We'll Always Have Paris - A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Gabrielle Moreau is a 19-year old French girl living in Paris, the “capital of love”. To most people she looks ordinary, but behind her high-built façade hides a girl that suffers. She tries to shut the inferior sides of her life out by doing the things she loves and letting her thoughts circle around something elsewhere—and she succeeds in focusing on the good things in life flawlessly.
When Gabrielle an early morning gets a call from One Direction’s manager, who offers her the opportunity of working with them on their summer tour in Paris, she immediately replies him with a yes. She doesn’t know it just yet, but within the next few months she will get to grow a close bond to each of the boys in the band—and particularly one of them. Before she knows it, Gabrielle has been thrown into something she this time won’t be able to pull herself out of … Will she finally start opening herself up to someone and let them in without any conditions? **Check out the trailer in the right sidebar**


37. Unexpectations



I throw the grape at Gabrielle’s mouth and a victorious grin appears on my face when she yet again doesn’t manage to catch it in between her teeth. “You’re so bad at this it hurts just looking at you. Poor thing.”

As a comeback she throws a pickle at me. On purpose she places the bull’s-eye on my chest and it hits my shirt, the juice from it making an obvious mark on the fabric. “Why thank you,” I sarcastically speak and lay down on my back, the carpet beneath making the grass seem softer than the reality. “Even though it was a mean one, though.”

Gabrielle dumps to the blanket and puts her head on my chest. Staring up at the clear sky, she releases a sigh of relaxation. The blue is dotted with strands of puffy white, making the illusion of what’s above us seem like one of those framed pictures you can always find at your old grandparent’s flat. Easily, I can feel her head rising along with my chest as I breathe.

“Well, this is nice,” she declares and looks up at me. I can’t help but notice how she does that stupid lip-biting thing once again—I guess it has become a habit by now. I smirk at her and let my fingers intertwine hers, my thumb rubbing tender circles on the back of her hand. I close my eyes.

When I open them again it’s because of the humid drop of something spilling on my forehead. Looking up, I realize that dark-grey clouds of doom, as I like to call them, has rolled past the sky.

Rain is coming, and fast.

I try to shake Gabrielle from her sleep as gently as possible, and soon I see her eyelashes flutter open from dreaming. She opens her mouth, “Wha—” Then, she realizes how the rain has started falling. “Oh, shoot!”

We quickly both get up from the ground, leaving the park’s blanket behind us as we spin around to take up a run.

Gabrielle stops, suddenly. I have to run back a few thudding steps to get to her. She blurts out, “But the grapes—”

“Forget them!” I take her hand. Just staring down at her thin, blue summer dress makes shivers go down my spine in a chill. “C’mon, let’s go before you catch a cold!”

When we finally get to the outer skirts of the park, the rain has turned a page and is now pouring from an open sky.

“This way!” Gabrielle yelps through the though weather. The water is falling so heavily down upon us that it’s hard not to hear anything if we don’t shout, and hard to see each other even if we try to focus with eyes squeezed narrowly together.  

We half-run in the fastest pace we can for what feels like an endless amount of blocks on the slippery pavement of the central Parisian sidewalks. Slowly, I can feel how the hair on my head starts sticking to my damp face, my breathing getting uneven and my legs feeling as unstable as jelly.

After another fatal block, a familiar building to my satisfaction comes into view.

The Moreau family’s flat.

The rain has already made our clothes soaked to the skin when we try to find shelter beneath the frame of the black front door. It’s without any success, though: The rain is still pouring down from the torn sky above and spilling raindrops on our heads when Gabrielle finally slips the right key into the keyhole and swiftly turns it around in the lock. The front door burst open and we hurriedly stumble over the doorstep. Just when Gabrielle has passed through the frame, I push the door shut behind her, ensuring that the heavy rain won’t follow us inside.

With her back pressed firmly against the door behind her, I decrease the space between us by placing my hands on the wood, one on either side of her head. Slowly, my face is lowered down to hers. Her lips brush past mine, and listening to her almost silent breath I close the last gap of cool air between us.

Her skin is damp from the rain and a single drop of crystal-clear water is still on her pale lips. Our heavy breaths quickly make it evaporate into nothing. Our bodies grind when the kiss is taken to a new and deeper state, the wetness of our soaked clothes sticking to our heated skin. Her hands are thrown around my torso, but the satisfaction making my head spin is all I can think about.

Gabrielle shortly breaks away to draw in a sharp breath. Then the feeling of her lips pressed against mine is reassumed. My hands trace to the hem of her dress and it ends on the floor once I’ve lifted it over her head. Next thing I know my T-shirt is beside it, peeled off my body like another layer of skin I never knew I had. Soft kisses are being placed upon the skin of my throat, the caressings slowly starting to arouse something in me that I have not felt in what seems like ages.

I close my eyes and pull her closer. “He’s not going to be home this time, is he?”

“No.” She draws back, staring into my eyes for what seems like only a moment. The brown in her eyes has almost turned black. “I need you,” she breathlessly whispers.

She lowers her hands to my belt, jiggling with getting it opened. With our heads pressed together even in this very intimate moment, my eyes can’t hesitate the temptation of greedily taking in the view of her fit, toned body in the black lace underwear that hugs every corner and shape of her beautiful curves.

I kick off my shoes just when she does, and as on cue she wraps her legs around my torso when I lift her petite body from the ground. In that position, I clumsily and with an unsteady footing carry her through the door to the living room, a groan escaping me when she again starts leaving wet kisses on my cool skin. When we not very long after get to the narrow stairway the craving is burning me up from the inside.

And like that, we stumble towards her bedroom.

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