Their love was short and sweet. The question is- can put dropped ice cream back on the cone? Will it still be a s sweet?

Jillian's left, run away to San Francisco to try to make her own summer of love. Harry's left in dreary Syracuse watching the snow melt like it's sand in an hourglass. Once the skies and sandsh are clear, he hops a greyhound to find the girl of his childhood and current dreams. When he gets there, she's moved from the streets of the Haight to Marin County and is calling herself a "child of summer." Harry can't help but want to be summer's child too, but does all the love and sun really come for free, or do season's change?

Gryles exchange piece. Surprise! Harry's ready to offer himself To grimmy, finally, but it's too little to late.

Companion piece to Tumblr's "Snowbound" one shot series. "Yeah," he said, minimizing the window again. "Didn't want to tell you, cause I didn't want you to panic. Can tell your parents not to worry and that it's all for clicks - s'what I told Mum." "You did?" you asked and he barked a laugh. "Unless there's something you're hiding from me," he said. "Think I'd know f'you were pregnant, though. Not like I don't sleep with you every night." A lump rose in your throat and you again swallowed back rising nausea, palms tangibly sweaty, and you slid your hand from his neck to his shoulder.

"You've worn makeup plenty," you said. "Haven't they ever taken it off you before?" "Not like this," he murmured. Your wrists tickled his nose and he hardly dared to breathe in case it threw off the tender, careful way you were touching him. "There we go," you cooed. "That's much better." "Can I open?" "Not yet. Just a couple seconds more." "Did you get a new perfume?" Harry asked. "Hmm?" "S'just...." Christ, how was he going to get a foot like that out of his mouth? "Y'smell nice or summat." You didn't say anything and again heat bloomed in his face."Probably my moisturizer," you said. Was it him or were you breathless? "Don't move."

This is a collection of one shots and short stories written by me in 2019.

Part of the Thirty Minutes and a Lemon Curd series from Tumblr. "Warm enough now?" You nodded, lips turned down at the corners. "Gonna talk to me?" You looked at him, blinking owlishly, and his mouth twitched. "S'a 'no', then?" You rolled your eyes and sighed. "I don't wanna talk about it." Harry bit his tongue and chewed out the frustration in it. "Me neither, really," he said lightly. "But we should. And you know how much I hate talking." How long had it taken him to kiss you in that bakery? To turn up again after you'd spent the night with him because he was going mad and couldn't stop thinking about you when he should have? "Shoe's on the other foot, now, innit?" You flashed him a close-mouthed smile. "You don't read the Daily Mail," he said. "Why'd you start now?"

COMPLETED // Updated periodically with post-story drabbles. Priya Rai likes to solve problems through talking. Harry Styles likes to solve problems through... less conventional methods. In short: they don't work well together. Not in the past and certainly not now. But when a former agent with a need for vengeance goes rogue, the two best British intelligent agents are forced to not only confront the mission - but their rocky relationship, or lack thereof. A story about a one night stand gone wrong, betrayal, sacrificing everything for your job, and realizing that all is fair in love and war after all.

You pulled your knees up to your chest underneath the blankets. "Are you ok?" One beat, two beats, three beats. You bit your lip, each second he didn't answer drilling a sense of dread into you. "My friends...." He gulped audibly and you crossed your free hand over your chest, squeezing close. "My friends are dicks, y'know?" Harry laughed, but it was hollow. "They really...." Silence fell again and you gnawed your tongue to keep from breaking it. He'd tell you - he always did - you just needed to give him time, and he was fainter still when he did. "There'll probably be a few pictures."

"Oi! Where're you going? We're in the middle of something!" Ignoring his friends' indignant questions, he placed his cue stick back on the rack and slunk around the table towards the bar and you. Up close, it was worse - you were worse - and for five whole seconds, his tongue twisted into a ball for the cat to bat at before he managed to ask, "What's that you've got in there?" Not his most original line, but the first thing he could get out before it was too late to talk and he made a fool of himself by standing there with nothing to say. You looked at your drink and then back at him. "Tequila." The mischievous grin was the same as if you'd just told him you weren't wearing any underwear, and he chortled. "Straight?" You kept your eyes on him, nodding a little and taking a slow sip without flinching. It was all he could do to keep from swaying, and he just about did when you followed up with, "Want some?"