practistyles

[practistyles]

Pop Quiz | Windows Facing

Y/N finds herself in the same class as Harry Windows Facing Masterlist Main Masterlist

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The lecture hall buzzes with the typical first-day-of-class energy. Students chatting, comparing schedules, and claiming their preferred seats. Y/N arrives fifteen minutes early, as is her habit, selecting a spot in the second row with perfect sightlines to both the professor's podium and the projection screen. She arranges her color-coded notebooks and array of pens with methodical precision, pleased to have secured an ideal location for Psychology of Interpersonal Relationships.

She's reviewing the syllabus she'd downloaded and annotated the night before when a lanky figure drops into the seat beside her, the sudden movement causing her to jolt slightly. The familiar scent of expensive cologne hits her before the voice does.

"Fancy seeing you here, psychology girl."

Y/N's eye twitches involuntarily as she turns to face Harry Styles, who's lounging in the chair as if he owns it, long legs stretched out in front of him and a lazy smile playing on his lips. He's wearing black jeans with an unbuttoned floral shirt over a white tee, looking like he's just rolled out of bed yet somehow still camera-ready.

"What are you doing here?!" she demands, glancing around as if there might be someone to appeal to. "This is a psychology elective?!"

Harry raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "So what? I'm suddenly interested in..." he pauses, his brow furrowing slightly as he glances down at his schedule. "The psychology of... interpersonal relationships."

He pronounces the course title with exaggerated care, then flashes her that infuriating dimpled smile.

"You're a business major," Y/N points out flatly.

"With a minor in music," Harry adds helpfully. "But I've got room for electives. Besides, might be useful to understand why some people—" his eyes lock with hers meaningfully "—pretend to hate people they're actually attracted to."

Y/N scoffs, turning back to her notes. "Or why some people have such inflated egos they think everyone's attracted to them."

"Not everyone," Harry clarifies, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "Just you."

Before Y/N can formulate a properly scathing response, the professor strides in, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper bob haircut.

"Good morning, everyone! I'm Dr. Patel. Welcome to Psychology of Interpersonal Relationships." She sets her bag down and surveys the class. "I know it's the first day, but I believe in hitting the ground running. So we're going to start with a pop quiz."

A collective groan ripples through the lecture hall.

"Don't worry, it's not graded," Dr. Patel assures them. "I just want to gauge your current understanding of the subject matter. Oh, and I only accept quizzes completed in pen. It's a personal quirk. I find pencil too... noncommittal."

As the professor begins distributing the quiz papers, Harry leans toward Y/N again.

"Lend me a pen, will ya?" he whispers, his breath warm against her ear.

Y/N gives him a sidelong glance. "You came to the first day of class without a pen?"

Harry shrugs, patting his pockets. "Got a perfectly good pencil. How was I supposed to know she's got a thing against them?"

"It's called being prepared," Y/N mutters, deliberately ignoring his request as she selects a blue pen from her collection.

Harry watches her, then eyes the remaining pens lined up neatly on her desk—black, red, green, and purple. "Come on, you've got plenty to spare. Be a love."

"I'm not your 'love,'" Y/N says, accepting her quiz from Dr. Patel with a polite smile before returning her attention to Harry. "And these are all specifically for different purposes. Color-coding is essential for effective note-taking."

"Right," Harry drawls sarcastically. "Because God forbid your notes on 'attachment styles' aren't properly color-coded."

Y/N narrows her eyes. "You clearly don't understand the organizational benefits—"

"Ms. Y/N, Mr. Styles," Dr. Patel interrupts, standing over them with a raised eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"No, Professor," Y/N says quickly.

"Harry needs a pen," she adds, feeling somehow responsible despite her annoyance.

Dr. Patel looks at Harry expectantly. "Mr. Styles?"

"Came with a pencil," he explains, holding up the offending writing instrument with a charming smile that would melt most people's resolve. "Didn't realize it was contraband."

Dr. Patel's expression remains unmoved. "I see. Well, perhaps next time you'll come better prepared. For now, I suggest you borrow one from your neighbor."

She moves on to distribute the remaining quizzes, leaving Harry looking expectantly at Y/N.

"See? Professor's orders," he says triumphantly.

Y/N sighs heavily, glancing at her pens and then back at Harry. "Fine. But on one condition."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up. "Name it."

"Give me your shoe," she says firmly.

Harry blinks, confusion washing over his face. "What?"

"I said, give me your shoe," Y/N repeats, her expression deadly serious. "It's my insurance. When you give me my pen back, I'll return your shoe."

Harry stares at her for a moment, then bursts into laughter, drawing curious glances from nearby students.

"Mr. Styles," Dr. Patel calls from the front. "Is something amusing about the quiz?"

"No, ma'am," Harry manages, composing himself. "Just... appreciating your teaching methods."

Once the professor's attention is elsewhere, Harry turns back to Y/N. "You can't be serious."

"Completely serious," she replies, holding out her hand expectantly. "Shoe or no pen. Your choice."

Harry studies her for a moment, as if trying to determine if she'll back down. When her expression remains resolute, he shakes his head in disbelief.

"You're something else, psychology girl," he murmurs, but begins untying his boot—an expensive-looking Chelsea boot that probably costs more than all of Y/N's textbooks combined.

He slips it off and hands it over with exaggerated formality. "Your collateral, madam."

Y/N accepts the boot, wrinkling her nose slightly as she places it under her chair, then selects her black pen and holds it out to him.

"Return it immediately after class," she instructs. "That's my favorite one."

Harry takes the pen, his fingers brushing against hers deliberately. "I'll guard it with my life."

As they both turn their attention to their quizzes, Harry adds in a whisper: "You know, most girls would just give me their number if they wanted an excuse to talk to me after class."

"I'm not most girls," Y/N replies without looking up.

Harry chuckles softly. "No, you're definitely not. You're the type who holds footwear hostage."

Throughout the quiz, Y/N is acutely aware of Harry beside her. The way he taps her pen against his lips when thinking, how he runs a hand through his curls when concentrating, the fact that he's completed the quiz surprisingly quickly for someone who supposedly has no interest in psychology.

When class ends, Harry stretches, then turns to her with a grin, holding out the pen. "As promised, intact and unharmed."

Y/N inspects it carefully before accepting it. "Thank you."

She reaches under her chair and retrieves his boot, handing it back with as much dignity as one can muster when returning footwear.

Harry takes it, but doesn't immediately put it on. Instead, he watches her gather her things. "Same time Wednesday, then?"

Y/N pauses. "You're actually planning to stay in this class?"

"Course I am," Harry says, finally pulling his boot on. "It's fascinating stuff. Plus—" he stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaning slightly closer "—I've already made an interpersonal connection. Would be a shame to waste it."

Before Y/N can respond, he winks and strolls toward the exit, leaving her staring after him, torn between irritation and something else she refuses to acknowledge.

As she packs up her own belongings, she notices something on her desk—a small folded note that wasn't there before. Opening it, she finds a message scrawled in her own black ink:

"Thanks for the pen. Your hostage negotiation skills are impressive. Coffee sometime? I promise to bring my own writing instruments. - H"

Below the message is a phone number, accompanied by a small, hastily drawn shoe.

Y/N stares at the note, fighting the smile that threatens to break through her carefully maintained annoyance. After a moment's hesitation, she tucks the paper into her psychology textbook and heads for the door, already mentally composing and discarding potential responses to Harry's invitation.

Taglist: @hisparentsgallery @toosarcastic03 @practistyles @sstylezzz @sassamanda77 @wheredidmyeyesgo @pbandnutella @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinema @bethiegurl19 @spinninc @spargelhund @aileen1237 @drewrry @pari-1

[practistyles]

all the people who wrote fics about pleasing being a s*x shop ya’ll were so right

[practistyles]

if your love is in trouble (part 2)

read part 1 here!

In which Y/N's situation gets worse and she asks Harry for help.

In this part: mentions of abuse, re-appearance of a toxic ex, alcoholism, oral (f receiving) kinda, protective concerned harry, furious kissing, angst

Word count: 2.9K

Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her as she scrubbed the counter. She smiled briefly, then pictured the frown she knew he had – his brows furrowing together, lips slightly pouted, eyes narrowed in thoughtful consideration. For a week after their conversation, Y/N and Harry worked together in the cafe in companionable silence. Harry stopped trying to catch her in middle of her job and ask her what Y/N thought were deeply invasive questions. She preferred when she was partnered with him for things like cleaning over anyone else. With him, she could just… be. 

She also, unfortunately, started preferring him in a few other ways. 

She would never admit how often she almost gave in to his pleas. The way his entire body almost drooped when she scolded him; his eyes glinting with playfulness when they verbally sparred; his arms, when he leaned on the counter…

“Distracted much?” his voice came from somewhere behind her. Y/N’s eyes snapped to him, and he jerked his head towards the person waiting to order outside, looking around confusedly. 

“Oh shit.” Y/N muttered and ran outside. She barely understood the order, just scribbled down whatever it was. She hadn’t slept well the last few days. Well, the entire week, maybe more than that. She dreaded going back home, and her work kept distracted, even though it was getting harder and harder nowadays. Harry helped a lot. Y/N wished she could keep him next to her all the fucking time, talk to him whenever she wanted. Most of all she wished she could confide in him. She imagined him holding her, all her problems suddenly fixed, dreamless sleep…

A movement in the window caught her eye and Y/N froze. It was barely a blur: just an all black figure hurrying across the glass windows of the cafe. It could be anyone,but Y/N’s instincts told her that it was him. Her heart thumped loudly and she suddenly felt all the hope and strength drain out of her. She hurried back to the staff area, pulling her apron over her head. As she opened the back door, someone caught her hand. 

She turned around to meet Harry’s concerned eyes. “Y/N?” he questioned. 

“Just a minute,” she said breathily. She hoped her voice wasn’t too shaky. “I’ll be back soon.” She jerked her hand out of Harry’s and shut the door behind her. 

Y/N was hoping she was wrong, but all of that hope dissipated as soon as she stepped out and turned the corner. 

A ragged looking man stood at the end of the road, dressed in all black, a beer can tucked into his jacket pocket. His head shot up at the sound of Y/N and a grim smile overtook his face. Y/N almost shuddered. She walked to him and then turned him around roughly by the shoulders. 

“Michael!” she whisper-shouted. “What the hell!?”

“Darling,” the man murmured. The stench of alcohol on his breath was strong and Y/N winced. She couldn’t believe he’d shown up at her work. 

She grabbed him roughly again and shook him.“You can’t be here.”

“You know I love you,” he continued his drunken drawl, and Y/N’s heart spiked with fear. It was usually the worst when he got like this. She wondered how he’d even made it here. 

“Michael please,” she said, her tone almost begging. “Please go, leave me alone. I told you, we’re over, there is nothing left for us anymore.”

Michael’s eyes turned glassy with rage. He grabbed Y/N roughly and a breath escaped her. “What do you mean? We are meant to be Y/N. You and me… in your house-” he stumbled, loosening his hold, and Y/N held him up against the rough cement wall. 

“Okay, listen,” she said. She hated to do this, but she was desperate. “You need a place to stay right?” Michael’s eyes brightened. “Go away now, and you can come back to mine tonight.”

“You liar,” Michael spat out. 

“No, I swear. I just really need you to go away right now.”

He just looked at her uncertainly. Y/N felt her heart sank. “I promise, Michael. Wait for me outside tonight.”

Then slowly, Michael nodded, and moved away from her, stumbling slightly. Y/N let out a relieved sigh, but she knew that things were much worse now that he knew where she worked. Heart sank low, Y/N walked back into the cafe. 

The first thing she noticed was that there was no Harry. She was fully preparing to be ambushed by him,  but there was only Zayn - putting cakes in the oven.

“Wonderful, you’re here,” Zayn said as she put her apron back on. Y/n winced, even though there was not a hint of bitterness in his voice. Zayn pointed to the baked and cooled racks of cakes. “Could you get started on those?”

She nodded and got to work. She tried to keep the interest out of her voice and asked him, “Did Harry leave?”

“Just a break,” Zayn replied. “He was getting too worked up over something so I suggested it.”

“Oh.”  

Harry didn’t come back for twenty minutes, but Zayn seemed unbothered so Y/N didn’t mention it. He was so quiet when he came back that she didn’t even realise it until she saw his arm appear in front of her to grab at the menu cards.

She whipped around to face him, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. 

“You’re back,” she said. 

He looked at her then, frown again on his face. “So are you.”

Y/N’s face hardened and she felt her defenses go up. Who even was he, to demand to know about the details of her life, promising that he could help her if she let him? Michael’s face appeared in the edges of her mind, and Y/N was hit with the reality no matter how safe and warm she felt here with Harry, at the end of the day she would have to go home and face her crazy, drunk excuse of an ex. Her face soured at the thought. She ran through her list of friends in the city who she could stay with, hoping that Michael was too drunk off his ass to comprehend  that she didn’t actually come home to let him in. Because no way in hell was that happening. 

Harry didn’t say a word to her until it was time to close up and Zayn left them both to it. Y/N still had no place to go and  felt truly stumped. She didn’t pay attention to the still hot stove pot as she went to grab it, and it clattered from her hands as she hissed, spilling leftover soup all over the floor. In an instant Harry was there, guiding her to the sink and holding her fingers under the cold water. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. And then: “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Harry said. A scowl etched on his face, he looked kind of annoyed. 

“Are you mad at me?” Y/N spat out. 

His brows raised. “No, of course not. Could you think ofa single fucking reason why I could be?”

Y/N scoffed. “I know you think you have some sort of importance  in my life –”

“No,” he cut in. “I think that you are a really good friend, and as a decent human being if something is going on with my friends I want to help them.”

“Oh, so you’re friendzoning me now. Just great,”

Harry’s usual smirk came back again, and Y/N felt almost relieved. “Say the word and we can move on from being friends. It’s certainly been a long time coming,”

Y/N snorted. She pulled her hand back from the water and glared at the angry red skin. She needed something good to happen to her so desperately, and he was really the best thing. 

An idea struck her. It was her only option. She met his gaze and cocked her head to the side. “Didn’t you say you wanted to do my dirty work for me?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What are you suggesting?”

“A trade. A favour for something that you really want.”

“And what would that be?”

“A kiss.” 

Harry sputtered. She couldn’t tell if he was laughing or coughing. “You’re not serious.”

Y/N nodded. “Do you want to hear what you owe me?”

Harry jerked his head for her to go on.  

“Let me crash at yours.”

This time, she was sure he laughed. “You do realise that both of these things are in my favour? I’m never gonna say no to a kiss, but to have you in my home for the night too? This isn’t a trade, Y/N.”

“Well, obviously you wouldn’t be in the same bed!”

“Oh, so your trade is a kiss for me being kicked out of my house. Just lovely.”

“Not house, just room. Because I know your broke ass doesn’t have a couch big enough for me to sleep on.”

“I would never have you sleep on my couch.” He looked horrified. 

Y/N tutted. “Well, do you agree?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t you go back to yours?”

“None of your business.”

“Even a week ago, you said you were staying at your friends.”

“Harry, I -”

He moved towards her, crowding her against the table.

“And you disappeared today after looking at something from the window.”

Y/N remained silent, meeting his intense gaze with an equal ferocity. 

“I’m not dumb, Y/N. I can put the pieces together.” His hand reached up to gently brush against her cheek, and Y/N shivered. 

“Nevermind, I’ll find someplace else,” she muttered angrily, and tried to push herself away from him, but he held firm. 

“Get your things,” he said softly, and his hand was on her neck, brushing softly and sliding up. He smoothed her brow with his thumb and then pulled her closer. Y/N was holding her breath. She was filled with wanting. She hadn’t realised how much she was thinking about it: his lips on hers, strong arms wrapped around her waist, necks tilted and her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Harry was wrong when he said he was the one winning in this deal. If anything, Y/N was cheating him. Because she wanted him to kiss her more than she had ever wanting anything. 

But he rested his chin atop her head, simply putting his arms around her. She could barely make out the words as he said them. “You don’t have to kiss me. I would let you stay with me anytime. No deal.”

Disappointment plummeted through Y/N. She pulled back to see his face. “You don’t want to?” She knew she was slightly pouting, like a little spoiled child being denied its wishes. She didn’t care.

Harry chuckled and brushed his finger across her top lip. “Y/N, isn’t it obvious? I might faint if you don’t kiss me soon. But I don’t want you to feel you need to repay me in some way by –” 

Y/N didn’t think past the impulsive urge to put her lips on him. She grabbed him by his collar and pulled him as close to her as she could. 

“I am asking you to kiss me. And you always do what I ask, right?” 

Harry’s eyes widened and she saw them glaze over. He opened his mouth, and Y/N saw his tongue flick out. In an instant, she was being pressed against the wall, and Harry was everywhere. 

“Fuck it,” he said.

His lips were finally, finally on hers, and Y/N felt a tingling all over her body that seemed to originate from her stomach. Harry’s palm was suddenly pressed flat against the skin there, as if he knew, and his lips moved hungrily over hers. He reached out to push his tongue into her open mouth, and Y/N heard herself make an obscene sound. It only spurred Harry on, who bit her lip lightly, and Y/N almost squealed. Harry pulled away for a second, and then she was being lifted up and put on the table. He put his palms flat next to her thighs and his mouth nipped her jaw, her collarbone, the bare skin at the top of her chest, moving down, down down, but not where she wanted him the most. 

Y/N put a hand up in his hair and tugged. Harry groaned loudly, but he resisted her pull, like he hated being separated from her skin even for a moment. 

“Change of deal,” he growled. “I want to put my mouth somewhere else. Can I, Y/N?”

Y/N breathed loudly. He knelt before her, hands gripping her thighs, and pulled them apart. Y/N tugged at her skirt. “Off,” she ordered. 

Harry obliged and with one quick swoop pulled her skirt down. The sight did something to him. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice rough with desire. He moved his palms higher up and pressed a thumb against her centre. Even through her underwear, the touch jolted Y/N and she gripped his shoulders. 

“Get on with it,” she whimpered and tightened her fingers in his hair.

Harry smirked. He leaned in, and Y/N felt his hot mouth pressing against her cunt through the thin fabric. She moaned, despite herself. Harry’s drew his tongue out and pressed as deep as he could. She felt his teeth come out on the skin right above her clit, and then her underwear was being pulled away. She glanced down to see Harry with the thin piece of cloth between his teeth, smirking up at her with his face very close to her cunt. He let it go and it snapped against her sharply, sending a shivery jolt through her entire being. He did it again, and again, and Y/N was about to slap him for it, when he pulled away and pressed a kiss against her cunt instead.

“As much as I love this,” Harry said roughly, “I need to taste you.”

Y/N felt dizzy. She blinked, not really believing Harry Styles was on his knees. A sudden wave of uncertainty washed over her. She bent down to grip his shirt and pull him up. His eyes widened in surprise, and what she read as slight disappointment. 

Y/N cupped the back of his neck, his hair tickling her hands. She kissed his jaw, along his neck, and then ran her tongue around the edge of his ear. She felt him shiver in her hands, and in what she thought was her most seductive voice she whispered, “Kiss me.”

Harry groaned into her neck as if he was pained. As he pushed her back, Y/N felt his hand grab her jaw tightly and his lips back against hers. She sighed, almost dreamily. She poured into him everything she had. His hand wandered down to her breasts and he palmed them from over her top. Y/N moaned into his mouth. 

“I need to see you cum, baby,” Hary whispered against her lips. “Please.”

Y/N struggled to get the words out with Harry’s thumb brushing over her nipple, but she managed it.

 “Not part of the deal.” Contrary to her words she pushed her hips forward and whimpered as she felt Harry’s erection against her. 

Harry gritted his teeth and his head fell back. 

“I’d say we went way past making deals when you let me lick your cunt through your soaked underwear.” He gripped her thigh again, and his index finger was under the lining of her panties. She shivered in his arms, falling forwards, and he caught her, pressing her face into his neck. 

“I’ll think about it if you’re good and don’t ask me any private questions,” Y/N whimpered. She felt exhausted and on edge - a lethal combination. She didn’t know how she was going to sleep under the same roof as this man now that she knew what his tongue felt like entangled with her own. 

She felt him stiffen, and she understood that she’d ruined the moment, reminded him of why they were in this position in the first place. She wanted to eat her words.

He pulled back. “Y/N, none of this. Not with me. I won’t have anything between us be transactional.” His voice had a hard edge to it. He stepped away from her and bent down to pick her skirt up and slide it over her legs as she lifted her hips. Harry’s eyes met hers as his fingers brushed over her ass. And then, he was turning away, running a hand through his hair and straightening his shirt. She missed his proximity already, and Y/N wondered that if she asked nicely would he sleep in the same bed as her? 

He faced her again, and she saw a kind of tortured look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “We shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have touched you. It’s not – I don’t want you to think -” He sighed, and then gave up. He grabbed her bag from where she had put it and then forgotten about it, and then gestured at her. “Let’s go give you a house tour of my place then, Y/N.”

****

sorry this took a while. i am just really not used to writing smut! but i am excited for the parts to come, i think this is gonna be kind of angsty slow burn vibes!!!!

pls let me know your thoughts, concerns, ideas, questions, comments!!!!

[practistyles]

if your love is in trouble MASTERLIST

in which Y/N and Harry are coworkers in a cafe and Harry can't seem to figure out why Y/N is always so sad;

angsty, fluffy fic with a really quite whipped harry :)

main masterlist here.

part 1 : in which Harry and Y/N are coworkers but he can't figure out why she is always so sad

part 2 : in which Y/N's situation gets worse and she asks Harry if she can stay at his place

[practistyles]

if your love is in trouble (part 2)

read part 1 here!

In which Y/N's situation gets worse and she asks Harry for help.

In this part: mentions of abuse, re-appearance of a toxic ex, alcoholism, oral (f receiving) kinda, protective concerned harry, furious kissing, angst

Word count: 2.9K

Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her as she scrubbed the counter. She smiled briefly, then pictured the frown she knew he had – his brows furrowing together, lips slightly pouted, eyes narrowed in thoughtful consideration. For a week after their conversation, Y/N and Harry worked together in the cafe in companionable silence. Harry stopped trying to catch her in middle of her job and ask her what Y/N thought were deeply invasive questions. She preferred when she was partnered with him for things like cleaning over anyone else. With him, she could just… be. 

She also, unfortunately, started preferring him in a few other ways. 

She would never admit how often she almost gave in to his pleas. The way his entire body almost drooped when she scolded him; his eyes glinting with playfulness when they verbally sparred; his arms, when he leaned on the counter…

“Distracted much?” his voice came from somewhere behind her. Y/N’s eyes snapped to him, and he jerked his head towards the person waiting to order outside, looking around confusedly. 

“Oh shit.” Y/N muttered and ran outside. She barely understood the order, just scribbled down whatever it was. She hadn’t slept well the last few days. Well, the entire week, maybe more than that. She dreaded going back home, and her work kept distracted, even though it was getting harder and harder nowadays. Harry helped a lot. Y/N wished she could keep him next to her all the fucking time, talk to him whenever she wanted. Most of all she wished she could confide in him. She imagined him holding her, all her problems suddenly fixed, dreamless sleep…

A movement in the window caught her eye and Y/N froze. It was barely a blur: just an all black figure hurrying across the glass windows of the cafe. It could be anyone,but Y/N’s instincts told her that it was him. Her heart thumped loudly and she suddenly felt all the hope and strength drain out of her. She hurried back to the staff area, pulling her apron over her head. As she opened the back door, someone caught her hand. 

She turned around to meet Harry’s concerned eyes. “Y/N?” he questioned. 

“Just a minute,” she said breathily. She hoped her voice wasn’t too shaky. “I’ll be back soon.” She jerked her hand out of Harry’s and shut the door behind her. 

Y/N was hoping she was wrong, but all of that hope dissipated as soon as she stepped out and turned the corner. 

A ragged looking man stood at the end of the road, dressed in all black, a beer can tucked into his jacket pocket. His head shot up at the sound of Y/N and a grim smile overtook his face. Y/N almost shuddered. She walked to him and then turned him around roughly by the shoulders. 

“Michael!” she whisper-shouted. “What the hell!?”

“Darling,” the man murmured. The stench of alcohol on his breath was strong and Y/N winced. She couldn’t believe he’d shown up at her work. 

She grabbed him roughly again and shook him.“You can’t be here.”

“You know I love you,” he continued his drunken drawl, and Y/N’s heart spiked with fear. It was usually the worst when he got like this. She wondered how he’d even made it here. 

“Michael please,” she said, her tone almost begging. “Please go, leave me alone. I told you, we’re over, there is nothing left for us anymore.”

Michael’s eyes turned glassy with rage. He grabbed Y/N roughly and a breath escaped her. “What do you mean? We are meant to be Y/N. You and me… in your house-” he stumbled, loosening his hold, and Y/N held him up against the rough cement wall. 

“Okay, listen,” she said. She hated to do this, but she was desperate. “You need a place to stay right?” Michael’s eyes brightened. “Go away now, and you can come back to mine tonight.”

“You liar,” Michael spat out. 

“No, I swear. I just really need you to go away right now.”

He just looked at her uncertainly. Y/N felt her heart sank. “I promise, Michael. Wait for me outside tonight.”

Then slowly, Michael nodded, and moved away from her, stumbling slightly. Y/N let out a relieved sigh, but she knew that things were much worse now that he knew where she worked. Heart sank low, Y/N walked back into the cafe. 

The first thing she noticed was that there was no Harry. She was fully preparing to be ambushed by him,  but there was only Zayn - putting cakes in the oven.

“Wonderful, you’re here,” Zayn said as she put her apron back on. Y/n winced, even though there was not a hint of bitterness in his voice. Zayn pointed to the baked and cooled racks of cakes. “Could you get started on those?”

She nodded and got to work. She tried to keep the interest out of her voice and asked him, “Did Harry leave?”

“Just a break,” Zayn replied. “He was getting too worked up over something so I suggested it.”

“Oh.”  

Harry didn’t come back for twenty minutes, but Zayn seemed unbothered so Y/N didn’t mention it. He was so quiet when he came back that she didn’t even realise it until she saw his arm appear in front of her to grab at the menu cards.

She whipped around to face him, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. 

“You’re back,” she said. 

He looked at her then, frown again on his face. “So are you.”

Y/N’s face hardened and she felt her defenses go up. Who even was he, to demand to know about the details of her life, promising that he could help her if she let him? Michael’s face appeared in the edges of her mind, and Y/N was hit with the reality no matter how safe and warm she felt here with Harry, at the end of the day she would have to go home and face her crazy, drunk excuse of an ex. Her face soured at the thought. She ran through her list of friends in the city who she could stay with, hoping that Michael was too drunk off his ass to comprehend  that she didn’t actually come home to let him in. Because no way in hell was that happening. 

Harry didn’t say a word to her until it was time to close up and Zayn left them both to it. Y/N still had no place to go and  felt truly stumped. She didn’t pay attention to the still hot stove pot as she went to grab it, and it clattered from her hands as she hissed, spilling leftover soup all over the floor. In an instant Harry was there, guiding her to the sink and holding her fingers under the cold water. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. And then: “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Harry said. A scowl etched on his face, he looked kind of annoyed. 

“Are you mad at me?” Y/N spat out. 

His brows raised. “No, of course not. Could you think ofa single fucking reason why I could be?”

Y/N scoffed. “I know you think you have some sort of importance  in my life –”

“No,” he cut in. “I think that you are a really good friend, and as a decent human being if something is going on with my friends I want to help them.”

“Oh, so you’re friendzoning me now. Just great,”

Harry’s usual smirk came back again, and Y/N felt almost relieved. “Say the word and we can move on from being friends. It’s certainly been a long time coming,”

Y/N snorted. She pulled her hand back from the water and glared at the angry red skin. She needed something good to happen to her so desperately, and he was really the best thing. 

An idea struck her. It was her only option. She met his gaze and cocked her head to the side. “Didn’t you say you wanted to do my dirty work for me?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What are you suggesting?”

“A trade. A favour for something that you really want.”

“And what would that be?”

“A kiss.” 

Harry sputtered. She couldn’t tell if he was laughing or coughing. “You’re not serious.”

Y/N nodded. “Do you want to hear what you owe me?”

Harry jerked his head for her to go on.  

“Let me crash at yours.”

This time, she was sure he laughed. “You do realise that both of these things are in my favour? I’m never gonna say no to a kiss, but to have you in my home for the night too? This isn’t a trade, Y/N.”

“Well, obviously you wouldn’t be in the same bed!”

“Oh, so your trade is a kiss for me being kicked out of my house. Just lovely.”

“Not house, just room. Because I know your broke ass doesn’t have a couch big enough for me to sleep on.”

“I would never have you sleep on my couch.” He looked horrified. 

Y/N tutted. “Well, do you agree?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t you go back to yours?”

“None of your business.”

“Even a week ago, you said you were staying at your friends.”

“Harry, I -”

He moved towards her, crowding her against the table.

“And you disappeared today after looking at something from the window.”

Y/N remained silent, meeting his intense gaze with an equal ferocity. 

“I’m not dumb, Y/N. I can put the pieces together.” His hand reached up to gently brush against her cheek, and Y/N shivered. 

“Nevermind, I’ll find someplace else,” she muttered angrily, and tried to push herself away from him, but he held firm. 

“Get your things,” he said softly, and his hand was on her neck, brushing softly and sliding up. He smoothed her brow with his thumb and then pulled her closer. Y/N was holding her breath. She was filled with wanting. She hadn’t realised how much she was thinking about it: his lips on hers, strong arms wrapped around her waist, necks tilted and her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Harry was wrong when he said he was the one winning in this deal. If anything, Y/N was cheating him. Because she wanted him to kiss her more than she had ever wanting anything. 

But he rested his chin atop her head, simply putting his arms around her. She could barely make out the words as he said them. “You don’t have to kiss me. I would let you stay with me anytime. No deal.”

Disappointment plummeted through Y/N. She pulled back to see his face. “You don’t want to?” She knew she was slightly pouting, like a little spoiled child being denied its wishes. She didn’t care.

Harry chuckled and brushed his finger across her top lip. “Y/N, isn’t it obvious? I might faint if you don’t kiss me soon. But I don’t want you to feel you need to repay me in some way by –” 

Y/N didn’t think past the impulsive urge to put her lips on him. She grabbed him by his collar and pulled him as close to her as she could. 

“I am asking you to kiss me. And you always do what I ask, right?” 

Harry’s eyes widened and she saw them glaze over. He opened his mouth, and Y/N saw his tongue flick out. In an instant, she was being pressed against the wall, and Harry was everywhere. 

“Fuck it,” he said.

His lips were finally, finally on hers, and Y/N felt a tingling all over her body that seemed to originate from her stomach. Harry’s palm was suddenly pressed flat against the skin there, as if he knew, and his lips moved hungrily over hers. He reached out to push his tongue into her open mouth, and Y/N heard herself make an obscene sound. It only spurred Harry on, who bit her lip lightly, and Y/N almost squealed. Harry pulled away for a second, and then she was being lifted up and put on the table. He put his palms flat next to her thighs and his mouth nipped her jaw, her collarbone, the bare skin at the top of her chest, moving down, down down, but not where she wanted him the most. 

Y/N put a hand up in his hair and tugged. Harry groaned loudly, but he resisted her pull, like he hated being separated from her skin even for a moment. 

“Change of deal,” he growled. “I want to put my mouth somewhere else. Can I, Y/N?”

Y/N breathed loudly. He knelt before her, hands gripping her thighs, and pulled them apart. Y/N tugged at her skirt. “Off,” she ordered. 

Harry obliged and with one quick swoop pulled her skirt down. The sight did something to him. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice rough with desire. He moved his palms higher up and pressed a thumb against her centre. Even through her underwear, the touch jolted Y/N and she gripped his shoulders. 

“Get on with it,” she whimpered and tightened her fingers in his hair.

Harry smirked. He leaned in, and Y/N felt his hot mouth pressing against her cunt through the thin fabric. She moaned, despite herself. Harry’s drew his tongue out and pressed as deep as he could. She felt his teeth come out on the skin right above her clit, and then her underwear was being pulled away. She glanced down to see Harry with the thin piece of cloth between his teeth, smirking up at her with his face very close to her cunt. He let it go and it snapped against her sharply, sending a shivery jolt through her entire being. He did it again, and again, and Y/N was about to slap him for it, when he pulled away and pressed a kiss against her cunt instead.

“As much as I love this,” Harry said roughly, “I need to taste you.”

Y/N felt dizzy. She blinked, not really believing Harry Styles was on his knees. A sudden wave of uncertainty washed over her. She bent down to grip his shirt and pull him up. His eyes widened in surprise, and what she read as slight disappointment. 

Y/N cupped the back of his neck, his hair tickling her hands. She kissed his jaw, along his neck, and then ran her tongue around the edge of his ear. She felt him shiver in her hands, and in what she thought was her most seductive voice she whispered, “Kiss me.”

Harry groaned into her neck as if he was pained. As he pushed her back, Y/N felt his hand grab her jaw tightly and his lips back against hers. She sighed, almost dreamily. She poured into him everything she had. His hand wandered down to her breasts and he palmed them from over her top. Y/N moaned into his mouth. 

“I need to see you cum, baby,” Hary whispered against her lips. “Please.”

Y/N struggled to get the words out with Harry’s thumb brushing over her nipple, but she managed it.

 “Not part of the deal.” Contrary to her words she pushed her hips forward and whimpered as she felt Harry’s erection against her. 

Harry gritted his teeth and his head fell back. 

“I’d say we went way past making deals when you let me lick your cunt through your soaked underwear.” He gripped her thigh again, and his index finger was under the lining of her panties. She shivered in his arms, falling forwards, and he caught her, pressing her face into his neck. 

“I’ll think about it if you’re good and don’t ask me any private questions,” Y/N whimpered. She felt exhausted and on edge - a lethal combination. She didn’t know how she was going to sleep under the same roof as this man now that she knew what his tongue felt like entangled with her own. 

She felt him stiffen, and she understood that she’d ruined the moment, reminded him of why they were in this position in the first place. She wanted to eat her words.

He pulled back. “Y/N, none of this. Not with me. I won’t have anything between us be transactional.” His voice had a hard edge to it. He stepped away from her and bent down to pick her skirt up and slide it over her legs as she lifted her hips. Harry’s eyes met hers as his fingers brushed over her ass. And then, he was turning away, running a hand through his hair and straightening his shirt. She missed his proximity already, and Y/N wondered that if she asked nicely would he sleep in the same bed as her? 

He faced her again, and she saw a kind of tortured look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “We shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have touched you. It’s not – I don’t want you to think -” He sighed, and then gave up. He grabbed her bag from where she had put it and then forgotten about it, and then gestured at her. “Let’s go give you a house tour of my place then, Y/N.”

****

sorry this took a while. i am just really not used to writing smut! but i am excited for the parts to come, i think this is gonna be kind of angsty slow burn vibes!!!!

pls let me know your thoughts, concerns, ideas, questions, comments!!!!

[practistyles]

Can’t wait to read the next part!

aaah thanks! its coming i swear, working on it rn!!!

[practistyles]

if your love is in trouble

In which Harry and Y/N are coworkers but he can't figure out why she is always so sad

In this part: a really quite pathetic, kinda sub Harry, Y/N is not having a good time, mentions of mood swings and general sad behaviour, fluff, some angst?

Word count: 1.6k

Harry glanced at the back door for the tenth time in less than a minute, his scowl deepening as he furiously scrubbed at the mug in his hands. He rinsed it under a stream of cold water, his eyes catching again on the apron hanging by the door. Maroon, with the name tag still clipped to the chest. “Y/N”, it read in bold letters.

Then everything happened at once.

The bell over the door jingled.

The back door swung open, and Y/N stumbled in, looking flustered.

From outside, someone called Harry’s name, and the mug slipped from his hands, cracking against the sink.

Harry cursed. 

He heard the shuffling of Y/N putting her apron back on, his back to her, staring at the cracked pieces of ceramic glinting blue against the sink. 

“You okay?” a soft, slivery voice said from behind him, and Harry stopped himself from audibly sighing. He turned around to see Y/N looking at him with her brow furrowed, and Harry could do nothing but shrug helplessly and gesture to the broken mug. 

Y/N’s gaze lowered, sweeping over him. Harry felt the burn of her gaze where it was fixed on his hand. 

“You’re bleeding,” she murmured and stepped towards him. 

Oh. Well, that explained the burning. He lifted his hand up to see it stained red, his finger sliced open. He cursed again. 

Y/N reached a hand into her pocket and procured a band-aid. Harry was grateful, but then he remembered why he had the cut in the first place. Like a good boy, he held out his finger to her. Most moments he spent in her presence, he just wanted to please her and be good for her. And usually she let him, even revelled in it, but the entire week Y/N had been a shell of a person. Taking frequent breaks, slipping out the back door, coming back with her face flushed red. It was driving him crazy. He felt like her dog, following her around with a sad puppy face just waiting for her to pet him. He had also developed almost insane theories about her life and conjured up multiple fantasies of getting into a brawl with anyone who was causing her distress. 

He ran his other finger over the band-aid and let his eyes sweep over her. 

“Need anything else?” she asked, looking up at him. He nodded and let a bastardly grin over his face. 

“Go out with me.” 

Y/N sighed. “No,” she said flatly, and then turned around. 

“Okay. Sleep with me.”

Y/N groaned and lifted her middle finger up to him with her back still to her. From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile.

Harry felt his heart lighten. Was it too soon? He’d bought this up just yesterday. But it seemed like teasing her about him was the only way he could get her to express anything other than general gloominess. 

“Well, Y/N –”

She whirled around. “Harry, back to the dishes.” She lifted her hand and pointed a finger to the sink. She was smiling widely. 

Harry’s shoulders drooped. He really was Y/N’s dog. “Yes, ma’am.” 

****

When their shift was over, he caught her frowning at the rain. He stood beside her and pinched her arm.

“Ow!” she squealed and swatted at him. 

Harry gestured to the rain. “Planning to walk?”

The frown was back. Harry wanted to run his finger over her face and smooth it back into place. “I don’t really have another option.”

“I can drop you home.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Let me try again. I will drop you home.”

She turned on him. “No. You. Won’t.”

Harry arched a brow, preparing to retort, but she held up a hand. “I’m not going home anyway. I’m… staying with a friend.”

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N pursed her lips. She nodded, but it lacked conviction. Harry tugged at her arm to make her face him. 

“Y/N, I know you think I’m not serious about anything, but if something is wrong I want you to tell me.”

She put her hands on her hips. He hadn’t seen this stance in days. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“Because I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t fix this,” she said softly after a pause. 

“So something is wrong.” 

She rolled her eyes. Harry held his breath, knowing in his heart that she wasn’t going to give him any answers. 

“No Harry, nothing is wrong. I’m a grown woman! I can deal with my shit on my own.”

“And I agree!” He spread his hands out in front of her, defensive. Submissive. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to. You can make me do all your dirty work.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she looked confounded. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I like taking care of people. And I like you. And you’re my friend. Almost my girlfriend, some would say.”

“Nobody would say that.” Y/N growled.

“I would.” 

Y/N groaned loudly, and Harry watched as she grabbed her bag and walked out into the rain, slamming the door at him. 

Well. At least she didn’t lock him in. 

****

The next day, on another one of Y/N’s breaks, Zayn said to him that maybe Y/N was so miserable because Harry kept asking her to get with him. Harry felt genuinely offended. He hadn’t been joking, any of the times. If he could, he would crawl and beg to see her tits. Or waist. Or to hold her hand. But that would definitely reduce his chances exponentially, so he didn’t do it. All he wanted was to make her laugh, anyway he could. 

She came back in and took her place shelving the pastries. Harry left his sweeping and floated over to her. He nicked a cupcake from her tray and dipped a finger into the frosted top. Y/N tutted, and then turned to look at him, her mouth a hard line. 

“Put that back right now.”

Harry dug his finger deeper. “Oops.”

Y/N’s eyes glinted. She ignored him and continued to put things on the display. 

“I was thinking,” Harry began. “They should really rename this cupcake.” He put his finger in his mouth and sucked on the sweet frosting. Y/N stilled, and Harry saw her gaze fix for a small moment on his mouth. 

“They should definitely name it after you.”

Y/N smirked. “Because I’m employee of the fucking year, right?”

So close, Harry thought. He almost had her. 

“Okay, choose an adjective: delightful, dreamy, sunshine-y, and, my personal favourite - creamy. We also have – ”

Y/N barked a laugh. “Creamy is your personal favourite?”

“Good one for a cupcake. And also creamy like your puss–”

Y/N’s hand shot out to slap him. Her eyes were narrowed together. Harry’s face moved to his side with the impact, but he secretly felt glad. 

Y/N clamped her fingers tightly around his jaw and pulled his face back to her. Harry felt his cock twitch. 

“If you speak of my pussy again I’m going to personally cut your balls off.” 

He moaned. “So sexy. Good to know that our ideas of foreplay align.”

Y/N pushed him back roughly and then looked at her tray of cupcakes. She lifted a finger and ran it through all of them, eyes trained on Harry. The cupcakes stood on the tray, all of them with messed up frosting. 

Y/N stepped back and cleaned her finger. “Zayn,” she shouted, getting his attention. “Look what this idiot did to the cupcakes!”

Harry’s entire focus was then trying to avoid being punched in the face by Zayn, but he saw Y/N wink at him before she turned around. He could still feel the tight grip of her fingers on his face. Victory. 

****

“Your dad ran off with another woman?” Harry asked, leaned against the counter. Y/N expertly worked the espresso machine, and also expertly ignored him. 

“Another man?”

“No, Harry,” she said finally through gritted teeth. “My parents are both still together. Is that an issue for you?”

“Not for me, apparently not for you either.” He tapped his chin dramatically. “Hm. Did your house burn down?”

Silence. 

“Dead cat? Dead grandparent?”

“I’m allergic to cats,” Y/N mumbled. 

“Hopefully not to grandparents too,” Harry grinned. 

“I am amazed at how your sense of humour is simply degrading day by day.”

“Oh? So your mood is the only thing that is allowed to get worse?”

Y/N looked up at him in shock. Her face fell, and she shook her head. Harry saw a glint in her eyes as she turned away. Panic stabbed through his chest, and he grabbed her wrist before she could disappear. 

“Y/N, please. Help a man out. Tell me what’s making you so sad.”

She just simply looked up at him. “Harry, I –” She stopped and gulped. “It’s just a bad time, okay? It’ll pass.”

Harry wasn’t satisfied. “I’m just worried.”

Y/N turned her head and smiled sadly. In the overhead light, Harry thought she glowed like a goddess. “Don’t be. I’m all good.”

“If you need a day off, or a couple of days, I can take your shifts, and –”

“God, no.” Y/N shook her head rapidly. She pulled her wrist away from him and cupped his cheek. Harry felt the warmth of her seep into him. He leaned into her palm, and she took it as permission to go higher, up into his hair. She moved her fingers lightly though it and Harry resisted closing his eyes and pulling her in by the waist. “It’s okay, Harry. Just let it go.”

And then she was gone.

****

aaaah okay my writing comeback is here! sorry this isnt too long but i LOVE this harry even though he is kinda annoying. i'm going to try to RUn through the next part and have it up so soon. this part was literally just setting things up for the actual tension to begin haha. i just wanted to post something. thanks for reading!!!!

[practistyles]

if your love is in trouble

In which Harry and Y/N are coworkers but he can't figure out why she is always so sad

In this part: a really quite pathetic, kinda sub Harry, Y/N is not having a good time, mentions of mood swings and general sad behaviour, fluff, some angst?

Word count: 1.6k

Harry glanced at the back door for the tenth time in less than a minute, his scowl deepening as he furiously scrubbed at the mug in his hands. He rinsed it under a stream of cold water, his eyes catching again on the apron hanging by the door. Maroon, with the name tag still clipped to the chest. “Y/N”, it read in bold letters.

Then everything happened at once.

The bell over the door jingled.

The back door swung open, and Y/N stumbled in, looking flustered.

From outside, someone called Harry’s name, and the mug slipped from his hands, cracking against the sink.

Harry cursed. 

He heard the shuffling of Y/N putting her apron back on, his back to her, staring at the cracked pieces of ceramic glinting blue against the sink. 

“You okay?” a soft, slivery voice said from behind him, and Harry stopped himself from audibly sighing. He turned around to see Y/N looking at him with her brow furrowed, and Harry could do nothing but shrug helplessly and gesture to the broken mug. 

Y/N’s gaze lowered, sweeping over him. Harry felt the burn of her gaze where it was fixed on his hand. 

“You’re bleeding,” she murmured and stepped towards him. 

Oh. Well, that explained the burning. He lifted his hand up to see it stained red, his finger sliced open. He cursed again. 

Y/N reached a hand into her pocket and procured a band-aid. Harry was grateful, but then he remembered why he had the cut in the first place. Like a good boy, he held out his finger to her. Most moments he spent in her presence, he just wanted to please her and be good for her. And usually she let him, even revelled in it, but the entire week Y/N had been a shell of a person. Taking frequent breaks, slipping out the back door, coming back with her face flushed red. It was driving him crazy. He felt like her dog, following her around with a sad puppy face just waiting for her to pet him. He had also developed almost insane theories about her life and conjured up multiple fantasies of getting into a brawl with anyone who was causing her distress. 

He ran his other finger over the band-aid and let his eyes sweep over her. 

“Need anything else?” she asked, looking up at him. He nodded and let a bastardly grin over his face. 

“Go out with me.” 

Y/N sighed. “No,” she said flatly, and then turned around. 

“Okay. Sleep with me.”

Y/N groaned and lifted her middle finger up to him with her back still to her. From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile.

Harry felt his heart lighten. Was it too soon? He’d bought this up just yesterday. But it seemed like teasing her about him was the only way he could get her to express anything other than general gloominess. 

“Well, Y/N –”

She whirled around. “Harry, back to the dishes.” She lifted her hand and pointed a finger to the sink. She was smiling widely. 

Harry’s shoulders drooped. He really was Y/N’s dog. “Yes, ma’am.” 

****

When their shift was over, he caught her frowning at the rain. He stood beside her and pinched her arm.

“Ow!” she squealed and swatted at him. 

Harry gestured to the rain. “Planning to walk?”

The frown was back. Harry wanted to run his finger over her face and smooth it back into place. “I don’t really have another option.”

“I can drop you home.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Let me try again. I will drop you home.”

She turned on him. “No. You. Won’t.”

Harry arched a brow, preparing to retort, but she held up a hand. “I’m not going home anyway. I’m… staying with a friend.”

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N pursed her lips. She nodded, but it lacked conviction. Harry tugged at her arm to make her face him. 

“Y/N, I know you think I’m not serious about anything, but if something is wrong I want you to tell me.”

She put her hands on her hips. He hadn’t seen this stance in days. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“Because I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t fix this,” she said softly after a pause. 

“So something is wrong.” 

She rolled her eyes. Harry held his breath, knowing in his heart that she wasn’t going to give him any answers. 

“No Harry, nothing is wrong. I’m a grown woman! I can deal with my shit on my own.”

“And I agree!” He spread his hands out in front of her, defensive. Submissive. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to. You can make me do all your dirty work.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she looked confounded. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I like taking care of people. And I like you. And you’re my friend. Almost my girlfriend, some would say.”

“Nobody would say that.” Y/N growled.

“I would.” 

Y/N groaned loudly, and Harry watched as she grabbed her bag and walked out into the rain, slamming the door at him. 

Well. At least she didn’t lock him in. 

****

The next day, on another one of Y/N’s breaks, Zayn said to him that maybe Y/N was so miserable because Harry kept asking her to get with him. Harry felt genuinely offended. He hadn’t been joking, any of the times. If he could, he would crawl and beg to see her tits. Or waist. Or to hold her hand. But that would definitely reduce his chances exponentially, so he didn’t do it. All he wanted was to make her laugh, anyway he could. 

She came back in and took her place shelving the pastries. Harry left his sweeping and floated over to her. He nicked a cupcake from her tray and dipped a finger into the frosted top. Y/N tutted, and then turned to look at him, her mouth a hard line. 

“Put that back right now.”

Harry dug his finger deeper. “Oops.”

Y/N’s eyes glinted. She ignored him and continued to put things on the display. 

“I was thinking,” Harry began. “They should really rename this cupcake.” He put his finger in his mouth and sucked on the sweet frosting. Y/N stilled, and Harry saw her gaze fix for a small moment on his mouth. 

“They should definitely name it after you.”

Y/N smirked. “Because I’m employee of the fucking year, right?”

So close, Harry thought. He almost had her. 

“Okay, choose an adjective: delightful, dreamy, sunshine-y, and, my personal favourite - creamy. We also have – ”

Y/N barked a laugh. “Creamy is your personal favourite?”

“Good one for a cupcake. And also creamy like your puss–”

Y/N’s hand shot out to slap him. Her eyes were narrowed together. Harry’s face moved to his side with the impact, but he secretly felt glad. 

Y/N clamped her fingers tightly around his jaw and pulled his face back to her. Harry felt his cock twitch. 

“If you speak of my pussy again I’m going to personally cut your balls off.” 

He moaned. “So sexy. Good to know that our ideas of foreplay align.”

Y/N pushed him back roughly and then looked at her tray of cupcakes. She lifted a finger and ran it through all of them, eyes trained on Harry. The cupcakes stood on the tray, all of them with messed up frosting. 

Y/N stepped back and cleaned her finger. “Zayn,” she shouted, getting his attention. “Look what this idiot did to the cupcakes!”

Harry’s entire focus was then trying to avoid being punched in the face by Zayn, but he saw Y/N wink at him before she turned around. He could still feel the tight grip of her fingers on his face. Victory. 

****

“Your dad ran off with another woman?” Harry asked, leaned against the counter. Y/N expertly worked the espresso machine, and also expertly ignored him. 

“Another man?”

“No, Harry,” she said finally through gritted teeth. “My parents are both still together. Is that an issue for you?”

“Not for me, apparently not for you either.” He tapped his chin dramatically. “Hm. Did your house burn down?”

Silence. 

“Dead cat? Dead grandparent?”

“I’m allergic to cats,” Y/N mumbled. 

“Hopefully not to grandparents too,” Harry grinned. 

“I am amazed at how your sense of humour is simply degrading day by day.”

“Oh? So your mood is the only thing that is allowed to get worse?”

Y/N looked up at him in shock. Her face fell, and she shook her head. Harry saw a glint in her eyes as she turned away. Panic stabbed through his chest, and he grabbed her wrist before she could disappear. 

“Y/N, please. Help a man out. Tell me what’s making you so sad.”

She just simply looked up at him. “Harry, I –” She stopped and gulped. “It’s just a bad time, okay? It’ll pass.”

Harry wasn’t satisfied. “I’m just worried.”

Y/N turned her head and smiled sadly. In the overhead light, Harry thought she glowed like a goddess. “Don’t be. I’m all good.”

“If you need a day off, or a couple of days, I can take your shifts, and –”

“God, no.” Y/N shook her head rapidly. She pulled her wrist away from him and cupped his cheek. Harry felt the warmth of her seep into him. He leaned into her palm, and she took it as permission to go higher, up into his hair. She moved her fingers lightly though it and Harry resisted closing his eyes and pulling her in by the waist. “It’s okay, Harry. Just let it go.”

And then she was gone.

****

aaaah okay my writing comeback is here! sorry this isnt too long but i LOVE this harry even though he is kinda annoying. i'm going to try to RUn through the next part and have it up so soon. this part was literally just setting things up for the actual tension to begin haha. i just wanted to post something. thanks for reading!!!!

[practistyles]

mean king sneaky

1.5k word mean king!harry chapter 6 sneak peek.

enjoy!

.

When she sighed into the kiss, he took it as permission, slipping a hand to the curve of her waist, guiding her closer. Her thigh brushed his, and he felt the hitch in her breath at the contact.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers as he broke the kiss only long enough to see her eyes. “We shall take our time.”

“I’m not afraid of the kiss,” she said. “Only the bit that comes next.”

He smiled. “We'll only get to that bit when you're ready. And when you are, I'll make certain you find it as sweet as you need.”

He kissed her again, deeper. His hand slipped behind her, tracing the gentle arch of her back, encouraging her to lean into him. And she did, cautiously at first, until her chest pressed to his, and her hands clutched his arms for balance.

She could feel the heat of him through her thin chemise, the strength of him, solid and broad, yet somehow still tender. His touch remained patient, adoring, but each movement was deliberate, as though mapping her with his fingers and lips.

She startled a little when his palm swept over her hip and down to the back of her thigh. He paused, pulling back just enough to look her over. He needed to calm himself before he wound up devouring every inch of her like he wanted. Looking at her face, he saw only a beautiful woman, clinging to him, wanting… But he had to keep gentle with her. For now.

“Is this too much?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. I'm trying to settle myself.”

“Shall we stop?”

“No,” she whispered, her cheeks blooming with heat. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned in again, placing a kiss beneath her ear. “As you wish.”

He'd imagined the filthiest things with her earlier in the day. Stroked his cock to an image he'd conjured of her, spread out on his velvet blanket, hips jerking and writhing for him as he teased her slowly. He'd released the moment he imagined himself within her. He couldn't even begin to know how soft and wet she'd be, how she'd feel encasing him…

With great care, he guided her onto her back along the divan, the velvet cushions yielding beneath her. He followed, half atop her, propped on one elbow so as not to press his full weight against her. His other hand drifted slowly along the line of her hip, then upward, tracing the side of her ribcage through the soft fabric of her shift.

She arched faintly beneath him, startled by her body’s yearning. It was automatic. His mouth never left her skin. He kissed the slope of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the edge of her collarbone as she moaned quietly.

Her fingers found their way into his curls, tugging gently as he grazed the peak of her breast with the back of his hand. Even that small contact had her gasping, her legs shifting restlessly beneath her.

“Already trembling,” he said, his breath jagged. “You are so sensitive, little mouse."

“I feel it,” she whispered. “It's...” she trailed off, unable to finish any thoughts she had conjured.

He chuckled low against her chest, nose swiping against the material that clung to her bosom. “It's natural to feel it. You're so good… perfect," his words were mumbled against the material. "I, too, feel it. It's in my bones…" He dotted kisses softly over her chemise. "… it's in my chest. And we’ve scarcely begun.”

He brought his mouth upward to hers again, his tongue brushing her lips in a way that made her back arch and her thighs clench beneath her clothing. She slowly poked her tongue out to feel his lips and then his tongue, and then the rattle of the moan that he pushed from his mouth into hers.

Between the steady flicker of firelight and the warmth of his hands, Y/n could no longer recall what fear had once lived in her. He made her forget everything but his breath, his touch, the way his voice dropped when he praised her.

She could feel the hard ridge of him against her hip, unmistakable even through layers of linen and cotton. The knowledge of it made her dizzy.

“Let me unlace this,” he murmured, tugging gently at the top of her chemise. “You are far too beautiful to be hidden behind cloth.”

She nodded, lifting her arms for him to assist. He had tried to hold himself back and not rush, but she was so pliant, so open already. Her panted breaths and gasps, the way she scratched at his scalp and kissed him with her wet tongue… the way she rocked up against him. All invitations.

And when the garment came loose, baring her to the warm air and his hungry eyes, the king did not reach for her as some men might have, greedy and rough. He merely looked. Admired. Swallowed hard as if astonished.

He wanted to touch. Wanted to grab her flesh and squeeze at every inch of her that was laid before him. Wanted to dig his fingers into her hips and breasts and spread her thighs open so he could look upon all of her.

“God help me,” he said softly, his voice nearly breaking. “You’re exquisite.”

He wasn't a man who believed in God. But right then, he could kneel in surrender to any deity who had brought her to him. He wanted to nose at her opening, to pry her apart and watch her face as he plunged into her depths.

She reached for him then, bolder than she’d ever been before, and pulled him down into her embrace, and perhaps for a break in the way his eyes were wandering over her peaked breasts and the stretch of her body where his fingers had once touched. She'd never been gazed upon like that before.

His mouth met hers again, slow and indulgent. He kissed her not as a king, but as a starving man at last allowed to feast. Her arms wrapped round his neck, drawing him nearer as his hand roamed down the soft plane of her side, over the tender rise of her hip. His palm, wide and warm, settled low, gripping just above her bottom as he deepened their kiss. She whimpered into his mouth, fingers slipping into his curls again, pulling at them with a desperation she scarcely understood.

Harry shifted atop her, careful not to rest too heavily on her frame, but eager for more of her body pressed against his. Her bare breasts, rising and falling in uneven rhythm, brushed against the linen of his shirt. The sensation tore another moan from her throat.

“There now,” he said between kisses. “D’you feel it, little mouse? What you’ve done to me?”

He took her hand and guided it downward, resting her palm over the thick, straining shape beneath his breeches. She gasped softly, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat.

He closed his hand over hers, encouraging her to press gently.

“That is what your sighs have made of me,” he whispered. “A beast of a man, barely leashed.”

Her skin burned hot. Still, she did not pull her hand away as she looked into his eyes.

“It feels so…” she trailed off, lashes fluttering as she dared another tentative touch.

“So alive?” he offered, his voice dark with pleasure.

She nodded, lips parted. “Yes.”

He smiled, then kissed her again, hungrier, less restrained. His hands returned to her body, roaming more freely. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over the pebbled peak, drawing a startled sound from her mouth. Her hips lifted slightly off the divan in response, instinctive and needy.

“May I touch you lower?” he asked against her neck, his breath scorching. “Properly?”

She hesitated, not out of fear, but from sheer wonder at the question. That he would ask at all. That he would wait. That a man known to be cruel in court would kiss her so sweetly and speak to her as though she were sacred.

“Yes,” she said, her voice small but clear. “Please.”

His fingers dipped downward, over the warm skin of her abdomen. She squirmed at the sensation, but he hushed her with a kiss to her cheek, trailing his mouth to her temple, her hairline, her ear.

When his hand finally slipped between her thighs, she gasped, her knees parting slightly of their own accord. He grazed her lightly at first with just a brush of knuckles over the soft curls between her legs.

“You’re already damp for me,” he whispered, sounding almost pained. “Oh, my love…”

Her heart was nearly bursting. She arched into him at the sound of that word.

Love.

Whether he meant it or not, it echoed through her like the strike of a bell.

.

mean king!harry tags: @matildasatellite @stylesftcher @hinnyrx @eversincehs1 @sunshinemoonsposts

@archerxnn @daphnesutton @spinninc @haliastyless @multiplefandomstan

@bruhk @sassamanda77 @cherryshouse @montgomery-929496 @cherriesncupcakes

@practistyles @matildalittlefreak @imaginexxharry @oifukinloser @hoolabalooba

@jaebeomsblackgf @wildcstdrexms @gilwm @rimaruu

[practistyles]

struggling so much with this next new story omg

[practistyles]

[4] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 4 Word Count: 8,762

Ch. 4 Warning: Talk of menstruation and bleeding, mentions of blood and wartime, aggressive male behavior (Harry gets a little violent with the Lord Mayor), discrimination

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n hadn't been given a choice on the style of her wedding dress. It had already been selected for her. But it was breathtaking. She'd never seen anything like it before, and that she would soon be wearing it in front of the kingdom? It was no wonder she was not given a choice. She would never have picked such a lavish thing because she did not feel worthy of it.

That morning was her first fitting. She stood with her arms stretched outward, one person on each side, holding her steady, while the dressmaker pinned and tucked and cut at the lace and the silk, adjusting it to her size. Mrs. Mable was the royal seamstress, and Y/n couldn't help but feel she held some contempt for her. The way she was pulling and prodding, even poking her with pins, all felt intentional.

"Ow!" Y/n winced when Mrs. Mable stuck a pin through the silk skirt, and it grazed her skin. Again. She was becoming ireful toward the woman when all she wanted was to relive the kiss she'd just had with the king, not a few hours earlier. She'd received a handful of strangers into the Rose Room for the fitting, and she'd been soaring with hot cheeks and a softly fluttering heart before Mrs. Mable got her hands on her.

She didn't know that the lace had its own name, Honiton, or that the diamond necklace they showed her (to be kept in its satin case until the day of the wedding) was Turkish. The dress had an off-the-shoulder, open neckline, with layered sleeves down to her elbows, all lined with the special lace. The silk corset bodice was pointed downward in a deep V, while the skirt was full and pleated silk.

Staring at her figure in the mirror, she felt like a fraud. How had this happened to her? How had luck (or misfortune, she wasn't sure yet) stricken her so abruptly? It was one thing to have been expecting her new lot, to have been raised up for it and accustomed to royal life, but it was another to have been plucked from the streets, shoved into it blindly, and to have people enraged by her presence without ever getting to know her first.

"Please be careful. You're poking her…" Phoebe said to Mrs. Mable.

The woman, whose face was hidden behind silk and lace as she bunched up the bottom hem of the dress, dropped her pin cushion to the floor as she jabbed another sharp object into the fabric. "She'll be fine. I've only nicked her a few times. It's part of the work if you want it done properly."

"But she will be your queen. She is to be treated with the utmost care and —"

Mrs. Mable stood up and pulled at the back collar of Y/n's dress, making her nearly stumble. "Queen Consort. There is a difference. We'll see if she makes it that far."

"The King is taken by her. She will prove you all wrong. You'll see." Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the dressmaker.

Y/n glanced at Phoebe in warning. She didn't want people arguing over her status. It wasn't worth it. If Mrs. Mable wanted to treat her like she was still a street beggar, all while fitting her for her royal wedding gown, then so be it. She'd soon learn who she was dealing with, and Y/n would not forget the treatment she was being subjected to.

"We will see." Mrs. Mable turned Y/n around and took her measuring tape to her hips, waist, and bust, before spinning her around again to help her step out of the dress. "I'll return two days before the wedding for the final fitting, along with the finished veil. And don't get too heavy-handed with tarts or the dress will be too tight."

Y/n looked down at her figure and glanced at it in the mirror. She hadn't gained very much weight at all, but kept being told she needed to gain more. Now there was the dressmaker telling her to go lightly on the very tart Y/n requested to have in the room for herself and anyone else who wanted some. Her mood was a little foul after having been prodded and nicked, so she huffed, stepping past Mrs. Mable to grab a piece of tart and shove it into her mouth as she stared at the woman in defiance.

When the dressmaker and her helpers left the room, Phoebe closed the door and leaned into it, shaking her head. "That woman is awful. There's gossip that she's been vying to have her daughter meet the king before you two are wed."

Y/n slid her standard dress back on, and Phoebe pushed herself from the door to help fasten the back. "What do you mean? To present her to him? For marriage?"

"I believe so."

She knew that the middle and upper classes of Thornekeep were spoiled and mean. So, it shouldn't have surprised her that Mrs. Mable didn't take seriously her eventual new title, and that she hoped her daughter could steal the designation for herself. Y/n was slowly learning about the politics of the kingdom and she was going to have to brace herself for what was soon to come.

"Now let's finish that tart."

. .

Harry was seething. The council had found the Lord Mayor guilty, but he was only charged a measly fine for his transgression. A fine! Imagine forcefully taking the king's wife-to-be from her quarters, openly disrespecting the crown, and humiliating her in front of the kingdom… and the punishment was nothing more than a fine?

He couldn't believe it when the news was sent to him. He'd planned on an in-person visit to retrieve the brooch from the Lord Mayor, but when he learned he'd gotten away with nary a slap to the wrist, he immediately sought out his Proctor to go back before the council to appeal the decision. His only recourse was to prove she'd been hurt in some way.

He stormed into the room where Y/n was in the middle of her etiquette class, and the governess stood from her chair quickly and lowered her head. "Your Majesty."

He breezed by the woman and pulled Y/n's chair out, dropping down to his knees in front of her without so much as a glance toward the governess. Y/n gasped when he pulled her skirts up and he put his hand over the dark blue and brown spot on her knee. He'd seen the bruise the morning before when he tried to get her to join him in his tub.

"This. Did this happen when they pushed you around and removed you from the castle?"

Y/n blinked slowly at him as he looked up at her. He looked desperate, wild. She had nearly forgotten the bruise herself and she certainly hadn't realized he'd even seen the thing.

"Yes. I was pushed down to my knees and hands from the steps. It was bruised much worse at first, but it's better now. Can hardly feel it really."

"And who pushed you? His name, Y/n. Was it the Lord Mayor?"

"I… I'm not sure. It was two men… The Lord Mayor never touched me except to take the brooch."

She watched as he clenched his jaw and looked down at the bruise, his thumb running along the top of her knee. "He was there, though. Did you hear him order the men to take you?"

Y/n thought back to that awful morning, and she nodded. "Yes. He said that your duties fall on him when you're away and that it was his command. And Niall! The guard, who's just there outside the door. He was there and he heard it and saw it all. That's who he said it to."

"So he ordered men to do this to you. And we have a witness." He pushed himself to stand up and stepped away quickly, back toward the door, before he turned to speak again. "I will get your brooch back for you today."

When the door was closed, the governess looked shocked as she watched Y/n slide the fabric back down her legs.

"What? Is this what it takes for you to notice my presence? The king himself must barge into your classroom and cause a disturbance for you to realize I'm sitting here?"

The woman wiped her hands down her dress and turned toward the table to speak. It seemed she only spoke to Y/n with her back turned to her. "I notice. I've already taught you plenty—"

Y/n stood up. "You should speak to me with more respect from now on. I will be the queen soon. If not, I'm sure the king will have words with you next. I will not return for any remaining classes. I understand now that I have much better manners than even you do."

She dismissed herself and stepped out of the room with that awful woman. Niall was waiting at the door, and he greeted her with a polite, sharp nod. "At least you and Phoebe are kind to me," she said, smiling at him as she began to walk toward the grand staircase that would lead them up to the king's chambers. "And you're kind to Phoebe as well. Thank you for that."

Niall didn't speak often. His duties didn't allow for it. But a few times he let his guard slip — so to speak — and he'd say a few words. "I've no reason to disrespect you or your lady-in-waiting."

Y/n smiled to herself as she continued up the steps. The stairs were wide, and they seemed to go on forever. The landings, on the way up, split the levels into threes, and the stairs curved around and continued up until they found the floor with the king's chambers and the Rose Room, where her chambers were. "If you disrespected Phoebe, I'm sure she'd be heartbroken. She rather likes you."

Before Y/n could pull the door open with it's heavy iron knob Niall spoke. "She does? Did she say something?"

She looked around the hallway and then up at Niall. "Of course she did. But that's nothing I can discuss with you. Secret is safe with me. No need to worry."

. .

Y/n had a large bruise on her left knee and a castle guard as witness. Harry doubted anyone else would offer to attest. He'd bring Niall with him the following day to meet again with the Proctor for proof of the Lord Mayor's mishandling of his queen-to-be. But first, he needed to find the Lord Mayor to deal with him at once and retrieve the brooch.

He didn't bother announcing his arrival or sending the house steward to call to the Lord Mayor that he was there. And it was good to be king because it meant that people had to listen to what he asked of them, even if they didn't much like him. So when he lowered his hand and stepped inside, the house steward bowed his head and let Harry in without a peep.

He wasn't hard to find. Harry spotted him quickly in his first-floor study, reading, and the Lord Mayor stood in haste. "Your Majesty. To what do I owe the honor of your sudden and unexpected presence?"

The king stepped toward the large bookshelf and ran a finger over the hard bindings. Harry's saunter and cold grin were vexing. The Lord Mayor had never met anyone so plaguy in his life. The king was full of himself and was purposefully bucking tradition. He had a much more suitable and beautiful option than Y/n, which the king would have loved.

"You have something that belongs to Y/n. The woman to whom I will be wed at the end of next week."

"I have nothing in my home that belongs to that girl."

Harry bit down on his molars as his dark gaze seared at the Lord Mayor before he bounded toward him, heavy steps over the wooden floors, until the king's hand was wrapped around the man's throat and his back pressed against the wall.

"I will not be disrespected by you once more, Virgil," he spat the name between his teeth. "First, you insult me behind my back and make a show of carting off my wife-to-be and her family like animals. And now you lie to my face? If you do not produce the brooch, that will be considered theft, which you will regret when I drag you before the council."

The man's eyes were wide as he tried to pry the king's strong grip from his windpipe. He wheezed as the back of his throat constricted when he attempted to speak.

"I can't hear you. Speak louder, worm."

Harry was enjoying watching Virgil squirm and gasp. He could squeeze tighter and hold on for a few minutes longer, be done with the man for good. But then, having to explain to Parliament what had happened would be awfully annoying, so he opted for just scaring him instead.

"You were much easier to subdue than I imagined. But then again, you have aged like spoiled curd. Flimsy muscles trying to pry my hand away. Give it another go. Let's see what you've got, old man."

The Lord Mayor did not have it in him to pry Harry's hand from his throat. And it was true, he was getting older and his body was not as virile as it had once been. He was no match for the young king. He tried twisting, but instead of working himself free, Harry released him and stepped back as the man fell to the floor and violently coughed.

Harry laughed as he stepped around the Lord Mayor to his desk and sat down in the chair, closing the book Virgil had been reading. "Where's the brooch? Or should I fetch your wife and tell her what you've done?"

The Lord Mayor, with his palm at his throat, coughed. "King Styles…" He inhaled sharply, his voice pinched as he tried to speak after the king had restricted his air. "I was protecting you. Protecting Thornekeep!"

Harry glared at the pathetic man, still on the floor, trying to push himself to his knees. "You defied me and the kingdom. You showed contempt toward Y/n and her family." He pushed himself from the chair and stood over Virgil, looking down at him. "And on your command, you had two men push her down to her knees, inflicting pain and making her bruise. That is assault, which will not go unpunished."

The Lord Mayor finally leveraged himself to stand, placing a hand on the bookshelf and pulling himself upward. "My Lord, please. The girl is a street beggar. Her word is not to be trusted. My advice is to consider another—"

Harry stepped in closer, his boots bumping into the old man's as he pushed him by his chest, his back against the bookshelf. "Your advice is not needed nor warranted. I am King. I will choose what I please, and I will have what I want."

The man stood with his hands upward as he bent back and away from the king, still standing toe-to-toe with him. "I didn't hurt the girl or her family. I simply returned them from where they came."

"I will have you tried for treason. Assault! What you did to her is inexcusable. You flagrantly disobeyed my command. If the council doesn't find you guilty, I do. And if they don't impose a more severe penalty, I will. I'll take this into my own hands if need be."

"There's a beautiful young woman. Much lovlier than Y/n. Pearl is her name… Smart, golden hair, a virgin. Her family comes from—"

Harry laughed loudly, cutting Virgil off. "I will marry Y/n. I want no one else for my queen. You have overstepped your duties with me, and after I'm done with you, you will not be welcome in or near the castle. You will be stripped of your title, and you and your wife will be considered a disgrace to the kingdom. I will see to it."

"Please… My Lord…" He kept his hands upward in surrender. "This is excessive. Do you really think that having my title stripped will be well received by the proletariat who elected me? It would be bedlam! The people would not stand for such controversy!"

"Has it not gotten into your skull, yet, that I am not concerned by outrage or controversy. Let them be angry. Anger is better than complacency."

"Complacency is prosperous. Anger is costly."

"And I have the means to pay whatever the cost if need be."

"You are going to bankrupt the kingdom with your frivolous actions. Your father would be turning in his grave if he knew what you were up to."

Harry spat, "Good. I hope my father rots. Let the spoiled aristocracy learn to work for their meals like everyone else. Have you seen the rookeries? Do you know the reality of what sits on the outskirts? Thornekeep is prosperous, but only for you. Only for those who don't need it."

"Oh, pish!" Virgil laughed incredulously. "You act like some kind of martyr, yet you've seen the rookeries of Thornekeep but once! Stop this madness! You will drive our kingdom into the ground with your foolishness! You've no idea the damage it will cause—"

Harry slammed his fist into the wood of the bookcase directly next to the Lord Mayor's head. "I have been to the slums in many a kingdom. You forget, maggot, that I spent most of my adulthood outside of Thornekeep as commander-in-chief of our kingdom's armies. I led my men to victory in dangerous battles across the land. I fought alongside the downtrodden. I've lived it. I've seen it all up close. I do not care who hates me. Let my father's rest be disturbed. I care not!"

"Heavens! What is going on?" Virgil's wife appeared in the doorway, the look of surprise on her face quite amusing to Harry.

Harry patted the Lord Mayor's shoulder and stepped back. "We were just having a good ol' chat about my future wife. Though Virgil here does seem to fancy a golden-haired girl called Pearl, I explained to him that I'm a man with morals and already spoken for. I'm sure any other man would be grateful for a chance with her. Even married ones like yourself."

The woman blinked in surprise at her husband. "Little Pearl? You mean Mr. and Mrs. Mable's daughter?"

Harry nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he moved toward the doorway and smiled casually at her. "Yes. I believe that was who he was referring to. He's quite fond of the girl. I don't know how he's become privy to her virginal status, but your husband seems quite excited about that detail. Bit too young for me…"

He leaned in closer to the Lord Mayor's wife and spoke quietly. "I prefer 'em thicker through the calf and more mature personally, but your husband has his own tastes, I presume. Just keep an eye on him around little Pearl, will you?"

"Your majesty!?" The woman looked at the king, her mouth agape.

Harry grinned back at the man. "My wife's brooch, the one you stole? Have it sent to her within the hour, or I will be back again before nightfall."

. .

Y/n felt feverish and her insides were twisting and turning and squeezing tight, like her guts were being clamped together and wrung into a ball. Her sisters' bickering about the little game they were playing nearly tipped her over the edge of anger. She wanted to scream at them for silence. And most interestingly, she hadn't been able to finish the dinner that was served to her either. She had no appetite.

"Y/n. Are you feeling alright? You look unwell." Her mother put the back of her hand up to her forehead and gasped. "My child! You're burning hot! Phoebe! Where is Phoebe? Where is the guard?"

Y/n sighed and leaned forward as she closed her eyes, placing her elbows on the table. She wasn't worried about her manners at that moment. She felt like she was about to vomit. She heard her mother shuffle from the dining room to find Phoebe, who'd just wandered off only moments before.

If she hadn't been in so much sudden pain, she would have found it amusing that both Phoebe and Niall were nowhere in sight. Pushing herself from her chair to stand, her father rushed to her side. "Careful there. Here we go."

He leveraged her to standing, draping her arm over his shoulder, and began to help her back to the King's quarters. Before they had reached the stairs, Phoebe was there on her other side, arm drawn across her back to help. "I'm so sorry, madam! I didn't know you were poorly. I would have—"

"It's okay, Pheobe. Don't stress. I just need to lie down…"

She hadn't seen the king all afternoon and figured it was better that he wasn't seeing her in that state. He'd probably change his mind about her altogether if he saw her like that. If she wasn't healthy, what good was she to him? She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth when a spasm wracked her organs.

"Should we fetch a doctor?" Her father said.

"I just need to lie down. Please."

Y/n was brought to the king's bed and propped against the pillows when she noticed her mother, sisters, and Niall standing in the doorway watching. She didn't want an audience. She wanted to rest and needed the pain to go away.

Phoebe pulled at the blankets as she tried to make the bed more comfortable, and Y/n groaned. "Please… I just need rest. I'm not dying." Although she felt like she was.

"Yes. Of course. We'll leave you be. But we will be fetching a doctor whether you like it or not."

Y/n closed her eyes and rolled to her side as her father and Phoebe finally left the room. She groaned quietly and hugged herself around her stomach. She wondered if she'd eaten something bad. Or perhaps God was finally punishing her for her lustful thoughts and behavior.

Making herself into a ball, she clenched her teeth and felt something wet on her leg. She paused and slowly she reached down, bringing her hand under her chemise to feel, and when she lifted her hand in front of her face, she hadn't expected to see blood.

Blood coming from… there?

She pushed herself up to sit and pulled at her skirt. More blood. "Am I with my monthly sickness?" she whispered.

It had been some months since she'd bled at all, so to suddenly see blood… Well, it explained the pain she was feeling, though it'd never ached like that before. Hissing in pain, she bent forward and closed her eyes. At least now she knew she wasn't going to die.

. .

Y/n startled when the door to her chambers was suddenly pushed open, and in stepped a vexed-looking Harry. "Are you okay? I was told you've fallen ill."

"I'm not ill. Not in the sense that I'm sick with something I've caught. It's my…" She glanced away and sighed before looking him back in the eye. "Lunation."

"Lunation," he said the word slowly as he stood there, blinking at her. If she'd ever seen a confused man before, he was it. She nearly laughed at the expression on his face. To see the king look at her like that… Well, it wasn't something she felt she'd be seeing often. Had no one told him? She'd assumed everyone in the castle was talking about it by now.

"I'm having my menses."

"Oh! Yes. I see..." He stepped in closer next to her bed. "But why must you be here? I thought I'd find you in my room."

Y/n pressed her hands into the top of the bedding she sat upon. "Special mattress. They put this over the bigger one underneath. To catch my blood. I didn't think you'd want me next to you while I'm… well…"

Harry pushed his hand over the thin, smaller mattress and nodded. "Is it comfortable. Feels stiff."

"Nicer than anything I used to sleep on. I'm perplexed that this is meant for me to bleed on, and then it gets burned after. I'd have loved to have had this mattress at one time."

"Is it always like this for you? Your menses?"

Y/n leaned back and placed her hands over her stomach. "No. I haven't bled in some time. It was never on schedule anyway. The doctor said I must have been malnourished, and now that I'm eating well, my body is… revitalising was the word he used. He did come with tea and some medicine, and I feel much better now, though. He said I'll be fine."

She heard him push out a breath, like he'd been holding it in. "I've got something for you…"

He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the lovely brooch that had been taken from her. She smiled and sat up. "I'm so glad it's not been lost for good. It's so beautiful."

Harry reached for her hand and placed the golden breastpin into her palm. "Virgil will not be coming around here again. His invitation to the wedding has been revoked. My Proctor is working on having his title stripped."

"Thank you for getting it back for me. I realize my presence here is an incumbrance. To you and to everyone who cares about the crown. I can see I'm not well-liked in this castle."

Harry furrowed his brow and trailed his eyes over her figure. "Who else has been rude with you?"

"Besides you?" She tucked her lips into her mouth and watched his expression fall.

"My rudeness was meant to be a test of your resolve. Have I not amended myself to you?"

"Little by little, I suppose. I can't expect you to dote on me like a man burning with desire when you have none for me."

"I may not express my desires plainly, but I would not have you here if I didn't want you here. Perhaps it's not evident to you, my motivations, but you have been a surprise to me. A pleasant one. One that I intend on keeping for good."

Y/n had only been teasing at first, but his tiny confession was consoling to her. She knew there was a small flame burning between them, but his visage was not an easy one to see through.

"You chose me to anger the kingdom and to produce an heir. Are you saying now that there's more to it than just that?"

He clenched his jaw and slid his irises down to her bare feet. "It is true that was my initial purpose with you. But as I said, you've been a surprise to me."

She looked down at her feet as he ran the pad of his finger over her ankle and then upward to her shin, stopping at the bottom hem of her chemise. She swallowed as she looked back up to his face at his lips. The lips she'd kissed just the morning before. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about how it felt. It left such a warm, lingering sensation on her skin that she was sure she'd never be without it again.

Harry sat down at the edge of the mattress, his hand still on her shin, before he drew his fingers back down to her ankle. He'd been so worried about her at first. His assistant, Fred, told him she'd nearly fainted at dinner and had to be brought to bed, and something about a doctor. He probably should have waited to hear the rest, but his legs were carrying him quickly up to his room to get to her before he could even think about what he was doing.

When he didn't find her in his room, he dashed back into the hallway like a madman to the Rose Room, to her quarters. His heart had been racing, and he was already thinking the worst. Until he saw her propped against her feather pillows with her pretty eyes aimed wide at his intrusion.

The truth was, his mind had been in a fog since he'd kissed her. He wasn't a man who kissed his conquests typically. He found kissing to be a waste when his only intention was usually to get himself off. But Y/n's mouth was soothing and sweet. He could have let himself kiss her for hours, just savoring the smell of her skin and the tiny licks of her tongue against his. Best of all, her breath wasn't offensive in the least. It was like herbs and warm honey.

He brushed his knuckles against his lips in reverie and pressed his palm over her shin, wrapping his fingers around the underside, and kept his gaze fixed on her. He didn't know what he'd have done if she had been worse off. He was still feeling the waves of calming relief easing his mind now that he'd found her well.

"You've also been a surprise to me. I disliked you at first. Thought you were the devil." She smiled softly, biting her lip and then releasing it.

"I'm still the devil, little mouse. That, you were not wrong about."

She shook her head. "No. You're different with me. If you were still treating me as you had at first, I'd be contemplating running off with Lane."

His brows stitched together tightly, and the ease on his face was gone. "Lane. Is he going to be a problem for us?"

"A problem? He's my friend."

"He's a friend who's smitten with you, and you just said you'd thought of running off with him. Are you also smitten with him?"

Y/n laughed and shook her head. "Heavens no! Never."

Harry did not laugh with her. "But you're close to one another. Has he ever tried to kiss you?"

She stopped chuckling and blinked at the king slowly. Was she to lie to him and say no? Certainly, he wouldn't take it well if she told him the truth. She'd seen him in his jealousy before and wasn't keen on another outburst from him.

Looking down at where he was now clutching her shin, she shook her head no but kept her lips pressed together. She was afraid that if she were to speak the lie, he'd see right through her.

Harry reached toward her chin and tilted her face up. "Look at me when you answer. Have you kissed him?"

She blinked harshly and inhaled through her nose as she shook her head again, but she couldn't lie when she was looking directly at him. "Just… Well… Once. He was drunk, and I only wanted him to stop asking, so I let him, but that was it. I never even thought of him like that… I—"

"Who else have you kissed other than me?"

"My Lord, I—"

"Harry." He interrupted. "In private, you will call me by my given name, unless you plan on running off with another man, then the cold formalities will do. So tell me. How many others have you kissed?"

"No one else. Just you. I can hardly even count Lane, it was gross."

He let go of her chin and stood up, stepping away, his back to her. "And did he do anything else to you? Touch you anywhere he shouldn't?"

"Of course not. You are the only one who's ever touched me where he shouldn't."

Harry turned to look at her. "Where I shouldn't? Are you the maker of the law now? To tell the king, your husband, that he shouldn't touch you?"

"We're not wed yet."

"I could wed you tonight if I so please. Do not forget who I am."

"How could I? You're the devil. Just like you said."

Harry let out an incredulous sigh and shook his head. "You're free to leave if you like. I'm sure you'd prefer Lane over the devil."

She crossed her legs together and sat up, glaring at him. "Your jealousy is risible when the whole kingdom knows of your past exploits. How many women before me did you lie with and kiss, and how many do you still take?"

She wasn't sure she was prepared to hear his answer. She was sure he'd been having his fun and would continue to.

Stepping back toward the bed, he narrowed his eyes at her and placed his palms down on the mattress. "Since you? None. I haven't."

"You didn't return to your room last night. I must assume you were in another woman's bed."

"I was in my office working. I slept there. I have taken no women since you have arrived, and before you, it matters not."

She wanted to believe that he had not been soothing his heathen nature with other women, but a man like Harry, the king, could do as he pleased, and Y/n would have no say in what he did when he was away from her.

"Then why should it matter that a boy once kissed me a long time ago? And I don't think I believe that you've been keeping your fiddle clean either."

He couldn't answer her first question without sounding like a pathetic sap, but he knew the answer was because he was, in fact, jealous. He thought that when he'd kissed her, he had been her first. Harry didn't know why he was feeling so sentimental about a little kiss, but he likened the feeling to someone having poked a sharp pin into his chest. Even her accusation left him stung in pain.

"I might be the devil to you, but your accusations of me are false. I have no interest in anyone else in that way."

"But you could if you wanted. You're the all-powerful king. What's stopping you from rogering any other pretty girl who surely throws herself at your feet? Certainly, it isn't because of me."

Harry stood up, removing his hands from the mattress and stared at her in disbelief. He'd been accused of many things before, but somehow, having Y/n fault him with infidelity when he'd practically been a saint was absurd.

"Would you like me to go off and stick my fork into another woman? I have no interest in doing such a thing, but you seem quite fond of the idea."

She looked away from him. She wasn't sure why he cared or why she was provoking him. "I'm tired. I need rest."

"You didn't answer me earlier. Who else has been rude with you, Y/n? Tell me."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she sighed as she looked back at him. "The governess, the laundress, the dressmaker, some of the maids, the castle steward, the butler's servants, one of the footmen was particularly hateful when I was being dragged away into the cart—"

"Is your lady in waiting also hostile with you?"

She shook her head. "No. Phoebe's very kind. I think of her as a friend. Niall too, he's also very genial. I trust them both equally.

Harry looked down at the floor and worked the bottom part of his jaw from side to side. He hadn't realized that so many of his staff had been cruel to her. He expected some friction, but this? He lifted his gaze back up to hers. "Why haven't you told me?"

"Did you not already imagine I'd be treated with such disdain? No one wants me here in the castle… Well, most don't. I represent everything they hate."

"I suppose I was mistaken in thinking that even if they disliked you, they wouldn't outright scorn you. Even the governess?" He shook his head and placed his hand on the wooden poster of the bed.

"I've tried everything with her. I meet with her on time for every class. I'm polite, quiet, and I always practice what she's shown me. But I've come to accept that she thinks she's wasting her time with me… that I'm not worth the trouble. She never looks at me. Only speaks with her back turned, and then half the class acts like I don't exist. Most of the hour is spent looking at a wall while she reads. One time, I arrived early and she wasn't there. When she finally stepped into the room, it was half past and she never once looked at me or spoke, even when I asked her what she'd be teaching me that day."

"Do not indulge her anymore. You needn't put yourself through that kind of turmoil for a class that teaches useless politesse."

"I won't. I told her today that I wouldn't return."

"Good. And how are your parents faring?"

Y/n smiled, confused and a little astounded by the sudden change of subject as well as the shift in his mood. "They are very happy. I think they, too, are treated poorly, but they ignore it because they're so strong-headed. The beds and the food are quite enough to keep their mouths shut about ill treatment."

She watched as he traced his fingers over the thin stuffed mattress she sat on. "As soon as you are given your title, anyone who treats your family badly will be punished for it."

Y/n nodded and looked down at the brooch in her hand, running her thumb along the engraving. The small thing was heavier than it looked. She was glad to have it back, mostly so that it wasn't lost. She knew it meant a lot to Harry because it was once his mother's.

"She didn't have a chance to wear it but a handful of times," he said, looking at the breastpin. "They were going to bury it with her, but I stole it." He smiled at the memory as he traced his finger along the edge of the blanket near her thigh. "It was sitting in a tin tray with her other valuable jewels, and after I took it, my father tore the castle apart to try and find it. No one ever suspected it was me. Had hidden it for many years, then took it with me to war. No one ever knew."

Y/n looked up at him. She wasn't surprised that he'd stolen it as a child, and somehow it made him seem so much more human. He was just a small boy when he lost his mother. He deserved to have a piece of her to take with him.

"So you've always had a rebellious heart."

He licked his lips and looked down at her. "Yes. I suppose I have."

"Do you miss her?"

Stress lines carved into his forehead. "Not anymore. I still think of her, though. Fond memories… I came to terms with all that a long time ago."

"You're a very strong person."

"Strong? Maybe. Most everything is a farce, Y/n. I prefer the appearance of stoicism, so that's what I allow everyone to see. It's better to keep emotion out of reach."

"Does that mean you don't allow yourself to feel sad or happy?"

"I don't allow others to see it. That does not mean I don't feel those things. I do, however, prefer to remain rational. I let logic rule, not my emotions."

"But you are making significant changes by rejecting convention. You are causing tumult in the kingdom, and people are outraged. How is it that you are ruling by logic when you've created such a stir amongst the people?"

Harry sighed and sat down next to her, his eyes reaching from her face down to the brooch in her hand. "Do you believe that my actions speak of a man governed by his irrational feelings?"

"Some people think you're acting rashly. But to me, I find your plight noble. The poors are always overlooked. We fend for ourselves the best we can, but now to have the king on our side feels like our voice has finally been heard. Emotional or rational thinking, I don't know. But it's not without good virtue or mindful discernment."

"Mindful discernment." He smiled as he returned his gaze to hers. "I suppose I do have a soft spot for the undervalued among us. Even if it began as a means to an end."

Y/n let the words sink into her pores. She knew all along that he chose her to upset people. She wasn't delusive. Even if he'd started being nicer on occasion, she was still but a means to an end for him. But he was also a means to an end for her as well. She and her family could live comfortably, well fed, well rested, safe… Maybe true love had not been meant for her like she once imagined.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you saw me that day. Otherwise, I'd just be another undervalued, begging strangers for any kindness. At least I have a comfortable bed to lie down in." Yn laughed and closed her fingers around the brooch. "My mother thinks you courted me. I don't know why she'd believe a king would be interested in a street beggar, but I won't correct her. She still believes in true love and fate and all that. Don't have the heart to tell her how it happened. That you selected me out of convenience. A means to an end, if you will."

Harry's brows pulled together. "Is that what you think? That this is all just a show?"

"Is it not?"

"You will be crowned Queen, and you will be my wife, with whom I will produce an heir. That is not a show."

"Maybe not a show. But you said it yourself, a means to an end."

"What were you expecting, Y/n? Love at first sight? Anyone I would have selected would have been the same. But I did not anticipate to find you so alluring. I've grown very fond of you in these weeks."

She swallowed as her skin burned hot. It was most infuriating to her that he could sway her emotions so rapidly. In one beat, she was a disappointing burden, and yet in another, she was fond and alluring.

Even as she sat there, the thin fabric of her chemise covering most of her skin, while she bled into the mattress below her, he meant his words just the same. She was more beautiful and captivating by the day. Lifting his hand up to the curve of her jaw, he let his pupils wander over the features of her face, and he could tell she was nervous.

"What is it, mouse?" he asked in a soft timbre.

She blinked her eyes and looked back up at him, her mouth parted as she paused for a moment to let her irises mesh with his. "Sometimes you're confusing to me. I don't know how to feel when you speak about me. I know you don't love me. I never expected that from you. But I don't think I imagined you'd find me alluring either. Especially right now while I'm painting the mattress under me in red."

He slid his thumb over her cheekbone as he pushed out a breathy laugh.

"Is what I said laughable to you?" she asked, her brow raised.

He grinned. "Yes, your words amuse me. You're quick-witted. Do you think that because you're having your mensus that I would recoil in disgust?"

She nodded. "Yes, in fact. Even my father is repulsed, and he loves me."

Harry shook his head, and she watched his gaze drag down to her bare ankles and then back up to her face. It was almost lewd the way he so brazenly wiped his sight over her frame the way he had. She might as well have been lying there naked.

"I'm not squeamish by a little blood, Y/n. I've sewn limbs and gashed wounds together. I've used my bare hands to stop the bleeding of maimed soldiers more times than I care to count. I saw the most ghastly things when I was leading our royal army not that long ago. Your mensus does not unnerve me in the slightest."

"I see. But even still, it isn't desirable. You cannot tell me you find me alluring in this moment."

"And why not? You are not less beautiful or mouthy because of it. It does not deter my fondness." He grinned.

She had a hard time believing him. But why would he lie to her? He had no reason to try and make her feel better about herself because either way, she wasn't going anywhere.

"Even when I offered myself to you the morning before, you didn't want me, and I wasn't yet bleeding. How can you say these things to me now?"

Harry shifted, his knee pushed into her thigh as he took her face in his hands. "What are you on about? I made it clear my feelings about that. And then I kissed you. Do you not remember any of it?"

Her lashes fluttered as she tried to maintain calm. Of course, she remembered it all. Word for word. And then the kiss… Every brush of his lips and tongue, the way her body washed in heat every time she relived the kiss in her mind. It had changed a part of her, so of course, she hadn't forgotten.

"I remember."

He nodded and let go of her cheeks. She remembered, but did she remember it the way he did? Had he been alone in the way his heart pounded wildly behind his chest, in the way his fingertips burned, and his blood simmered… The way he was breathless when he finally pulled away? For that had never happened to him before, and it marked him so violently that he couldn't think straight all night.

And it had just been a kiss. Was he a fool to let the feel of her warm mouth against his take up so much space in his chest as he had? Even then, he'd wanted to kiss her again to revel in the sensation.

"I can't stop thinking about it. The kiss…" she confessed.

He looked back up at her face, relieved at her words but stricken by his shameful inner thoughts. He couldn't help but feel a kindred madness working its way through his veins.

"Nor can I," Harry replied quietly, almost reluctantly, like an admission passed between the cracks of armour. “The kiss, I can still feel it sitting on my lips.”

His thumb skimmed her bottom lip, light as breath, his eyes fixed there. "The moment I felt your mouth on mine, I knew it was something that would stay with me.” He paused. “And I found myself imagining it over and over.”

Y/n sat still, afraid to breathe too loudly, her heart fluttering rapidly like a mouse, the pulse pumping in her neck.

Harry’s voice dropped lower. “It lingers. The feeling of you. I wasn't prepared to let it sink me to the depths.”

She shivered, her nerves causing her skin to prick, as his words lay gently over her heart. "But you left so quickly after and didn't return to me last night. I know you said you were working, but you made your choice to keep away from me."

“Because I didn’t trust myself last night.” His hand slid to the side of her neck, his thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of her throat. “You offered yourself to me, and I was feeling reckless things. I have spent a lifetime reining in heedless actions. Staying away was best for us both.”

She boldly slid her shaky hand against his leg as his gaze lifted sharply to hers. He hadn't expected it, and in that brief moment, a recognition passed between them; they were two people, human and flawed, no different than the other. Their outward status meant nothing in those seconds that ticked by.

He leaned forward slowly, his nose brushing against hers. “You drive me mad.”

She smiled gently, their lips nearly touching. “You deserve it.”

That earned a brief breath of a laugh from him, more air than sound. And then, before reason could interrupt, before obligation, or her own festering doubts could rise to interfere, Harry kissed her.

It was not like the first time. This one felt impatient, a test of sanity or madness, a sating of curiosity. It was filled with a slow ache that had been building since their first clash of wills. His mouth moved over hers with devastating precision until she pressed her tongue to his, and the precision turned into a starved pace, as though every second he didn’t kiss her was one he could no longer justify.

Y/n’s fingers crept up his hard, solid chest, curling into the soft linen of his shirt as she responded, matching his hunger with a keenness of her own. Her body ached with a desperate need to be touched, to know she mattered to him.

And Harry touched her like she did matter. As if the truth he couldn’t yet speak was being carved into the space between them. His lips opened and closed around hers, his fingers slid gently up her spine to the back of her neck as she moaned into his mouth.

A harsh knock on the door startled them. The king slowly parted from her and turned toward the door. "Who's there?"

Y/n sat forward to watch the door open, and in stepped Harry's assistant, hands clasped behind his back, head lowered. "Your majesty. Forgive my intrusion, but your presence is requested. The Lord Mayor and His Grace, Duke Hughes are here to settle a dispute."

"Send them away. It's far too late to be resolving conflicts, and I have nothing more to say to the Lord Mayor today."

The man nodded shallowly as he kept his eyes turned to the floor. "He said that if you refuse to meet with him, he will report you for theft, assault, and trespassing."

Harry laughed and ran a finger under his nose. "That spineless worm. Fine. Tell him to make himself comfortable in the drawing room. I'll come find him soon."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Fred said as he closed the door behind himself.

Harry moved his hand from hers and fixed his gaze on her pretty eyes. “You should rest.”

“I won’t be able to,” she murmured. “Not after that.”

“After the kiss or the intrusion?"

She smiled shyly and looked down at her lap. "The kiss."

Harry nudged her chin upward to look at him. "Then think of it as a dream.”

She looked at him as he pulled away, her voice barely above a hush. “Did you feel reckless again?”

His soft green eyes scanned hers for a quiet moment. Then, with a final kiss to her brow, he answered, “Maybe.”

With that, he stood, smoothing the front of his waistcoat, his mask of control slowly knitting itself back over his face — but not before she caught the softness still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“I'll be around to check on you, but I'd better find you fast asleep when I return. And I’ll see to the governess tomorrow.”

He made for the door, and just before exiting, he glanced over his shoulder with a glint of something playful in his eyes. “Rest, little mouse. The devil’s watching over you tonight.”

She pushed a breathy laugh from her lips and watched the edge of his mouth turn upward before he left her alone in her room. The silence around her felt stiff and accusatory, but she quelled the burgeoning shame and guilt that started to rise up in her. Y/n was done with needless worrying about wanting to kiss a handsome man who would soon be her husband. She touched her lips softly, the feel of his mouth engraved on hers.

Perhaps he was the devil but she was beginning to see that maybe the devil wasn't as bad as everyone had said.

. .

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[practistyles]

missionary, forehead to forehead, his chain swinging in my face.

[practistyles]

we literally never learn we've literally been here before... whatever harry said

[practistyles]

just a little taste

Summary: You're the angel in his songs, but dancing in his kitchen, you're nothing short of sin.

Warnings: established relationship, lots of mentions of past sex, handjob, oral (m!receiving), some praise, lots of licking food idk what the name is for that, it's just generally really filthy honestly

Based on: this ask!

A/N: it took me a while to post this one, though i'm still not fully satisfied with it because it feels so repetitive to me. let me know if you guys like it! i mostly listened to ''cinema'' by our very own mister harry styles while writing this, so i definitely recommend listening to that as you read ;) hope you enjoy lovelies x

Word Count: 4,068

...

Morning stretches soft and slow across your shared apartment, sunlight cutting warm ribbons through the gauzy curtains. It's quiet except for the crackle of a vinyl turning gently on the record player, and the unmistakable start of a song you know all too well.

Harry's song. Only Angel.

It winds through the apartment like honey, thick and teasing. You're humming along before you even realize it, your lips mouthing the lyrics you know by heart as you sway in front of the stove, flipping pancakes in your boyfriend's blouse. The buttons are done unevenly, the collar slipping off one shoulder to reveal the curve of your neck and shoulder marked with fading bruises.

Underneath the crumpled white fabric, you're only wearing your underwear and bra, simple, lacy. Your hair is a tangled mess, curling at the ends from sweat and friction, and your skin is a mosaic of hickeys, some delicate, others brutal in their intention. The base of your throat, the swell of your breasts, your inner thighs, all painted with evidence of how he'd needed you. How he'd taken you.

Your hips move to the rhythm of the song as you stir a bowl of pancake batter, sticky on your fingers. You hardly notice the dull ache between your thighs as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, used to the aftermath of wild sex with Harry by now. You've grown to love it, a trophy of a night you'd both barely survived, panting and tangled in the sheets.

It's the smell that wakes Harry, the vanilla sweetness floating in from the kitchen. Something so warm, so you, it makes his chest ache. He groans softly and blinks the sleep from his eyes, pushing himself up on one elbow and squinting into the morning light. He's sore. In a good way. In a fucked senseless the night before way.

His muscles ache from holding himself up, from his hips slamming into yours with so much force he had to put his hand on your hair to shield your head from thudding against the headboard. His cock twitches beneath the sheets at the memory.

He runs a hand over his face, willing away his arousal before getting out of bed. You're likely still sore, and he's always been strict about taking care of you properly after he's been rough with you, which, to your frustration, means he'll refrain from having sex with you until he's sure that you're fully healed and comfortable.

You don't see him at first.

Harry saunters into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, his chest bare and glowing in the sunlight, curls tousled from sleep and last night's activities. He carefully stretches his sore arms, showing off a trail of angry purple hickeys that dips beneath the waistband of his sweats, like a roadmap of where your mouth had been.

Scratchmarks adorn his back in violent red lines, dull and satisfying. Your doing. You always raked your nails down his back when you were close, clawing at him like you needed something to hold onto as you came apart. Harry wore the marks like a badge of honor.

He watches you, shamelessly, biting back a grin as you sway to the chorus of a song he'd recognize anywhere.

His song.

He'd written it about you the first time he'd seen you, years ago, though you didn't know it at the time.

He was in a club in an exotic country, back when he still used alcohol and parties and women to forget about his problems. You were stood in the middle of the dancefloor, body moving under the tacky strobe lights, eyes closing like you were lost in your own little world.

He went home and wrote Only Angel that night, driven by the desperate need to immortalize the way you had looked when you came on his cock in a cramped bathroom stall barely an hour later, your nails digging into his back deliciously.

And now here you were, singing it in his shirt, in your shared home, after a night of mind-blowing sex, and suddenly he felt like he was twenty-something again, completely enamored by a girl he's hardly even said a word to, unable to look away. The nostalgia strikes him in the middle of his chest. God, he's the luckiest man alive.

And you're not just mouthing the words like you usually do. You're into it, smiling to yourself as you alternate between humming along and singing the lyrics under your breath.

You know he thinks it's weird when you listen to his recorded music, told you it makes him feel ''a bit awkward, love, hearing myself come from the speakers when I'm right here.''

But seeing you like this? Hair messy, wearing his clothes, dancing in your kitchen to a song he wrote about you long before he even knew your name? It does something to him.

He wordlessly pads across the room, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. You let out a startled yelp and instinctively smack the wooden spoon you were holding against his cheek, a loud splatter of pancake batter echoing against his skin and the kitchen tiles.

''Fuck!'' he hisses, stepping back as a glob of sticky yellow goo slides down his jaw. ''What the— babe!''

You whip around, eyes wide, realizing it's just Harry, then burst out laughing when you see the stunned expression on his face. ''Oh my God, I'm so sorry!''

''Jesus Christ,'' he mutters, dragging the back of his hand across his face in exaggerated offense. ''Didn't know you were armed. You tryin' to kill me with a fuckin' spoon, love?''

You scowl at him playfully, grabbing a paper towel to dab at his hand. ''Serves you right for creeping up on me.''

He glares at you, but it's half-assed at best. ''That's how you greet the man who gave you four orgasms last night? I did some of my best work there, y'know? I was expecting more of a fanfare when I woke up. Maybe even you dropping to your knees and thanking me.''

''You mean me dropping to my knees and giving you a blowie?'' you guess with a smirk, seeing the faraway look on his face and knowing exactly what he was really imagining.

''Mm,'' he hums noncommittally, eyes dropping to where the mixture now clings to your fingers, too. ''Can't a man show his girlfriend some love without being attacked?''

''I was making pancakes,'' you say sternly, as if that somehow explains everything.

''Right,'' he rolls his eyes affectionately, putting his hands on your waist absentmindedly: force of habit. ''Pretty sure your pancakes are currently dripping down my cheek, babe.''

Instead of quipping back, you bring your fingers to your mouth to suck the batter off, and the moment your tongue touches your skin, Harry's eyes go dark. He blinks, jaw twitching. You feel his cock stir beneath his sweatpants, pressing against your hip.

''Fuckin' hell,'' he mutters, letting out a pained groan before crudely adjusting himself in his pants. Whatever, you're his girlfriend. You're used to it by now.

You huff out a laugh, stepping toward him and wrapping your arms around his neck. ''You look like someone jizzed on your face.''

''Do not give me ideas,'' he deadpans.

You bite your lip, clearly enjoying this. ''Sorry for smacking you,'' you whisper soothingly, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. ''Let me make it up to you.''

Your tongue darts out, licking the leftover batter from his cheek, and his breath catches. You meet his gaze through your lashes, teasing, slow. Your fingers trace the waistband of his pants, dipping lower. He's still hard. Has been since the second he saw you.

''You're a menace,'' he mutters.

''And you,'' you say sweetly, languidly dragging your tongue down to his jaw, ''are so predictable.''

You stand on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips, the taste of sugar lingering on your tongue. His hand slides up your thigh under the hem of his shirt, fingers tracing the lace of your underwear.

''You look too good like this,'' he murmurs against your mouth. ''Too fuckin' good.''

You grin and peck his lips in response before rotating in his hold to flip a pancake before it burns. His hands greedily roam your body as his eyes unabashedly drag down your back, your ass, your legs.

''Didn't realize you listened to my stuff on vinyl,'' he comments when he hears you humming along to the bridge of Only Angel, coming from their record player in the corner with their little collection.

You shrug, not turning around. ''Got the pink one. Limited edition. Perks of sleeping with the artist, right?'' you smile innocently.

He chuckles softly as you scoop more batter onto the pan, fingers trailing down your waist, finally settling on your hips again. ''Didn't know you liked this one.''

You flip the pancake and glance over your shoulder. ''It's about me, isn't it?''

He smirks. ''You're not supposed to know that.''

You snort. ''You're not slick, Harry. You wrote 'Can't take you home to mother in a skirt that short.' You said that to me the night we met, remember? When you fucked me in the—''

''That was a joke.'' He cuts you off, blood rushing to his cheeks as he pinches your thigh, lightheartedly scolding you. ''Sort of.''

Your laughter is soft, tangled in the steam rising off the stove. The tension from last night, the kind that always finds its way into your bedroom, lingers like a shadow.

But right now, it feels lighter. Sweeter.

You feel his hands slide lower, brushing against the waistband of your panties.

''Don't,'' you warn, ''I'm cooking.''

''I'm starving.''

''You'll get a pancake when it's ready, Styles.''

He pauses. Then dips his finger into the bowl of pancake batter on the counter.

You freeze. ''Don't you—''

Before you can finish your sentence, he smears a broad streak across the swell of your exposed cleavage, right above your bra.

You gasp. ''Harry Edward Styles!''

He grins, eyes gleaming with mischief, and dips his head to leisurely lick it off, tongue flattening over your sticky skin. You slap his shoulder weakly as he hums against your breasts. It sends a shockwave through your chest.

''Insatiable menace,'' you scoff with a chuckle, breath catching.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. ''Say that again.''

''You're—''

He cuts you off with a kiss, and it's slow and dirty and dangerous. One of those kisses that means you're not leaving this room untouched, his hands squeezing your ass playfully before moving down and ghosting over your thighs. You shiver.

''C'mon,'' he breathes against your lips, then pressing featherlight kisses to your neck. ''Let's go, love.''

''To bed?''

''Mhm.'' Another kiss, longer this time. ''Bring the batter.''

You blink. ''You're not serious.''

He quirks a brow. ''Dead serious. I've got some ideas.''

You stare at him, torn between horrified and aroused. ''You're weird.''

He nips at your earlobe. ''And you love it.''

He scoops up the half-full bowl of pancake batter and tugs your hand, leading you through the apartment with a cocky little smirk.

''C'mon, angel,'' he says softly, voice low and thick with promise.

The contents of the bowl jostle dangerously as Harry kicks the bedroom door shut with his heel, his free hand moving to your hip before guiding you backward to the bed. Your laughter curls through the space, soft and breathless, until the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you fall onto it with a bounce, legs splayed open and blouse riding up your thighs.

Harry's gaze darkens the second you settle there, backlit by the early sun filtering through the curtains, his shirt hanging crooked and open across your body, collarbone and cleavage marked with proof of his mouth. The sight of you like this, knees bent, one strap of your bra slipping down your shoulder, flushed from giggles and sleep and still glowing from the night before, makes something in him snap.

''Gonna ruin you,'' he says, setting the bowl on the nightstand with a sharp clink. ''You were shaking your ass on purpose,'' he growls. ''You knew I was gonna lose it.''

You huff in protest. ''Didn't even know you were watching,'' you shoot back, smirking as you crawl across the bed, making a show of it, dragging your blouse open with exaggerated slowness until it slips off your shoulders completely.

''Always watching you,'' he murmurs, eyes softening.

He crawls after you, kissing you the second he gets on top of you, needy, no finesse, all teeth and hunger, tongue licking into your mouth with a groan like he's starving.

Harry always kisses you like you just came home from war, like he's been missing your touch for years, despite having been buried in you less than twelve hours ago. His hands are everywhere, palming your thighs, cupping your breasts through your bra, slipping underneath your underwear just to squeeze your ass again.

''You know this is gonna be a mess, right?'' you deadpan, breath catching when his thumbs dip into your panties.

Harry chuckles, unbothered, his voice gone deep and hoarse. ''Already is. Might as well make it worse.''

He strips your underwear and bra first, tosses both across the room without a care, and pauses only to kiss down your stomach in a slow, open-mouthed trail. He's feral but reverent, hungry but focused, like he's worshipping your body in a sacred ritual.

Then his fingers dip into the bowl.

''Wait, Harry, that's gonna be cold—''

Too late. The pancake batter hits your nipple, making your back arch immediately. He chuckles low in his throat, swirling it across your breast, sticky and sweet.

''Told you it'd be fun,'' he grins.

You gasp when his tongue follows, licking a path from the curve of your tit to your now peaked nipple, sucking hard as he hums in approval. ''Sweet,'' he says. ''Just not as sweet as you.''

''Corny,'' you pant, writhing when his other hand scoops up more of the sticky goo and smears it across your other breast.

''Genius,'' he corrects, before trailing it down your sternum in broad strokes. ''Just you wait. Gonna find every place you taste good.''

You realize, quickly, this man isn't bluffing.

He dips into the bowl again, moving lower, this time tracing the line of your thigh with more batter, smearing it along your soft skin before pressing his lips to your inner thigh, kissing it softly, then sucking a little harder at the tender skin.

''Shit, you're sexy,'' he groans against your skin. ''Every fucking inch of you...''

''Your turn,'' you tell him breathlessly, pulling his hand back toward him. You want to return the favor, find out what makes him feel good too. The two of you have recently been exploring this new rhythm, how to experiment, how to let things unfold naturally and just have fun, even if it's not perfect.

Harry's gaze meets yours, dark, glimmering with the trust you've built together and the heat that lingers between you both. You reach for the bowl, dipping your fingers in and running them over his chest, slow and deliberate, trailing lines of pancake batter down his tattoos and across the rippling muscles of his abdomen. His breath hitches at the unexpected sensation, his eyes never leaving yours as you gently smear it across his skin.

''You don't have to be so careful with me,'' he points out, his voice gravelly, a hint of reassurance evident in his tone. ''We're just experimenting, yeah?''

''Yeah,'' you repeat softly, then lean down to kiss the streak of batter on his stomach, tasting his skin and the sweet mess on it at the same time. ''But I want to make sure it's good for you, too.''

''God, baby,'' he growls lowly, reaching out to grab your wrist and guide it lower. ''You make it so good. My good girl. My best girl.''

''Your only girl, I hope,'' you say teasingly, tracing the outline of his abs and kissing each one when he mumbles a soft ''obviously'' in response, hips lifting subconsciously. You know what he wants. You tut at him, a wicked smirk playing at your lips before you dip your fingers lower, grazing the waistband of his sweatpants.

''What do you say we see how it feels down here?'' you ask, voice low and sultry, capturing his full attention. You hand disappears inside his sweats, teasing at the bare skin just below his navel.

''Fuck yes,'' he growls, his chest rising and falling more rapidly now. ''I was wondering when you'd get to the fun part.''

You laugh softly but comply, guiding your fingers down. Harry sucks in a breath, looking down at where your hand wraps around him, a choked moan leaving his throat.

''God, I can't... Fuck, you're making me lose my mind.'' His voice cracks, desperation flooding through his words.

You giggle, teasing him as you lick your lips. ''God, you're so fucking sexy, Harry. I'm the luckiest girl alive,'' you groan at the sight of him, this absolute god of a man, coming undone from your touch, chest heaving as he whimpers. Whimpers. It swells your chest with pride.

He smiles softly to himself. He was thinking the same thing earlier. Sometimes it terrifies him how in sync you two are.

''You drive me fuckin' crazy, babe,'' he whines, reaching down to grab your wrist and stop your movements when he gets close. ''So fuckin' hot, watching you sing the song I wrote about you. I wanted to bend you over the stove.''

You smile devilishly, leaning in to kiss him hard, your tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting the remnants of batter still on his lips. You pull back for a moment, your breath hitching at the way his chest rises and falls with anticipation.

He watches you closely as you kneel down between his legs, feeling a wave of heat surge through him. You swirl the batter all around the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, stretching the fabric of his sweats as you go, gliding your fingers up and down with purpose. Your other hand moves lower, teasing along the tight muscles of his legs before you slowly move your fingers toward the one place he's desperately trying to keep control over.

His stomach jumps beneath your touch. ''You wouldn't.''

''Oh, I would.''

''Fuck, baby,'' he hisses when you trace the line around his cock, just teasing, never quite touching him exactly where he wants it. He grabs your wrist again, this time pulling you up by the arm, almost aggressively, to meet his lips in another bruising kiss, the smell of vanilla thick between your bodies.

You move back down his body, maintaining eye contact. You trace the batter across the tattooed ferns on his V-line, deliberate and slow, and then press your tongue against the trail, tasting skin and sugar and something so deeply Harry it makes your stomach tighten. He moans softly, a sound low and needy, and his hand cups the back of your head, silently begging you to keep going.

When your mouth reaches his hip bone, you nip at him gently. ''You like that?''

He let out a shaky laugh. ''Yeah. Yeah, babe, I fuckin' like that.''

You grin up at him, flushed and cocky. ''We should make pancakes more often.''

Harry pulls you up by the waist, spinning you so your back hits the mattress. You giggle when he reaches for the bowl again, but your laughter dies in your throat when he straddles your thighs and slowly pours a ribbon of batter across your bare stomach. It runs down your navel, sticky and warm.

''Don't move,'' he warns, playfully stern, then bends to lick it all up in slow, open-mouthed kisses. His tongue swirls into your bellybutton, making you squeal, squirming as he chuckles against your skin.

''That's disgusting,'' you breathe, half-laughing.

''You love it.''

You do. Every second of it. You love how fun it feels, how messy and silly and fucking filthy.

When he starts trailing his kisses lower, you gasp. He runs batter along your lower stomach, dragging it across your skin like you're a canvas he's painting on. He licks down the path he made, tongue hot and slow, teeth grazing your skin when he sucks a bruise into it.

You hips buck at the feeling. ''Harry…''

''I know,'' he soothes you. ''I've got you.''

You switch places after that, an unspoken agreement in the air about taking turns. It feels equal. And when you push him down onto the bed and trace the mixture along the lines of his ribcage, he grunts.

''Feels fuckin' weird,'' he admits with a hearty laugh when your tongue follows the trail.

You stop and look at him, amused. ''Bad weird?''

He shrugs with a crooked grin. ''No, love. Just different.''

You pour more batter over the curve of his hip, lower, down to the place where he's painfully hard under his sweatpants, straining and twitching with every move you make.

You raise a brow. ''What about here?''

His eyes darken. ''Careful.''

You wordlessly smear the mix across the outline of him under the fabric, making sure to cup him while you do so, and watch his jaw clench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the sheets.

''You're such a fuckin' tease,'' he growls.

''I'm just exploring. That's what you said, right?'' you say sweetly, feigning innocence, licking a drop off the edge of his waistband.

And then he was on you again, rolling you over, tugging your panties down your legs with a grin like sin and batter drying on his mouth.

At one point, you're giggling helplessly as he trails it behind your knee and bites down on the soft skin there, your laugh dissolving into a gasp when his tongue replaces his teeth. Another time, you try it behind his ear, where you know he's sensitive. You both end up laughing when the batter gets in his hair and he curses, rubbing a hand through the sticky mess.

You straddle him and dip your fingers into the nearly empty bowl, then paint lazy circles around his nipples, grinning wickedly as you lean in to suck one, then the other, tasting the salt of his sweaty skin under the sweetness of the vanilla. His chest rumbles with a groan, hips twitching up into yours with a stuttered thrust.

''I swear to God,'' Harry mutters, breathless, ''You're gonna kill me.''

''You'll die happy,'' you shoot back, right before trailing the batter lower, right to the thin line of hair leading down into his sweats. He hisses when your fingers curl into the waistband and finally drag them down, his cock springing up, flushed and dripping.

You meet his eyes, smirking, and then slowly, almost reverently, dip two fingers into the remaining batter and brush them up the underside of his shaft, letting it drip in thick, gooey lines, the coolness of it making him shudder as you coat him.

He curses, head tipping back into the pillows. You don't rush, just lean in and lick the sticky trail upward in one long, languid motion, tongue pressing into the vein along the side the way you know he likes. You circle the tip once, twice, before taking it into your mouth, the taste of him and the sweet batter a heady mix.

He makes a sound then, somewhere between a moan and a growl, and pushes your hair back to get a better look at your face as you take him in. ''Filthy fuckin' girl,'' he whispers. ''My filthy girl.''

Harry flips you over so fast the bowl nearly tips, but he catches it without breaking focus. He crawls down your body, settling in between your thighs and licking his lips as his gaze trails down your body like he's drinking you in.

A shrill wail echoes from the kitchen.

The fire alarm.

''Oh my God,'' you gasp, sitting up quickly. ''The pancakes!''

Harry groans and flops onto his back, an arm covering his face. ''Well… breakfast is ruined.''

You laugh, breathless. ''Your fault.''

''Worth it,'' he mutters, already reaching for you again.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices

...

[practistyles]

i'm head over heels in love with him 🥹

[practistyles]

Eeeeee thanks a lot for the mention! Amongst such amazing stories 😫

✨️ my favorite harry styles smut one-shots ✨️

@rrysbabydoll

dark paradise

stached

ride, cowgirl

temptation

busy

a god on stage

don't worry, darling

@practistyles

party 4 u

@this-is-tiny-mia

table 11

smudged nail polish

window in front

@ellewritesx

cabin pressure | cruising altitude

@gurugirl

don't judge a book by its cover

[practistyles]

can you write a fic where y/n had her first sex with Harry?

ooooh that’s a good one… there’s so many ways it could go but I’ll definitely start thinking about writing it. I love this idea!! And thanks for reading 🫶