Quinn could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head as he thought of a sarcastic retort. 
“Well, I’m just making a quick trip over a castle in a couple of days. Have a few more shows here and there but nothing too exciting.” He looked up from the cutting board and flashed her his trademark grin. 
“Nothing else though. No other shows? No filming or fashion things? Like say in 34 days?” Harry’s eyes were back on the vegetables, and at the mention of the date, his hand slipped, the knife nicking the tip of his finger. 
“Shit.” 
“Oh, Harry.” Quinn spun around behind her grabbing a clean paper towel, doubling it over before pressing it against the small cut. “Hold that there,” she said, turning back to toss some of the cut vegetables into the pan. “Is it still bleeding?”.
“No, it wasn’t too bad. Just startled me more than anything. But that’s what I get for letting you distract me.” 
“I distracted you?”
“Yeah, you’re interrogating me when I’m chopping vegetables,” Harry teased. 
“Your hand slipped. I’m sorry, but how is that my fault???” 
“You’re getting all in my business asking weirdly specific questions that make no sense.” 
Quinn flushed, feeling only slightly guilty that she’d been so nosy. “I’m just trying to…plan some things out.” 
“Oh? Like what?”
“I don’t know, lunch?”
“You want to plan a lunch…34 days from now.”
“Yeah.” Quinn held his gaze, unrelenting. 
“You’re something else woman.” He shook his head, the grin never leaving his face. “Inflicting pain on your poor boyfriend, on his well deserved day off. Keep this up and we’ll see if I get you a rin–” Harry blanched, and then cleared his throat. “But, uh, to answer your question, it’s a work meeting that I can’t miss so I’ll have to pass on lunch that day.”
“With Columbia?” The words came out faster than Quinn intended, as she tried to process the words that had almost come out of Harry’s mouth.
“Yeah.” Harry looked at his finger. “Looks like it’s not a serious wound. I’m going to wash up and then I can chop some more if you need it.”
“That would be great.” Quinn’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. “I think we might need more broccoli and carrots.” She went back to pushing vegetables around the pan, paying careful attention and trying to distract herself from the thoughts currently racing through her mind. 
The countdown was the furthest thing from her mind as she fixated and the single word Harry had almost said – ring.  
Rings had been top of mind since he’d given her that trinket after Christmas. While it mostly lived upstairs in the jewelry tray he’d made for her, Quinn had been known to pick it up and put on her left ring finger when she was alone, savoring the physical and symbolic weight of it and praying that a real one would be coming soon. 
Harry returned to her side, chopping and tossing a few more veggies into the pan before pulling dishes from the cabinet. He made no mention of his earlier remark while they ate and it didn’t come up as they cleaned up the kitchen or watched a film after dinner. In fact, Quinn had nearly forgotten about it by the time they were getting ready for bed, until she saw Harry fidgeting with his phone. 
She almost brought it up again, wanting to investigate further, but thought better of the impulse. Harry didn’t take kindly to prying and, after more than six years, she knew the best way to get him to open up was to let him come to her. When he climbed out of bed to fill his glass of water she snuck one glance at his phone and saw that the countdown had disappeared. 
“Lights out?” Harry asked, standing by the switch. 
“Mmhmm,” Quinn said, flicking on her bedside lamp. She opened up her book and watched Harry over top of the pages. He was nonchalant, shuffling across the room, climbing under the covers, and giving her a kiss before turning onto his side and quickly falling asleep. 
Quinn turned a few pages not retaining any of the words. Maybe Harry’s slip of the tongue earlier meant nothing, but as she turned off her light and curled up next to Harry, thoughts of rings, dresses, and weddings danced through her head. 
***
“Jeff, have you seen my parents?” Quinn asked. She’d been doing laps backstage for the last hour and hadn’t managed to locate them. Seeing as this was only their second time at Wembley, she was slightly concerned. 
“Can’t say I have,” Jeff said. “Tommy, have you seen them?” Tommy shook his head and went back to his ongoing conversation. “Sorry, Quinn, Maybe they went out to their seats?”
“Maybe…” Quinn said, unconvinced. “Thanks.”
She headed towards the exit of the room that served as the main hub backstage, preparing to do another lap when she saw her mom, dad, and brother, Alex, being led towards her, escorted by Harry. 
“Oh my God, where were you guys? I’ve been looking all over for you!” Quinn exclaimed, trying not to sound as concerned as she felt. “Did you get lost?”
“I’ll have you know we knew exactly where we were going,” her mother chided. “Harry was giving us a backstage tour, dear. No need to worry.”
“I could have done that, Mom. Harry’s busy. He’s supposed to be onstage in…” She glanced at her watch. “Like 45 minutes.” 
“It was no problem,” Harry said cheerfully. “Nice way for me to calm the nerves before the show.” 
“If you say so…” Quinn glanced at her father, hoping to get him on her side, but instead saw a weird mix of emotions across his face. “Dad, are you alright?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed. You see the stadium on TV and it doesn’t look that big but in person…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. 
Quinn shot Harry a look, silently seeking an answer from him, only getting a shrug in return. 
“As Quinn so kindly reminded me, I should probably head off and start getting ready,” Harry said apologetically. “But make yourself at home and I’ll see you all later.” He planted a pert kiss on Quinn’s temple and made his way to his dressing room. 
Quinn’s father sniffed and blinked rapidly as her mother cheerfully patted his back. Quinn looked over at Alex who, just like Harry, shrugged. 
“Well,” Quinn said. “I guess we can go to the green room and maybe grab some food? I think Anne and some of Harry’s family are already there.” 
Quinn’s parents set off in the direction she pointed and instead of following them, she hung a few steps back, pulling her brother alongside her. 
“What the hell is wrong with Dad?” she whispered. 
“How am I supposed to know? You know how weird he gets when he’s jet-lagged.” 
Quinn stared at Alex. Something was wrong and she hoped it had nothing to do with Harry. He’d met her parents on numerous occasions, joined in on phone calls and Zooms, and even made an appearance at Christmas one year. As great as that was, the unfortunate fact was that it didn’t feel like nearly enough time, and a small part of her wondered if her parents resented that they didn’t get to see her or Harry as often as they should. Her parents had never expressed any reservations, but maybe something had happened. 
Alex continued to walk behind their parents but Quinn grabbed his arm pulling him back. “What went wrong on the tour?”
He pursed his lips and looked thoughtful before shaking his head. “Nothing I can think of.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” 
Quinn looked defeated. She didn’t know why but she thought her dad’s weird behavior could be connected to whatever weirdness she’d seen on Harry’s phone, but she remained answerless and even more confused. “Well, if something does happen, you’ve got to let me know.” 
Alex nodded and they started walking to catch up to her parents. After a moment, he spoke up. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you this, Quinn, but I really like Harry. Like obviously no one is ever going to be good enough for you, but he’s a decent guy. And I’m not just saying that because we got a free trip to London because of him.”
“Oh, well that’s good to know.”
“I’m serious, Quinn. He’s exactly the kind of person you deserve to be with and I hope you see that.” 
Quinn stared blankly. She and her brother were close, but they weren’t close in the share-your-feelings-all-of-the-time way. “Thank you,” she replied cautiously. “Um, I’m pretty fond of Harry myself.”
Alex chuckled. “Funny you say that. Harry said the exact same thing.” 
“What?”
“Yeah, you two are really meant to be.” Her brother quickened his pace leaving Quinn behind, stunned. 
That night as Quinn brushed her teeth she watched Harry in the mirror. He was snuggled beneath the comforter, having showered before they left the venue. His curls were untamed, the clip that usually held them back discarded on the nightstand by his glasses as he squinted at the paperback book in his hand, a sure sign that he was more tired than he was letting on. 
She formulated her plan as she rinsed her mouth. 
“Big day today, huh?”
“Yeah.” Harry sighed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve fully processed it.” 
“Mmm, yeah.” Quinn rubbed some lotion onto her hands, trying her best to appear nonchalant. “My parents were raving about how amazing you were and how incredible the venue was. Did they mention anything to you when you gave them that tour?”
If she’d have blinked she would have missed it, but Harry stiffened, his relaxed posture vanishing for a split second before he recovered. “No, they didn’t say anything like that. Your dad was just hung up on how everything’s backwards here.”
“Yeah, that does throw him. Nothing else?”
“Nope.” 
Dammit. She’d thought she’d figured it out but was back at square one. 
“Love, not trying to rush but how much longer are you going be? I think I’m ready to head to bed.” 
She met Harry’s sleepy, tired eyes in the mirror and instantly forgot about her hidden agenda. “I’ll be in in a sec, baby.” 
***
The day had finally come. The final show of the tour. 
Quinn wasn’t sure she’d ever see this day. Over the past two years, the concerts had been a permanent fixture of her life and she measured time in relation to them, able to rattle off exactly what she’d been doing if you named a city and date. And now it was all over. 
It was the perfect night. The weather had miraculously cleared up despite a scorching, stormy morning and the crowd was even more energized than usual. She’d had a good idea of what the night had in store, thanks to Harry’s nervous chatter, and when Harry finally emerged onstage for one last time, she’d been able to relax and cut loose, jumping and dancing around the pit with the rest of his family and friends, singing at the top of her lungs. 
The one surprise of the evening was when Harry returned to the stage and sat down at the piano. He started playing a melody that sounded familiar, something she’d heard echoing through the halls of the house when he couldn’t sleep. A version of the melody that she’d heard nearly every morning he was home, seated at the piano coffee in hand, playing as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. She finally had her answer now as to what it was for and she wiped tears from her cheeks as she listened to him play what was clearly a very personal piece for the nearly silent crowd. 
As she made her way backstage, trailing behind the larger group, she felt…weird. Happy but sad, excited but scared. Tomorrow would be the start of her “normal” life with Harry. No tours, no odd work hours, no time zones keeping them from each other. It was everything she’d dreamed of, so why was she so apprehensive? This break was a good thing. Harry had accomplished more than he’d ever imagined, and after a nice, well-deserved break, he’d be onto his next chapter, personally and professionally. 
While they hadn’t explicitly discussed what would happen between them after this leg of the tour had ended, they’d occasionally danced around the subject. Like on those nights in between shows when they’d found themselves tangled with each other in bed and the connection felt next level, when she felt Harry murmuring secrets only he could understand against her skin. Or the unspoken words that passed between them when she’d let go of his hand and his fingers would linger just a little too long before letting her go. 
They were heading towards…something. She just didn’t know what or when or how. But they’d get there. 
Back in the present Quinn gnawed at her lip, trying to fight back the tears. It had been easy to hide them throughout the day as she’d all but avoided Harry, giving him the space he needed to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen. He’d been emotional all week and she wanted to be a solid support for him at this time, which meant limited tears of her own. Sure that her eyes were dry, she gave three quiet knocks on the door, and waited for Harry’s soft response before turning the knob. 
He was sitting on the sofa, shirtless with his head in his hands. His hair was damp and the air was thick with humidity from the shower he’d just taken. The ends of his hair dripped down the towel draped over his back. He looked up, hearing her footsteps, and ran his hand through his hair sending more droplets down his broad back. He opened his arms, and Quinn slipped onto his lap, looping one arm around his neck and using the other to tilt his chin up. 
“You did it, baby,” Quinn said. They were alone in the dressing room but she still spoke softly. “You did it.” 
“I did,” Harry said simply. “It’s done.” 
“And you should be so proud,” Quinn whispered against his lips, before kissing him.
“Still hasn’t sunk in yet,” Harry said hollowly. “Feels like I’m going to be back on the road tonight heading to the next stop. Feels weird to just…be.”
“I need you to listen to me, H. Two years is a long time and you’ve given so much good to the world in that time. You’ve brought joy and happiness and love and peace to millions of people and you’re going to continue to do that for years to come. But now’s your time to rest, to do something for yourself. You’re allowed to relax.” 
Harry looked up, a fresh set of tears welling in his eyes. “What the hell did I do to deserve you?” he choked out. Quinn tried to wipe the tears from his face, but her vision soon blurred with her own as they sat there crying in each other’s arms. “Thank you for always being there for me and for letting me be exactly who I need to be. I love you in ways I can’t describe. I–” He swallowed and looked like he was about to say something else, but a new sob wracked his body. 
“It’s OK, Harry. I love you too,” Quinn whispered, kissing his cheek and his forehead and his jaw before landing on his lips again. “Do you need a minute by yourself before we join everyone else?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah. Let me pull myself together and throw some clothes on.” Quinn busied herself on her phone as Harry dressed and stowed his towel in the laundry basket. A few moments later, she felt his hand on the small of her back. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question and Quinn nodded. 
He held the door open for her and when he exited behind her. He took one last look around before sighing heavily. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ve got a bottle of tequila with my name on it.” 
Tequila and spirits of all sorts flowed at the afterparty, a gathering filled with Harry’s family and closest friends who had flown in for the occasion. Everyone was fighting for a moment with him, a chance to say how proud they were, how incredible the night was, all statements that brought out his bashful side. His cheeks growing red and his eyes watery as he sucked in his cheeks and tried to keep the tears from falling. 
Quinn kept a respectful distance, following closely, but not intruding on his space. He’d been unusually clingy since they’d left the show, holding onto her tightly, and not letting go until she’d urged him to catch up with his friends. She could tell he was reluctant and he kept looking over towards her, and with each glance she’d give him a nod of encouragement, letting him know that it was OK to follow his own advice. To rest and have fun. 
As the night wore on, Harry grew more comfortable and compliments were traded for drinks, everyone around him offering him shots or glasses of different colored liquids. Quinn was still hovering, but was caught up in her own reverie celebrating with the group that had become an extension of her family as well over the past two years. 
When the sun began to rise and the party started to end, Quinn felt a pair of hands on her hips. Without turning around, she knew it was Harry, able to recognize him by the feel of his hands after all these years. “I guess we should maybe head out?” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “Head home?”
Home aka their villa they’d be spending the next few weeks in. Anne and the rest of the family had made their way over earlier in the evening, and were planning to stay for a brief, post-tour vacation as well. 
Harry slung his arm around Quinn and they watched the sun come up on the horizon. He let out a shaky breath, and without looking, Quinn knew he was crying again. 
“I wish I could bottle this moment,” he said. “Don’t ever want to forget it.” 
“You won’t. And the best part is that you’ll make many more memories down the road.”
“I mean, this, now with you.”
Quinn looked at him puzzled. “Well, we’re going to have more memories again too. Unless you’re also planning to dump me at the end of this tour.” 
Harry laughed, a short chuckle at first followed by a heartier bellow. “Fuck,” he said when the laughter had abated. “It’s hard to believe that’s what happened the last time a tour ended.” 
“Would you like me to book my ticket back now or later?”
“Hate to break it to you love but you’re stuck with me.” 
“Oooh, really?”
“Yeah, and I’ve got some big plans for us.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmmhmm,” Harry said. “We’re going to take a nap. A nice long one. Maybe a couple a day.”
“Go on…”
“Sex. Can’t forget that.”
“Of course.”
“Some fine dining. My own recipes and some restaurants.”
“Can’t wait.” 
“Pool time, walks by the beach, heading into town to go to the museums. We’re going to do it all.” He planted a kiss on her temple.
“I want to do everything with you, H.” 
“I want to do everything with you, Agent Q.” 
Quinn felt a flutter in her chest. Harry’s use of that first nickname he’d given her had grown less frequent over the years in favor of more romantic or even cheesier ones. But that callback to their start had her filled with love and affection. 
“Car’s here,” Harry said. “After you.” He opened the door and let Quinn slide in, pulling the door shut after him. 
Harry chatted pleasantly with the driver in Italian, and Quinn felt the flutter in her chest travel down her body. Hearing the language flow smoothly off his tongue did things to her she didn’t understand. However, there was little she could do about those feelings as they fell into bed, snoring side-by-side within minutes. Hours later, Quinn awoke, feeling Harry hard against her thigh and when he stirred, he had her pressed against the mattress in minutes, whispering hushed proclamations of love as he rocked into her, before they finished and fell asleep again. 
When they roused in the late hours of the afternoon, they were greeted by Anne who had taken the liberty of preparing dinner and they enjoyed the family meal, Harry smiling from ear to ear the entire time. In exchange, Harry offered to do the dishes, shooing Quinn away when she offered to help. 
From her spot on the couch where she nursed her second – or maybe third – glass of wine, Quinn observed Harry and Anne, and the easy way he chatted with his mother. She couldn’t tell what they were discussing but Anne was focused intently on her son as he talked. Quinn could tell by the way his back moved that Harry was discussing whatever subject passionately as Anne nodded along. Harry was a man of few words – he was always warm but he never used two words when one would do, so his sudden talkativeness was a little strange, but Quinn just attributed it to the emotional week he was coming down from, and when he came into the living room, hands still warm from the soapy water, she cuddled into his solid frame as they settled in to watch a film. 
The rest of the week was equally relaxing. Quinn and Anne took turns doting on Harry, making sure he was comfortable at all times, refilling his drink and getting him whatever he needed. Harry, in turn, organized outings and activities for everyone. Boating around the lake, shopping around town, and a wine tasting at a local vineyard, followed by lengthy dinners until everyone left Italy to head back home one by one, leaving Quinn, Harry, Anne, and a few select family members remaining until it was finally Anne’s turn to leave. 
“I’ve loved having you here, mum. What time do you need to be at the airport?” Harry asked around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. 
“Harry!” 
“What?” He looked at Quinn. “I don’t want her to miss her flight! And she’s probably sick of us by now.”
“You don’t have to rush her out the door. Let her finish her toast!”
“He’s fine, dear,” Anne said, gently, with a teasing glint in her eye. “I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“See,” Harry said as if her statement proved his point. 
“Anne, don’t listen to your son. You’re perfectly fine to stay a few more days. That’s what we were planning on anyway.” Quinn turned to Harry, who had grown very pale. “Right?”
“Well, yeah, but I just figured we’d enjoy the…privacy.” 
Quinn flushed. The presence of family members in adjacent rooms had never stopped them from “enjoying privacy” in the past. In fact, they’d grown pretty skilled at having a near silent quickie when the need called. What was his problem? “Harry, our calendars are basically empty for the next six months. Your mother is welcome to stay. Anne, please, stay as long as you want.” 
Harry’s eyes bounced between Quinn and his mother. “Well, it’s just–”
“I already booked my flight, sweetheart, so it wouldn’t make much sense to change it now,” Anne said to Quinn. “But I really appreciate you wanting me to stay.” 
“Oh, OK,” Quinn said, defeated. “Maybe next time.” She collected the empty breakfast plates from the table. “Anyone want more coffee?” Both Anne and Harry declined, and as Quinn turned her back to deposit the dishes in the sink, she completely missed the silent look of thanks Harry shot his mother. 
Quinn studied Harry closely in the days following Anne’s departure. All of the weird behavior he’d displayed over the last few months had become non-existent and he was just Harry again. No shutting his phone as Quinn approached. No furtive glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. No hushed phone calls in other rooms. All of that had been replaced by his normal behavior. Grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him as they walked into the village for coffee and pastries. Pressing a kiss against her neck as he read the page over her shoulder. Kisses good morning and goodnight. Smothered in affection, Quinn forgot about all of the questions she’d been harboring throughout the summer and resolved to just soak up this uninterrupted time with Harry. 
A few days later, Harry suggested they have a night in and try out a new recipe, a tortellini dish he’d apparently been dying to try. Quinn didn’t know what was so special about this pasta, which looked nearly identical to the pasta they’d eaten two nights ago, but she held her tongue after seeing how happy Harry looked standing behind the counter in his apron. 
She had to admit, the pasta was delicious, and having Harry by her side made it even better. When their plates had been emptied, she stood, figuring dish duty was only fair in exchange for Harry having cooked. She dropped the dishes in the soapy water with a splash. 
“Just leave those dishes for now. It’s a beautiful sunset tonight.” 
“Oh-kay…” Quinn dropped the sponge in the sink and dabbed her hands on the dish towel.
“Figured we shouldn’t waste the night. Thought we could enjoy another glass outside?” Harry held a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands. 
“Sure. When in Rome, right?”
“Give or take 100 kilometers.” 
“Since when are you Mr. Mathematics?”
“Since I grew concerned that you don’t know your Italian geography.” 
Quinn playfully smacked Harry’s arm, before leaning into his side. “Well let’s go then! That wine’s not going to drink itself.”
They sat side by side on the garden swing. Quinn kicked her sandals off and pulled her feet under her as Harry poured them two hefty glasses. Quinn turned to look at Harry and raised her glass. “To a successful tour and even more successful celebration of all your hard work.”
“Our hard work,” Harry gently corrected. “You were as much a part of everything as I was.” 
Quinn blushed. “A successful celebration of all of our hard work.” She paused. “Here’s to more amazing moments and just as many simple ones.” 
“I’ll drink to that,” Harry said softly, touching the rim of his glass to Quinn’s. “Cheers.”
They both took a sip of the wine. 
“Wow, that’s good,” Quinn said. “Is this from the vineyard?”
“Not quite,” Harry said slowly. “It’s a Chardonnay. Cellar No. 8.”  
Quinn frowned, trying to figure out why that particular wine was familiar. “Have we had that before.” 
“Just once.” 
“When?”
“Um, it was the night we got dinner at that Italian restaurant near your office. I met you on your dinner break.” His voice had the slightest tremor to it. “It was a couple days after we ran into each other again. I was going to ask if you wanted to give us another try.” 
The memory came to Quinn in a flash. “And instead I asked you to get my boyfriend a ticket to the Met.” She laughed. “Jesus Christ, do I know how to ruin a moment or what?”
Harry laughed and pulled her in for a hug. “It wasn’t ideal, but I wouldn’t say you ruined anything. Everything between us happened at exactly the right time. It’s meant to be. I mean who knows, if we’d gotten back together that night, we might not be sitting here now.”
“That’s very true.” She laid her head against Harry’s chest and closed her eyes. The moment felt perfect. 
“Quinn, I want to marry you,” Harry said, jolting Quinn to attention. 
“What?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to call you my wife. And I guess I want to know if you’d be alright with that…” He trailed off, losing all bravado the more he spoke. Quinn stared at him, truly speechless for the first time in her life. “Please, for the love of God say something, Quinn.” 
“Are you serious?” 
“Umm, yeah,” Harry laughed nervously. “Not really something you joke about.” 
“Are you sure?” 
“Am I sure?” Harry laughed a full belly laugh. 
“I mean, I’m kind of a lot. And not in the best way. I mean, I overthink everything, I always manage to spoil your romantic surprises and ruin the moment…”
“You don’t say?”
“See! Are you sure?”
“Quinn, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. When I think about what I’ll remember 60 years from now, yeah, I’ll remember touring the world, but what will really stand out is you. The way I can hear your laugh in the crowd when I make a terrible joke. The look on your face when I play you a new song. The way you curl up next to me when you’re really tired. The way you’ve trained me to get rid of all the green Skittles. Your determination, your dedication to us. The love you show me every day. That’s what I’ll remember, Quinn.” 
“Yes, Harry.” Quinn cleared her throat. “I want to marry you. I want to be your wife and I want you to be my husband.” 
“Are you sure?” Harry laughed as Quinn shoved him. 
“Yes, I have never been more sure of anything.” 
“Well, alright then.” Harry shifted in his seat, lifting up onto one side to reach into his left pants pocket, producing a velvet box. His hands were shaking ever so slightly, causing Quinn to reach out and steady them gently. “Thank you, love,” Harry said with a sniff.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Quinn said with a small smile. 
Harry slowly opened the box to reveal a diamond ring nestled in the cushion, earning a gasp from Quinn. “Did I pick well?” he asked. 
Quinn tried to think of a joke, something quippy to say to play down the litany of emotions she was feeling in the moment, but for what felt like the first time in her life, the first time in their relationship, she played it straight. “Yes, it’s perfect.” She took his face in her hands and pulled him to kiss him slowly, doing her very best to memorize everything about the two of them at that moment. 
“So I picked really well then…noted,” Harry said with a breathless laugh, running his hand through his hair. He blinked hard and Quinn could see a few tears fall. “Shit,” he said. “Thought I was all cried out but apparently not.” Quinn reached up to wipe the tears away, and as she pulled away, Harry caught her hand and kissed her fingertips, her palms, her wrist, pulling her close, until she was nearly on top of him, looking him straight in the eyes. 
“This is really hard sometimes, but having you next to me makes it so much easier,” he said. 
“Well, good news, I’m not going anywhere,” Quinn managed to get out before another wave of tears overtook her. 
“That’s the best news I’ve gotten all month,” Harry replied, kissing her again.
Quinn looked down at her hand, now resting against Harry’s chest, fully appreciating the sparkling ring on her finger. “How did you manage to plan this?” she asked. 
“I’ve been working on it for a while,” Harry admitted. “Started looking at rings after our stay at Jeff’s. When I finally realized that I was the person I needed to be for you.”
“That was like three years ago. Harry, are you serious?” 
“What can I say, I’m really good at keeping secrets.” He chuckled. “The rest of it slowly came into place after.” He chuckled. “I was terrified you were onto something when you saw that countdown on my phone.”
“What was it for?” Quinn asked. “The day has already passed so it couldn’t be for this.”
“You were counting?”
“Of course,” Quinn exclaimed. “You really think I’d see a mystery countdown and not try to figure out what it was for?” 
“I had to meet the jeweler in between tour stops and didn’t want to forget.” Harry laughed. “But honestly, I don’t even know how I could forget. This is the only thing I’ve been able to think of for months.”  
“Really?”
“Really. I kept coming up with plans and then scrapping them because nothing felt right. A proposal during lockdown didn’t feel right, and after things reopened we were both so busy so I figured I would do something simple. Like I’d ask you on the waterfront or while we went for a walk. Or I’d spell it out in Scrabble tiles or whatever it would take to make it the perfect moment so you could have a great story. I was telling my mum about it and how I wanted to do it while we were here and she just told me to stop worrying and that I’d find the perfect moment. And that’s what happened tonight. We were sitting there, eating dinner and it came to me. Any moment when I’m with you is the perfect moment.” 
“Stop it,” Quinn sniffed. 
“I’m serious.”
“Well then, I’d have to agree. Everything is perfect when we’re together.” 
Harry wrapped his arm around Quinn and they sat next to each other, taking the moment in and enjoying each other's company. Sitting next to Harry, feeling his chest rise and fall, Quinn couldn’t remember the last time they’d been able to be so present with no worry about what was to come tomorrow. Sure, they’d need to call their families and then there’d be a wedding to plan, but for right now it was just her and Harry and everything was as it should be. She closed her eyes, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. 
“Quinn?” 
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Harry.” 
***
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mindofharry · 2 years
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I want you to love me
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IN WHICH, Y/N performs at coachella with Harry and no one knows they’re in a relationship. I AM SO EXCITED FOR YOU GUYS TO MEET FAMOUS Y/N!!! she is everything to me <3 please reblog and leave feedback, it means so much to me!!! enjoy! :-)
✧ ✧ ✧
Y/N and Harry met at the 2021 Grammys. Harry had won his award and was over the moon, absolutely ecstatic. Y/N was at the table beside him, her manager and best friend squeezing her hand because she knew the next category was coming up — which Y/N was nominated for. Y/N had “blown up” over the quarantine. She uploaded a video to tiktok as a joke and here she was a year later, at the Grammys. Once she was signed on to a record and had a team, they immediately had her releasing songs and at the end of 2020, she released an album called ‘I want you to love me’, it was a mixture of indie rock and indie folk and people really resonated with her work.
Harry had watched videos of Y/N and actually bought the album on apple music so he could listen to it whenever he wanted to. Considering this was her first album, she was doing pretty well. And god, is she beautiful. Harry had harboured a sort of crush on the new artist, which Jeff constantly teases him about. But it’s not just how beautiful she is that has him blushing at the thought of her, but how insanely talented and haunting Y/N L/N is.
“Whatever happens, I’m so proud of you,” Veronica, Y/N’s assistant said. Y/N nodded, smiling underneath her mask. She was just so grateful that she even got to be here, that was thought of for this award.
Harry watched Y/N like a hawk as they went through the nominees. He secretly crossed his fingers and hoped, Y/N got what she deserved.
“And the winner of the new artist grammy is…….” Billie Eilish paused opening the letter, she smiled when she saw the name written.
“Y/N L/N!”
Y/N’s ears filled with claps and hoots, a whistle from Harry Styles. Veronica giggled and held onto her tightly. She was in complete shock and didn’t know what to do or where to look. Y/N’s eyes filled with water as she laughed walking up the stage to take the Grammy off of Billie Eilish. She squeezed Billie’s hand and then took of her mask, looking down at her award.
“Wow,” She said, breathing out a sigh and tear rolling down her cheek. “Thank you so much. To everyone that believed in me, took a chance on a little nobody from new york, I love and thank you. I can’t—“ She paused biting her lip, “I can’t believe I’m actually holding this! Again, thank you. Look at me, mama! I made it,” She cheered, walking off the stage.
Her ears were still ringing when sat back down and fully sobbed into Veronica’s shoulder.
“Hey! Congrats!” A voice said from beside Y/N. Harry was leaning over, a bit tipsy. His cheeks were flushed and his curls were all over the place — Y/N blushed at the thoughts of running her hands through them.
“Thank you so much,” She said, blushing furiously. Harry pulled a chair beside her and watched her intently.
“I listened to your album on repeat. So fucking good,” Harry said, Y/N felt like her face was on fire — thank God for masks.
“Stop! Fine Line is one of the best albums I’ve ever heard,” Y/N said, turning her body towards him. He raised an eyebrow, “One of?” He asked and Y/N inched towards him.
“I mean, Fleetwood Mac, Rumours has got to be one of the best,” Y/N said and Harry nodded agreeing.
Since then, they exchanged numbers and texted everyday. They met up secretly at the studio and were practically inseparable.
“You know some friends and I are quarantining together,” Harry said, placing a hand on Y/N’s leg. Y/N hummed, writing down some lyrics that were jumbled in her mind.
“They’re producers and great musicians…. Maybe you’d like to stay with us for a bit?” Harry asked and Y/N blushed and hid her face away from Harry.
“Hey, show me your face, bunny,” Harry pouted, taking the notebook away from her.
“I’d like to stay with you, Harry,” Y/N whispered, Harry moved on top of her his gaze on her lips.
“Really?”
She hummed, “Yes. I’d like that very much,”
Harry crashed his lips into hers, causing Y/N to involuntarily moan. Harry smirked against her lips, placing a hand on her hip, while Y/N’s hands went straight to Harry’s curls. She remembered at the Grammys wanting to run her hands through them and pull at the ends of it. She was finally getting to do that. Harry pulled away from Y/N’s lips and travelled down her neck, leaving a burning trail of kisses behind. Harry’s hands had a mind of their own, squeezing anything and everything. In a quick movement, Y/N moved Harry under her so she was sitting on his lap. Harry looked up at her and breathed her in.
“Are we doing this?” He asked, squeezing her ass cheeks. Y/N moved against him, nodding.
“Oh yeah, we’re doing this,”
Y/N bent down and kissed Harry with all her might, Harry pulled at her shirt, tearing it off her body making Y/N gasp. Her bare breasts were on show and Harry just wanted to suck on them, so he did. He started licking at her nipples, Y/N moaned at the feeling of his warm mouth on her tits.
“These are my tits, right? My pussy too,” Harry asked, Y/N nodded quickly.
“All yours, Harry. All fucking yours,”
Harry tugged off his own shirt and pants, leaving him bare. Quickly, Y/N pushed down her skirt and panties leaving them both naked. Y/N eyes wandered down his body to see his cock, huge and red just waiting for her.
“Fuck,” She moaned, as Harry pulled her back against him.
Harry pushed her down on the couch, leaving a trail of saliva on her stomach as his tongue traveled down to her drenched pussy. He spread her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs and smelling her arousal.
“What do you want?” Harry asked, his breath hitting off of her sex.
“Need your cock,” She moaned, Harry nodded.
“I’ll give you whatever you want, baby,”
✧ ✧ ✧
Months had past and Y/N and Harry fell more in love with each other. They quarantined together for awhile, then went back to their own homes as they wrote new songs and facetimed constantly. They were able to enjoy their relationship without feeling the pressure of fans and paparazzi. They still don’t know how their relationship hasn’t been leaked — because they haven’t been super careful.
Last week Harry accidentally kissed Y/N goodbye in public, but luckily no one caught them and Y/N had a good laugh at Harry’s panic. Not that he was embarrassed, but he just didn’t want Y/N to be overwhelmed, especially now that they both have albums being released soon.
Harry’s Home was something so special to Harry. Not only because it was his third album, but because the songs were about or written by his love and light, Y/N. It was a pretty special thing to write songs with your partner and see the way they work. And the way Y/N worked was magical. Y/N is releasing her second album and she’s so proud of the work she’s done with this. Harry helped her immensely with writing and introducing her to great musicians in the industry. Harry Styles knew his shit.
Y/N named her album, Punisher and her the song she’ll sing with Harry is moon song — they wrote that one together after going through the same thing in relationships.
“I want you there with me,” Harry said referring the coachella, as they lay in bed together. Harry practically lived in her LA home, but Y/N wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Of course I’ll come with you! Gotta support my man,” She teased pecking his lips.
“No, I want you there. On stage with me,” Harry said and Y/N froze.
“Harry…”
“Please. I need you,”
So Y/N nodded and kissed his lips, “I love you,”
“Not as much as I love you,”
She smirked, “Debatable,”
Weeks went by and there they were, backstage preparing to sing Moon Song together for the first time. They had written and produced this song together but never sang it live before. It’s such a personal song, so Y/N hopes she make it through at least the first verse.
“You look incredibly sexy,” Y/N said, placing a hand on Harry’s chest. Harry wiggled his eyebrows.
“Well, look at these,” He said taking a handful of her breasts. Y/N swatted him away.
“You’re on guys,” The stage manager said.
“I love you,” Harry said and Y/N smiled.
“I love you more, rockstar,”
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harryforvogue · 10 months
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lucía and harry torture night….. hmmmm so many ideas 😈 what about harry greeting her at his wedding. like he’s making his rounds at the tables during the reception and he finds lucia and he’s so happy to see her but lucia is in so much pain and has to act like she’s fine but harry knows better so he pulls her aside and asks what wrong and idk sarah work your angsty magic
OKIE IUSEHGVLUIREHGLR
***
One thing about Lucía is that once she starts crying, it’s hard to make herself stop, so she really focuses all her efforts on not shedding a single tear at Harry’s wedding. And all that energy goes to waste when Harry comes by to say hello in his wedding suit, his tie undone, his sleeves rolled up, and a glow on his face unlike she’s ever seen.
When he pulls her aside to ask if she’s all right, Lucía knows it’s all going to shatter.
“Um,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I am telling you right now that I am about to start crying–”
“Luce, I didn’t –” Harry says, alarmed.
“--and that I won’t be able to stop it so if you want to avoid that, you have to walk away from me, right now.”
But Harry was never the type to walk away, even at the end of their relationship. He’d begged her in front of the airport drop off area to come back to him whenever she wanted, to call him if she ever changed her mind and that he’d be running back to her. That's just who Harry has always been.
So it comes as no surprise when Harry takes a hold of her elbow and takes her into a private room, shutting the door behind him.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her immediately. It makes matters worse. Lucía struggles against the urge to melt into his embrace, but she loses. She lays her head on his shoulder and begins to quietly cry.
Harry tenses and seems unsure of what to do. But slowly, he cradles her head to him and holds her tighter. “Lucie,” he whispers, placing his cheek against her hair. “Please. Please, don’t do this.”
She takes a trembling breath and whispers back, “I can’t stop now.” She holds his shirt, her eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t do it, Harry. This was such a bad idea. I knew I'd never be able to do it.” She sounds so small and defeated even to her own ears.
“Do what?”
“Let you go. It’s too hard.” Her chest feels as if it’s caving in. “I’m the fucking worst. I’m ruining your wedding and being pathetic and crying over you but I can’t stop now and I’m really scared I won’t ever stop and it’ll make you hate me.” She says it all at once, breaking off with a sob. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I’m sorry, Harry.”
Harry is holding her so tight to him, she can't breathe. “No. Lucie, don’t do that. You can't do that to me."
“I can’t stop. I can’t stop it all from happening. It keeps happening and there’s nothing I can do about it.” She must sound insane, but Harry doesn’t say anything about it.
He waits for her to cry it all out, but it takes far too long. “Your shirt,” she says again, pulling away. She presses her hands to her face and cries, apologizing between each stuttered breath.
Harry grabs her wrists and yanks her closer, prying her hands off. “Hey,” he whispers, holding her face up even as she struggles against him. “Stop that. Lucie, look at me. Don’t do that.”
"I can't look at you!"
"You can. You've been doing it all night, I know it. Please."
“It’s really all me. I’m the problem because you’re here–” she hiccups, letting Harry hold her chin up and wipe her face with his pocket square, “getting married and I’m still living in the past and thinking that you’ll…that you’ll…”
He places a hand on the back of her neck and rests his forehead on hers. “You have to breathe, Luce. Gonna pass out if you stop breathing.”
“And then I’ll ruin your day even more.”
“You could never ruin a single one of my days.”
“It’s your wedding.”
“Even my wedding.”
“You’re marrying someone else, Harry.” Her voice gives out, shock leaking in as if she's said it out loud of the first time. "Fuck, Harry. You're someone else's. We won't ever... we can't ever be... Oh, fuck."
"Lucía, I just told you. You have got to breathe, love."
They’ve had this conversation already. They had it when Harry had sent his invitation, and she’d said she didn’t know if attending was a good idea. But he’d been persuasive, and she’d told herself that she’d get over him in the months leading up to his wedding. It didn’t happen. How stupid was she to believe it would end up being true.
And now she’s crying in his arms because of something she’s done.
She ended it with him. It was all her.
This is all her fault.
“It’s so hard,” she whispers. “I am so happy for you. I am so happy that you are happy, but I can’t do it. Can’t wrap my head around it.”
Harry pulls her back in and tucks her against his chest. “I know.”
Lucía wants to say that there’s no possible way Harry knows how she’s feeling. She’s not the one marrying another man. She’s not even been on a single date after their breakup. She’s not the one who looked so happy today, making him wonder if he’d ever made her feel that way.
“I think,” she says, “I just need to hear you say that you’re happy. I-I think I’ll get the hint. Understand it all. You just have to say that you’re the happiest you’ve ever been in your life.”
Harry’s arms tighten. “I was happy with you as well.”
“I need you to say that you weren’t.” Her eyes squeeze shut. “It’ll help me, I think.”
“It would be a complete lie. I will never say that."
“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers, clinging to him. This may be the last time she’s ever this close to him. “Just say it. Say we were nothing. Say she’s everything you want, Harry, please. It'll help me, I swear it. It will."
Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, and all she hears is his thundering heart beneath her.
"Please," she insists.
He wordlessly shakes his head.
"I will feel much better, Harry."
When he finally speaks, his voice is restrained and weak. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, Luce. She’s perfect for me.”
She lets his words wash over her, the guilt settling in the fine lines. It was always her. She was always the issue, holding him back from finding his true partner, the real love of his life. And though it makes her want to cry and throw a fit, it also makes her catch her breath, reminding her that it was all in her own head.
Harry holds her until she stops crying, though it takes some time. When she pulls away, Harry’s face is pained, and his eyes are red. She looks down at his shirt and sniffles. “They’re going to think you spilled a drink on yourself.”
“That’s fine.”
“Probably can’t wear it ever again.”
“That’s okay, Luce.”
She bites her inner cheek as she looks at him, taking him all in. He’s so handsome, even with his puffy eyes and worried eyebrows. She looks down at the mouth his wife kissed. 
Harry swallows. “It’s not as if we’ll never talk again. You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change. I’m not going away.”
He’ll move on though. He’ll buy a house, have a few children, and share a life with someone else. She’d always dreamt of it being her besides him, her waking up to him, her giving him so much love he’d scarcely be able to breathe. And when he started dating her, Lucía thought it wasn’t all hopeless, especially when Harry complained about the arguments they had to get. But now she knows it’s entirely gone. And she’s still stuck there.
"Don't look at me like that," he whispers. "You're breaking my heart."
"I never want to do that again."
Lucía takes a deep breath, wiping her face once more with her shaky fingers. She looks down at the black mascara all over her hands. “We, um, probably should go back,” she says, wiping her face.
He doesn't move. “Okay. And..." he blinks, searching for something to say, "and you should fix your makeup or my mom will put two and two together and come to yell at me.”
Lucía says, “I think I’ll just go home now, if that’s okay.”
Harry clearly wants to object, but instead he says, “I’ve asked too much of you already."
“Yeah.” She doesn’t move either unable to tear her eyes from him. “Congratulations, Harry. I really am very happy for you.”
The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches as if he’s attempting to smile and that’s all he has the energy to do. She wants to do nothing more than to kiss it. “Thank you, Lucía.”
It feels so much like a goodbye. She can feel her own heart breaking.
Someone calls for him outside. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to her cheek, giving her one last look before slipping out and shutting the door behind him. As soon as he’s gone, she crumbles again, sobbing into her hands, retracing the years of their relationship until she feels strong again, pulling herself back together, and getting out of there.
It’s time to stop mourning things that have ended. She’s had her fill of it.
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meetmymouth · 1 year
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the intimacy of little things: v
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au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc 
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PINTEREST BOARD | PLAYLIST | FEEDBACK
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She walks inside the Another Man building, and this time, she remembers to wipe her feet on the small, worn-out door mat by the entrance. Olive looks up, and calls for her, making her stop in her tracks just as she’s about to get in the lift.
“Good morning, Olive,” she smiles, taking a mint from the small bowl on her desk.
She grunts, then looks her up and down. “You look very professional,” she takes in her black jumpsuit and heeled boots. “Are you getting a promotion?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Talulah winks. “I’m not. I have a meeting with MJ and Paula. I thought I’d dress up for a change.”
“Hm,” Olive nods, though Talulah sees the tiny smile creeping in. “Okay– well, go, you’re holding me up.”
“Oh– yeah,” she nods, pinching her cheek before taking a step towards the lifts. “See you later, Liv!”
It was Thursday, which meant she had two shoots after her morning meeting with MJ and Paula. She smiles at a few colleagues before making a beeline into the small kitchen, hand already in her white canvas bag, trying to locate her coffee cup.
“Is this your last day of work?”
She looks up at Zayn’s voice, and it earns him an eye-roll.
“Why?” She puts the kettle on, placing her bags on the small table in front of her.
Zayn is leaning against the counters, and he looks good as usual, dressed in white trousers and a red jumper with polka dots.
“You’re dressed awfully nice.”
“Are you trying to say I don’t dress nice usually?” She asks, grabbing a spoon from the rack.
Zayn shrugs. “Not this nice. Is that a Gucci belt?” He leans forward to investigate. “Is it real? Please don’t tell me otherwise.”
“It’s real,” she swats his hands off of her, and takes the boiled water, pouring it into her cup. “I have a meeting with MJ and Paula.”
“About?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Well, maybe it is your last day, if Paula is here,” he shrugs, taking his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Shall we?”
“Yes. Let’s go.”
She drops her bags off in her small office, and follows Zayn outside, both of them taking their spot by the railings, and she extends the lighter, helping him light his cigarette. They mostly smoke in silence, the only noise surrounding them coming from the London traffic; horns and tires screeching, and Zayn sighs, turning to Talulah.
“Are you happy, Talulah?” He says, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Deep conversations weren’t out of the ordinary for Zayn and Talulah. Despite people thinking of Zayn as a quiet person, he loved talking when the timing was right. He said what needed to be said.
She looks up at him, a surprised twinkle in her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Are you happy– with Harry, with everything going on in your life?”
“I don’t know,” she purses her lips. She hadn’t thought about it in a while– what being happy meant. She says as much. “I haven’t thought about it, to be honest.”
“Mhm,” Zayn nods, taking another drag from his cigarette. He puts it out on the side of the wall, and discards it in one of the plastic cups they brought out and used as a make-shift ashtray.
“I guess so– I guess I’ve been happier recently,” she nods. “Harry helps. Therapy helps, too.”
Zayn only nods, and looks down at his shoes. “Good.”
“Are you? Happy?” She redirects the question, earning a chuckle from him.
“I think so. I’ve no reason to be unhappy.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
She is called into MJ’s office when she’s just walking inside with Zayn, and she promises to keep him updated on the meeting as she begins walking towards his office at the top floor. Her boots click on the marble floors, and she takes a deep breath before knocking on the stained glass door.
She hears MJ’s deep voice inviting her in, and she opens the door, finding Paula already sitting on one of the chairs around the meeting table MJ has in his office. She greets them both with a smile on her face, and walks further into the office, closing the door behind her.
“Take a seat,” MJ nods, clearly the one designated to talk more today as opposed to Paula who watches them both with a barely-there smile.
Paula takes a deep breath, clearly wanting to get to the point.
Talulah turns to her.
“How do you feel about an intern joining you for a couple of weeks, Talulah?” Paula asks, hands on the table.
“An intern?”
“Yes. Remember how and where you started?”
“I do, yes, of course,” she nods, turning to MJ.
MJ nods along, and waits for Paula.
“We are hiring for our new building in New York. MJ suggested someone shadow you for a few weeks before he makes the move to settle in New York. We already have someone coming, just wanted to see how you felt about someone shadowing you here,” Paula says, crossing her arms.
“Are you– sure? I mean, I’ve never had anyone shadowing me before.”
“MJ trusts you,” Paula nods. “And so do I, to be completely honest. We’re very happy with you, and he figured you would want this opportunity.”
“I mean, yeah, of course– yeah.”
“Yes?” Paula asks, turning to MJ for a second. “Are you saying yes, then?”
“Yes,” Talulah confirms, a small smile appearing.
MJ claps his hands, and reaches across the table to squeeze Talulah’s cold ones.
“Great!” He says, turning to Paula. “I’ll inform Noah, and get him a visitor’s ID, and whatnot.”
“Okay, great,” Paula nods, getting on her feet.
Talulah does the same.
“Thank you, Talulah,” Paula says, cracking a tiny smile. It’s so small Talulah barely recognises it before Paula turns around, and leaves MJ’s office.
“Any questions?” MJ asks, phone in hand.
“I mean– yeah. Who is he? How long is he shadowing me for? I’m nervous– is that normal?”
“Yeah, it’s normal. Don’t be nervous, you’re great at what you do, otherwise Paula wouldn’t agree on it, you know her,” MJ smiles.
“I do, yeah. So,” she says. “When do I get to meet him? What’s he like?”
“Tomorrow. And, he’s great– got great connections. He was working freelance before, but got great recommendations.”
She nods, and they chat for another couple of minutes before she leaves his office, and makes his way to her own floor. Lauren is already in her seat, working on something on her computer, and she walks over to her desk.
“Hey,” she greets her, and she turns around, smiling at her.
“Hey, you.”
“I just got back from MJ’s office–”
“–Are you fired?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I’m having someone shadow me for a couple of weeks before they hire him for the New York office,” she murmurs, looking around for Zayn.
He’s just leaving the kitchen, and when he notices them both, he walks over to them.
Lauren claps her hands, despite the look she’s receiving from Talulah, and Zayn nods at her.
“Is she fired?” He says, sitting on the corner of her desk.
Talulah sighs. “Why is everyone asking the same thing?”
“We’re just fucking with you,” Lauren laughs, turning to Zayn. “She’s gonna have an intern shadow her for a couple of weeks before they move to New York.”
“Oh,” Zayn turns to Talulah. “Well done, T. That’s good news. Paula was there, wasn’t she?”
“Yep,” she nods. “She even cracked a smile. Once or twice.”
“Congratulations, T. That means they’re very happy with your performance,” Zayn says, placing a hand on Talulah’s shoulder. He squeezes, and Talulah smiles at him.
One of today’s shoots included working with Nick Robinson, and she couldn’t help but feel giddy over it. She gets ready, and brainstorms about the shoot with Zayn and his crew, and he tells her which lighting would be the best for some of the outfits he would have on. She makes a cup of coffee, and walks into the lift with Zayn and Metta. The studio is already alive, a blue backdrop already on as per Talulah’s request. ‘Mother of Pearl’ by Roxy Music is playing, the song coming through Zayn’s speakers, and she tries to get everything ready before Nick Robinson shows up with his entourage.
“You good?” Zayn asks, holding a pastel green scarf.
She nods, and turns towards the lifts when she hears commotion.
It’s Nick Robinson, dressed in wide leg trousers and a navy crochet vest. His hair is styled to perfection, and a few strands fall over to his face, creating a ‘nonchalant’ look.
“Hello,” he smiles, walking over to them.
He first greets Zayn, reaching a hand as they shake each other’s hand, and then he turns to Talulah.
“Hey,” he says, reaching and shaking her hand. “You’re Talulah.”
“I am,” she smiles, perhaps a little too big, and lets go of his soft hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Nick turns to his PA, and Zayn guides him over to where a stool is stood in the middle of the room, in front of the backdrop. He sits down, and gives them a cheesy smile.
“I’ll just do a couple of test shots,” she says, grabbing her camera off the tripod. “And then, we’ll start.”
“Cool,” Nick grins. “How do you want me?”
“Doesn’t matter, just look at me and smile a little?”
He hums, and does what he’s told. It’s an easy shoot, Nick delivers what he’s supposed to, and Talulah can’t help but ask about his films, I’m a fan, if you couldn’t tell.
“Thank you for everything,” Nick says, shaking her hand after they wrapped up.
“Thank you, you were great.”
Lunch break comes too soon, and Talulah eats her wrap in silence as her greasy fingers work the keyboard of her laptop. She answers some emails, forwards some here and there, and sends herself a couple to remind her of her tasks for the upcoming weeks. Before closing her laptop, she gets another email from HR, MJ and Paula cc’d, about Noah’s arrival on Wednesday.
“T?”
She looks up at Zayn’s voice.
He’s standing by the door, his glasses in hand.
“Yes?”
“Jules is asking if you’d like to come around for dinner,” he says, looking down at his phone. He sounds gruff, like he’d been smoking for the last couple of hours.
She laughs. “Tonight?”
“I guess.”
“I mean– do you want me to come?”
He looks up, eyebrows raised in question. He looks bored. “What?”
“I’m joking.”
“Oh.”
“Jesus– you’re so awkward sometimes,” she closes her laptop, and starts tidying up her things– stuffing everything in her tote. “I’ll come.”
“Bring Harry, too.”
“What?” Chargers. Glasses. Favourite pens. More chargers– all stuffed in the yellow tote.
Zayn groans, taking a step back. “Bring Harry. Tonight.”
A grin appears on her face.
Zayn liked Harry.
Zayn rarely showed interest in people– especially the ones who just entered their lives.
“Okay…” she grins wider, turning off the small lamp on her desk. “I’ll ask him.”
Zayn nods. He watches her cross the desk and walk over to him with her bags as they begin walking side by side to the lift.
“Jules said it’d be nice,” Zayn says once in the lift, long fingers pressing the ground floor in a practised manner.
Talulah looks up, confused. “What?”
“Jules.”
“What?”
“She said Harry should come over as well. With you.”
“Okay, Zayn.”
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Talulah looks down at the grey jeans she’s got on, and reaches for another pair on her bed. When she taps on her phone screen, it immediately goes off, showing Harry’s contact name. She answers with a smile, and in a few minutes, she’s locking her door and walking towards Harry’s Mini with quick steps as she tries to protect her makeup from the rain.
She gets in the warm car with a sigh, the sound of Harry’s wiper blades filling her ears as Harry greets her with a smile, watching as she places her bag on the backseat along with the wine bottle that’s secured in a pink tote.
“Hey,” he murmurs, lips already on her cheek as he presses a small kiss there. She smiles, taking in his smell and the moustache that’s been growing on his beautiful face.
She kisses his lips, then his chin. “Hey, you,” she notices the ‘Kiss’ t-shirt and his pink beanie. “Looking cosy with the beanie,” she murmurs, making him chuckle– his hand still on the back of her neck.
He thumbs at the soft skin there. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. Though, a t-shirt? It’s freezing.”
“I’ve got a cardigan on as well– and a coat,” he shrugs.
He kisses her one last time before letting go, and puts the car in drive.
“I missed you,” he looks at her, only for a moment before his eyes are back on the road.
There’s not much traffic, surprisingly, Talulah notes, so they drive in peace for the most part.
“I missed you, too,” Talulah agrees, reaching and messing with his beanie. He lets out a huff, one hand leaving the steering-wheel to fix the hat.
A moment of silence before he talks.
“You did?” He asks while Talulah is trying to connect her phone to the radio.
She doesn’t look up from her phone, her finger scrolling through her playlists to choose a song from. “I did, what?”
“You missed me?” Harry asks, clearing his throat.
He sounds on edge, almost, so she looks up from her phone screen, finding his eyes on the road.
“What do you mean?”
He takes a bit to answer.
“You’ve been a bit– I don’t know, I guess I wanted to hear your voice more these past couple of days.”
She holds off on starting her chosen song for a bit, out of respect.
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to call more, text more…”
She chuckles. “We’ve been texting!”
“I know!” He lets out a laugh, but it sounds forced– almost embarrassed.
“So? Harry, are you okay?”
“I am. I’ve just– I don’t know, I’m being silly. I missed you, that’s all.”
“And I’ve missed you,” she laughs, right hand reaching and thumbing at the spot on his cheek where she knows his dimple would be.
He smiles, and she feels the dimple under her touch.
“Okay,” he says, voice quiet, but the dimple doesn’t disappear.
She likes it.
She prefers it that way.
They drive in silence for another minute before she turns to him again, finger hovering on the screen of her phone.
“Pick a number between one and twenty-one,” she says.
Harry lets out a chuckle. “Six,” Harry says, and she counts quickly, finger scrolling through songs.
She stops, and they both let out a laugh when Fleetwood Mac comes on.
“How predictable,” Harry says, eyes glinting despite the darkness of the car’s interior.
She hums.
How predictable, indeed.
‘Maybe now he could prove to her/ That he could be good for her/ And they should be together’
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They arrive at Zayn and Jules’, and park the car in front of Zayn’s Range Rover. They joke about the size of Harry’s car compared to Zayn’s, and how his Mini fits into the space with ease before Talulah gathers her bags, and she watches Harry lock the car before turning to her with a wine bottle of his own in his hand.
He reaches for her free hand, and she smiles at the warmth of his palm against her own. They laugh about the wine they both had brought, same brand, and Talulah asks about Bo again. She knocks on the blue door, and watches for a moment as Harry takes in his surroundings.
Jules opens the door, wearing a bright-yellow jumper that is in contrast with the gloomy weather outside. Her smile is so big, Talulah can see the joy in her brown eyes as she ushers them inside, saving them from droplets of rain outside.
When they're inside the warm flat, Zayn appears out of nowhere, dressed in a pair of loose-fit jeans and a purple hoodie, and hugs them both. Jules accepts their gifts with a beaming smile– you didn't have to, and they take their seats at the table. Both Harry and Talulah compliment Jules–and Zayn–on the food, Zayn cracking a big smile when Jules looks down with a small smile as soon as Harry asks whether Zayn is a good cook or not.
“I’m so happy you guys could make it,” Jules says, cutting into her food.
Harry looks at Talulah for a moment, his smile widening, and turns to Jules. “Thanks for the invitation. You’re a good cook, everything’s delicious.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Jules smiles. “So,” her gaze wavers between Talulah and Harry. “How did you two meet?”
“Oh,” Harry turns to Talulah, like he’s waiting for her to give him the floor, or better yet, answer it herself.
Talulah doesn’t, though. She looks down, though a smile appears on her face as the silence fills the room, six pairs of eyes watching her.
Harry coughs into his fist. “We met at a Christmas dinner,” he answers, though it feels as though he’s wanting to say something else.
He doesn’t, though.
Instead, Talulah looks up, and places her hand on his chin, thumbing at the soft, warm skin there before turning to the curious pairs of eyes.
“Arielle hosted a Christmas dinner, we were both there,” she says, placing her elbows on the table. “I was mean to him.”
“You weren’t,” Harry laughs.
They all do.
“I was.”
“Nah,” Harry shakes his head, and turns to Jules with a smile on his face. “I saw her and wanted to introduce myself. She looked beautiful,” he says, and Talulah doesn’t have to look at him to know his cheeks are warm, and slightly flushed.
She still does, though.
She looks at his dimple, then into his eyes. Harry smiles.
“See,” Talulah turns to Jules. “He thought I was beautiful, and I was a total bitch to him.”
She turns her attention to Zayn, noticing how quiet he’d been all night. He’s got a sombre look on his face– a look she can’t quite work out. She raises her eyebrows at him, a silent conversation happening between the pair, and Talulah turns to Jules again, ignoring Zayn.
Harry interrupts her thoughts.
“Got us here in the end, didn’t it?” He says, biting his bottom lip.
They keep eating, and talking about nothing and everything all at once. At one point, Harry and Zayn start arguing over football, and Zayn groans one too many times when Harry brings up the league table.
Talulah falls quiet.
She thinks back to the first night they’d met– the first time Talulah had seen Harry.
She wonders if she’d dreamt the whole thing, their first interaction.
In truth, she wasn’t the one being mean– Harry had started it.
How could he not remember her? Still, to this day, how could Harry not remember the first time he’d seen Talulah? Had she changed that much in one night? Was it her makeup– her hair? Or, was it her clothes?
It was silly.
It was weird.
She didn’t know why it mattered so much, Harry being rude to her at the shop. It was insignificant. It was pointless to dwell on such a thing when he had redeemed himself already.
Harry was kind.
He was beautiful– in every sense of the word. His heart was big, and so warm, and Talulah wanted to hold it in her hands, despite the coldness of her palms– despite the imaginary callouses decorating her palms. She thought his big heart wasn’t fit for her dirty hands. It was as if her palms were too muddy, too bleak and unworthy for his big heart.
She looks up at his touch on the back of her neck.
“You with us?” Harry asks, grinning.
“Did you tell Harry about your new intern?” Zayn interrupts their moment, and she feels cold all of a sudden, despite Harry’s warm hand on her neck.
She feels his curious gaze on her, and she shakes her head. “I forgot to.”
“You have an intern?” Harry asks.
“Apparently…”
The night carries on, Harry insists on helping Jules with tidying up and putting everything in the dishwasher so she lets Harry and Zayn load the dishwasher while she puts the kettle on, Talulah watching quietly from a distance. She watches Harry joke with Zayn, Zayn’s usually quiet attitude disappearing under Harry’s jolly personality. Although it’s only been a couple of months of knowing Harry, Talulah can tell he’s quieter than usual. He zones out quite often when Zayn doesn’t talk, and he almost breaks a plate and drops cutlery more than once.
They sit and talk in Zayn and Jules’ spacious living room, and Talulah presses her body closer to Harry’s warmth when a new song comes on through the speakers. She can’t quite recall ever hearing the tune, or the melody, so she listens intently. Harry turns his attention to her, her head on his shoulder– hair touching the warm skin of his neck. He smiles down at her, though his eyes tell a different story.
She doesn’t question it there.
She lets him lay his head on hers, and she smiles, a small one, and hums when Jules gushes about the new greengrocers near Hamilton Road.
They leave Zayn and Jules’ flat around eleven, and Harry doesn’t reach for her hand when they’re walking towards his car like he did when they first arrived.
She hugs her aching body, trying to shelter the last bits of warmth inside her body and winter coat while Harry walks ahead, long limbs trying to beat the freezing weather.
“Are you angry at me?”
“What?”
She looks up from her seatbelt, and looks into his eyes, finding him already watching her tired fingers work the seatbelt.
Harry waits for her answer.
It doesn’t come for a while, until Harry’s turning the ignition and they’re on the road again.
Her hand reaches for the cable that connects their phone to the radio, though his cold hand stops her mid-reach.
She turns to him.
He’s focused on the road.
“Don’t,” he says, voice low, almost a murmur.
He does sound angry.
She feels her heart start beating even faster now, brain trying to come up with all the reasons he might feel so hostile and worked up.
She thinks it might be because she didn’t like the wine they brought, or perhaps it was when she rolled her eyes at his joke about one of her outfits she wore last week.
Could’ve been the time when he pressed a kiss to her chin, and she bit her lip while trying to distance herself from his touch because she felt Jules looking at them.
She comes empty-handed.
“Talulah?” Harry questions the overbearing silence in the tiny car.
She turns to him, catching a glimpse of his distant gaze before his eyes find their focus on the road.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to play a song to fill the awkwardness,” Harry grumbles.
If she were brave, she would’ve gasped at the heavy implications of his words.
“So it’s awkward now?” A bitter laugh leaves her mouth. She shakes her head. “What– who made it awkward– why? How is it my fault that you made it awkward, Harry? I mean–” she takes a deep breath, palms sweating.
“I didn’t say you made it awkward.”
“You implied it.”
Harry lets out a groan. “I didn’t. I’m just saying–”
She grows frustrated. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just fucking spit it out. You’re giving me the cold shoulder– you have been giving me the cold shoulder all night. I have no idea why you’re so– so angry about!”
“All night?” His voice is gruff, but still loud.
“Just tell me for God’s sake, Harry.”
“Do you even like me, Talulah?”
Talulah stiffens, levelling Harry with a hard, stone-cold gaze. “What?”
A bitter laugh escapes his mouth. “Do you? Do you like me as much as I like you?”
Talulah feels small.
She feels guilty, yet so angry.
How dare he?
How dare he question her feelings towards him when she should be the one doing so.
She should be the one questioning his feelings, his stance on this relationship, considering their first interaction.
Maybe, she found herself thinking from time to time, maybe Harry was just pretending.
Maybe he’s been pretending the whole time; pretending to have forgotten how awful he was to her when they first met, and the fact that he acted like he didn’t remember anything at Ariel’s party. Maybe Harry was a player. Maybe he was just an awful person– a scam.
So, yes, Talulah feels small. She feels six-years-old again, being questioned about her feelings, about how real they are. ‘Are you sure you’re hungry?’, ‘Did you really think it would work?’, ‘You’re only six, Lullah, don’t get involved in our business’, ‘You’re overreacting, you’re acting silly’.
“Are you even listening?” Harry asks, incredulously.
Talulah gulps, the lump in her throat expanding. “I am.”
“And you’re choosing not to answer,” he makes a sharp left, and she looks out the window, feeling alarmed for a moment before she chastises herself for feeling so, knowing Harry wouldn’t do anything to harm her.
“I just think it’s a stupid question.”
Harry stops at a red light, and the window rolls down, only a little bit. The breeze seeps inside the car, filling the small vehicle with the smell of smoke and exhaust. Talulah feels sick to her stomach, sick at the silence filling not only Harry’s car, but also Talulah’s heart.
Harry doesn't waver, he sends her a small smile. It’s filled with so much: so much love, but also sadness. It’s dull, but also so bright. She shakes like a leaf inside, though doesn’t show it on the outside.
“It’s not stupid,” Harry argues back. “Do you? Do you like me? Because I–” He puts the car in drive. “–I feel like I like you more than you like me–”
“–So you’ve said.”
“You don’t talk to me, Talulah!” Harry hits the steering wheel, though it’s only a gentle tap in her eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She grows frustrated, anger showing in her wavering, shaky tone of voice. “I do talk to you. You know more about me than most people. You know about my mum, about– Harry, what happened?”
“Talulah, this past week you’ve been distant. I always feel like I’m bothering you when I text or call,” Harry tries to reason.
Talulah feels angry.
“Now, you’re being unreasonable.”
“How?”
“I’m not distant! We talk– we text. We’re fine. What’s this about– what’s the real reason?”
She doesn’t realise they made it to her flat until the car stops, and Harry puts the car in park. She knows someone will see his car in their parking space and walk downstairs to tell them off for it.
She doesn’t care.
She doesn’t think Harry does, either.
Harry exhales, and unbuckles his seatbelt, then clears his throat.
“You have an intern now?”
Talulah looks at him with raised eyebrows, a wicked smile painting her features.
“You’re fucking with me– is that why you’re angry?”
“No– yes. Not because you have someone shadowing you. Because it feels like you tell me nothing lately.”
“That’s such a stupid reason to be mad at me, though.”
“Zayn knows more about you. Even Jules does. I didn’t know you cut your finger until I asked why you were going out to buy plasters for,” Harry starts listing things, as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. She’s bewildered, to say the least. Harry goes on. “I didn’t know your throat hurt until I asked about your voice– or– or when I wanted to see you and you told me you’d been assigned a new photoshoot for– for fucking Phoebe Bridgers. I mean– that’s fucking huge, isn’t it?”
“I’m lost.”
“I want to know you.”
“You know me.”
Harry carries on, shaking his head in disapproval. He doesn’t look convinced, nor pleased. “I just feel like– I feel like you’re holding back.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, okay.”
She tries to get closer to his face.
He turns his head.
“Harry.”
“Yes?”
“What are you saying?”
“I want to know why you’re holding back– what’s changed? It was different when we first met, when we first started seeing each other,” Harry looks down, his jeans seemingly more interesting now.
“Harry, that’s not true– nothing’s changed. I’ve just been busy,” she tries to reason, but to no avail; Harry’s stance is clear.
He looks distant– which is ironic, seeing how he argues the opposite.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Harry,” Talulah laughs– a pathetic sound, she thinks, her laugh is.
It’s alien inside the quiet car, the sound of the wind and rain filling her insides.
Harry smiles, like he’s trying to let her down easy. “I’ll call you tomorrow, because I think we’re both not making any sense now. I don’t think I explained myself clearly, and I’m just being really unreasonable and silly right now.”
Talulah lets out a breath. “You’re not being silly. I just– I’m confused.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel confused– I myself am confused. I think I’m just…”
“You’re just, what?”
“I like you, T.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I like you, too. You know that, right? I do– I really fucking like you, Harry.”
“I know, I know you do.”
“So?”
“I will call you tomorrow, I promise.”
She clears her throat, and unbuckles her belt. Grabbing her back, she doesn’t even look back as she closes the door behind her.
She opens her door, and she spends a few minutes getting rid of the layers of clothes she’s got on. When she dares looking out her window, she sees his car still parked where she left him a few minutes ago. The lampposts cast a shadow into his car, an orange hue, and she sees the light of his phone illuminating the dark interior of his car. She smiles, waiting for his text.
Harry locks her phone– she knows, because it’s dark in the car again.
Her phone doesn’t make a sound.
Harry drives off.
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....Back on my Bullshit
Here’s a snippet of what Poppy has been posting on instagram in the last few months 
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annetwist, pillowpperson and 1, 569,329 others liked this post
poppystyles: Euro Summer has been an absolute blast. We’ve had our ups and downs, touring with three kids, but they’ve adapted to life on the road better than we have. On stage, you would never guess that Harry has been surviving on three hours sleep and a whole lot of caffeine, but we have had the most delusional, tired, fun over the last few months, it’s certainly a summer we will never forget. Love on Tour: The Residency Edition will be a welcome change.
fan1: Is he wearing a shirt with his own picture on it?
fan2: Stop pretending you’re doing it without help
lookitsnyoh: 🇺🇸 here we come!
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addie.thomas, _basselin and 1, 005, 482 others liked this post
poppystyles: Absolutley obsesssed with these two squishes 
gemmastyles: I miss the squish 😍
fan1: stop they are divine 🥰
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harry_lambert, thegarden and 1, 710, 486 others liked this post
poppystyles: I only creep on the pre show workouts sometimes……
harrystyles: you could join….
fan1: I’ll join you @ harrystyles
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gemmastyles, jefezoff and 1, 639, 597 others liked this post
poppystyles: “Will I look like daddy with my new hair?”
annetwist: Way more handsome 😍 missing you all xx
fan1: Harry’s not his dad…. So no.
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thegarden, harrystyles and 2, 785, 438 others liked this post
poppystyles: I can’t count how many times I’ve said that I couldn’t be any prouder of this man, but he keeps proving me wrong and making me prouder and prouder. Years ago 1 night at MSG seemed out of reach, a wild dream. And here we are, after 15 sold out shows, dreaming bigger and bigger everyday
thegarden: The Styles are always welcome back to Harry’s House 🏠 (MSG)
fan1: Forever proud of him
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emi.wood, gemmastyles and 2, 193, 176 others liked this post
poppystyles: Can’t believe my babies are both one now. Born three weeks apart my pseudo twins made this family whole, and brought so much joy and love into our lives. Blake, Oscar, we can’t wait to see what this life holds for you.
gemmastyles: Precious babies, I miss them 😍
fan1: How has it been a whole year already
fan2: Where’s the Harry with kids content we follow you for?
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_basselin, harris_reed, 1, 793, 698 others liked this post
poppystyles: Danny costume stays on…..
mitchrowland: gross 🤮
fan1: Mood
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gemmastyles, thekiaforum and 1, 428, 691 others liked this post
poppystyles: Golf Dad, but with glitter
thekiaforum: Just keep running 🏃‍♀️
jefezoff: Fabulous Golf Dad
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awomanindeniall · 2 months
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The Golden Luckenbooth (Babydaddy! Harry Styles x OFC)
Harry has a fling with the local vet while dogsitting for friends in rural Scotland... with longterm consequences.
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UNHOLY
I’m fucking obsessed with the clips of Sam Smith’s new song Unholy and I just finished Fleabag, so here’s a little priest Harry x reader snippet. Please leave a comment if you want me to write the post the full scene!!
You admired the stretch of the black garb across his back as he closed the double doors then turned to face you. He’d looked at you for days on end but this time he wasn’t simply looking, there was a darkness in his eyes that was all consuming and predatory.
“Why did you come?”
“Didn’t really think I needed a reason, father” you said nonchalantly as you dropped your purse on the nearest pew.
“Why did you come?” He asked again but this time he punctuated his question by taking two steps towards you.
You’d grown to feel safe in his presence over the past few weeks but the look in his eyes made every cell in your body want to run.
“Father, is everything okay?”
“Don’t fucking call me that” he said ticking his jaw and taking a few more steps towards you.
“Harry? What’s wrong?” You whispered, taking a few steps backward and away from him. He let out a deep laugh and briefly closed his eyes. You held your breath waiting for him to answer yet when he did you felt like all the air had been punched out from your lungs.
“Which one turns you on more? Calling me father or Harry?”
“Wh- I don’t kn- why would yo-“ you struggled to finish a thought while you felt like you were suffocating. He wasn’t supposed to know. You tried to hard to suppress it, to ignore it. He was not supposed to know.
You walked backward until your back hit the large wooden altar.
“Lying to a priest? Let’s not add that to the reasons why you’ll be repenting tonight. It’s already a long list.”
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U N P L A N N E D, the meeting vol. 2
Harry woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing around 6am. He reached for it quickly, pressed it to his ear as he squinted his eyes to adjust to the light that poked through his curtains.
His own house, which he decided was his second favorite place to wake up in Los Angeles now that he’d experienced rolling over to see Y/N with her eyelashes fluttering against a pillow. He was sure that would be burned into his memory for a long time to come. 
Now though, a week after he kissed her in the kitchen and again in the living room and again in her bedroom, his heartbeat rose when he answered the phone. 
“‘Lo?”
“Hi, sorry to wake you up–it’s Y/N.”
“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine–how do you pick up so quickly, anyway?”
“You’re in my favorites,” he said, a hoarseness in his voice when he adjusted in bed. “Rings super loud even if my phone’s on do not disturb.”
Maybe that was a bold confession. Harry blamed the half-asleep state and tried to focus on the words she said.
“Listen, I accidentally told Glenne and Lexi and Heidi yesterday that it’s a girl.”
“Oh–okay.”
“You’re not mad?”
He cleared his throat. This didn’t exactly seem like something worthy of a 6am phone call, but the sound of her voice sent a warmth through Harry that erased any resentment. “No, I mean–I know we didn’t say when we were going to tell people, but, s’exciting. Were they excited?”
“Super,” he could hear the smile on her face, the comfort in her voice. “We looked at cute clothes.”
This woke him up. “You went clothes shopping without me?”
“No,” she laughed at his tone. “We just looked. But we can go together soon, if you want.”
He let his head fall back to the pillow. He wasn’t about to say it, but he would do anything she asked at this point. “Mmmm, I do want.” 
“Okay, well, go back to sleep,” she said, voice quiet in the early morning hours.
“Okay,” he said. “You too.”
She hung up, Harry stared at the ceiling and made a mental note: wake up at Y/N’s more.
But week fifteen was quiet. Harry listened over and over to the songs that he’d already finished for the album, desperately trying to decide what was missing and what it needed. Y/N was busy at work and somehow, Harry had managed to convince her to have her mother down so their families could meet. 
Mimosas and brunch at Harry’s? Glenne was thrilled and even Jeff had relented, okay, you’re right, it’s a good idea.
So now Gemma sat on the couch and his mother paced nervously near the foyer. 
“I see their car!” Anne said, a bounce of excitement when she peered out the window. A cloudy summer day in Los Angeles, Gemma had complained all morning about how the weather here was supposed to be better than London.
“Don’t freak them out, mum--”
“Please don’t be weird” Harry laughed, his own anxiety crested when he came to stand beside her. Sure as shit: Y/N, Lexi, and Y/N’s mother stepped out of the car, Gemma came to stand behind Anne and even Glenne seemed intrigued from the kitchen. 
Jeff, who already had a mimosa in hand, laughed at the excitement in the room, though Harry wondered if he was just putting on an act. 
“Alright,” Harry turned to see his family, a hand on the doorknob before he tugged it open. “Act normal. Cool, natural, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Anne waved, a toothy grin when Harry finally let them in. 
Y/N was nervous, either Harry had gotten better at reading her or the anxiety was written on her face clear as day. Probably both, he decided, when he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. 
She swatted him away quickly and Lexi laughed. Y/N’s mother smiled at Harry and offered a hand.
“So nice to finally meet you,” Harry greeted, a rumble of nerves in his stomach when he wondered: should I have hugged her? 
“Thanks for having us,” Y/N’s mom replied, a serving dish in her hands. “I made these–they’re lemon!”
“I love a good lemon pastry!” he smiled at her, stepped aside and shot Y/N a wink when he revealed the crowd standing behind him. Anne and Gemma had taken a few steps back, almost like now they realized they actually did need to play it cool. Harry saw his mom’s eyes sweep Y/N’s figure, now obviously pregnant.
“Y/N,” he motioned to his family. “This is my mum, Anne, and my sister, Gemma.”
“Hi–nice to finally meet you in person,” she smiled nervously.
Anne’s arms opened instinctually, a smile on her face when she pulled Y/N closer. “Lovely to meet you, we’re so glad you could all come.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Y/N’s mom smiled behind her, Lexi took the pastries into the kitchen, the moms hugged when Y/N moved on to Harry’s sister. 
Harry watched the exchange for a second, his sister opened her arms and Y/N joked about her nausea, it’s been easing up the last two weeks. 
“I’m definitely having sympathy nausea,” Lexi laughed, stepping aside before Harry pointed around at the entire group and did a rundown of names. He brought them all towards the kitchen, Glenne pointed out all the food she’d made and Jeff pointed out the things she’d gotten catered. 
A breakfast casserole, mini quiches, small bacon finger sandwiches. Harry slid the pastries right next to the sliced banana bread that Glenne promised she made from scratch.
“Most importantly,” Lexi picked up a bottle of champagne that Harry had opened before their arrival. He reached for orange juice in the fridge, turned around and passed it to Glenne who was waiting with an eager smile. 
When she poured a drink for Y/N’s mother, Harry could sense the tension had broken a bit. Maybe it was the way Y/N’s shoulders appeared to relax, or maybe it was simply that a glass of champagne with a splash of juice was a peace offering like no other. 
He looked over at her, the corner of his mouth pulled up without thought and hers did too. He was only tugged out of the moment when he heard his mother’s voice. 
“Wait–he’s not drinking?” Anne asked, happily accepting a glass passed down the line from Glenne.
“You say that like it’ll be impossible,” Harry shot her a look. Did she really have that little faith in her son?
“S’a big undertaking, no?” She let her eyebrows rise, shot a smile in his direction before looking to Y/N. “A bit harder for you, right?”
She let out a dramatic sigh, “I’ve never wanted a mimosa so bad.”
“We have mom-osas,” Glenne said with a playful grin, jiggling the container of juice around as if Y/N would fall for it.
“That sounds mediocre at best,” Y/N rolled her eyes, pulling a laugh from all of them--even Jeff. 
Glenne was more than happy to accept the compliments about her cooking, gushing on and on about how helpful Jeff had been to make sure she could bring everything here and still keep it warm. 
Harry wasn’t shy about reminding her that he’d been just as instrumental to their brunch debut: he had the oven preheated and serving platters ready. He supplied the champagne and paid for extra catering. 
Gemma was quick to nudge him: get over yourself! 
He sat next to Y/N at the dining table and let the encouragement from his family pull the excitement out of him: we’ve got another doctor’s appointment next week, we’ve got to start doing some shopping for clothes. We can’t wait to meet her.
The morning went well enough, funny stories were exchanged and there was already a lot of talk about baby showers and birth plans and Harry wished for a moment that he could have a second alone with her. 
He’d been reeling since he spent the night at her place--what did it mean, why did he like it so much? Was she just as confused or was she annoyed that they’d now crossed whatever invisible boundary had been drawn in the sand from the moment she showed up at his front door with the paperwork from Dr. Weston?
But now wasn’t the time or place to address it, so Harry ate a lemon pastry and told Y/N he’d call her that night, a farewell hug at the door. This time, Y/N didn’t swat him away when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. 
Four pairs of eyes on him when the door latched shut and he turned around. 
“...Yes?”
Gemma looked to Anne, Anne looked to Glenne, Glenne looked to Jeff.
“I think it was very successful,” Anne broke the silence first, a smile when Gemma nodded. 
“Most importantly she seems like she can put you in place if need be,” his sister teased. “And we all know the need will be.”
“She can definitely handle him,” Glenne agreed, heading back towards the kitchen to clean up. 
Anne disappeared upstairs to use the bathroom and change out of her Sunday best, Gemma rounded the island and sat at a stool. “What’s your take on all of this, Glenne?”
Harry let out a sigh--one he didn’t bother to hide from his sister and two close friends.
“I’ll ignore that,” Gemma shot him a glance.
Glenne wiped the counter down with a sponge when she nodded confidently. “She’s a good human. Good job, good values--can be a tad bit anxious but--nothing too neurotic.”
Harry smiled at the way Glenne spoke about her, a warmth in his chest when he found a seat beside his sister. 
“And you’re being nice to her?” Gemma narrowed her eyes.
“Nice to her? ‘Course I am--”
“You’re taking responsibility, figuring out how things will work?”
“What do you mean how things will work?” 
Jeff laughed at that, a shake of his head as if all of these meetings were a waste of time. 
“Custody, fiances, living arrangements,” Gemma shrugged her shoulders, Harry could always count on his older sister to be practical. 
“We’re figuring that out,” Jeff answered for him. 
“What he said,” Harry pointed a finger across the kitchen.
“Speaking of figuring things out,” Jeff’s eyebrows were raised now, he took a dish from Glenne and found a spot in Harry’s fridge. Once he turned around, he put his hands on the granite counter and took a deep breath. 
“Have you slept with her?”
“Well…yeah,” Harry made a funny face, Glenne and Gemma both let out a snort of a laugh when Jeff rolled his eyes. 
“I mean recently--post pregnancy?”
“No,” Harry said, eyes looking over to Glenne. What did she know? Was she in on the secret?
Her eyebrows lifted and she broke eye-contact, okay, Harry thought. That’s a yes. Gemma caught it too. 
“Why do you look guilty?” Gemma’s eyes went wide in excitement. 
“Yeah, Glenne,” he watched her with a threatening glare. “Why do you look guilty?”
Glenne rolled her eyes at Harry. “Don’t do this to me.”
“What do you mean?” Jeff was suspicious now, less excited than Gemma but just as confused and eager to know more.
“This isn’t fair,” Glenne looked between the three of them. No way was she about to rat out her friend and possibly create more drama than there already had been.
“Glenne…” Jeff eyed his girlfriend and hoped to God that she’d spill it. Getting information from Harry thus far had been like pulling teeth, Jeff decided, so if his girlfriend post-mimosa was the way he was going to get the actual truth, he’d take it.
“Harry…” Glenne tossed the metaphorical hot potato back to him. 
Gemma was amused by all of it, another sip from another mimosa and a smile when she waited for her brother to crack.
“We have not slept together.”
“But?” Gemma pressed.
“But,” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if I would call it a totally platonic relationship at this point.”
“Oh Jesus, Harry--” Jeff couldn’t keep the anxiety in. A sigh escaped his lips and Harry’s brow furrowed low on his forward. 
“Oh Jesus, Harry, what? You really hate the idea of us together that much?”
“That’s not what he means,” Glenne tried to break the tension. “Right Jeff?”
Harry watched his friend expectantly. “Well what does he mean, then?”
“I’ve said it a thousand times, I just want you to be careful.”
“Harry--careful? With his heart?” Gemma fought the smile on her face, “the boy who made a cake for his year four crush and spelled out her name on top with little candies?”
Glenne thought this was cute, a clicking of her tongue when she pictured it that pulled an eye roll from Jeff.
“I’m not trying to be a dick. I like her--Y/N’s great--which is even more the reason why I don’t want you to fuck it up. Things could get messy and--”
“I don’t know why you’re saying all of this as if it’s news to me,” Harry shot him a look. Did Jeff really think he was that stupid?
No, he didn’t. Jeff didn’t think Harry was stupuid at all. But Jeff knew his friend well enough to know that he’d develop feelings for Y/N and things would be blissful until the going got rough. And Jeff, despite not being a father yet, knew that it would. 
“We care about you guys,” Glenne held up her hands in an attempt to slow the conversation. “We just want what’s best for both of you and the baby--okay? Let’s all remember there’s a baby involved in this.”
“Hard to forget,” Harry said with a quick sigh. 
__
Harry tried to act cool when he walked into Lexi’s birthday party, like his eyes didn’t scan the room immediately for her or like he hadn’t been sitting around checking his phone every half hour to see if she’d finally called. 
It’d been a whole week since their mums met, a whole week of Harry replaying the day and wondering what it would be like one day when one of them had a baby strapped to their chest. 
They’d texted a bit--the usual, how’s your day? How’s your week? What have you been up to? 
He knew she was busy at work with the impending departure of her boss, figured that maybe this was her pattern: get close, pull away. He wondered if they’d be doing that dance for the next 18 years. 
So Harry greeted Lexi with a kiss on both cheeks before he found a seat beside Y/N, a single kiss to her cheek and a hand on her thigh beneath the table that she didn’t shrink away from. 
“How’re you? How’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” she said, a small smile in his direction before the waiter appeared behind them.
“Water’s fine,” Harry said. “M’all set.”
She smiled a little, rolled her eyes as if Harry was being dramatic or something. “Go ahead.”
“No,” he turned back to her, brows furrowed together. “If you’re not I’m not.”
“I can’t,” she corrected, “there’s a difference. Water with lemon, please.”
The waiter disappeared and Jeff called Harry’s name--they laughed about an email miscommunication from the other week and when he turned back to see Y/N, Harry could tell something was up. “S’everything okay?”
“What? Yeah, what do you mean?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged, rested an elbow on the table and let his mouth get close to her ear to talk over the noise of the restaurant. “Haven’t seen you in a bit, not since our mums met.”
“I’ve been busy,” she said casually. “Levi’s last day is this week, so there’s a lot happening.”
“Alright,” he relented, unsure how far to push it. See, that was the thing. Harry didn’t know Y/N that well--he didn’t know her well enough to sit there and take the stand that something was off and demand any type of answer. He threw in a final observation: “You just seem distant.”
She didn’t reply, patted his thigh under the table and thanked the waiter for their drinks once they were delivered. She yelled across the table to Glenne with a smile on her face and sang happy birthday when they brought Lexi a slice of cake. 
When they all made their way out to the parking lot, the night is just getting started, Lexi reminded, Harry walked beside Glenne towards his car. 
“I’m gonna head home, I think,” Y/N said from behind him, her pace slowing after she said something to Jeff.
Glenne pouted when she turned around to see her friend. “Aw, what? Why?”
“I don’t feel well,” Y/N admitted, a lurch in Harry’s stomach at her words. “Just a headache, so, I don’t want to be a party pooper.”
“Do you need a ride?” he asked, his hands in his pockets when he scanned her face. 
“No–I came with Lexi but I’ll just uber.”
“I can drive you,” he shrugged. “S’not a big deal.”
“Yeah, sweetie, let him take you,” Glenne nodded, folding her arms when she pouted again. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”
“It’s fine,” she brushed it off. “I think it was just the noise of the restaurant.”
Jeff nodded, kept quiet when Harry pulled out his own keys and nodded towards the Tesla Y/N had become quite familiar with.
“M’over there,” he said when he looked over to Jeff and Glenne. Any protests? No--Harry looked to Y/N.
“Okay, well,” she said. “I’ll talk to you both later.”
She gave them each a hug, fell into step beside Harry when Glenne called over her shoulder. “Let me know when you’re home!”
The parking lot was wet, asphalt still damp from a passing shower earlier in the night. When Y/N climbed into the passenger seat of Harry’s car, he turned to see her. “How bad is your headache?”
“I’ve had worse, but I’ll probably just go to sleep when I get home.”
He watched her again, pushed his lips out in thought but then started the car. “Why don’t you come to mine?”
“It’s late,” she said, a tiny shrug when he glanced over and smiled at her. Did he need to be more direct?
“I know–I mean, you can stay over if you want.”
Silence, he put the car in the reverse and turned left out of the lot. 
“I have extra rooms,” he added. 
“I’m alright, I can just go home.”
He looked at her quickly, a sideways glance out of guilt. He wasn’t trying to pressure her, didn’t want to make her uncomfortable and he certainly didn’t expect anything. But at this point Harry felt like it was almost pointless to pretend he didn’t like her, didn’t want to know what it was like to hear her whisper in his dark bedroom. He was also nervous that at any second something could go wrong and Harry just knew that Y/N was downplaying whatever physical ailment had washed over her during dinner. 
“I know you can go home. I just–I don’t know. I’m not trying to be paranoid but if you’re not feeling well I’d rather have you be somewhere where I can–y’know–take care of you.”
She glanced over at him quickly. “Okay,” she said, leaning back in the seat and closing her eyes. “Fine.”
“Well I don’t want to force you,” he said, his voice smaller now, almost embarrassed. 
“You’re not,” she sighed, “I’m just trying to not puke in your Tesla.”
He laughed, “say the word and I’ll pull over.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, she cracked a smile at his joke and that gave Harry the confidence to lead her upstairs and into his bedroom, you can have a change of clothes and then we can watch a movie or something.
She stood in the center of the room when Harry disappeared into his closet. He knew the pair he’d give her: the gray ones with the knotted drawstring that he’d had for almost five years. Worn in and comfortable, the ones he always put on when he didn’t feel well.  
“Here,” he said, coming back out with the sweatpants in hand. “These might be big on you, but, they’re my favorite pair–” he looked up, saw her eyes welling with water and felt his stomach drop. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, laughed a little like she was being silly or stupid. “Nothing.”
“Y/N, what’s up?” He stepped closer to her now, dropped the pants on his bed and brought his hands to her shoulders. “You’re freaking me out.”
She rolled her eyes and used her thumbs to wipe away the moisture. “I’m just sad.”
“Sad?”
“Sad,” she nodded, a big sigh like the emotion had been trailing behind her all night.
“Why are you sad?”
“I’m tired and scared and confused.”
Harry watched her for a second, the words hung heavy in the room when he contemplated the right response. Comfort her? Hug her? Words of affirmation or reassurance? He didn’t really know what the right thing to do was--so he settled for what felt most authentic. 
“I know,” he said, pulling her into him. “Me too.”
She stayed like that for a second, breathing against his chest with his arms wrapped around her. After a second she pulled away, looked up at him and wiped the water from the corners of her eyes again. Harry felt the urge to kiss her, tell her he’d been thinking a lot about painting the room down the hall a light shade of pink. 
Those weren’t the only dreams Harry had been having--which is why he was so caught off guard when she stepped forward and kissed him, their bodies melted together instinctually and, for a second, Harry was sure this was another daydream he’d conjured up while sitting in traffic on the 405. 
He guided her over to the bed, a smile on his face when she let him tug her dress over her head. But the anxiety echoed and it sounded a lot like Jeff--not exactly the sound Harry wanted playing in his head when he was potentially about to get it on. 
Was this wrong? Was this messy? Was this a mistake?
Maybe, he decided, but it didn’t stop him from moaning into her both when she wrapped her hand around his length. She was hesitant a little too, nervous like last time but somehow more familiar with his body and the way she left a trail of goosebumps on his skin.
When his fingers slipped between her legs she smiled into him, her back arching up to meet him. A laugh escaped her lips when she felt him grind up against her. He pulled back, looked down at her and smiled. “Do you want to?”
She nodded, the most unraveled and beautiful Harry had ever seen her. “Please,” she said through breathy pants when he teased at her entrance, “please, just do it.”
“Alright, Nike, relax,” he joked, another kiss when he leaned down to hover over her, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes. He pressed into her slightly and let out a low hum. “You feel so good,” he said, settling into a rhythm.
“And we don’t have to worry about a condom,” she wiggled your eyebrows at him, gaining a throaty laugh.
But then he froze, his eyes went a bit wide and his lips parted. “Is it–uh–are we allowed to do this?”
“What do you mean?” She asked, hips involuntarily rocking into him. Her eyes were closed, focused on the way their bodies felt together.
“We’re not going to like, hurt her, right?”
“No!” She said, her voice high and squeaky when she stifled a laugh.
“Well I don’t know,” Harry laughed, almost embarrassed once he started moving against Y/N’s center again. “I’ve never had sex with a pregnant woman before,” he tried to justify his concern. 
“Good to know,” she nodded a bit sarcastically, tugged on his arms to bring him back down to her. 
It went like that for a while, a playful air to a moment Harry was sure would be locked in his brain for the rest of eternity. He loved the way she said his name, breathless and desperate when she found the release of orgasm. He picked up the pace and finished shortly after, flopped onto the mattress beside her when she giggled. 
“What?”
“You called me Nike.”
“That was a good one,” he smirked. “M’quite clever.”
They both stared up at the fan on the ceiling, it circled and circled and Harry felt a little silly for being as nervous as he was. He’d done this countless times--but never before with the acquaintance turned friend turned maybe something more that was pregnant with his child.
“I don’t really remember the first time, but, I think that was better.”
“Me too,” he laughed. “And we know that we didn’t get you pregnant this time.”
She giggled and rolled over to see him, close enough for Harry to see the freckles on her nose when she thought aloud: “maybe we shouldn’t have done that.”
“We could probably say that about a lot of stuff right now.”
She nodded, let out a sigh and reached over, tracing her finger over the black ink on his chest. He watched her for a moment, noticed the way her lips curved up when she stole a glance at him.
“Were you avoiding me before tonight?”
Silence, a playful look of guilt on her face when her eyebrows arched. “Maybe.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t know what we’re doing.”
He smiled a bit. “Neither do I, trust me.”
“I don’t want to fuck this up.”
He nodded, was about to say that they wouldn’t--that they’d figure it out and everything would be fine, but something on the floor vibrated beneath her dress that now lay crumpled on the floor. She reached over and grabbed for it, slid a thumb across the screen. “S’Glenne,--hey, sorry I didn’t call, I’m home.”
Harry’s brows went north at her lie, she gave him the finger and mouthed be quiet. 
He watched as she nodded along, told Glenne she was feeling a little better already. Her expression changed after a second, though, frustration or anxiety or something crossed her face and Harry felt his forehead wrinkle with curiosity. 
“We just had coffee, Glenney, we were just talking about some logistics.”
Coffee? With who? 
“No, sweetie, everything’s fine.” 
Was Harry supposed to pretend he wasn’t listening? He was naked atop his own bed, letting his eyes trail around the room when he let out a whistle. 
“Alright,” Y/N said, stifling a laugh. “Well I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay? Tell Lexi I say happy birthday again!”
They said goodbye and she hung up, a bit of a bashful smile on her face when Harry let out a laugh and sat up. 
“She sounds trashed.”
“She’s getting there,” she said. 
“What was she asking about?”
She blew air between her lips, reached for the t-shirt he’d brought out for her and tugged it over her head. “I had coffee with Jeff the other day.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Why?”
“Just to talk,” she paused. “Glenne said there’s a photo, like, a paparazzi photo.”
“Fuck.” Jeff must have been annoyed.
“Yeah, but it’s fine.” 
A text dinged on her phone, she inspected the screen and then flipped it around to show Harry the photo in question. 
There was no way Y/N hadn’t known this was coming--and, Harry realized, there was no way this was her first time in a pap pic. She was friends with Lexi and frequented cast parties. She’d been to parties before with Jeff and Harry and their other friends who drew attention like that. 
“What’d you–uh–what’d you talk about?”
“Just logistics,” she gave him the same answer she’d given Glenne. Harry felt his lips curl up at the sides, bullshit. She brought her eyes up to his, a quick realization that while Glenne had been buzzed enough to buy it, Harry wasn’t. 
“Yeah?” He challenged, “what kind?”
She looked around the room, let her shoulders rise and fall with her breath. “Just–”
“Not letting things get messy?”
She was quiet for a minute, eyes on the hardwood floor until she chanced a look in his direction again.
“He’s giving you the same lectures?” He smirked, wiggled his eyebrows and then let himself flop back on the duvet, another laugh escaped his lips and floated up to the ceiling.
She stood with her hands on his hips, bit back the smile that mirrored his. “Guess they have a point.”
He nodded slowly, like he was thinking about it. Like he was ready to make his case or justify his own beliefs. Instead, he looked over at her. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
So she followed him downstairs and sat at the island, the same place where Glenne had poured mimosas for their mothers and Gemma put him on trial. Neither of them mentioned the sex or the sweatpants and neither of them dared to ask what any of it meant.
Harry flipped off the burner when the kettle came to a boil, poured its contents into a mug when the teabag rose up to the surface. “Have you thought at all about, uh, moving in?”
He pushed the cup across the granite, got honey from the cabinet overhead and refused couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 
“Sort of.”
Okay, so she wasn't going to give in that easily. Harry cleared his throat, came around the island with his own mug and sat beside her. “The photo made me think about it, s’all. S’probably more private here.”
“Yeah.” She took a sip and was quiet for a second. “I don’t want to be in the way, you know? I think that might make things messier than…they already are.”
He waited, moved his head side to side in thought. Maybe it was selfish, his desire to have her close or be under the same roof. He didn’t want her to do anything that made her uncomfortable, and he certainly wasn’t trying to twist her arm. 
In Harry’s eyes, having her here made sense. If they were going to do this together, it’d be easier for her to sleep in a room down the hall than across town. It didn’t have to be now, and it didn’t have to be forever.
“Yeah–no, I just, think it’d be nice, you know. We can get ready more that way and once she’s here it’ll be easier. There’s enough room if your mum wants to come or if my mum wants to, y’know, to help out or something.”
“S’a good point,” she said, a small nod when he brought his eyes up to look at her.
“Yeah?”
A shrug of her shoulders, a playful smile before she rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”
“So–do you want to?”
“We can try it.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Try it.”
But Harry knew that this was a slippery slope. He knew that sharing a kitchen and an address was a big step, one that came extremely fast for two people who had just chosen to sleep together for the first time without the aid of whatever cocktails they’d nursed that fateful night. He knew that his heart pounded every time she walked in the room, he felt his stomach flip when she called. 
But he didn’t know where this was headed or how to figure that out. So instead of getting nervous, he decided he’d get excited. There was plenty to do to prepare for a new chapter that neither of them had expected. And Harry knew that if he couldn’t control something, he had to make peace with it. Which is why he stared at the ceiling that night wishing sleep would come, a terrifying and thrilling thought circling his brain like the fan that spun overhead. 
Harry was falling. Hard.
table of contents | talk to me | the playlist
AN: WOW. I mean, we already knew Harry was falling hard, but at least now he knows it too. Sorry I've been a little MIA pals, some exciting personal news coming soon!
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luminescencefics · 2 years
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you don’t have to go home - a fade in, fade out drabble
Hi all! It’s truly been some time since I’ve last posted, but inspiration strikes in mysterious ways! I’m happy to announce that I’ve been chipping away at the long-awaited Fade finale, but in the meantime, I decided to write a little drabble about our main man Harry. This takes place after the last part of Fade, and exists just before the beginning of the final chapter. I hope you enjoy! x
1,700 words
fade masterlist // my works // read below:
***
December 2019
Sometimes Harry felt sadness so deep he wondered if it was inherited.
It makes him chuckle now, flicking through the years of his privileged life and realizing that while he had everything he could have possibly ever wanted at an arm’s length away, he still felt a soul-shuddering emptiness from deep within.
He wonders why it took him nearly thirty years to realize this. Wonders why he let life pass him by in a state of self-imposed misery. Wonders why the only things that really make him feel alive are paperback books filled with words written from people he can only aspire to be, with the spine bent out of shape and the papers browning from sitting in the sun too long; are long sips of room temperature whiskey after a long day, or refreshing gulps of Greco di Tufo after its been sitting on ice and he’s been working tirelessly under the Tuscan sun.
Or his most favorite thing in the world that Harry wishes he could somehow store permanently underneath his eyelids, so that every time he took reprieve from the world around him, he could escape into one of his own—eyes so blue that they were nearly grey, hidden underneath thick, tangled lashes. Eyes that felt like mirrors most of the time, that never allowed for true emotions to stay concealed. Eyes that always searched for him, wondering if he had changed, wondering why he never told the truth, wondering when he’ll finally be the person he should have been all along.
Harry’s not an artist by any means, but he swears that he could paint Nora Priestley’s eyes by memory alone.
He’s done a lot of self-reflection ever since he left British soil three months prior. He blames most of it on the fact that he drank his way through endless bottles of seven euro wine until his brain was fogged and his tongue felt like lead and his throat begged for any type of liquid that wasn’t produced by grapes—but really, what else was he supposed to do with his time?
At first he did what any sad person would do, walk around aimlessly and blame the world for all of the shitty cards he’d been dealt in his life, drink abundantly and ignore the locals and pray to the gods above that Niall or Piper or Nora or anybody who ever gave a shit about him would appear out of thin air and beg him to come home.
But then he remembers that he left his mobile in his flat and he hasn’t reached out to Niall ever since he landed in Florence and told him not to worry about him. He remembers that grief is a muscle—it needs to be acknowledged first, and then it needs to be worked day in and day out until it’s pliant, until the hurt is ready to disappear and in its place, happiness can begin to grow stronger and stronger, until the grief is nonexistent.
When Harry thinks of pure happiness, he can think of three times in his life when he felt it consume him.
The first is when he first met Nora Priestley.
He saw her before she ever even knew he existed. He remembers sneaking into the Great Hall at Townbridge, the heavy oak door groaning every time he pushed it open further and further, trying his hardest to stay undetected. His eyes scanned the crowd lazily to see if he could spot his friends, and then all at once, they stopped once they noticed sunflower blonde.
Looking back now, Harry’s not even sure what it was about the back of Nora’s head that endeared him so much. Maybe it was the fact that while everybody else was faced front and center, her head was tilted to the left, observing a pair of bluebirds perched on a Red Maple tree through the large windows. Maybe it was the fact that she slouched low in her chair, her fingers nibbling on her nail beds as she blinked once, twice.
Or maybe it was the fact that when her fingers left her mouth and inched towards her ear, tucking a stray piece of yellow hair behind it, allowing Harry to peek at her chipped blue nail polish, he lost control of the heavy door and it slammed shut behind him, causing Headmaster Clayton to stop speaking.
Harry had never been the type to get embarrassed, but he felt it then—redness flushing his cheeks and heat coursing underneath his skin, beginning at the base of his spine and ending at the nape of his neck. But if there’s one thing Harry is good at, it’s camouflaging emotions, and he remembers sliding into the seat next to the distracted blonde girl and acting like the last thirty seconds never happened in the first place.
He could feel her before he had the chance to observe her. Even at fifteen, Harry loved the attention of the opposite sex, and when he felt her gaze through the corner of her eyes, he couldn’t help but feel excited that somebody he had never met before was so obviously checking him out.
It was her laughter that made him feel happy. A gentle sound that came from the back of her throat, shaking her entire body until he couldn’t help but imitate it. He remembers even now the girls in front of them turning around and giving Nora a dirty look, and while every other teenage girl would have been flustered, Nora just laughed harder, biting down on her lip until the skin was white and her teeth nearly punctured it.
The second time Harry felt pure happiness was when he woke up the morning after his twenty-second birthday and saw that Nora had stayed.
He knew the second that his eyes fell onto her sleeping form that he was lucky that she was still there. Because after everything he had done to her, any normal person would have disappeared the moment he fell asleep. But against his better judgment, she was there—close enough that he could breathe her in, feel her breath whistle into the small space between them, smell the remnants of her vanilla shampoo filling the air.
Harry never thought of himself as a romantic. But in that moment, with the sun turning from lapis to indigo to sandstone, filtering through his lofted bedroom and casting a hue on Nora’s sleeping frame, he wondered if that was how people fell in love.
Her hair was a tangled mess around her skull, brown strands falling on her pale face, enmeshing in her eyelashes that were coated with mascara still and sticking to the remaining layer of lipstick smeared on her lips. He could feel her knee bending towards his as she laid on her stomach, her cheek resting on the pillow so that he could watch the sun’s reflections make shapes on her skin.
The thing that made his lips quirk up in a smile was when he noticed their fingertips nearly centimeters apart. Harry couldn’t remember if they fell asleep that way, because he was drunk and she was beautiful and of course he would want to hold her hand, but did she let him? Did she entertain him just because it was his birthday? Did she pity him?
He tried to remember anything from a few hours prior, but he couldn’t. And just as sudden as the sun changed colors at dusk, Harry realized that he didn’t care. Because if Nora wanted to leave, she could have. But she didn’t. And when he looked at her fingers, long slender parts of her body that were reaching out towards him, he didn’t even think twice before wrapping his pinky with her own.
He felt his breath still in his chest after the contact had been made, and when he watched her sigh blissfully in her sleep, her eyes still shut completely, Harry resumed breathing and held her pinky tighter, allowing the warmth of happiness to lull him to sleep.
The third time Harry felt pure happiness was when he and Nora mouthed two words to each other across the chapel at Niall and Piper’s wedding.
Looking back now, Harry isn’t quite sure why this moment out of all of the moments he has shared with Nora Priesley stood out to him. Why the tiny, insignificant exchange of the word ‘Hi’ made his insides burn more so than the hundreds of kisses they shared together, or the times when he got to be inside of her, be on top of her, be surrounded by her.
Maybe it was because it felt forbidden in a way, with their significant others standing besides them. Maybe it was because she had to turn around to see Harry, her chin resting on the point of her shoulder, elongating her neck and nearly causing Harry to lose consciousness. Maybe it was because even though it was out in the open, it felt incredibly intimate—two enemies turned friends turned lovers turned question mark realizing that no matter how much time passes between them, they will always find each other one way or the other.
Harry remembers feeling a magnetic pull towards Nora at that moment. Something that was otherworldly, that somebody from up above perhaps was orchestrating. That they could just find each other in a crowded room, say hello to one another, and somehow everything would be okay. Harry would feel calm and Nora would forget all of the bad things that happened to her and the world just felt right.
But that’s the thing about those moments—they are fleeting.
Harry never appreciated them until long after they were gone, until he was half a world away sitting at an iron-clad table in the middle of a winding cobblestone street, sipping a sweating glass of rosé as he thumbs through his Italian dictionary, reading the words desiderio and brama and perduto and wondering when life got so difficult.
But then the sun changes from sandstone to indigo to lapis, and he remembers that grief is a muscle. He writes those words down in his notebook and turns the page, and looks up nuovo and mutevole and letizia, feeling calm for the first time in what feels like forever.
***
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barkrry · 1 year
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autophobia - h. styles x 1dbandmember!yn masterlist
Sitting in the back of the coffee shop, her tongue wetting her lips as she cradled her hot cup. Part of her felt like the liquid inside was illegally hot, her hands almost burning as she held the paper. But she also felt like maybe it was what was keeping her focused on what was about to happen.
She was waiting for Harry. Harry, who had been the one to arrange this meeting, yet she was the one who chose the exact spot. There was an art to not getting spotted, one that she had mastered. Spending two years moving around without a single mention of her being sighted, she was talented. And she wasn’t about to blow all of her album hype by being spotted out with her ex-boyfriend.
“Hey,” came the breathless, raspy voice of Harry Styles as he was joining her at the table. He hesitated, his own coffee in hand as he reached out with his other to try to embrace her before a frown covered his features and he was sinking into the seat opposite her. “I was- I was surprised you agreed,” he admitted.
YN looked over at him, and he hadn’t changed a single bit. His hair was shorter, pushed back by his willy-wonka sunglasses. He had one of his usual graphic tees on, old and ratty. Traditional vans. This was how he was always caught, always spotted. He wore the same things, didn’t change anything.
“Don’t make me regret it,” she replied dryly, swallowing slowly as she was raising her cup to her lips and taking a sip of the too-hot liquid. “You wanted to talk, so talk. I’ve got some promo to shoot after this.”
His green eyes stared at her for a moment, his fingers curled around the cup. Lacking his rings, which surprised her. Whenever she heard about Harry Styles he was always adorning his precious rings.
“Do you- do you hate me?” He asked, the crease in his brow had returned as he watched her closely. Tongue wetting his lips as he sat back, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Cause, you know. You were the one to break up with me.”
“And what a treat I did for you. A whole album wasn’t it? Singing about how I broke your heart? How much did that earn you?”
“Peach, don’t do that-”
“Don’t do what? Ask some simple questions? Do I need to ask Jeff for permission?”
Harry’s eyes snapped to meet hers, his brow completely furrowed in a frown as he leaned forward, pushing his cup aside as he rested his forearm there. “What does Jeff have to do with this?”
YN gaped, sitting back as she realised her mistake. All too used to the fact that she had to fight back, easily falling into a back-and-forth with everyone was second nature to her now. Some called her argumentative, but her team saw it for what it was. A defence mechanism. To stop herself from getting in too deep with someone new.
“Nothing- I- this was a mistake.” She was picking up her coffee cup, lifting her bag up from where it had been hooked over the back of the chair. “Uh- I’ll see you-”
“Peach, sit down and tell me what Jeff has to do with this,” he told her, pointing to the seat. And she hesitated, her eyes falling onto him, her lips pressed together. She hesitated, not because she was scared. His tone wasn’t anger, it was pleading. There was concern laced in his words. “Please,” he was begging, and she lowered her bum back into the chair.
“Don’t act like you don’t know, Harry. Everyone does.”
“Know what? Because I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
YN stared at him across her table, her tongue wetting her lips as she scoffed, shaking her head as she tipped it back. Fingers running through her hair, shorter than when she was in the band. One of the many changes she had made since the band broke up.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this-” she released a soft groan, dropping her face into her hands followed by a deep huff. “Jeff’s the reason I broke up with you.”
And it was like something snapped inside of Harry, his once pleading face was now cold. His eyes were dark, but there was also confusion there. He wasn’t sure what he was being told, he had definitely never heard this before. As far as he was aware, she broke up with him because she fell out of love, or something. The something had always bothered him, but he was raised to respect a woman’s wishes, so that’s what he had done. It had killed him every day since, and some.
“Why was Jeff- YN, please just tell me the truth.”
“We had already announced we were splitting, hiatus, whatever everyone decided it was in their head. It was a break up. You were constantly in meetings with the Azoff’s, and you told them we were a package deal,” she mumbled, looking down at her hands in her lap. “They just wanted you, Harry,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly as she looked over at him across the table. Her eyes wet as tears gathered against the bottom lid, threatening to fall yet not. “And he told me I’d just hold you back and- And he was right. Look at you now.”
She gave him time to process what she had just told him, she was aware it was a lot. It’s not every day that you find out your ex-girlfriend and current manager were lying to you for the past two years or so. It had hurt her as well in the moment, it was part of the reason she had stayed gone so long. Living in the shadows, hiding from the truth.
“Why would- I don’t understand. He- He promised me he could get us both- I don’t-” Harry stumbled over his words, his mind racing a mile a minute as he removed his sunglasses from his head, running his fingers through his curls.
“It all worked out though. You got a great team, a cool band. A hit of a debut album,” she shrugged, being dismissive to the fact that of course this would hurt them both to rehash. “And I’ve got the same.”
“Peach, that’s not-” he stared at her, his mouth hanging open as he truly didn’t know what to say. He had gotten everything because of her sacrifice. And that stung. He had never wanted any of this if it wasn’t with her. The early days of the break up had been rough, rarely eating or sleeping. Focusing on channelling all his negative thoughts and energy into music, and yeah, it had gotten him a hit of a debut album. But he was sure he could have doubled his success if he had been writing and singing about being happy with her.
“I really need to go, I have two promos to do, but- you have my number,” she nodded her head as she was getting up again, this time not being stopped by him. Her lips were pressed together, looking down at him as she sniffled a little. “I really thought you knew,” she mumbled quietly, a slight nod of her head before she was walking out of the little coffee shop.
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harry-on-broadway · 1 year
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The Last Line Masterlist
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Penny Sanders is the journalist who had a lot to say about Harry Styles’ first album. Harry Styles hates her. Or at least he thinks he does. But come to think of it, there’s a very fine line between love and hate. A Fine Line-era, enemies-to-lovers story about music and unexpected love.  
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four 
Part Five
talk to me! || join the taglist || story inspo 
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mindofharry · 1 year
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Scott Street
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In which, Y/N is an alien who escaped her planet and Harry is a nerdy human, studying her species. What could possibly go wrong? FLUFF! AND FLUFF! AND MORE FLUFF! please reblog and leave feedback is you enjoyed. Happy reading! :-)
✧ ✧ ✧
Y/N hated her planet.
Boring. Misty. Plain.
If a human was to see her planet, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend it. It would be the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen and vice versa for Aliens and Earth. But when you live on a planet for so long - it gets boring. Simple if you will.
Y/N sat on a rock near her home, running her fingers through her long hair. She loved her hair. When you turn 16, you get a permanent pattern. Blue and a strand of pink. Her mother and father had yellow strands, while her brother had white. Pink was her favourite colour and she thinks that Gods knew that.
She looked up at the sky and sighed when she spotted the planet Earth in the distance. Was there anything out there? She hoped there was. The army seem to go out there all the time. They come back with lots and lots of loot each time. Food too. But it’s not as nice as their berries. Everything is so fresh here and Earths food is…. a lot more processed.
Y/N would like to go on adventures with all the men. But her job is to mate and look after the farm and children. Which until a couple months ago, she was happy to do so.
But she hadn’t found her mate yet.
Y/N is one of the most beautiful women in pack. Men and Women sought after her, and of course she indulged a few. But there was no one that made her heart beat so fast she thought it would jump out of her chest. No one made her think of carrying their child, or building a nest together. She couldn’t figure out why.
Maybe her mate was on this planet Earth.
Y/N’s tail perked up at that.
She bit her lip looking around and saw the men gearing up for their next mission to Earth. Her parents work too much to even notice her gone and her brother is in the army - he would never notice either. She looked around again and saw the children with their mothers and she deflated. She wanted that so bad. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t have what they have?
So Y/N decided then and there.
She would go to Earth.
Y/N immediately got up and skipped towards the ship. Without anyone noticing, she hopped on the small ship, and behind the tall packages. This would totally work.
Ten minutes later she was getting dragged out by her brother.
“I will tell mom and dad if you do it again,” Her brother, said in their native language. Y/N stuck her tongue out at him and then turned around thinking of another plan.
She would get on that ship one way or another.
And she did. She ate a bunch of the invisibility berries (that no one is allowed to eat,) and made her way onto the ship. And this time, she wasn’t found.
The ship moved fast, but Y/N slept the whole ride. She dreamt of a family of her own. A nest of her own. A man of her own.
She woke up when she heard a bang come back door of the ship.
“We will leave the ship here. Change into your human forms and stay in them at all times. Meet back her in 3 days,” She heard her brother say.
Human form?
She waited ten minutes for them to leave and then she pressed the button on the back of the door to open it.
Bright. Green. Beautiful.
Her eyes watered as her hair began to move with the wind. She stepped out of the ship and let feet sink into the grass.
“Wow,” She muttered.
Y/N giggled and began to run around, spinning and twirling in this random field. After playing around for a few minutes she heard a snap coming from the trees near the ship. She turned around and looked for any sign of life.
“Woof!”
Y/N moved onto all fours, trying to protect herself. What was this creature? The thing moved towards her, wagging its tail. Y/N growled.
“Hey, boy!” Someone whistled.
Weirdly enough - Y/N could understand him.
Harry moved out from behind the trees and saw a big huge ship.
“Fuck,” He muttered. Then he looked down at his dog and saw….
An Alien? An Avatar?
“Ma’am” Harry said putting his hands up, he started to take off his jacket to hand to her. She backed away.
“Hey, Hey, It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry said softly.
“You are man?” She asked with a thick accent.
“Human. Yes, a man,”
Y/N stood up, showing off her body. Harry tried not to look but it was no use. She’s beautiful. Blue. But beautiful.
“We can mate?” She asked hopefully and Harry blushed a deep red.
“No, we can not,”
She pouted and walked towards Harry. Harry stepped back.
She pointed towards herself, “I will not hurt you, mate,”
Harry shook his head, “I am not your mate. Definitely not your mate,”
Y/N laughed, “You are funny, mate. And your dragon is so cute,”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh. His little simba a dragon? He couldn’t even shit without getting scared.
“He’s a dog,”
Y/N shook her head, “Dragon,”
There was definitely no fighting this woman.
“Do you have a place to stay. To sleep?”
“A nest?” She asked and shook her head sadly. But then she smiled, “You will take me to your nest,” She stated.
Harry sighed and leaned down to put Simba’s lead on and then waved towards the woods.
“Let me take you to my house. You can freshen up and then we can talk,”
Y/N shook her head, “House? No, Nest,”
Harry sighed again - “My nest, yes,”
Harry ushered her through the woods and then to his home which was right next to the field. Luckily there was no one around this area and he lived alone. He opened up the door and led the alien woman inside.
“Make yourself comfortable…”
She smiled, “Y/N,”
He smiled back, “Harry,”
The reason why he was so cool around this was because this is what he studied. What he went to school for. But he had only seen pictures of them, never in person.
While Harry grabbed a pen and paper, Y/N walked into his room. Harry followed her.
Harry sighed, looking at the blue naked woman on his bed. He tried to peel his eyes away, but she made it extremely hard. Currently, this ‘alien’ was rubbing his duvet covers, her eyes wide.
“Can I get you a shirt? Or dress? Or anything?”
The woman, furrowed her eyebrows, “Shhhhirtt?” She asked.
“Oh for god sake,”
“Who is this god you speak of, human?”
Harry laughed to himself, “You have a lot to learn,”
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harryforvogue · 10 months
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Yes plz I want to be SAD
this isn't THAT sad, but here is lucía seeing harry and his new gf together and being forced to interact with them <33
***
Lucía doesn’t know if she’s been thinking about Harry so much that he’s always popping up around her or if his girlfriend is the normal type to actually leave the house for dates, because this is the second time she’s spied them across the room and she’s really not sure how she feels about it.
The last time she'd seen Harry, it was at the supermarket, and she hadn’t met his girlfriend who had come with him, a few paces away. She expected it -- the town they live in only has a few large markets. The situation was very calmly handled by her abandoning her groceries in the middle of the store and ordering takeout on her way home.
And it's not that she really cares about Harry’s girlfriend or harbors any particular anger or jealousy or spite against the woman she’s only seen from several yards over, but she’s also in no particular frenzy to become best friends with her. 
If that makes sense.
Today, she sees them having lunch in the same restaurant she’s having lunch. What makes matters worse about seeing them is that they’re together, while Lucía is sitting two tables from them eating alone. 
It’s the middle of the work day. Lucía had wanted a better view than her office. And she loves this place. It had been quiet, and she had silently ate her salad and sandwich while relishing the calm atmosphere when all of it shattered at the sound of her ex boyfriend calling, “Lucía?”
She’d looked up to find Harry waving at her from a few tables over. Harry’s her friend and all, but actually the worst ex to run into. Not because she wants to bolt every time she sees him, but quite the opposite. 
He insists that she come sit with them and after a few attempts at refusing, it’s clear Harry will not take no for an answer. 
She takes a seat beside Harry, across from his girlfriend, and awkwardly says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Harry says, smiling brightly, as if this is normal. “On your lunch break?”
“Yeah, you?” (A stupid question, but suitable for a stupid situation.)
“Same. We wanted to try out a new place. I actually don’t think I’ve ever introduced the two of you.” And so he does, and Lucía very politely nods and says hello again. Asks her how her day has been, and then listens halfheartedly.
She finds out a few things. One, that his girlfriend is very passionate about her job. Two, that his girlfriend lives in the city. And three, that Lucía really really doesn’t like the look Harry gives his girlfriend when she laughs.
Something twists in her stomach when Harry laughs with his girlfriend, and looks at her with so much happiness on his face, that she finds herself looking away, knowing that it’s like to be on the receiving end of such a look. After all, it was a look that was only reserved for her for several years.
Before everything was suddenly gone.
“I really like this place,” Lucía says because she realizes that she’s been quiet for too long and in a normal setting, it is her turn to talk. “I can walk here from my office so I don’t need to waste gas or anything.”
“How’s your job going?” Harry asks, taking a sip of water.
Lucía turns to look at him, suddenly feeling even more awkward. It’s not a unique question or totally unlike Harry to be interested in her work, but it seems too detached, so unfamiliar– especially the way he asks it. It sounds as if it’s a professional question and not something friends ask. Something he’s obligated to ask.
Is that what they do now? Ask each other about work in that manner? How did they go from being so intimate to this? Once, he’d known everything about her. He could have known how work was just from the look on her face after coming home.
“Good,” she answers, reaching for her own water. “It’s fine.”
“That’s good.”
And that’s the end of that conversation. She doesn’t think it would be right for her to go into detail about the new project she's working on or how the new intern is driving her insane, or how her assistant has been rearranging her files without her permission forcing Lucía to stay past six just to reorganize everything to her liking. It wouldn’t be appropriate. They don’t seem to have that familiarity between them anymore.
Before, she would have done it in a heartbeat. Now, she thinks she’s been looking at Harry too long and she glances down at her salad to remedy it. She doesn't want his girlfriend to think there are still feelings. Anyways, Lucía would prefer it if she didn’t know that.
Lucía picks at her salad, very uncomfortable sitting there now. His girlfriend is talking about how nice it is to meet Harry’s friends and how it’s crazy that they haven’t met earlier.
“Harry’s mentioned you one or two times, so I was wondering when I’d actually meet you.”
As far as Lucía knows, they’ve been dating for several months, so it stings a little that Harry’s only mentioned her barely a handful of times. She puts a smile on her face and says, “About time then.”
Harry doesn’t say anything about it until his girlfriend, several minutes later, excuses herself to use the bathroom.
(As she’s going, she leans over and kisses Harry’s face. Lucía thinks about how she used to kiss him there. Quite often, actually, right by the corner of his mouth. Her hands are clenched into fists.)
He turns to her, as that kiss hadn’t just happened, and says, “Look, I didn’t say much to her because she gets a little worked up about it, okay? It just seemed like a fight waiting to happen and you know I’m not good with fights.”
It’s true. While Lucía and Harry rarely actually fought, they would occasionally exchange some strong words that would create a weird tension between them and ultimately cause Harry to return and apologize a dozen times. She knows he can’t stand the silence between them.
“You don’t need to explain it to me,” Lucía says, feeling weird, placing her fork on the napkin beside her and arranging it neatly. “Really.”
He knows her too well to let it go. “I really am sorry. Trust me, I hold myself back from talking about you a lot.”
“It’s totally fine. I mean it. I don’t have the right to be upset about it.” She drinks her water. “She’s nice by the way.”
Harry’s frowning. “Yeah.”
“Suits you.”
“What does?”
“All of this. Her. The going-out-all-the-time.”
“How do you know I go out all the time?”
“I just see you two around often. On dates.”
“And you never say hi?”
She gives him a look. “Nobody wants a date to be ruined by the appearance of an ex-girlfriend.”
“What if it’s actually the appearance of a friend. Which, you know, you are. To me.”
She glances away from him. “Still. I’m your friend but aren’t I first and foremost an ex-girlfriend?”
Harry doesn’t answer, and she understands.
“It’s good,” she continues. “It’s a nice change of pace from…us.” It’s hard to get the last word out.
“How so?” His expression is unreadable, his eyes soft.
She shrugs. “I didn’t really like to go out that much when we were…um...”
“Together,” he finished for her, making a wave of sadness rush over her.
“Right. It must be nice to be able to do things you like with the person you’re with.”
Harry’s quiet again, frowning even deeper. “I didn’t mind staying in with you all the time.”
“Right.”
“I mean that. I really didn’t. It was different. We were different, all right? We weren’t the type to go out every night and that was fine.”
Lucía stops herself from arguing that Harry loved to go out and she was always the one holding him back. 
Maybe she looks disturbed or sad, because Harry’s face relaxes and he says softly, “How are you really doing, though?”
That makes her wince. She turns away from him and begins packing her lunch. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Ask me questions in that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The same one you used when my dad died.” The reminder of Harry’s constant presence around her during that dark time makes her skin itch and her hands shake. He’d done so much for her. Stopped his life for her. “Don’t do that, please.”
Harry seems alarmed. “I literally just asked how you’re doing.”
“No. You asked me in that specific way that makes it seem like I’m not doing well at all. Which would be untrue. I am fine. “
Lucía knows she sounds crazy. She feels it too – the wild contrast between not wanting to be spoken to in such a detached manner and not wanting Harry to sound like he cares. It’s all too much. All too sudden.
“I was only asking because of your father and how you–”
“I know, and I appreciate it,” she says, and before she can stop the words, she blurts, “and it’s not your job anymore to be worried about me. It’s nice of you, but not necessary.”
Harry watches her stand up. “Not my job?” he echoes incredulously. “I’m only asking how you are since the past year has been terrible and I feel like what happened between us made it wo–”
Lucia quickly puts her jacket on. The queasy feeling in her stomach is getting more intense. She needs to get out of there right now. “It didn’t. It was just a thing that happened, you know? People break up and–”
Harry looks a little annoyed now. “A thing that happened?”
“Yes. It was just a thing. And now it’s over. And it’s fine. And I need to get back to work.”
His girlfriend steps out of the bathroom then, walking through the corridor back to the dining area. “Are you heading out, Lucía?”
Lucía nods stiffly and smiles. “Yes. It was, um, good to meet you. I hope I see you again soon.”
“Oh, alright. Good to meet you too.”
“Luce,” Harry says, a little firm. “I really think–”
“Harry, we've got to be heading back too,” his girlfriend says, sitting back down. “Should we get the rest packed?”
Harry looks between his girlfriend and Lucía, who is already putting her hair back up in a bun and fixing her bag on her shoulder. He almost looks helpless, but finally, his shoulders drop and he nods to his girlfriend. “Yeah.”
Lucía does an awkward wave and then mutters, “Bye.” 
She walks out of the restaurant, not realizing she’s holding back tears until she gets to the intersection and they begin to drip down her cheeks. She hastily wipes her face, her hands trembling, angry for being so pathetic. 
She’ll never be able to go to that restaurant again. How stupid she’d been to agree to sit with them! And the worst part is that if it were to ever happen again, she’d still accept Harry’s invitation to join them, and be sad at the results as if she hadn’t learned her lesson at all.
When she gets back to her office, there’s a text from Harry that says:
That was weird. But we’re good, right?
Lucía looks at the message until her eyes burn with tears again, sniffling against her sweater. She doesn’t reply, instead calling her mother and crying for a very long time.
65 notes · View notes
meetmymouth · 2 years
Text
the intimacy of little things: iii
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au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc 
notes for this chapter: smoking and alcohol consumption, mature content, dysfunctional families
WC: 8k |  PINTEREST BOARD | PLAYLIST
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Harry thinks it’s a great opportunity, Wild at Heart being quiet for it gives him time to work on a centrepiece. He takes a minute to admire his work, the orchids an enchanting shade of blue, their flowers resembling a butterfly with wings a midnight blue and violet. He hears someone coming in so he looks up from his work, seeing two women walk in the shop.
“Hello,” he says to the woman closest, then turns to greet the other. “How are you today?”
They both smile, the shorter one’s dimples deepening. “Good, thanks. I actually need help with something,” she puts the seed package back, and looks up at Harry with her brown eyes. “I got my English Ivy from you, but the leaves are turning yellow. I tried every flower food but to no avail.”
“Too much water can cause that,” Harry says. “Ivy grows in well draining soil and actually prefers it when the top inch of the soil dries out somewhat between bouts of watering. You can use your finger to detect the moisture of the soil.”
“Okay so,” she pouts. “Should I stop watering it?”
“You can start off by replanting it. They require porous, light soil and a pot that will allow them to drain effectively…” he smiles when she takes her phone out of her bag and presumably opens up her Notes app.
She keeps typing. “Okay…”
“Drainage holes are important when planting or replanting. Use a ratio of three parts potting soil mixed with one part perlite for good soil structure. Like I said, try replanting and see what happens. If nothing changes, we can try some nutrients for your Ivy, some liquid fertiliser, magnesium… you can email me anytime, send pictures and stuff– I’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you so much, you’re so nice. I’ll try all of this… thank you.”
“Happy to help.”
He smiles when she gives him a grin, pocketing her phone, and she stops him before he can walk towards the other lady.
“Hey. I was looking at the seeds and… I have to ask,” she says. “Why don’t you do something like, buy seeds and help the bees?” She gestures at the messy seed stand by the till.
Harry follows her gaze, then looks back at her, a pout appearing on his face. “Elaborate?”
“When it’s warmer especially… sow some seeds to help the bees. Would also be a good advertisement for the shop! Sorry,” she laughs. “I work in PR and Advertisement. I get excited about these things.”
Harry chuckles, nodding at her. “Oh, no worries, this is actually so clever, I will think about it. And we can maybe stay in touch via email or something? If I needed some help with all the… you know, advertisement bits?”
The woman nods enthusiastically, then takes her phone out again. “Sure thing! I’m Jasmine, by the way–”
“–Harry,” he shakes her hand, smiling. “Nice meeting you.”
“I’ll give you my phone number as well. Just in case.”
“Thank you, Jasmine, you’re very kind!”
“Oh, and by the way,” she turns to the other lady who’s now standing by the pink begonias. “That’s my friend, Simone, she’s a photographer so she can also help with taking pictures and whatnot… you know– for the social media pictures and stuff, if you wanted, of course.”
“Oh,” Harry says, taken back by the kindness. “I actually– my… girlfriend– she’s a photographer.”
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“Can you– don’t tilt your chin, stay that way, please. Yeah– perfect!”
Lila Moss doesn’t take directions very well.
Talulah doesn’t know if it’s because she likes to do her own thing–literally–or if it’s the fact that she’s got an attitude when it comes to directions: rolling her eyes whenever someone tries to direct her, or sighing audibly every five minutes. It can be frustrating, for both the crew and the model, and Talulah finds herself praying that this will go as smoothly and quickly as possible so she can have her lunch and if she’s lucky, a cigarette during said lunch.
She moves a bit closer, and tilts her head to the side as the camera in her face follows. “Chin up just a tiny bit–”
“You said not to move just now,” Lila Moss mutters. “Are you new?”
“No, I’m not. You were looking at your feet, that's why I said chin up…”
“I’m tired.”
Her manager clears his throat, eyes finally on the shoot rather than his phone. “We’re all tired, Lila. Can you try your best and cooperate with the crew so we can move forward with our schedule?”
“I am! My feet are killing me,” she looks down at her socked-feet, pink fabric looking almost fluorescent under the white lights.
Her manager, Jeremy, turns to Talulah, giving her a smile. “Let’s carry on.”
“Not long now,” she tries to comfort Lila, not wanting to annoy her any further. “We’re almost done.”
“I sure hope so. Sorry, I just– woke up at three in the morning today,” she looks down again, clearly tired. “I’m just not used to this whole thing… like my Mum. Sorry for being difficult, I really don’t mean to, Talulah,” she looks at her, then smiles.
She returns it. “I know, it’s okay, this is all new to you and it must be exhausting. You’re doing great.”
They finally wrap up at four, an hour before Talulah finishes work, and she immediately goes up the stairs–one floor–and takes the already-rolled cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it before she takes a hefty drag, breathing in like her life is depending on it. She takes another drag of the cigarette before she remembers the forgotten lunch box on her desk, in her office– which is devastating, but she shrugs, smiling when she remembers sending a picture of said lunch box to Harry after he asked if she’s had her lunch yet. Her heart soars when she re-reads his last text, two sunflower emojis, a camera, and a yellow heart, and she wants to scream and cry, feeling both happy and confused at the same time.
Her thumb hovers over the screen, the keyboard popping up when she touches it accidentally, though she doesn’t even need to do anything when a grey bubble pops up on the screen, indicating that Harry’s typing a message. She laughs, then waits.
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She texts back an ‘okay’, and lots of kisses, and takes another drag of her cigarette, then puts it out on the ashtray nearby and makes her way towards the lifts, to take her to her floor. It’s beginning to get quieter in the office, most of her floor trying to get their last bits of work done so they don’t bring any work home so she tries to do the same, immediately getting her SD card out to get the photos into her laptop.
Despite Lila’s uncooperative nature at the beginning at least, she’s got a pretty face and some quirky features which can clearly be seen in her photos with only some of them coming out as futile with most of them as bright and lovely as ever. As she adjusts the colours in one of them, she thinks back to her attitude at the beginning of the shoot, her walls coming down towards the end when both Talulah and the crew showed some mercy on her and empathised with her– with her still being new to lights, cameras, and the spotlight in general.
She glances at her watch, remembering her previous conversation with Harry–and Ben–about the therapist and with some newfound bravery, she unlocks her phone and finds the contact name, immediately hitting the call button without giving herself any time to reconsider or back out. As it rings, she thinks back to Lila Moss’ bright, shining eyes when Talulah showed her some compassion and kindness.
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Vanilla candles are burning like there’s no tomorrow, their flames dancing as Cloud Control sings softly in the background, ‘I love you too, I'm not scared for you darling/ I'll make you mine all of my dirt/ All I could do is dream of you darling/ I'm in a dream cave/ I'm in a dream cave’. It’s peaceful, as she leaves her lunch box in the sink and puts the kettle on, a text already sent Harry’s way, and she takes a quick shower, wears her most comfortable joggers and a ratty Care Bear t-shirt, then makes her way back to the kitchen to rummage through her fridge.
He knows Harry isn’t fussy when it comes to food, but she still texts him a couple of choices, the both of them deciding on some pasta with lots of colourful veg as Harry promises to provide the alcohol, and she knows he’s going to bring a bottle of red because she’d come to learn that Harry secretly adored getting tipsy on red wine.
She chops the vegetables, leaving the pasta to last since she knows it doesn’t take long, and sits on the sofa with tea in hand as she scrolls through Instagram, liking a few photos and watching some stories. As she reads a vegan brownie recipe, the door goes off, and her heart does too, looking around to see if there’s anything weird laying around both in the kitchen and living room before she makes her way to the door.
Harry looks dashing, very beautiful and pretty– bright and lively. They smile at each other, as if to say, ‘you’re here,’ and Harry’s grin is an answer, ‘I’m here,’ the smile says, dimples deepening against all the grey behind him, ‘I’m here, and I found you’. He’s dressed in a cosy looking striped jumper, yellows, reds, creams, and his legs– oh his legs, he’s supporting a pair of black jeans, one that hugs his thighs perfectly, and when she invites him inside, she watches him take his pink Vans off with a tiny smile, the slow movement of his feet reminding him of the two of them, tearing each other’s walls down one by one, as tenderly and slowly as possible.
“Come here,” he says when he places his shoes beside hers, then the wine somewhere close, and grabs her ever-so-gently by the back of her neck, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. “Y’taste like bell peppers.”
“Mmh,” another kiss is pressed to his chin, the stubble tickling her lips. “Sorry,” she says, all bashful. “Was a bit hungry.”
“It’s okay. Am I late?”
“Nope. Come, I was just boiling the pasta.”
Harry sniffs the air, a content smile appearing on his face. “Love the smell of peppers.”
“And the taste, hopefully,” she puckers her lips, earning another smile from him as he leans forward unexpectedly and steals yet-another kiss.
“Cheeky. I’ll help in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you?”
“Sure, come on.”
As Harry washes his hands in the kitchen sink, the smell of green apples overpowering her senses, she watches with a smile, loving the way Harry seems to fit into her kitchen– her tiny, lively kitchen, the backbone of her home. He just fits, with his cosy jumper and socked-feet, he seems to be in his element, looking as carefree, comfortable and familiar as ever whilst chopping some more veg for their food. Their food.
They say the kitchen is one of the most intimate rooms of a home, or eating, sharing food with another person, and it seems both scary and exciting to Talulah. Having Harry in her space was scary at first, not knowing whether to let her walls down and accept the fact that yes, there’s something there; there’s something beautiful and big there, in Harry, something that Talulah seems to adore so much. It doesn’t come as scary anymore, she notices as he itches the side of his face with his arm, knife still in hand, and when he turns to her with a bright smile, Talulah knows. She knows there’s something there and she knows Harry knows too. It’s mutual, and it hurts but in the best possible way as her heart grows fuller and wider with each smile and kiss pressed to her face. She thinks it’s worth it.
He raises his eyebrows, though the smile stays there. “What,” he asks, the smile becoming a smirk. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“Hey– something happened at work today.”
“Oh? Something bad?”
He shakes his head, then turns the heat up for the vegetables, throwing in the mushrooms next. “No, nothing like that. We sell flower and veg seeds and someone told me it’d be nice to sell them…” he purses his lips, clearly trying to remember their exact words. “Like sow seeds and help the bees? Apparently she works in PR and Advertisement. Said she could help me.”
“That sounds clever, actually. You could do it when it begins to get warmer,” she comes closer to where he’s standing, and places her head on his shoulder, watching him wash the cutting board. “What else?”
“This is– well, I said something kinda embarrassing and, without asking you, as well. So, I hope you don’t get mad at me,” he looks down at her, smiling at the way she rubs her ear against his soft jumper.
She raises her eyebrows at that. “What? What did you say?”
“I may or may not have called you my– well, my girlfriend?”
Something gives in in the pit of her stomach, excitement and warmth reaching her ears and then her face, cheeks becoming as hot as the vegetables in the pan. She can only mutter out an ‘oh’, and Harry’s face falls.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t–”
“No! No, don’t apologise. I’m… that actually made me… happy?”
“You sure?”
“Are you serious? Touch my fucking face, I’m on fire!”
And so he does, places his damp hand on her cheek and rubs the soft skin there, smiling when he notices how hot she’d become. “So… you are?”
“I’m… what?” She smirks, then looks down at her feet. Suddenly, her mismatched socks seem way too interesting.
“You’re my girlfriend– wait, no,” he turns her in his arms so they’re face to face, her face heating up further. “Be my girlfriend. I mean, will you?”
“Oh God,” she lets out. “You’re adorable.”
“Talulah, I like you so much. I can’t stop thinking about you, your face, your hands… I go to sleep with you in my mind and open my eyes to the thought of you, wondering where you are, if you slept well or had breakfast… I want you so much and not just in that way. In every possible way– whichever way you’re willing to share with me. I want you– all of you. So… be my girlfriend.”
“God, you’re– okay, yes, of course. Yes.”
He brings her closer, hands on both cheeks. “How are you real… you’re so sweet– so sweet. I can’t get enough of you. I always want you. What are you doing to me, hm?” He presses his thumb against her bottom lip, her mouth opening just slightly before he suges forward, pressing his soft lips against hers.
It’s sweet, delirious, exciting.
And smells just like tobacco, vanilla and burnt pasta.
“I don’t think it’s al dente…” Harry mumbles when they pull apart, and checks the pasta.
“Who cares. Come back, kiss me more,” she whispers as Father John Misty sings softly:
‘Our hearts are free/ So tell me what’s wrong with the feeling/ I’m a flower, you’re my bee/ It’s much older than you and me/ I’m in love, I’m alive.’
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Their pasta is salvageable, and delicious despite the fact that it’s too soft for both their liking, though they eat all of it, with Harry feeding Talulah his last bits of veg as they both finish half of the red Harry has brought. It’s good– the wine; expensive, and a little sweet and perhaps a bit tangy on her tongue, so she devours it, both from the glass and Harry’s lips. As she spends time with Harry, she’s come to realise that she loved, and absolutely adored kissing him.
His lips, now plump and red from all the kissing, are usually soft, though Talulah thinks she would still devour them when chapped. His hands, sometimes calloused and scraped-up and fingertips stained with green from different kinds of flowers and plants he works with, felt incredible on her skin; hard, rough and bumpy, and exciting.
He brings his lips down, other hand following close behind as it finds its place on her left boob, feeling her bare boobs while he goes back up, mouthing at the other one over the thin material of her t-shirt. It’s fire on fire, his lips on her, despite the barrier, so she lets out a whine when his warm mouth finds her nipple and takes it between his teeth, rubbing the nub roughly before letting it go. She feels both nipples harden immediately so she shakes her head when he pulls apart, hand finding its place on the back of his neck as she presses him down between her decolte which Harry takes advantage of, and brings his mouth to the other nipple, repeating his previous actions.
“Can we take this off, baby?” He murmurs against her clothed chest, earning a nod from her as soon as the words leave his mouth, her mind only processing the words ‘take off’ and ‘baby’.
What she manages to catch is enough for her to comply, so she takes the t-shirt off quickly, letting it fall to the floor, making Harry’s eyes shine at her bare chest. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen already, however Talulah swears–despite the haziness of the moment–that there’s a flicker in his eyes as his gaze wanders across her chest, admiring her already-hard nipples.
She shifts under his gaze when it lands on the soft of her stomach.
Harry stands his ground.
“How are you so perfect,” he lets out, hand coming to rest on her neck, making her preen under the compliment.
The song changes to Cage The Elephant’s ‘Telescope’ as Harry strokes Talulah’s cheeks with both hands, then brings his hands to her neck. It’s a holy sight, him looking so hungry despite the food they shared just a moment ago, and knowing the fact that she’s the reason why he looks all ravenous, hasty and worked up makes her the happiest woman walking this earth.
She places her own hands on top of his that’s still around her neck. They rest there, and he doesn’t squeeze– not at all. “Harry,” she whispers, silent, secret pleas falling off her tongue.
Harry nods, like he wants to understand. And, he does– he so does, she knows it. He’s looking too hot, and not the adjective– but too hot, as inhuman as possible, making Icarus jealous. But at this moment, it’s Talulah who’s close to the sun– so close she feels the warmth deep in her bones, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
He nods, once again, watching her mouth– waiting for her to speak.
“What do you want, Talulah,” he says, thumbs stroking the side of her neck. “Tell me.”
She gulps, the lump getting smaller and smaller, and whispers: “I want you to fuck me. Hard,” she adds, heart feeling like a pomegranate; ripe, over-full.
With a ‘fuck’ falling off his tongue, he gets up, taking her hand in his, and guides her to her bedroom. It’s not as if he’s never been before. He has– once. But he acts like he’s been there a million times, knows the way like the back of his hand as they enter the warm, quiet bedroom. The lamp on her bedside table creates a soft, mellow light– shadows falling over the room like they’re in a Studio Ghibli film. She decides he looks perfect under this light.
She walks backwards towards where she knows her bed is, and falls on top of it arse down, watching as Harry starts unzipping his jeans. He slides them down with ease, underwear too, and he’s completely bare in front of her sans his jumper.
She bites her lip, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Jumper, too,” she says, watching as she herself takes off her joggers.
“Shit– yeah,” he says, awkwardly taking it off, too.
It’s like he can’t stay on his feet too long, so he bends over and takes his socks off, watching as she copies him and takes hers off.
His cock is hard, and already an angry shade of pink at the tip, so she reaches and grabs him by the wrist when he doesn’t make any move, and brings him close to her where she’s seated on the bed. His cock is on her eye level, and the smell of him is intoxicating– vanilla, something spicy, and cigarettes. She looks up, catching his gaze, and then licks her palm before placing it on his cock. He bites his lip, whining at the contact, but lets her do whatever she pleases.
Her hand slides up and down his cock, ever-so-gently, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes when he grabs her softly by her chin.
“Take it off,” he says, bending down to touch her clothed pussy. The hand on her cock falls when he rubs a finger across her pussy over her underwear, his fingers feeling all rushed and harsh on her.
And, she does.
He lets her stand up and slide her underwear off, the movement making him gulp in anticipation. She’s wet, she feels it, and he seems like he wants to find out for himself, so he places his hand on her chest with a crooked smile on his face, and helps her lie down on the bed. She goes easily, hair sprawled on the mattress, and he kneels, gets on his knees before her, and parts her legs.
“Can I?” He whispers, lips touching her knee as he presses kisses on her warm flesh.
“Yes– shit, of course.”
He looks up. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t get to it right away, though. Instead, he starts off by pressing kisses all over her legs, her knees, the inside of her thighs, and he breathes in the smell of her–oddly attractive–and when he reaches her bare pussy, he looks up– looks into her eyes. It’s a thousand times yes– yes, and yes, please. He kisses around it, then presses another open mouth kiss on her centre, and without breaking eye contact, he places his hand on there, and parts her folds– her wet folds just so he can press another wet kiss on her clit. It burns, but in the most beautiful way. Having his mouth on her makes her feel like she’s high– so fucking high she can’t even see anything but clouds below her. Having him here, on his knees, casually wanting to give all he has to pleasure her makes her heart soar with happiness.
“God,” she manages to choke out, hand flying to his hair, and she pulls gently, earning a groan. “Yes.”
“Yeah?” It’s muffled, but she makes it out.
She nods.
He keeps going.
He licks and licks, his tongue flat on her cunt, and when he finds her clit, he softly grazes the soft nub with his teeth, earning more pulls and a whine out of her. He alternates between licking and sucking, the room now filled with both their moans and wet, filthy sounds, and she loves it– she loves to hear him moan into her cunt because he’s enjoying pleasuring her as much as she is enjoying the act.
“Please,” she says– begs. “Please don’t make me come just yet– not yet. I–”
“–What, baby?” Harry looks up, thumb rubbing lazy circles on her wetness. “What?”
“Harry,” she shakes her head, eyes closing shut. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, please.”
He chuckles, pinching her cunt between his fingers as she whines and moans. “So lovely,” he murmurs, kissing her wetness. “Aren’t you?”
“Please– fuck– come up here,” she fists his hair in her hand, and tries to pull him up.
He goes willingly.
He places one knee on the bed, and watches her shift and lay properly on the bed, a shy smile appearing on her face when he smiles down at her, bottom lip between his teeth.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, grabbing her hand. He brings it up to his lips, and presses a kiss on top of her hand. “So, so pretty.”
She laughs, and watches him stroke his already-hard cock with lust clear in her eyes. “You’re–” she says, feeling too hot all of a sudden. “–You’re one to talk.”
Harry smiles, hand still on his cock as he strokes, and squeezes the tip, her eyes still focused on the tiny drop of precum falling between her parted legs.
“You think I’m pretty?” Harry asks, mischief clear in his tone.
“Fuck me already.”
“Mhm.”
He strokes the side of her face first, then her leg before he situates himself between her legs, and gives himself another stroke before rubbing his leaking tip between her warm, wet folds. They both hiss at the contact, feeling too hot all of a sudden, and she looks up at him, watching him as he pushes inside, eyes never leaving hers as he does so. Harry gives her the biggest smile there is, and his face looks like home– mixed in with something she hasn’t felt before. She lets herself feel it all, doesn’t question why or how, and when he pauses for a moment, his hands on the mattress and hers holding onto his forearms, she finds his eyes, and copies his smile.
“Move,” she says, voice hoarse, like she hasn’t used it in a while. It’s hesitant, the tone, but at the same time, she’s sure of herself.
She wants him to move– she wants them to move.
And, he does.
He starts moving, slowly at first, her walls feeling paper thin around his thick, hard cock, and she already feels the burning sensation crawling all over her body, creeping in and owning her, like Harry is above her. His hair is all over his eyes, locks of curls falling effortlessly, his silver chain holding his cross swaying back and forth, very gently, as he keeps moving in and out of her. His arms must get tired after a few minutes, so without pulling out, he sits on his heels, and places his palms on either side of her bum, moving her body close to his on the bed. They both let out whines, moans, and Harry hisses one too many times when she squeezes around him, and then he places his hand on her boob, fondling it before his thumb and index trap her hard nipple between them, twisting before his hand travels to her belly. He rubs there, gently and all loving, then he brings it to her pussy, circling her clit in a gentle but skilled manner.
His hips begin to gain confidence after a while of slow fucking, beginning to fuck her deeper and harder as she lets out moans, and he brings his forehead close to hers, pressing against it before his mouth finds her cheekbone, then her nose, an open-mouth kiss pressing there before he speaks.
“How are you real,” he murmurs into her warm, sweaty flesh. “How are you so perfect, hm?”
She lets out a pained chuckle, hand going up to his nipple as she twists the hard nub. He moans.
“Stop,” she turns her head to the side, a lazy, shy smile on her face. “Stop.”
“Never.”
“Keep– God, keep going, I’m gonna come,” she whispers, hand going up to her mouth.
“Yeah?” He places his hand on hers, and grabs it, placing it back on his body as he watches with gleaming eyes while she rubs his chest. “You’re gonna come on my cock?”
“I– fuuuck. So– so good– you’re fucking me so good, Harry.”
“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”
“Fuck me harder.”
His hips picks up a pace, fucking into her in swift motions, skin slapping skin as moans fill the room.
And when she comes, squeezing around him, foreheads touching each other as he whispers sweet nothings in her ear, Harry interlocks their fingers, and she feels complete. As odd as it is, she can still hear the distinct sound of the music coming from the living room: ‘It may be just us who feel this way/ But don't ever doubt this, my steadfast conviction/ My love, you're the one I wanna watch the ship go down with’.
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On the twentieth day of March, Talulah decides to pick up the phone.
It’s still windy outside, the trees dancing left and right as the breeze outside shakes their branches almost like a tambourine, and the sun keeps teasing the pedestrians as it comes and goes, hiding behind big, puffy clouds. Talulah stops counting the amount of time the sun peeks out between the clouds.
The person’s breath hitches as soon as she answers.
“Honey,” Jeanette cries into the line, though it falls short when Talulah utters out a ‘no’.
“I answered to tell you to stop ringing me,” she says, feeling her chin tighten in anger.
“I want you to give me a chance. To apologise.”
“What is there to apologise for?”
“I do not understand this– this anger, this wrath! This is not you, Lulah. Give me a chance to make it right,” Jeanette argues.
Talulah sees red, even more at the nickname. “I don’t care,” she almost cries, though recovers quickly when a helicopter outside distracts her. “It doesn’t matter at this point. I don’t want to talk to you– or see you for that matter. I’m done.”
“No. You can’t do that, I’m your mother.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens, Jeanette. Deal with it,” she laughs bitterly. “I’m gonna hang up now. Goodbye.”
“Talulah–”
“–Bye.”
With her thumb on the red button, the line goes dead.
She wouldn’t let it get to her. She just wouldn’t. She would just enjoy the last day of her weekend and go into work all positive and somewhat-happy.
She hears the rain falling outside, each drop hitting the window one by one, tap… tap… tap…, and the peacefulness of it all reminds her of Harry and their–his–plans for today. Each drop hits the window with bravery, leaving behind a wet trail as they travel down the glass. She smiles, only for a minute though, because Harry’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, talking about a Sunday outing to Brick Lane vintage market with Bo as the special guest. It was her idea, and as much as Harry seemed hesitant at first, with Brick Lane being packed during the market hours, he later agreed to bring the yellow Lab alongside, to join yet-another-date.
When Talulah emerges from the bathroom, the steam getting lost as she gets further and further away from it, the rain has already stopped, leaving behind a somehow-blue sky with tiny clouds scattered all around, and a big, bright rainbow that can be seen very clearly from both windows in the living room, with one end starting from one window as it spreads until the other. It makes her smile.
Tightening the robe’s belt one more time, she enters her bedroom, walking to her wardrobe as she tries to visualise every single outfit choice in her head, trying to pick something appropriate to both the weather, and the location. She touches every clothing item in her wardrobe, some of them making her palm itch as her soft jumpers put a brief smile on her face, and she finally decides on a brown, high waisted trousers thinking the wide legs will give her enough room seeing they would walk a lot today, and she tries on a couple of t-shirts, later deciding on a vintage Vetements t-shirt that quite possibly belongs to Dan, though she wouldn’t let it bother her today. Feeling comfortable in her clothes at last, she walks away from her wardrobe and to her dresser.
She’s a hundred percent ready when Harry’s text pings for the second time on her phone, showing the two-minute mark on the screen as she laces up her Converses, then her hand goes up to the handle and opens it, a grin following as she notices Harry’s car parked on the other side of the street. She adjusts the brown jacket as she checks she’s got everything on her bag, then she’s out the door.
“Why is it still freezing,” is the first thing she says when she opens the door to the passenger street, finding Harry already leaning forward, watching her with a smile as she gets in.
As they smile at each other, her gaze falls to his outfit, smiling even wider when she notices his Britney Spears t-shirt underneath his fluffy, striped cardigan and his ripped jeans.
“Oh my God,” she lets out, noticing Bo in the backseat. “Bo! I forgot– I’m so sorry,” she says, more to the dog than Harry. “Hi, darling, hi… ah, you’re so sweet.”
As she keeps petting the yellow lab, back almost bent to the side from her position, a cough which sounds forced leaves Harry’s mouth, making her look up.
“Hello to you, too,” he smiles, dimples widening.
“Hello, handsome–” she smiles, “Come here,” a kiss is pressed first to his chin, then his lips.
She smiles into the kiss when he sighs, and he breaks the kiss, earning a groan from her.
“Why.”
He reaches the backseat, and grabs a brown box. It’s the size of an A4 paper. “I keep forgetting this,” Harry mutters, then looks up at her. “It’s for you. Hope you like it.”
She raises an eyebrow, eyes darting between the box and him. “Is this because of your birthday present? You didn’t have to–”
“–No, this was way before my birthday. I had it with me for a while… I think we’re–” he hesitates for a moment, though his eyes never leave hers. He cracks a tiny smile. “–We’re right. Us. Now. So, I think it’s right for you to have it now.”
“Getting all cryptic on me… weirdo,” she laughs, fingers working the box so she can finally reveal what’s in it.
It’s a frame.
A glass frame, and there’s something in it– right in the middle as if someone’s stuck it there with super glue. With heart thumping in her chest, she looks more carefully, eyes detecting a small rose pinned something invisible right in the middle. It’s breathtaking– the way this rose is sitting proudly there with almost nothing that holds it, and its petals look almost fresh, like someone’s only just picked it– but picked it good, because apparently this was the right one– the best one. When she looks even more carefully, it’s apparent that the rose is all dried up, though it rests beautifully inside the glass frame, looking fresh and vibrant despite its dry petals. What’s more perfect, exciting is the colour of said rose. It’s not red, no, and it’s not white. Or pink, for that matter.
It’s black.
“It’s a Halfeti rose,” Harry says, and she looks up from the rose, eyes finding his gaze.
“It’s– beautiful, Harry. I… this is so beautiful.”
She doesn’t know what else to say, which adjective to use to make him believe her. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the repeated words as he watches her with a curious gaze, lips turned upwards in a tiny smile. He clears his throat once, then reaches with his hand to touch her cheek, then sends back the few runaway hair strands behind her ear.  
“Halfeti roses are pretty rare. They grow in Şanlıurfa, a village in Turkey. When the roses reach full bloom, a richer, wine-colored red starts to show through in the rose's petals, but as buds, they are as black as the ace of spades. What gives these roses their unique colour and distinct smell is the soil itself.”
“Oh, wow– where’d you find this?” She looks up. “I mean– you’re a florist. It’s silly, the question… right?”
Harry smiles, dimples deepening as he does so, and he shakes his head. “I don’t actually sell them so I asked a friend to bring me one. His dad– he owns some. He’s from Turkey. And Finn– he actually works at the shop,” he rubs the small of her back, not wanting to take his hand off of her just yet.
She nods with parted mouth, eyes still admiring the rose. “Thank you,” she mumbles, cheeks feeling all warm. “This is one of the best presents I’ve ever received. So thoughtful and… and unique,” one hand holding the frame, she reaches to thumb at his chin, rubbing the stubble softly as he leans into the touch.
“You’re welcome.”
He leans forward, chasing her lips for a kiss, though a bark makes both of them jump. Bo, still sitting proudly in the backseat, looks at them, almost in disbelief that they’re still there, unmoving, and the fact that he’s still in the backseat– trapped, makes him let out the tiniest whines.
“Bloody hell,” Harry shakes his head, reaching back to rub between Bo’s ears. “Forgot about you for a moment.”
“Rude. Let’s just go before he hates me more. I have to leave a good impression.”
“How could anyone hate you,” Harry says in disbelief, hand working the key.
Harry’s Mini roars and comes alive as soon as the key is turned, and her hand immediately finds the button on the radio to turn it on. It’s already connected to Harry’s phone, the radio says that much, and the screen on there shows the song as it starts humming in the background, ever so softly.
‘It's your eyes and your ears and your mouth and your nose/ Head and your shoulders, your knees and your toes’.
Mac Miller sings in the background as they pass the crowded streets of East End, and when Harry turns right into Brick Lane, the crowd only intensifies as people walk the streets with most of them with reusable shopping bags, clearly trying to reach the market as soon as possible.
They decide to leave his car at a car park and walk, thinking that would save them both time and patience considering the traffic, and they both agree that Brick Lane has such scenery that should be seen and digested on foot. She watches as Harry helps Bo get out of the car, then places his yellow vest on and clips the leash on. Harry’s pink Kanken bag looks extra full, the bag probably holding a lot of things as well as Bo’s water bowl, and the thought makes her smile as she watches him stroke and pat the Labrador’s head and finally lock the car.
They walk over to where she’s standing and waiting with her own Kanken–totally coincidental–on her back, and Harry gives her a smile, coming even closer as their toes touch, then he just swoops in and presses a kiss to her lips, as unexpected as it sounds, and finds her cold hand, intertwining their fingers before they leave the car park with Bo on his left and Talulah on his right, hand in hand, and both with smiles that could light up the already-light-enough East London streets.
It takes them about seven minutes to reach the busiest street of Brick Lane, the stands already full of people crowding each and every single stand, and one in particular catches her eye, so she turns to Harry with a beaming smile, feet already carrying them to the orange stand. He returns it, the smile, and it’s almost as if the people around them respond with their own version of a smile, though Talulah thinks the kind, welcoming eyes are only directed at the huge ball of sunshine that is Bo, who keeps following them, trying not to get lost amongst the crowd despite his leash.
“Oranges?” Harry laughs harder at her widening smile. She nods. He does too. “Great. I love oranges.”
“I love oranges, too. Oranges are awesome,” she picks one up and smells it, though it doesn’t smell much– only a little hint of citrus.
As Harry watches with Bo sitting at his feet, she turns the backpack to her front and grabs the folded reusable bag from inside, and begins filling the bag whilst talking to the mad behind the stand. She talks about a poem about oranges, and how she’d just discovered it right before she left the house, and talks enthusiastically about an orange tree her grandmother had at her old house in Suffolk. The man listens with a smile on his face, clearly amused by her enthusiasm about something as simple and ordinary as an orange, though Harry knows every ordinary thing holds a great significance for someone like Talulah– someone who loves and cherishes, romanticises something as simple as a fruit. He listens to the man talk about his fruit–not only oranges but lemons too–with a heavy accent, and it makes him smile, oranges and lemons bringing two people together in such a way.
Later when they carry on walking, six oranges safely stored in Talulah’s bag, ‘three for you, three for me, H’, Harry asks about the poem. She laughs, sending her head back in such a beautiful manner, and he watches her push her hair back with ring-clad fingers, placing them ever-so-gently behind her ear. She recites the poem slowly– as she tries to remember each line, and it’s so warm and happy that it hurts his insides in such a beautiful way he thinks he’s ready to feel this way for such a long, long time.  
They find another stand, and Harry buys them cheesy chips and Talulah gives Bo one chip, watching with a grin as he chews while Harry tries to find them a place to sit and eat before they go on a vintage t-shirt hunt. They sit on a bench and Harry gets Bo’s leash around the leg so they can sit more comfortably without having to worry about him even though they both knew he wouldn’t run away. They sit in silence, hands greasy and hearts happy as they eat their chips, and Talulah lets out a happy sigh as the wind blows just right– cold, but right, and her heart soars with happiness and then some.
Harry clears his throat, bringing her back to reality as she tries to shake the thoughts away.
She looks at him. He looks at her.
“Would you… want to,” he licks his lips, her eyes briefly following the action. “Meet my sister sometime?”
When he mentions his sister, she remembers what Harry has said about his family– his dad. How after their mother’s death his sister got out of that toxic household, and in a way, left Harry behind, stuck with the dad. It’s her nature, holding a little bit of grudge against someone she’s never met. She knows it’s silly, seeing how Harry must’ve kept in touch with his sister all this time. And clearly, she’s important– an important part of Harry’s life so that he wants her to meet his sister.
So she nods, then swallows the lump in her throat.
“Of course. When?”
“Oh,” Harry says, like he’s relieved. Like he wasn’t expecting her to agree to it.
Something as tiny as a sound leaves a pang at her chest.
He continues, “Next week, maybe? If you’re up for it, of course.”
“I am. I mean– up for it. And yeah, H, next week works.”
He nods, though seems unsure still. “Are you sure?”
“Harry,” she chuckles at his hesitant features. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet her? She’s clearly important to you– I’d be happy to meet your sister. I’m… happy you asked me, actually. Very happy,” she nods, one hand on the container that holds her food as the other keeps stroking Bo’s fur.
Harry’s eyes follow her hand on Bo’s head, very briefly before he looks up again. “Okay– yeah, okay. She is. I mean,” he swallows, fingers tapping on his knee. “She’s important. We’re trying to work on our relationship. After– you know,” he says, eyes screaming something so sacred, like he just wants her to understand what he’s trying to say.
And she does.
So, she nods. “I know. And I’m happy to hear that, babe.”
“Good,” he smiles at the pet-name. “She’s a bit insane, though, just saying,” he says, making a laugh escape her mouth.
“Why’d you say that?!”
“She asked me to buy the house. Our house. The one I grew up in.”
“Wait, you were renting?”
“No. Buy it from– from him.”
He doesn’t need to say the name. Talulah gets him.
“Oh. Why?”
“He’s trying to sell it so she wants us to buy it from him.”
She places the container between them, no longer having an appetite for the chips. “Do you want to?”
“Honestly?” He laughs. “No.”
“Then don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah. I told you, she’s weird and… anyway. I don’t want anything to do with that man. I’m not buying the bloody house.”
“I support that. You’ve to do what’s best for you, Harry. Even though she’s your sister, you need to put yourself and your feelings first.”
He looks at her like she’s just reached and stole the shiniest star in the sky. She looks at him the same. They just take a moment, together, and look at each other, just watch each other exist in that moment until Harry cracks, and smiles. He smiles so big that Talulah can actually feel her heart get bigger as if it wasn’t already, and feel her chest tighten at the feeling. It’s a good feeling. So good.
He licks his bottom lip once again. “You’re the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”
“Only to you. Ask Zayn, he thinks otherwise.”
They spend another ten minutes on that bench, both lighting their pre-rolled cigarettes and enjoying the toxicity burn their insides as they watch other people go about their days with Bo joining in on their conversation from time to time either with a whine or a bark which Harry translates as a message for them to start walking again.
So they do.
Talulah watches with a grin as Harry buys rings from a vintage jewellery stand, trying them on one by one while she holds his own rings in her palm, feeling the cold steel against her warm skin, and he decides on a gold signet with a palm facing up, and another one– this one silver, with a carved skull. As they get ready to leave and look at the other sellers’ stands, Harry motions at yet-another ring and asks her to try it on. There’s a sunflower carved in the middle of the gold signet, and Harry watches with a smile as she tries it on her pinky– the only finger that would fit in, so she thinks she must have it.
She spends forty-five quid on it.
They spend another forty minutes on the vintage t-shirt stand, nearly getting told off by the stand owner because they kept throwing t-shirts they would like to see each other in at each other while Bo, like the good boy he is, waited patiently at their feet. Harry buys five, Talulah buys eight.
They leave the market with not only their bags and stomachs filled, but also their hearts.
It has been a productive Sunday.
to be continued...
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sunfl0wer71 · 2 years
Text
chapter eight
pairings: eros x ofc (matilda stark)
wordcount: 6.2k
warnings: hiya lovies! so, i know i've been taking quite a while to post each chapter, but as I mentioned in the beginning, I'm posting as I write, which means that as soon as I am done and have somewhat proofread, I post them for you to read. I don't think this chapter has any triggers, but if you do, please let me know! again, feedback and likes make me extremely happy so please drop me a comment!
i’d like to add that if you are in ukraine, then I hope you stay safe. i love you.
STORY MASTERLIST
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Once upon a time, Matilda wanted to be a lawyer. Then, she wanted to be a florist. Most days she still wants to be a florist, truth be told. For a while, she truly believed she could follow those dreams. But that was until she nearly lost her father three times in a row - from kidnappings to poisonings to aliens invading Earth, reality hit her hard to show her that maturing fast was a need.
At the ripe age of 13, the ownership of a whole empire was already in the process of being transferred to her, as the whole world watched as a grieving teen wept over her supposedly dead father. The media circus surrounding her was overwhelming, but it also served as a much-needed introduction to what the real world would look like. By the time Thanos arrived, she had no idea who she was: in the end, she was either the businesswoman her father envisioned or the trust fund baby Emmett desired – somewhere in the middle, she saw a socialite.
But as the world fell apart, so did she. The Maria Stark Foundation was her lifeline. Thrust into the anarchy that Thanos left behind, people desperately needed help that not even the wealthiest countries could provide. That was when they came in – the guilt was too heavy on their minds, especially when at every turn there were people mourning loved ones, turned into dust or empty houses where entire families were dusted. Orphans, widows, and parents who would outlive their children. While they couldn't bring them back, they could offer aid, housing, schooling, and security. And so, for the past six years, the Maria Stark Foundation was everywhere. Building schools, offering green energy to less developed countries, and since the reversal, helping with the reinstatement of those who for half a decade were believed to be dead. Not easy tasks, but in her grief, this was all she had.
Still, the world never stopped seeing her as nothing more than a socialite, only now a more philanthropic one. Which was why she was not surprised by the notifications and text messages she woke up.
"Let me guess, we're the cover of a couple of magazines?" There's an undeniable shift in the dynamics at the Compound. For one, they all seem to have set personal grudges aside, because she hasn't witnessed a proper fight in about a month and two, more than two-thirds of the residents and guests are at the communal kitchen when she wouldn't usually find more than a couple there at the same time.
She receives a couple of chuckles, a scoff or two, plus some questioning glances. By now she knew better than to bet on her anonymity. With a playful smirk and a breathy chuckle, Steve grabs the remote and changes the channel, dismissing some of the more displeased groans and protests it warrants. They cut in right in the middle of the commercials, as usually was her luck. No whimsical happenstance made sure that everything fell into place and in the order that she wanted it to.
It doesn't take long, though.
Just as she expected, she was right. Sure, the photos weren't the best quality, most likely amateur shots, but they were clear enough. It was rather funny how they had chosen to only capture some of the members of the group. Despite there being five of them, most of the shots were clearly focused on her and Eros. Key in point, the photo the two commentators were focusing on, was a 'lovely' close up shot where the redhead held her coat by the lapels, waiting for her to put it on, with the most endearing look on his face.
Somehow, she had missed it. Hadn't even noticed him looking at her, too busy keeping her head low and trying to leave without being accosted. But it was loving enough to send the gossip rags into a tizzy.
MATILDA STARK ENJOYS A NIGHT OUT AT THE OPERA WITH MYSTERY REDHEAD – WHO IS HER NEW BEAU?
She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, because they keep changing photos and good lord, when did they even manage to take so many shots? A nightmare. Someone had obviously been following them on their way back to the Tower because they even have shots of them distractedly strolling through Times Square, her hand softly tucked in the inner part of his elbow, the other hand pointed at the billboards as Eros looks gleefully at them. It was also worth mentioning that he looked amazing under the lights, dimples so pronounced and with a smile so blinding. Even in the photos where he's holding her purse and grabbing her arm as she bends to pull at the ankle strap of her shoes, there's a loving glint in his eyes. It terrifies her.
Even in the only photo they show of the whole group, they still manage to find one where his arm is firm around her waist, obviously choosing to focus on that, even if Matilda's own attention, at the time, had been on her phone, as she texted her father. Their agenda was clear.
But they were also in hysterics, obviously surprised that they had yet to manage to identify him, thirteen hours passed. That was the silver lining: unless they had a spy or a seriously good hacker, they would find it impossible to figure out who he was. Hopefully. She can't begin to imagine the meltdown and revolt people would have if they were to find out Thanos' little brother was on Earth, giggling happily at the bright billboards or sitting at the Opera. She predicted a mess.
"Well, at least that explains the texts."
"Who texted you?" She turns so fast it gives her whiplash.
She'd been so focused on the photos and commentary on the screen, that she never noticed her mother's presence on one of the furthest sofas. The brunette stutters over her words for a moment, before plopping on the nearest couch, fumbling with her phone and wondering whether to disclose it. She also knows that if she doesn't, her mother will help herself to her brain and memories and tell her father, who, she noticed now, sat at the breakfast bar not far away, a tablet in his hands, discarded, as he chose to focus on the gossip.
So, with a defeated sigh, she unlocks it and gets to it.
"Emmett did." Silence proceeds her. Sometimes she forgets that secrets and privacy were not a real thing at the Compound; everyone knew everything. Her parents, specifically, look dismayed. After reversing the snap and losing the one sliver of hope she'd held onto for months, the tears that she had expected to have run out of, were more than many. So, for about two months, she took turns between homes, crying in her childhood bedrooms, hoping no one would hear. She knows that hearing her ex-fiancés' name didn't bring happy memories to them.
She reads the message drily.
"Matilda, I hope this won't catch you during a bad moment. As you know, I'm going to be a dad. That's all I ever wanted, as you must remember. I need your assurance that everyone will be safe. The entire world depends on you." Matilda sighs, so demotivated that even her shoulders slump.
Like Pavlov's experiments, the smell of tea perks her up right away, as the filters in from behind her. The armrest next to her collapses under the bodyweight of the man, and she reaches blindly for the mug, sipping it.
"I don't know what's worse, frankly." She starts. "That he tried to guilt-trip me with our shared past and my inability to give him a family or with the expectation of the whole world." The brunette scoffs.
She stares at the screens. The two women were still rambling about her and Eros, micro analysing the photos of the two of them. She blinks, surprised when a clip starts playing. She must have been either too tired or too focused on whatever they were discussing at the time not to notice such blatant recording.
Matilda scoffs. What a waste of emission time. Busy getting lost in her thoughts, she is startled by her father's sudden bark of a laugh.
"Oh yes. You missed the beginnings of our daughter's strangely domestic mating ritual with an alien."
Her mouth hangs open. Her father looks far too proud of his remark. He and everyone else in the room, snickering under their breaths. Dismayed, she swivels her body, chancing a look at Eros. The alien looks distant, too busy staring at the television screen as he sips his own tea, one leg dangling from the armrest as the other was flexed, his foot close to her back. She is hurled back to the first time she truly paid attention to him, as his face was bathed in the sunset, glowing warmly, his lips bitten plump shaped into a cocky smile.
Somehow able to feel her gaze, he turns to her, meeting her eyes. Time doesn't stop, the world carries on turning, and the noise is still all around her. There are no butterflies in her stomach or sudden heart palpitations. But she does get a sense of relief and security she isn't sure where from. It might have to do with the way his eyes soften in adoration when they focus on her or the way his nose scrunches when she rambles. Or even the way he pets her hair as he watches her work. Maybe it might even be because he's perfected her tea. Too many factors for her to consider. Her more rational side works to come up with an alternative for what her more emotional reasoning is trying to explain.
He smiles and she looks away, embarrassed, only to get caught under her mother's knowing gaze. Knowing, because she is certain that her mother had been peeking into her brain. Matilda groans, wondering when it could be considered reasonable for someone to start digging their own grave because she was certainly deep below ground metaphorically. Emma is obviously trying to comprehend the situation playing in front of her, pouting when her daughter blocks her skilful attempts at getting the information from her.
Even if her mother had the best intentions at heart, she still deserved and needed some privacy. Less kindly assured, if need be.
She takes her chances and looks at the screen again. The two women were still going at it, gushing at the photos and pointing out random small touches that the photos made seem much more meaningful than they were. It feels foreign even if it actually isn't. In truth, she had been the object of these types of microanalyses for decades, but since her slight disappearance after the Snap, they had become significantly lesser. And even if they did talk about her, she usually paid no attention.
"Damn, they really act as if weren't there..." Sam shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest.
"Don't feel too bad, we're just better looking, clearly."
Eros says it so nonchalantly that it's almost as if he's letting them know that the water is wet. It's followed by silence, before the other man belatedly reacts, befuddled, spluttering random interjections to the fact.
Matilda herself can't help but laugh, at first measuredly, under her breath and mostly huffing small puffs of breath from her nose, but then brightly with her whole body into it. It was such a ridiculous thing to laugh at, but the severity of the moment they lived and the state her mind had been in, made it sound much funnier than it probably was to the others.
Still, she manages to reign herself in, to steady her breath and her voice.
"Couples sell more." Realising her grave mistake, she rushes to add – "As do rumours."
"And we're better looking." The redhead nudges her with his foot, winking at her when she turns. He looks awfully cosy and warm and, secretly, she wants to snuggle up to him. And even if she knows that, in theory, she could, she chooses not to. It was intriguing enough that she'd allowed him such proximity in such little time and with so little care. She didn't want to feed into the wild theories she had heard around the Compound the past weeks. No matter how much she craves it, she stays put.
"Why would he text you that, anyway?" It was funny, how genuinely appalled Steve was to know her ex had gotten in contact with her. Once upon a time, the two of them had been close – while Steve found it hard to connect with her father, he hadn't found the same difficulty with her, gracefully accepting her help in adapting to the modern world. It was safe to assume that the betrayal she had felt when his lies and omissions came to light had been more than overwhelming. Now, she didn't know how to start a conversation with him. Isn't even sure of what they'd talk about.
"To remind me there's more at stake. That there are expectations and hopes." She stops, chuckling. "And I guess to assure himself and his ego that he can still strike me, even from afar."
Their pity is so tangible she can feel it enveloping her from all sides. A bit like smoke sticking to her clothes and hair. The brunette chooses not to look up and face them – it's one thing to know they are looking at her with pity, another to acknowledge it.
A finger pulls at her hair softly, where it seems to be tangled, startling her. Especially so seeing as when she turns over her shoulder, there is nothing there. No hands, no fingers, no nothing. Just air and emptiness. She turns back around, but then something caresses the back of her neck. Matilda stays still, body taut and ultracareful, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Relax, please. It's just me.
She tries not to let her eyes show how shocked she is. Eros is relatively distant, and his arms are limp on his lap, it makes no sense to her that he'd be able to touch her when he is still. It confuses her even further when there's another phantom touch, just below her ear, right where it meets her neck, and she can clearly tell that he hasn't moved.
How are you doing this?
Even her thoughts sound flabbergasted.
I did tell you there was more that I could do.
He shrugs his shoulders, amused. Raising an eyebrow, she stares him down.
Yes, but particle manipulation is not the same as controlling hormones or reading peoples' feelings. We're talking about controlling atoms, Eros.
The redhead nods, silent, nose scrunching and jaw tense. It takes everything in her not to pursue his thoughts.
I'll tell you more when we're alone. I promise.
Matilda can't help but pout and bat her eyelashes at him, trying to persuade him to give in and reveal to her whatever he was hiding. Instead, he smiles wide, bunny teeth peeking through his full lips and shakes his head, amused at her antics.
No. But in the meantime, do I have your consent?
Oh, how her mind runs with it. The images it provides are sacrilegious and she knows they won't leave her anytime soon. She swallows through the static lump in her throat, nodding. The sly smirk she receives doesn't help whatsoever, but she can't help but chuckle, amused.
Does this mean you understand the concept of consent better now?
Behind her, Eros' body shakes with silent and subdued laughter that he hides behind his mug.
I would say so, yes. FRIDAY has been most helpful in my learning endeavours.
Matilda couldn't say she was surprised – FRIDAY enjoyed learning about as much as she enjoyed participating and helping with others' learning processes. While JARVIS was helpful and ready to aid with whatever questions one posed, he would often not go out of his way to help everyone (his circles of loyalties were certainly smaller and far more reserved), especially not with FRIDAY's child-like glee. It made sense, she was one of her father's youngest creations, programmed with a learning curve projected to be much steeper than JARVIS'. Matilda often felt that the AI would never leave the "Why" phase, so characteristic of toddlers.
Soon enough, she feels the air around her head change, become denser and harder to move against, before it finally makes contact with her, pressuring, once again, the spots right below where the ears meet the neck, raising her skin all over her body. Her eyes instinctively want to roll back and her back wants to curve, right before she melts into her puddle. But because she can't raise that much suspicion, and because she doesn't want everyone's eyes on her, she instead allows a small breath to fall past her barely open lips, feeling her face grow red.
God, how touch starved could she be to be so overwhelmed over someone using atom and particle manipulation to touch her?
For a second there she wants to throw her carefully constructed tentativeness to the wind and let him follow with his plans. She wonders what it'd be like if she played into his innuendos or basked under the warm feeling of his compliments. What it'd be like if she didn't pull away when he glued his body to hers for no apparent reason, head tucked into her neck, or when his eyes strayed to her lips for a moment too long. She will continue to wonder because, in truth, those were actions she couldn't and most likely wouldn't take no matter how inviting the two emeralds often gazing upon her seemed to be.
Across the room, James burns them with his eyes. They hadn't been speaking properly since his lash out over her apparently suspicious approximation to the Eternals (or, specifically, Makkari and Eros) a couple of weeks earlier and she is certain the only reason he joined their party at the opera the previous night had been to keep an eye on them, for both security and lack of trust in their guests.
Anyhow, Matilda didn't feel it was fair or even justified for him to control who she befriended. While they were close (even in the biblical way), she was her own person and most certainly did not depend on him to vet any potential friendships. For him to even assume he could do as such was preposterous. Or at least it felt that way to her.
That's probably why she pretends not to notice his narrowed and suspicious eyes, choosing instead to focus on the phantom hand and on keeping her composure (which was, safe to say, not easy). Whistling under her breath - she certainly thought that such an attitude would make her seem calmer and more collected, but if the way Eros adds more pressure (and nearly obliterates her mind and nervous system) is anything to go by, it doesn't work nearly as well as she'd like -, she grabs one of the books she'd left lying around the common room.
It was a small one, focused on cultural aspects of Ancient Greece, and therefore a mix of English and Ancient Greece. She'd mastered Greek at thirteen, after buying her first mythology book at eleven and, being so fascinated with it, she was unable to control her constant craving for more information, something she could often only find in its original language. It was something that never left her.
At the beginning there was only Chaos, Night, dark Erebus, and deep Tartarus. Earth, the air and heaven had no existence. Firstly, blackwinged Night laid a germless egg in the bosom of the infinite deeps of Erebus, and from this, after the revolution of long ages, sprang the graceful Eros with his glittering golden wings, swift as the whirlwinds of the tempest. He mated in deep Tartarus with dark Chaos, winged like himself, and thus hatched forth our race, which was the first to see the light.
She can't help but laugh. It had completely skipped her mind that Eros' name was not that common. It was a god's name. Here it was, in a passage from Aristophanes, in a play first performed in 400 something BC.
"Hey, was Eros, the Greek God, named after you or was it the other way around?" Matilda jesters but deep down it's a genuine question. The Eros must be about as old as the first recorded mention or portrayal of Eros, the God, so if they were both true, they would be around the same age, she wagers.
"I'm actually named after the God." And her brain couldn't make sense of that. Did that mean there were actual Gods out there? So many weird things had happened through the years, from aliens to Asgardians, this shouldn't surprise her. He is certainly amused by her wide excited eyes and nervous lip trapped by her lower teeth.
"How come?" She turns, swivelling on her seat, tucking her right ankle below her left leg, which dangles from the couch and choosing to focus on the man. She shakes her head in confusion, eyes begging him to tell her. She's fully prepared to pout, believe it or not – even bat her eyelashes if need be. Instead, Eros smiles mirroring her body and facing her fully.
"Well, my birth name was Eron, just a regular Titanian name. But when I was about five, my abilities started to manifest, and my parents renamed me. I became Eros since that day." Suddenly, he leans into her. Her breath catches at the proximity and at his bitten lip, so close to her. – "My father used to say it was because of my interest in the opposite sex."
Her heart seems to skip a couple of palpitations. If she were a cartoon, she's certain she'd be audibly swooning, with pink beating hearts for eyes. Palm under her chin and everything. Frankly, she's not sure that's not happening then and there, but if it is she'd rather not acknowledge it.
Anyhow, Eros seems to notice it as the atoms manipulated by the man seem to tangle in the tresses of her hair, pulling so lightly it's barely noticeable – to the people surrounding them, that is, because her nerves send tingles down her spine.
"Should I call you Eros or Eron?" – she whispers. – "Or perhaps Your Royal Highness."
Matilda leans on the nearest couch cushion with her shoulder, resting her tilted head on it, mirroring him and trapping her bottom lip as well. His eyes follow the movement closely, throwing one arm over the top of the couch and behind her neck, leaving her head to rest on the muscle of his arm, her flyaway black rebellious hairs tickling his wrist and elbow, as the static forces them in all directions.
"Well, that's up to you. Or to the occasion."
She is ready to throw caution to the wind. And she is about to when Yelena pipes up, from where she laid sprawled on another couch across the room.
"Oh, God. Please don't. I don't want or need to watch you two exchange spit. The dialogue is already disgusting enough, spare me, please." The blonde proceeds to fake gag and the moment is ruined. Go figure that the one time she is ready to give in to the weird dynamic someone would ruin it. Deep down, she knows she ought to be grateful for it, this certainly wasn't the time or place.
Eros doesn't seem to agree, however, if the frown on his face and the glare he sends Yelena's way is taken into consideration. Matilda tries not to laugh too loudly at his annoyed pout.
Everyone seems to move on rather quickly after that. She takes a deep relieved breath when they change the channel.
A stranger walks into the room. He walks next to Phastos, so she can only assume this is his husband. Rather handsome, he is. Tall and lean and the two of them make a lovely couple. She smiles at the sight, happy to know his family had made it safely to the Compound.
He stops right in front of her, widening his eyes and she is about ready to fuse with the sofa and disappear. But then a tear falls from his eye, and she is static.
"Miss Stark?" – his voice wavers and Phastos rushes to place a caring hand on his back, caressing it. Matilda wonders if Eros could tell she was nervous because the pressure on her neck becomes less and instead, she feels something like fingertips running through her scalp. She wishes she could lean back into it.
She stutters.
"Do I know you?"
He shakes his head, before smiling softly and wetly at her.
"No, but I do know you. My name is Ben Stoss. Phastos' husband." - His smile turns tender at the small mention of his marriage to the man who looks at him as if he was the one to set the sun high in the sky every morning. A small burst of jealousy burns deep inside of her, as she yearns for the day she can look and be looked at in that same tenderness.
"But before I met him and started our beautiful family, I was living with my mother in a small house on the outskirts of Chicago." – his smile becomes bitterly sad once more; she can't help but fear what will follow. – "When Thanos came, she lost her job, and I was neck-deep in financial debt. We thought it was the end. The bank was ready to take the house."
A tear runs down his face and Matilda desperately wants to hug him. As usual, she remains still.
"A friend sent me the address to the Maria Stark Foundation. I didn't think we'd hear back, but I was so desperate for help, I sent it anyway. Can't even remember what I wrote." – His chuckle is more of a sob. Phastos rubs his back.
"But you did. You paid for the house mortgage, for my student loans and you gave my mother a job at one of your community support centres. That was where I met Phastos, actually."
She's the one crying now. When the dust settled, and the grieving finally took residency inside of her, what followed was a strong sense of resignment. Thanos was dead, beheaded far away from Earth and without any way to reverse it, Matilda truly felt there was not much to be done.
That was until she saw the way the survivors were left. Even if there were in theory more jobs and vacant houses, the risk of loans soared and just as many bosses as workers were ripped from them. There was chaos as governments ran themselves ragged trying to come up with ad hoc solutions that only helped a few and were unable to solve the problems at hand.
So, she started helping people. Opening help centres where food and medicine were distributed. Where health care could be easily accessed. Where children could learn. Throughout the world, where she felt they were most needed, Matilda made sure they existed. But she had never been face-to-face with a recipient of the aid the Foundation provided.
The brunette's bottom lip quivers and she rapidly wipes her tears away.
"I never thought I'd get to thank you. So, thank you." – Matilda can't reply to that. She is speechless. The work was never done with the goal of recognition. Most of it was kept far from the press and that was mostly because she was in no state to deal with that. Instead, she nods with a small smile.
Ben and Phastos walk on, choosing to seat on a sofa closest to Druig and Makkari. Matilda doesn't stop smiling.
*****
"Can I steal you for a minute?" Yelena glares James down. Honestly, it's Matilda's fault – Yelena is her closest friend at the Compound and every so often, like everyone else, the Stark heiress felt the need to vent. And the Russian woman was not only deadly but also overprotective.
Matilda nods, nevertheless, because even if there was a far too large gap between them now, James was still one of the closest people to her in her life. She lets him drag her to a small alcove by their indoor garden, happily soaking in the few sunbeams filtering through.
She remains silent, diligently waiting for James to start talking. He seems conflicted, unsure of what to say and what route to take. But he also seems resolute and with a deep, shuddering breath, he gets to it.
"I'm sorry." – She doesn't need to read his mind to know he means it. His eyes tell her how earnest he is. – "Sometimes I forget there are more people in your life and that I do not need to protect you from everything and everyone. You are a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. If you want to be friends with Makkari and Eros – Hell, if you want more than that! That's entirely up to you. I'm sorry it took me so long to come to terms with it."
He ends his speech with a simple shrug, folding in on himself as if he expects her to react badly. She could never, truly. He means entirely too much to her, and so she leaps, hanging to his neck as if her life depended on it, demanding a hug. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her, tentatively hiding his face on the curve of her neck, tucking his nose into her skin.
All is well. Even if his apology had been smaller, less wordy but still genuine, she wouldn't have thought twice before accepting it and putting his mind at ease.
He shuffles them side to side, keeping her wrapped in his arms. Just as Matilda was getting pleasantly comfortable in their position, he sets her down and lets go of her. With eyebrows raised, clearly finding something humorous, James steps back.
"Your boyfriend's behind us." – He whispers, obviously trying to contain his laughter. – "Don't wanna make him jealous."
Matilda turns around, noticing that Eros is behind them indeed, resting by the doorframe. He doesn't look jealous in the very least. She wonders if it's because he's capable of reading her emotions and knowing she holds no romantic feelings for James (only occasional lust) or if he's that secure of the hold he has on her.
"Trust me, he's not jealous." – Matilda bites her cheeks to hide her smile. Then, she sighs when she realises the trap she'd just fallen into.
"So, you don't deny -"
She interrupts James before he can finish his sentence, knowing she is already far too flustered.
"I keep falling for that one, I know. He's not my boyfriend." The brunette crosses her arms over her chest, looking over the former assassin's shoulder and trying not to pout in petulance like a small child.
"Not yet at least." - Ah, there it was, Eros' cockiness. Her occasional lover chuckles, clearly finding the whole situation and her embarrassment amusing. Matilda closes her eyes and tries to come up with a way to put an end to her mortification.
Sucking in her lips, she opens her eyes and fully faces James sheepishly. – "Do me a favour? Go tell Yelena all's good again? We don't need her scooping your eyes out while you sleep at night."
James can read right through her. Still, he nods, kissing her head before leaving with a smile. With only the two of them in the room, she continues with her back turned to Eros, stubbornly choosing not to show her face.
He moves closer, so much closer that she can feel his body heat radiating into her, forcing a reaction out of her as her heart beats faster and her skin rises. So close she can feel his warm breath on her neck. Matilda can't help but startle when the redhead rests a hand on her hip, so big and large that his thumb reaches the centre of her waist. At that point, she is a mess of small gasps, baited breaths and panting without any rhythm.
Had this been part of what he meant when he asked for her consent? Heavens, she had not expected any of this. Her pants and gasps become more frequent when the totality of his chest glues to her back and his chin drops to her shoulder.
"I'll be leaving for a little while."
She stops breathing. Could it be possible that she had gotten so used to his presence in a fortnight that she could not imagine the man leaving them (read: her) behind without it paining her? How could she have awarded him so much influence and power over her, so easily? Breaking free from his soft and loose hold on her, she turns around, creating some space because otherwise, she is certain the tips of their noses would be touching.
He is certainly much taller than her. Matilda had not paid much mind to that yet, well aware that she was relatively small, with a frame no bigger than a meter and sixty centimetres (or as her father liked to point out 5'2) while he towered over her, clearly well over 1.80 meters tall. A 6'1 giant, compared to her.
"Where are you going?" – She curses herself for still sounding breathless. Thankfully, there is no jesting in his eyes, just pure fondness.
"Quite far. Outside of Earth's orbit."
Her heart beats so fast that she is afraid it will jump out of her chest. He was leaving. The one person she had let herself get attached to was leaving her behind, probably when she needed him much. Hot tears gathered in her eyes, and it took immense willpower not to let them fall. Goes as far as biting her lip so as not to let it quiver.
"Not for long though. Just enough to get my ship and come back." His voice is terribly soft but not as soft as his touch when he rests his hands on her waist and pulls her closer once more. Matilda is speechless. Not only he was coming back, but he was also leaving to retrieve something he had tried his very best to keep safeguarded – the one thing he still had from home – and was apparently willing to risk and share for their survival.
"Are you sure you want to do this? No one needs to know it even exists." Her words are muffled by his chest and clothes, she is certain. He still hears her clearly, however. Said chest that rumbles when he chuckles sadly.
"Yes, I am. If I may have the means to keep you safe and alive then I would rather use them than leave it to the hands of fate." If it were any other man, she would start complaining, claiming she was most certainly not a damsel in distress. But she also knew that was not how Eros meant it – he had the awful habit of projecting images and thoughts onto her, painting a clear picture of how strong he knew her to be. How he seemed to see her as a force to be reckoned with, as a storm he seems to want to brave.
(Once upon a time, she compared herself to the winds inside Pandora's box, released and untamed on a rampage. She wonders if Eros simply wants to be the one to lock them back inside their beautiful box or if is keener on running free with them.)
"I'm sure that will take a while to come back." She desperately wishes her voice sounds more certain and surer now.
"About two hours, give or take. I'll be back before you're having dinner, that I am certain of."
She can only blink, confused. Noticing her perplexity, he just laughs, kissing her head before letting go and rapidly moving away, ready to leave her behind. He is already by the door when he addresses her again.
"Don't worry, your boyfriend will be back!" And just like that, he leaves.
Matilda hated not having the last word. And she won't make an exception for him.
"You're not my boyfriend!"
"Not yet!"
Huffing, she turns to the windows across from the small garden, waiting for him to walk into the open hangar. When he does, he smiles up at her, before somehow levitating from the ground right before her eyes and disappearing inside a rainbow wormhole that she quickly identifies: an Einstein-Rosen Bridge.
She can only blink. That sounded like something else for them to discuss, might as well just add it to the atom manipulation he'd surprised her with. Blowing a raspberry, she shakes her head: might as well head to the lab – science waits for no woman.
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