Harry Styles One Shots

part 4 of Y/N's flat caught on fire and Harry needs a roommate

iv.

Y/N doesn't mind storms.

Even when she's out and about, the looming dark grey overcast only gives her a reason to go home. Once white and fluffy clouds in a blue sky were replaced with thick mounds, weighted heavily with rain; when Y/N was little, she had a science teacher who explained it like the sky's bladder. It filled up, and up, and up with water until it had no choice but to release it, sprinkling the pavement, giving all the thirsty plants and the soil they've buried their roots in something to drink (the analogy was a good one, she guesses, and she probably would have appreciated it more had she not been eight years old and suddenly very concerned that the sky was pissing on her every time it rained).

The lightning didn't bother her, nor the distant bumbling rumble of thunder that followed shortly after. It was soothing in a way, she knew she wasn't the only one to think that – waking early in the morning knowing there's still time left to sleep with a roll of thunder moving through the sky, might just single-handedly be the best way to drift back off. Y/N finds sleep easiest on those mornings...or, well, those mornings and the mornings she wakes up and finds herself snuggled against Harry – she's been finding sleep easier than she's ever had and she didn't necessarily need to wait for a storm to do so.

So yeah, Y/N didn't mind storms – the rain, the sounds, the whistle of wind through the slithered cracks in her window – but she did mind it knocking the power out. She did mind settling down to paint her nails one second, and then suddenly it's pitch black in her room the next. And she did mind the yelp that clawed from her throat in surprise, the closed nail polish dropping from her hand and clattering on the hardwood beneath her. The shift in floorboards starts from inside Harry's room, crossing the short distance until he makes it to hers, and for some reason, he still bothers to knock.

A sigh leaves her chest once she sees the flashlight shine where he must have it facing toward the ground, beneath her door, "Come in," she answered and Harry opened the door soon after – from what she could tell through the shadows and the light that was finally illuminating her room, his eyes were wide. Pebble comes trotting in after him, seeming unbothered by the storm, in whatever pleasant little puppy wonderland her head was dancing within, "Y'know, if you hear me scream, just open the door."

Harry pouted his mouth, "I was worried that – like what if I just barged in and you were shirtless or something? It would've been rude."

With a snort, she rolled her eyes, "You've had your face in between my legs, do you think I care if you see me topless?" She's certain if the lights weren't out, his cheeks would be as bright a pink as they always are when she brings something like that up. Y/N would never be able to wrap her head around how when they're in the moment, he could beg her to put her tongue on him and admit that he's dreamt about it but he could look at her if he saw her nipples through her top. Though when she thinks about it, she guesses getting him to beg takes some coaxing too – from what she remembers of giving him his first blowie, he had whined about her always embarrassing him, I'm too shy to say it.

The memory of it could make Y/N pensive if she allowed it. In the grand scheme, she and Harry really hadn't done all that much together, but the three lewd encounters they have had together permeate through her brain more than she'd like to admit. Y/N isn't sure if it's how vocal he is, how good it feels to make him feel good, or just the slightly forbidden excitement of sleeping with her roommate – but something is making each individual moment stay with her. The impression of it is sticky on her ribs and gooey in her belly, and it's only noteworthy because Y/N usually doesn't care long after. She could acknowledge someone was good a good fuck, but she wasn't sitting on her bed at night feeling giddy remembering how they moaned for her, or how they throbbed against her tongue or drooled precum over her hand.