#*✧･ﾟ:{short fics/imagines}

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe loves to put his fingers in sensitive!reader’s mouth & her favorite place in the world is his lap...

c/w: rafe being mean & making her choke on his fingers, heavily suggestive, size kink, use of daddy & dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.6k

in love w this man so more of him on the way xx

this is an additional part to this & u can read more here

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Rafe has had a bad day.   

She notices it immediately by the way he greets her with only a brief peck on her cheek; carelessly throwing his jacket on the couch before slumping down against the cushions and letting out a washed-out exhale.   

For the entirety of the week, gloomy clouds have painted over the dusty, colorless horizon and wet water puddles have saturated the socks of passing pedestrians and dog walkers alike. However, Rafe is not someone who particularly minds rainy days, which is why she assumes that the reason for his disgruntled mood has something to do with business, as it more often than not does.    

He scratches at the buzzed hair still slightly damp from the rain while she simply stands there and blinks; unsure whether he wishes to be alone or not.    

“What are you doin’? C’mere,” he suddenly orders in a somewhat of a stern tone and she has no choice but to pad over to his sprawled-out legs, lowering to sit on top of him and letting him paw at her waist as his beefy arms pull her closer. And she can't really complain when the heat of his body seeps into her flesh in such a comforting way; makes her insides feel all fluffy and featherlight.   

In the same way that Rafe seems to enjoy her needing him to take care of her when everything feels like too much, she loves being there for him; likes to feel useful, needed. 

“Do you wanna...talk about it?” the muted melody of her vocal cords reaches his ears as vivid raindrops pitter patter against the glass of the windows and he groans in exhaustion at how perfect she is for him.    

“Not really,” he dismisses her with a shake of his head. “How was your day, hm?”   

“It was uh, okay. I don’t know, the usual. Had some boring lectures, almost fell asleep…questioned every decision I’ve ever made,” she huffs out and settles her palms on his strong biceps.  

“Mm,” he’s only half listening; beginning to mindlessly twirl a strand of her hair around his index finger.    

And she takes that as her cue to continue blabbering out complete nonsense as she begins to grow slightly restless being this close to him. Truth be told, she’s pathetically been missing him the whole day; the only thing granting her the motivation to go about her routines being the thought of seeing him at the end of it all. And now that he’s here, he seems frustrated; mind entirely elsewhere and she doesn’t know what to do except ramble on and on about her dull day.    

Then, completely out of the blue, he’s grabbing her jaw into his massive hand and hushing her.   

“Shut up for one second, yeah?” he mutters out before he’s tucking a thumb past her lips; a surprised squeak leaving the back of her throat at the sudden intrusion because he was the one who asked for her to talk in the first place.    

However, she can’t exactly say that it’s unexpected. He often gets a tad bit meaner whenever he’s had a dreary workday and takes it out on her in some form or another. And regardless of how unhealthy all of it might seem, there’s a crooked part of her brain that yearns for it; wants him to come to her whenever he’s upset. If she’s utterly honest, the thought of him searching for solace in anyone else makes nausea creep up her bones.   

For some reason, the firm pad of his thumb making her tongue feel heavy in her mouth placates her; turns her brain into a needy, dingy muddle in a way that only Rafe is capable of.   

“Shit, just needed somethin’ to suck on, huh?” he pushes down on her tongue, making her swallow around the digit with a whimper.    

“So fuckin’ pathetic sometimes, you know? Just take anythin’ daddy gives you,” a low-pitched chuckle thunders from his chest, seemingly amused by the ease in which she gives into him.    

However, there’s also something gooey, syrupy beginning to whirl in the pit of her tummy. It reminds her of the countless times she was perched on the park swing as a little girl during the balmy summers of her childhood; thinking she could reach the fluffy clouds with the tips of her sneakers if only she could fly a little higher.    

“Feels nice to have somethin’ in your mouth, doesn’t it?” he ogles her, mesmerized with intrigue twinkling in the Carolina blue that has always made her think of the sky.    

She lets out a faint moan when he drags the digit out and then back in, making her gag around it; her hips involuntarily rutting against the growing bulge straining against the zipper of his pants, desperate for some sort of friction if even through the soft material of her sweatpants.    

“Didn’t give you permission to move, did I?” he feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows that gets her to reluctantly halt her shifting.    

“Daddy, need your...” her words are cushioned against the obstacle he’s planted between her teeth.  

“Can’t really hear you, baby,” he mocks before he’s pulling the thumb out of her mouth altogether.    

However, the next thing she knows, he’s stuffing in his index and middle finger both at the same time. They reach far deeper; a muffled sound of gagging following his actions as he seems to discover a perverted sense of satisfaction from her struggle.   

"What did you say?" his lips twist into a cruel smirk when she whimpers pitifully and tries to draw away from him in order to catch her breath but his other hand only grips her jaw tighter, keeping her exactly where he wants as she’s forced to breathe through her nose.    

“I think you can take it for a bit longer, yeah?” his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he simply stares, seemingly absorbed into the obscene scene before him.    

And she should feel embarrassed, demeaned even. And she does! However, the humiliation of letting him do whatever he wants as if she’s nothing but a cheap toy for his entertainment blurs over the lines when her cunt throbs in response to his degrading attention. She flutters uselessly around nothing; powerlessly begging for some sort of alleviation with a whine that merely earns her a tut of his tongue.    

Therefore, the only thing she can do is sit there like an obedient animal because he’s already scolded her once. She hasn’t turned entirely dumb just yet; knows firsthand how ‘daddy doesn’t like to repeat himself’ and that the next time she misbehaves will result in a punishment her poor cunt probably wouldn’t be able to handle in this helpless state of hers.   

“Don't think you could take dad’s cock even halfway in this pretty mouth,” he mindlessly croons, thumb smoothing over the skin of her throat as she swallows the spit beginning to dribble down her chin.    

The thought manages to pique her curiosity because his cock has been at the forefront of her mind for a couple of weeks now, due to him constantly teasing her with the notion of letting her suck him off properly. He keeps murmuring about training her throat and fucking it raw but never actually doing it; merely allowing for her to drool and mouth over the tip because apparently, she's 'not ready yet'.    

She’s beginning to turn into something desperate because whenever she tries to take more of him into her mouth, he stops her with a click of his tongue and big hands lifting her head off him. “Don’t be greedy now, sweetheart,” he’d scold her but she's certain she’s going to die if she doesn’t get to feel his cock nudge at the back of her throat soon.    

“Ray…” she tries to fruitlessly speak but he’s not exactly making it easy as he keeps stroking against her tongue. However, she doesn’t need to say anything. He knows what she wants.  

“I mean, can barely fit into this tight cunt, don’t know why you keep whinin’ about wantin’ me in this mouth so bad. Don’t think you’d even enjoy it that much. It’s a lot, you know?” there’s something almost patronizing in the way he’s speaking to her as if he’s not the one who brought the idea up in the first place.   

It’s like he’s trying to talk her out of it yet his fingertips keep prodding past her gag reflex every few minutes, almost as if testing the waters before plunging in and it’s making her head spin.    

She whines and tries to defend herself but the digits fussing with the inside of her slobbery mouth don’t allow for her to form anything audible as she begins to grow troubled.   

“What was that?” the line of his mouth curls when he pokes deeper once more, causing her to moan with watery eyes pleading him for anything at this point.    

“Such a dirty girl. Bet you’d like choking on my cock, huh?” he grunts and she hums in response; nodding fervently before he’s finally withdrawing his hand and smearing the spit-stained fingers against her pouty lips.   

They’re both panting heavily as he gently swipes at her under-eyes in order to catch the teardrops ready to trickle down before petting at the apples of her cheeks with a tenderness reserved only for her.  

“Shit, always know how to make me feel better, don’t ya?” he rumbles fondly against her mouth; following his saccharine words with a messy kiss soon after. Maybe he’ll finally allow her to have what she so badly craves. 

[sarahsangelicdoll]

could you do a best friends with benefits with complete opposite reader as rafe!! like reader is innocent and really soft

༊·˚ Thinking about Rafe teaching his innocent and soft fwb how to deepthroat…

cw: 18+!, mdni, blowjob, deepthroatish, corruption kink, innocent and soft reader, finger sucking, deepthroating with fingers..?, training gag reflex away, softdom!Rafe but also pervy as fuck rafe !!

a/n: took me so long to get this but i hope you like it luv 💞 also didn’t know if you wanted smut or not so bare with me :,) I haven’t written for obx in a hot minute so it might be kinda shitty. I didn’t know if you wanted smut or not but i hope you enjoy either way :)

Rafe had such a infatuation with you. You were so… innocent and soft, unlike him. It shocked everyone on kildare who found out the two of you were best friends.

Unlike Rafe, you were 100% clean. No drugs and no drinking. When someone was in a conversation with you and they’d make a dirty joke, you’d just tilt your head to the side slightly and get that adorable, puzzled expression on your face while your mind worked overtime to try and decipher the meaning- and when you did, you’d blush a deep shade of red in embarrassment and shrink into yourself. Letting out a chuckle of embarrassment, avoiding eye contact with the other and mumbling a quick and dismissive response before quickly changing the subject.

Also unlike Rafe, you weren’t aggressive. You were a complete softy. Baking… sewing… gardening… the stereotypical soft girl.

Rafe remembers one day in particular- you came with the Camerons to a strawberry patch at Wheezie’s constant begging. Settling to wear a short, tighter sun dress that was decorated in pastel baby blue and white stripes. Your outfit accessorized with a straw sun hat and pearl necklace. You looked fucking flawless while the sun beat down on you. Your movements graceful and feminine while you skipped around and picked strawberries with Wheezie, every time you bent the hem of your skirt would trail up the curve of your ass in a teasing manner. Just giving him enough to imagine the rest.

And that’s what finally made Rafe lose control: He decided that day that he would have you and there was no way he would settle without. Hence what caused you guys to shift from best friends to best friends with benefits.

Rafe felt a pinch of shame at his actions, completely defiling you of your innocence with some of the things he would do. But fuck, even the thought has his cock twitching in your mouth. The way you’d look up at with your wide, damp doe eyes that were a mix of awe, trust and lustful curiosity. It made him feel secure and wanted. As bad as it may sound: he loved ruining you.

“Shit.. s’o good at this sweetheart..” Rafe drawled out, eyes screwed shut, head leaning forcefully against the brick wall of the public washroom the two of you were hid out in. Your mouth suctioned around his cock and hair bopped up and down with your movements as you desperately tried to make Rafe feel good. Your eyes looking up at him with awe, soaking in his groans ‘n moans of pleasure which made your panties soak in your own arousal even more than they already were.

Rafe’s hand rested atop your head, resisting the urge to force you down while he bit his lip. His cock twitching in your mouth as he imaged the sight and sounds of you gagging around his cock, which you could only take half way.

Rafe craned his head back down, biting his lip at your damp eyes. “Think you could take anymore?” He asked, smirking slightly, knowing damn well that you couldn’t.

You whined around his cock, shaking your head ‘no’ before coming up from his cock with a wet ‘pop’. “‘M trying.” You pout, scared you weren’t doing well enough for him.

Rafe’s heart clenched in his chest at the sight of your teary eyes. Bringing his hand up to rub soothing circles on your cheek which were damp from the amount of times you gagged, causing tears to fall. “I know sweetheart don’t worry.” He murmured, small grin forming on his face as he felt the way you subconsciously leaned into his touch. God you seemed so obedient for him(and were). “We’re gonna train that gag reflex away, k pretty girl?” He said, cocking his head to the side slightly to analyze and make sure you’re completely ok with this. His thumb slowly trailing to and brushing against your lower lip.

“Ok..” You nod, opening your mouth just enough to let him hook his thumb into your mouth, the digit immediately pressing down against your tongue.

“Open wider baby,” He said softly, though his tone still had an undeniable amount of dominance. Feeling a swell of pride in his chest at your simple obedience. “Like you’re at the dentist.” He teased.

You did as was told of you, opening your mouth wide for him. “Good girl.” He smirked wider. His ring and middle finger entering your mouth. You moaned around the intrusion that was his fingers, eye’s furrowing slightly when he shoved his fingers further into your mouth and pressed down against your tongue, soft gags spilling up from your throat and out of your mouth.

“C’mon.. how do you expect to take my full cock down your throat if you can’t even take my fingers?” He chuckled, his fingers slowly making way further down your throat. His cock twitching as he watched your face flush in embarrassment at his lewd words. His next words strained with arousal. “Gotta practice a bit at a time princess, you can do it.”

God. The way he spoke so soft but still dominant. The nicknames. The softness in his touch. It had your mind reeling with dirty thoughts no one should be having of their ‘best friend’ and your pussy clenching around nothing. You nodded your head slowly, wide damp eyes looking up at the man, admiring how hot and affected he looked by you.

Suddenly, a sharper and louder gag fell from your lips. Your head attempting to jerk away from Rafes fingers when he forces them practically as far down your throat as they physically could. Rafes grip just tightened on your chin, the thumb of his free hand rubbing soft circles on the skin of your jaw while a few tears fell from your eyes.

“Nah uh.” Rafe clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, finally pulling his fingers back after a couple of seconds. Attempting to ignore how badly he wanted to feel you gag around his cock.

“You can do it, just try not to jerk away, k?” He murmurs. A soft whine escaping your lips as his fingers descent back down your throat at a faster pace. But you manage to give a small nod in response, pushing your thighs together as his fingers constricted your breathing.

A content grin made its way to Rafe’s lip. Free hand moving up to pat your cheek. “Good.” He praised. His fingers practically finger fucking your throat. Occasionally pressing down on the back of your tongue just to feel you slobber and gag around his digits even more, imagining that it was around his cock.

You slowly became more and more used to the sensation, body relaxing into his touch as your body rested against his legs, hands holding his knees as you let him use your mouth in what would typically be considered a degrading way. Yet Rafe still managed to make it feel anything but degrading while his fingers were down your throat.

A shaky breath left Rafe’s lips as he fully pulled his fingers out from your mouth. Smirk gracing his features yet again as he admired his slick-with-your-spit fingers. Resisting the urge to seem like too much of a freak and licking your excess spit off from his fingers. Instead deciding to use your spit as some type of lube for his cock, spreading your saliva around his pretty much neglected for the last few minutes cock. Soft groan falling from his lips as he did so.

He glanced back at you, face flushing as he saw how you eyed his cock with undeniable, somewhat innocent(as much as it can be) desire. Bringing his cock to your lips and smearing his tip, covered in your saliva, over your lips. “Ready to take a bit more of my cock yet princess?”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

Rafe taglist; @rafestoothbrush

[espinosaurusrexex]

Bucky who starts a purely platonic physical touch giving friendship with reader… until it turns into more

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡  ｡✭･ﾟ

It starts off so innocently. Bucky just sat really close to you one day and noticed how the touch of your shoulder on his made him tingly all over.

The same happened when your hand brushed his, or you passed close by, and he caught a whiff of your hair - something that reminds him of the feeling he now seeks out when you’re around.

It’s no secret that either of you have been single a long time with basically no prospects for a future relationship, so no one questions when you and him suddenly hang out more.

He invites you over when you ask him if he was okay, and he realized that his day was in fact crappy and that if you offered to talk to him, he’d tell you all about it.

And when you sit on the sofa listening to Bucky talk, your hand instinctively found his and before Bucky knew it, his head was pressed into your shoulder, your nails raking over his scalp releasing a feeling within him, he can only describe as heavenly.

He loves it when you comfort him, and he loves comforting you, somehow knowing that you need this part of your friendship just as much as he does.

So it becomes a regular thing: when the rest of the team returns home to their spouses after a tiring mission, you and Bucky retreat to either one of your apartments under the pretense of not wanting to be alone.

Of course, neither of you planned for it to become so touchy and intimate... no, that would be insane, right?

It’s a normal afternoon for the two of you, hanging out at your place, a movie playing on TV, Bucky’s head buried in your chest as he lays half on top of you and you with your back against the sofa. Your hand rakes over his hair as his are halfway tugged beneath your body, seeking all the warmth he can get.

The physical touch aspect of your relationship has somehow crossed the lines between friends, but neither of you care. It feels too good to be held and protected to stop.

Bucky hasn't felt the caring touch of a partner in decades and you... well, let's just say that all men before Bucky didn't feel the need to express their love through aftercare - not that Bucky is in any way shape or form about to give said aftercare... no, you are just friends. Just. Friends.

Friends who frequently hide their hands in the other's jacket when the cold catches up to them.

Friends who bury their faces in each other's chest and lap like it is the most normal thing a person can do to another.

Friends who somehow always wonder if the other feels that spark ignite whenever they hold each other close.

Bucky feels the sensation when he's practically caging you beneath his upper body of the sofa. He lifts his head as he usually does to see if maybe this time he could magically hear your thoughts.

"What's up?"

He shakes his head. "I just really enjoy this." he mumbles and blushes, and your hand suddenly stops its path along his scalp.

"Me too." you smile and look into his eyes.

normally he'd put his head back, and you'd resume watching the movie, but something is different today.

maybe it's the way his hair looks perfectly tousled by your constant motions, or maybe it's the way he slowly blinks at you like a very comfortable pet.

but you finally find the courage to kiss him.

Follow my library blog for fic updates! @espinosaurusrexex-library

[gurugirl]

DILF [2] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ←

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again months later on Valentine's Day. It's unexpected, but very much welcome.

A/N: First part here! This isn't really super focused on Valentine's Day, it just happens to takes place on Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light), spanking, a touch of jealousrry

. .

Y/n wasn't big on Valentine's Day. She'd never dated anyone long enough for it to be of much importance. Though she did fondly remember the little heart-shaped candies and tiny Valentine's cards that would get shared in school when she was little, things were different as an adult.

So, instead of celebrating the holiday (if it could be called a holiday), she'd be going out with her single girlfriends and celebrating being a single girl instead. A single girl with a few drinks in her belly and a little dancing to get the blood flowing. Tara tried to do some kind of seductive dip to the beat of the song while Warren and Y/n laughed.

"This is how you do it!" Warren shouted over the loud club music and grooved her way down with the beat. She was the one with all the rhythm. Y/n and Tara were fighting for their lives to keep rhythm, but they were having fun, nonetheless.

"Priya commented on the post. Look…" Tara held her phone out to Y/n to look at the comment on her Instagram account.

"J said Y/n's looking yummy tonight!"

Y/n laughed and looked at Tara. "J? Oh my god, I haven't talked to him in ages. Let me respond!"

She took Tara's phone and typed a comment.

"You both should come out with us!"

After another round of drinks and dancing, Priya and J had joined the group at the club. Y/n wasn't necessarily interested in J. In fact, she hadn't really been interested in anyone since Harry. It'd been a couple of months since she'd seen him. Their night together was engraved under her skin and in her brain. She thought that with some time she'd forget about the older man, but her fingertips tingled and her chest grew tight whenever she thought about him, which was daily.

She didn't know why she had never called him. Maybe she was just stubborn, hoping he'd find her somehow and reach out himself. She had his number, but he didn't have hers. When he dropped her off at her place the morning after, he gave it to her and told her to call him.

And the more time that had passed, the more awkward it felt to randomly reach out to him. Now the window was surely closed, and she'd blown it. Which she regretted. She regretted that she was stubborn and wanted him to chase her that time. Wanted him to work to find her—which wouldn't have been all that hard. She had every social media account known to man, and everything was public. All he had to do was type her name into a Google search bar, and he'd find a dozen ways to contact her.

But she didn't call, and he didn't search her up, and that felt like the end of that. Unfortunately. It was unfortunate because he'd been so good. So exceptional compared to every other man she'd been with (if she could even call anyone who came before Harry a man). She was way more into him than she realized. Of course, by the time she realized it was too late, and now she was kicking herself.

"Hey, you here with us?" Tara took Y/n's hand and moved her away from the dance floor.

"Yeah. What do you mean?"

"You were zoned out there for a sec. Staring off toward the exit. You okay?"

Blinking her eyes and looking around, she nodded. "I'm good. Just started thinking. Sorry. Maybe I need a water. Probably should slow down a little anyway."

"Of course. Yeah, go get water. And stop thinking. I know who you're thinking about. He's in the past now. Okay?"

Tara knew that Y/n was kind of stuck on Harry. She'd confided in her a couple of weeks later. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was eating away at her.

"You're right. I'll be right back."

No sooner had she stepped away from Tara than J was on her heels. "I'll come with you!"

The oak bar was cast in reds and pinks for Valentine's Day. A sappy, upbeat song played loudly as she waved toward the bartender to order a water. J stood next to her, leaned into the veneered wood. "Just water?"

Yn nodded. "Need to cool off a little. Not interested in getting sloppy, ya know?"

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, turning her head to peer around the space and pretend she wasn't aware of where his eyes were wandering. She could deal with J. He was nice enough, and she knew he wouldn't push or anything. He was a bit too mild for that.

When her water was handed to her, the pink straw inside was tucked next to a stirrer with a heart at the top. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a drink as J slid in a little closer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She really didn't want to, not with him. It wasn't that he was ugly or unlikable or anything… she just didn't want to give him the wrong impression. Leading men on wasn't her style.

But before she even had the chance to tell him no, she saw a familiar hand attached to a familiar arm placed down on the bar next to her. She slowly turned, looking upward at the man whom she'd just been thinking about. He wasn't smiling as he leaned closer to speak. "You never called."

Turning so she could face him, she placed her elbows behind her on the bar top and lifted her brows in an attempt to feign complete control and calm. "Correct."

She watched as Harry looked past her to J and then back down at her. "Who's this?"

"A friend. Why? Jealous?"

She didn't know what angle she was going for with her hard-to-get act, but that's all it was—an act. Deep down, under her cool facade, she wanted to finish unbuttoning his shirt, the top three buttons already free, so anyone could see what he was working with underneath.

"Jealous of a boy? No."

Y/n reached for his button and pressed at it, her eyes on his. "Now, Harry. Honestly… He's my age. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to find someone my age. Thought you'd be happy for me."

"Thought you said he was just a friend."

She laughed and looked back at J, who was just standing by silently, looking between Harry and Y/n. Far too mild. She turned back to Harry. "See? You are jealous."

"Why didn't you call?"

Clearing her throat, she shifted her footing to get a little closer. "Because I wanted you to find me. I worked so hard to get you to crack that night we met and thought maybe you could put in a little effort if you were interested."

"That's not how it works," he spoke as he dipped his head closer, placing his other palm down on the edge of the bar to cage her in. "I gave you my number. You didn't give me any of your contact info. Didn't want to overstep. Ball was in your court."

"I'm easy to find, Harry. All you had to do was Google my name."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Saw your post on Instagram."

She lifted her brows, and a smile pulled at her mouth. "Is that so? And did you select this outfit just for me?" She reached again for his shirt, letting her pointer finger trail down the cotton edge along the button slits before she ran the pad of her finger on his warm skin.

Harry looked down at her hand and then back into her eyes. "Was gonna go on a date tonight. That's why I'm dressed like this."

She blinked, moving her hand away.

"Hey, uh… should we like… go back? Or, uh…" J spoke tentatively as he stepped closer.

"She's with me. You're welcome to go wherever you please, though," Harry responded, his gaze locked on Y/n's.

"I think—actually, um…" J stumbled on his words.

Y/n lifted her hand and looked over at J. "It's fine. Harry and I have a lot to discuss. You can go back to our table."

J opened his mouth and searched Harry's face, then looking back at Y/n and nodding, he scuttled away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She felt a little bad. Clearly, he thought he might have had a chance even though he never did.

"See? A boy. Couldn't even form a sentence. What are you doing with him anyway?"

"We were having fun is what we were doing. Hanging out with people my age. Why do you care anyway? You said you were gonna go on a date. Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Maybe at home. I didn't want to go out with her, so I cancelled."

"Then why did you plan a date?"

"So I could try and move on from you."

She hadn't expected that level of honesty from him, but his confession had her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Coming here to find me doesn't make it seem like you want to move on."

He shook his head, his eyes shifting downward over her dress before pinning them back on hers. "I didn't think we were done yet. Really expected you to call."

"And I really expected you to figure out how to find me. Should have been easy."

"You like the chase, then. Is that what you want? For me to chase you? Follow you around like a puppy dog?"

She laughed softly. "I don't think being a puppy is quite your style. But I do like that you came all this way just to see me."

He edged his hand toward her arm, running a thumb over her skin. "I'm too old to play games, Y/n. If you expect me to run after you, jump through hoops just to see you, and beg you for your time, then I'm not your guy."

"But you came here to see me."

"Yes, I did. Consider this your freebie cause I won't do something like this again. Ball's in your court now. What do you want? To go back and play with that little boy I sent away? Or to stop fucking around and come back home with me tonight again?"

Her lips parted as heat rose up her spine. A wanton need wrapped itself around her throat as she swallowed thickly. She enjoyed being the one with all the power and feeling like she was in charge. But it was different with Harry. Despite everything, he was the one calling the shots. And she wanted him so bad she could taste it. After all, he'd ditched a date so he could come find her.

"You like me." She grinned.

The tension outlining his posture softened as he rolled his eyes, and she watched as the edge of his lips turned upward. "What gave it away?"

"I like you, too. But my place is closer this time."

Y/n's friends were already watching the whole thing go down before she returned and told them she was heading out. Tara smiled. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Her apartment was only a few minutes' drive away. The small talk they'd been making before they stepped inside her place all but vanished the moment Harry pushed her to the wall and placed his knee between her thighs with a desperate kiss.

She even gasped in surprise when he moved her and she felt the plaster of her wall behind her back. He ran a rough palm up her bare thigh, the skirt of her dress shifting upward until the stretchy material was at her hips and he groped her ass.

"Wanted to do this the second I saw you standing at the bar. Show everyone who's taking you home…" he spoke against her mouth as his thumb caught on the slinky elastic string of her thong. She felt his thigh inching up between her legs as he moved in closer.

She was pinned to the wall as he worked his mouth down her neck and continued kneading at her ass. But then she felt the material of his pants against the crotch of her panties as his thigh pressed solidly into her.

A small, weak-sounding whimper fell from her mouth when he nudged against her, signaling for her to move her hips. The spot where his mouth kissed and sucked over her throat had her head spinning and it was almost involuntary as she began to rub herself on his thigh. She gripped onto his shoulders when he began to guide her hips.

It was kind of pathetic, the way they hadn't even made it into her bedroom. Barely'd made it past her door before they were all over one another. And now, there she was, grinding her pussy against his thigh like she was in some kind of dire need, a pitiful girl so wrapped up in desperation that she was reduced to humping his thigh like a pup in heat.

The most embarrassing thing was how good it felt. His lips on her skin, his thick thigh pressed against her, his hands on her ass. "Oh god…"

Harry moved his face and looked down at her with a smirk. "Making a mess, Y/n. Guess your tough girl act was all fake. Now look at you…"

Slowing her hips, she reached up to his face. "You started it."

A boyish dimple scored into his cheek as he lifted his brows. "Did I now? Clearly, you like it. Soaking right through my pants."

"Mmm… You like it too, though. Love how wet I get, don't you?"

He licked his lips and shook his head like he couldn't believe how tenacious she was, even when pinned against her wall. "So sure of yourself, Y/n. When my day started, I imagined I'd be doing this with someone else by the end of it. Bet she'd get just as wet for me."

Y/n let out a serrated breath, though she never stopped grinding over his thigh. "Doubtful. You wanted me. Practically dragged me out of the club 'cause you knew that other chick wouldn't do it for you like I can."

"Do what for me? Huh? Hump my thigh like a desperate, horny little girl?" He teased as she moaned at the way he nudged his leg up harder.

"You wanted me a little desperate, and that's what you got. You knew nothing was gonna feel as good as me. You missed it."

"Maybe. Maybe I kept imagining you every time I got off for the past two months. Maybe the only reason I agreed to a date with that other woman was because she kind of resembled you. Wanted to pretend I was fucking you again."

Y/n let out a moan. "I want you to fuck me."

"Do you deserve that, Y/n? After that little stunt you pulled? Huh? Leaving me high and dry like that? Wasn't nice."

"I wanted to call you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Hmm… but you wanted to play games. Not sure sorry cuts it."

He moved his leg away, and Y/n stumbled forward, her hands on his shoulders as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" She looked at him with rounded eyes, hoping that he wasn't changing his mind as he pushed away and took a step back.

"Not sure. Maybe that's something you're gonna have to have to figure out. This is a lot of work, you know? Telling you what to do and how to do it. Might be nice for you to try and use that brain of yours for once."

She scoffed as he grinned at her. She knew he was mocking her, and it was meant to be playful, but still. "For once? You don't think I use my brain?"

He shrugged as he paced into her living room, and she watched him look around like he was assessing. Following behind him, she kept her eyes on his strong build and turned a light on. It was clear he was sporting a thick erection under his pants at that point. She smiled when she stepped toward him.

Taking his belt, she gripped at the leather and pulled it through the buckle before she opened his pants and cupped around his length. "You can fuck my mouth. I won't even complain. I'll let you use me however you want."

She got onto her knees and kept her eyes on his as she peeled his underwear down. His big cock had been straining against the material of his boxers and it nearly hit her in the face when it was released. She cooed and gripped around the base of him to lift it upward and began kissing gently along the underside and down to his sac.

Harry stitched his brows together, and his lips parted as he watched her. He placed a hand at the back of her head and moaned. He didn't really care about an apology, but he was going to make damn sure she understood he wasn't into the little games. He'd had plenty of that kind of thing when he was younger. When he was closer to her age, and he'd never been a fan of it.

If she really did want to be with him, or at least date a while, she'd need to learn that he wanted things clear and well communicated. "That's a good girl. Keep going."

She stroked from root to tip as she tongued along his skin, making a wet path as she went. But suddenly, he grasped her chin and tilted her head back before he shoved his thick head past her lips and slid it down her tongue, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he went. She steadied herself, quickly, gripping his muscled thighs as he held the back of her head and worked himself in and out.

He was going easy on her, not pressing his full length down her throat. Not yet. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use. Show me you can work for it, yeah?"

Harry thrust in, his mushroomed crown glided over her tongue and back out to her soft lips before he did it again, a little deeper that time, the slit of his cock kissing the back of her mouth just before it curved into her throat. He kept his eyes on her face and the way her lips wrapped around him just right.

"Fuck you're so pretty, Y/n." He thumbed at the edge of her lip as he drove into her, feeling the saliva from her mouth coating his cock. He moaned when she blinked her eyes up at him. "Didn't want anyone else to suck my cock but you. Didn't want to even touch anyone else. Know that?"

She hummed over him in answer as he pushed deeper, making her gag lightly as the metal on his buckle clanked with his movements. "I know you know that. Proved it to you by making a fool of myself, stalking your Instagram so I knew where you were gonna be. Got me all wrapped up in you after just one goddamn night."

Y/n felt her eyes blur as tears roll down her cheeks when he nuzzled his dick in deeper and she swallowed around his tip with an embarrassing wet spluttering sound. She'd let him choke her with his cock if that's what it took. After hearing his confession, she only wanted to show him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not calling.

So, she leaned into him further, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to force the rest of him into her throat. The gagging and gargling noises she made were loud. It sounded like someone was being waterboarded.

"Fuck…" he gasped as she sputtered around him. He bent his knees the slightest as he let her suck and swallow around him. She was treating his cock so good he didn't know if he should just let her continue milking him like that until he was nutting down her throat or if he should reward her by returning the favor.

But damn did she feel good on his dick. She was giving it her all, and he'd decided she was forgiven.

Pulling her back, his wet dick slid past her lips and hung heavy in front of her face as he helped her stand up. She inhaled sharp breaths between little coughs as she wiped her face. "Was it okay?"

"Better than okay. You're a fuckin' star, Y/n. I need you in your bed, though. Got a condom?"

Knocking her head up and down affirmatively, she blinked her bleary eyes. Harry followed her to her bedroom and watched as she pulled a small box of condoms from her underwear drawer, and he took it from it before he pointed at her dress. "Clothes off. Then get your ass on the bed."

The thrill of having him there made her shaky. She yanked at her dress and removed the fabric before shedding the rest of her underthings.

Harry kicked his pants and his boxers off before his shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He watched her climb onto her bed and sit at the middle in wait. He tossed the box of condoms onto her mattress (secretly pleased it was unopened, unused) and crawled after her on the bed, adjusting her legs and pushing her thighs apart before he thumbed her clit smoothly.

"Do you deserve to come? Think you deserve my cock?"

Y/n blinked at him as she nodded. "Yes. I just want to be good. Make you come too. Please…"

He grinned as he let his eyes coast down her denuded body. She rolled into his thumb before he took his other hand and pressed his middle finger inside. Everything that touched her pussy was glistening wet. The gushy sound his finger made as he fucked into her was lewd. She spread her legs apart further for him and dropped her mouth open as she kept her eyes on his.

She was so pretty like that. Naked and spread apart for him, lusting for him, wanting him. He added another finger and pumped into her harder. Her tits swayed as her pussy swallowed his fingers whole. She was so confident and bold it had his insides pulsing with need.

With his eyes pinned to hers he dipped down to replace his thumb on her clit with his lips and his tongue. Y/n fell backward to her mattress and moaned from the pleasure. His tongue stroked her clit and pressed flat over it before he pulled at it and repeated all while he fucked her as deep as his fingers could reach.

He held her down as she arched her back. His chin and his nose were wet, slurping and groaning into her as he worked her so close to the edge she was already seeing stars. "Yes… right there… right there…"

But he suddenly moved away. His fingers, his mouth, his body. She sat up to look at him and watched in satisfaction as she saw him digging into the box of condoms. His face was flushed and matched the shade of heat on his heaving chest.

He rolled the tight rubber down his shaft and then looked at her with dark eyes. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

With a smirk, she got to her knees and made sure to let her eyes linger on his cock before she turned and placed her palms flat onto the mattress. "Like this?" She wiggled her ass at him.

Harry moaned deeply and placed his hands on the curve of her hips, smoothing his palms over every inch slowly. "Exactly like this."

She felt him lean over her back, his mouth at her ear as he palmed at her tit. "How do you feel about me spanking you a little?" His dick was warm between her thighs as she pushed back against him.

"Whatever you do, I'm gonna love." She reared back again and turned her face to look at him as he sat back. She watched him raise his arm before his palm struck her bum with a sting.

She keened sharply and jolted forward. He did it again in the same spot as he locked his irises with hers. "Other side now."

As promised, he landed his hand over the globe of her ass again, once and then twice, a burning sensation left behind making her inhale sharply.

Then he kneed in closer and she felt him line up his dick with her entrance, fitting himself into her slowly before he plowed in with one thick, harsh thud that had her bending forward face down.

She yelped into the soft comforter when he issued her another spanking, one to each side, as he began to thrust in and out of her, long and languid with heavy palms burning into her skin.

The bite of pain blossomed with heat and curled outward, spreading along her flesh until she could almost feel the detail of his fingerprints searing into her, marking her. He groaned as he drove in deep, glutes flexing as he forced his cock through her sensitive insides.

Her bottom was stinging, aching, burning with every smack of his hand… until it wasn't. Until the gooey, pleasurable warmth of her walls that stretched around his cock deliciously melded with the sharp barbed pain of his swats… That was—it felt like her body was thrumming with a lusty, satisfying ecstasy that sent liquid fire through her veins.

"Fuck, oh god, fuck…" she mumbled into the blankets as her body was spanked and fucked and swatted and pounded. She loved it.

Harry halted, planting his palms down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock buried whole into her. They were both panting, reeling… Y/n's muffled moans pulled a smile onto his lips.

"Apology accepted," he spoke quietly as he kissed the center of her back between her shoulder blades and then reached forward to gently wrap his big hand around the front of her neck to lift her head.

"Hear me?" His deep voice sounded in her ear.

She nodded, the column of her throat bobbing into his palm, eyes still closed as she let out a feminine grunt that was probably meant to mean yes.

"You okay?"

Again, she nodded slowly, this time her eyes fluttered open. "Mmhmm. Yes."

"Hurt?" He punctuated his question with a rock of his hips forward, nudging into the end of her sharply.

She hissed, and her spine bowed. "Yes."

Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding out and in when he felt her swallow thickly before her moans vibrated into his palm. She was dripping. Every time his hips met her skin, it wetted his lap and the front of his thighs.

She had been all he wanted. Ever since the morning he dropped her off. Thought for sure he'd hear from her by the way she was acting around him. All flustered and soft and dreamy-eyed as she looked at him. Pouted when he said he couldn't come in but gave her his number. And then she just never called.

That was a hit to his ego. That he thought he somehow had the upper hand with her. But now he had her drooling, moaning, and sobbing his name as he railed her deep. He would see to it that she didn't leave him hanging like that again. He'd give it to her so good she wouldn't be able to even think about another man. At least for a little while.

But Y/n was feeling the same kind of way about him. And now he was at her place, in her bed, fucking her with his big cock like he had something to prove.

"Mmm… Harry…"

"Yeah?" He pushed in firmly, swiveling his hips to let her feel all of him. "Is that good?"

"Fuck… it's deep—sh…shit!"

Letting go of her neck, Harry used both hands to guide her rhythm as he fucked into her, tilting her into an angle that had the big crown of his cock hitting a tender spot inside her. She tensed and clawed at the blankets in response to how he commanded her movements.

He loved watching her pussy slickly spread apart on his cock, how tight it wrapped around him, how wet she made everything, the way her ass wobbled. He was tempted to give her another swat but thought better of it, knowing that he'd already done a number on her backside. Her skin was raised just enough that he could feel the small welts from his hands. He didn't want to break the skin.

His abs clenched as he plowed his dick through her, their bodies clapping together, her bed wrenching under them from the force of his thrusts. She was mumbling nonsense, straining to keep herself steady as he worked her over him with his hands gripping the meat of her hips tight.

But he slowed his motions, loosening his hold on her as he pushed in deep and stilled. He stared down at the space where they were connected as he thumbed softly at the flesh of her ass. When he was buried in like that, he couldn't see the end of the condom at the base of his shaft, so it looked like he wasn't wearing one. The dirty thought trickled warm down his chest and made his cock throb before he pulled himself out.

He pulled her up and helped her turn before he positioned her flat on her back, her tits spreading softly as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. He sat back on his haunches. "Still okay?"

She nodded, a smile slowly turned her lips upward. "I'm fantastic."

"Good. Gonna pull you up like this…" He took her thighs and dragged her up so her hips were off the bed and the backs of her thighs were draped over the tops of his. "Fuck you nice and deep, work your clit til you come. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…" Y/n nodded and squeezed her tits as she bucked her hips upward. "Yes."

He grinned down at her. He loved how confident she was. How unashamed of her body she seemed to be. Liked the way she carried herself. It was sexy to see a woman happy in her own skin.

He reached down and slowly stroked her clit, eyes connected to hers to watch her expression soften and then her brows arch as she parted her lips and moaned. "Yeah?" He murmured with a grin.

"Yes… You're so good. Fuck…" she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, a soft gasp fell from her lips as he slid his fingers in circles on her clit and mushed into her swollen hood. She pushed her breasts together and arched her back before shifting her head to look back up at him. "Fuck me. Please."

"Want my cock, Y/n?" He nudged his hips forward, poking his condom-covered tip to the tight ring of muscle that would stretch nicely around him once he pushed his way back in.

"I need it," she pleaded in a breath, canting her hip toward him.

The harsh line of his brow as he took all of her in, spread out for him, was that of a man ready to devour. Y/n watched as he wrapped his long fingers around his base and shifted his pelvis, dipping his thick cock head just inside of her.

"Fffuck…" she stretched her neck and moaned as she took every inch he fed into her.

He slid deeper, taking his time as if he hadn't just been pounding into her and pushing her to her limit moments before. He moved his thumb over her bud as he went, her arousal smeared filthy on his fingers and all over her pussy lips.

Y/n shifted her sight to Harry's face, admiring his handsome features and the way his lips parted, how his muscles tensed as he rolled into her. He was enjoying her body, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. "Does it feel good? My pussy's good for you?"

"Your pussy feels incredible. Even with this fucking condom…" he laughed softly. "The kind of pussy I'd chase after and make a fool of myself for."

With their eyes connected, Y/n felt her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She understood what he meant. Because, while she didn't think he'd made a fool of himself, he had chased after her to find her at the club. And he said that wasn't something he normally did. She was grateful he had, though.

His rough palm pushed her hand to the side so he could grope her tit. He continued working at her clit as he stuffed himself in to the brim and they both panted hot breaths as their connected bodies throbbed in unison.

He pressed down as he circled her wet bud, and the extra friction had her skin buzzing, pulsing with desire. Heat stretched over her thighs and curled viciously through her insides.

Harry slowly inched back and then pushed in deeper, his thighs flexing as he plunged wetly, gently smacking into her. A breathless sob fell from her mouth as she took him to his root over and over again.

His slow thrusts were deliberate, calculated. Every stroke of his rigid cock through her soft walls, every press of his thumb on her sensitive clit, every brush of his fingertips on her nipple had her rippling around him, trembling. The luscious stretch of her pussy around him as he drove in and dragged out made his tip leak into his condom.

Y/n began circling her hips to press harder into his thumb, using her leverage to get him deeper, to feel the biting pressure of his thumbprint. The soft, wet spread of her pussy around his shaft ached and squeezed and slushed.

His moan vibrated deep from his chest as he felt his balls tighten when he buried in and pressed himself flush to her. The shadows in her bedroom cast a moody expression over his features. He tilted his neck back, angling his face toward her ceiling as if he were in ecstasy.

And the languid thrusting suddenly turned into a heated pace. Harry's eyes darkened on hers when he looked back down at the girl he was fucking. He stroked her clit and released her breast, yanking her hip to meet his powerful thrusts. He battered her tender insides with his brutally thick column of rigid flesh. The sounds of plapping skin, her mattress springs bouncing, Harry's rhythmic grunts and groans as he drove in faded to a white noise as Y/n realized she was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside her.

She cried his name and her body shivered with every harsh plunge of his cock, the orgasm dotting white stars behind her eyes. Harry's own desperate moans were a giveaway that he was about to come just as hard.

"Fuck!"

Her body bounced and gushed as he drove in and in. The deep, ragged sounds he made were erotic, and a convulsive shudder wracked his powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. His cock jerked inside her and then he was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into her clutching cunt.

Somehow, she'd found herself lying on top of him. He'd brought them to lie back together, and her chest was pressed to his. She felt his hand on her naked back, slowly caressing her skin as their hearts began to slow and calm.

"Mmm…" Y/n smiled as she nuzzled into his chest.

His hand drew down over her ass gently. "How's this feel?"

Lifting her head to press her chin into his pec, she raised her brows. "Sore. But that's what you wanted. To show me I was a bad girl. I deserved it."

Harry pushed a breath through his nose. "You're not a bad girl. Just stubborn. But now you know better than to play games."

Y/n shifted her gaze toward the edge of the room and pushed herself up from him as Harry watched her get off her bed and traipse to her dresser. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him and lifted her phone before pressing a few buttons, and then Harry's phone rang from his pants.

"There. Now you have my number, too. We've got no excuses anymore."

He reached his hand out toward her as she walked back to her bed and curled up next to him. "You shouldn't need an excuse. If you want to see me, then that should be enough."

She placed her palm on his chest and angled her head back to look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I mean it when I say that. I regretted not reaching out. I promise no more games."

"Mmm…" He ran his hand down the back of her head. "Sounds like I finally fucked some sense into you then."

Y/n laughed. "Guess I needed that, too."

"I think you did. So did I, to be honest."

"You needed some sense fucked into you?"

Harry chuckled, his handsome smile making her heart flutter as he shook his head. "No. I meant I needed to fuck some sense into you. I'm already chock full of good sense. Don't need any more."

"Can't argue with that. So what now? You gonna stay the night with me?"

"Yep. Then, tomorrow, we'll make plans for a date. A real one."

"Why not make plans now?"

"Because we're gonna do it tomorrow. Cause I said."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Y/n teased and bit her lip.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He grinned.

"Hmm… It looks like all my plans have suddenly been canceled. Guess I'm all yours."

. .

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[stylesonfilms]

drippin' down your body like gold [h.s]

word count: 7.1k

when harry performs in lisbon, he gets an idea to chug a beer on stage. what he doesn't know, is that the sight of his chest dripping makes you feral.

or the one that is based off a post long ago made by @hesbunnies!

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, blowjobs, fingering, daddy kink, slight possessiveness, dressing room smut, concert smut! 18+ only.

Your fingers glided over the sequins of his suit, the fabric shifting beneath your touch like liquid light, catching and reflecting the warm glow of the dressing room bulbs. Each stroke sent a mesmerizing ripple across the dark material, a shimmer of silver and blue dancing under your fingertips. Your gaze trailed downward, drinking in the expanse of his exposed chest, where inked stories curled over golden skin, each tattoo etched into him like constellations against a dusky sky. The faint scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, laced with something subtly sweet—mingled with the lingering notes of hairspray and fresh linen from his suit.

“Good luck,” you exhaled, the words floating between you like a prayer, your voice tinged with adoration as you tilted your head to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded against your ribs, swelling with something indescribable, eyes glossy with admiration. His responding chuckle was low, honeyed, and melted into the grin that spread across his face—dimples deep, eyes twinkling. His large, calloused hands rose to cup your jaw, warm and steady, thumbs brushing tenderly over your skin. Though he towered over you, nearly a foot taller, he always lowered himself to meet you, his lips finding yours with effortless devotion.

One kiss. Another. Then a longer one, deep and unhurried, the soft pressure igniting a heat in your chest. His lips were plush, intoxicating, leaving behind a warmth that lingered long after he pulled away. His hands dropped, curling around yours, anchoring you against the rapid heartbeat beneath his chest.

“Styles, two minutes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Beyond the dressing room walls, the world pulsed with electric anticipation. The steady thrum of stomping feet vibrated through the floors, a bassline of excitement shaking the very air around you. Cheers and whistles spiraled through the venue, blending into a symphony of pure, unfiltered devotion. The scent of fog machines and stage lights filtered in, mingling with the adrenaline buzzing through your veins.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fondness as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then brought your bundled hands to his lips, the heat of his breath spreading across your skin. A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold, but from the quiet intensity in his touch.

“See you out there?”

You beamed up at him, eyes glimmering. “You know it. Now go, go!”

With a parting squeeze of your hands, he turned, broad shoulders disappearing through the door. His jog down the long corridor was brisk, purposeful, the last glimpse of his silhouette swallowed by the glowing stage lights as he vanished beneath the arena.

The moment Harry disappeared down the hallway, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still fluttering from the warmth of his lips on your skin. But there was no time to linger in the feeling—he was about to step onto the stage, and you needed to get to your spot.

Slipping out of the dressing room, you navigated through the backstage halls, passing crew members who moved with practiced efficiency. The faint hum of in-ear monitors crackled through radio headsets, and the distant strumming of the band tuning up leaked through the heavy walls. With familiar ease, you found the staircase leading up to the private balcony, a space reserved for family and special guests—a safe haven away from the packed, pulsating crowd below.

As you stepped onto the balcony, the stadium came into full view, and the sheer magnitude of it stole your breath. Lisbon’s fans were nothing short of electric. The entire arena was alive—thousands of bodies swayed, neon signs flickered, and confetti cannons stood at the ready. The stomping of feet vibrated through the air, the deafening roar of the crowd swelling in waves as anticipation thickened.

And then, the lights dropped.

A collective scream pierced the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as the screen flashed his silhouette. The opening beat of his first song thundered through the speakers, and in an instant, Harry was launched onto the stage, his presence igniting the entire stadium like a bolt of lightning.

He moved effortlessly, energy radiating off him in golden bursts. His sequined suit glittered beneath the beams of colored lights, reflecting off his skin as he jumped, spun, and threw his arms up to hype the crowd. He belted out the first lines of the song, and the audience erupted, their voices merging with his in a harmony of pure devotion.

From your balcony, you watched, utterly mesmerized.

His voice was strong, unwavering, carrying through the vast space as if each note was stitched directly into the hearts of every person in attendance. He laughed between verses, flashing that devastatingly charming grin, occasionally reaching down to clasp the hands of fans pressed against the barricades.

Midway through a song, his eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a brightly colored sign that bounced excitedly in the air. Squinting, he leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Then, in between lyrics, he burst into laughter.

“Oh, hold on—what does that say?” he asked, pointing toward the sign, signaling for the camera to zoom in so the whole stadium could see.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, there it was: a massive sign scrawled in bold, glittery letters—

“HARRY, MY BOYFRIEND SAYS HE’LL PROPOSE IF YOU GIVE ME A THUMBS UP!!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in mock shock, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbled back dramatically. The band kept playing, but he milked the moment, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“Oh, this is serious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I mean… the pressure is on, innit?”

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers.

“Alright, alright. We need to do this properly,” he continued, pacing theatrically across the stage. “What’s his name?”

The girl in the crowd shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos.

Harry cupped his ear. “Sorry, love, I can’t hear a thing—are we calling him Tom? He looks like a Tom, yeah?”

The camera quickly panned to the guy standing beside her, his face burning red as he hid behind his hands.

“Oh, it is Tom!” Harry cackled. “Tom, mate, you’re in deep now. You’ve got about… five thousand witnesses expecting a ring soon.”

The crowd went wild, chanting “TOM! TOM! TOM!” as Harry finally lifted his hand and gave the biggest, most exaggerated thumbs-up imaginable.

“There you go, Tom. It’s out of my hands now, mate. Best of luck!”

He winked at the camera before launching back into the chorus, the moment immortalized in the hearts of everyone watching.

From the balcony, you shook your head, laughing to yourself. He had always had that magic—the ability to make a stadium feel like a living room, to make each person feel like they were the only one in the crowd.

And as you watched him move, effortless and free, you couldn’t help but feel it all over again.

That warm, unshakable feeling that he was yours.

From the balcony, you swayed to the music, singing along, your voice drowned out by the thousands of others filling the stadium. The energy in the air was intoxicating, a tangible force that pulsed through the crowd, through you. Every time Harry twirled across the stage, every playful grin he threw into the audience, every time he leaned into the mic and let his voice soar, pride swelled so fiercely in your chest that it almost hurt.

He was magic.

Your eyes followed him as he bounced from one side of the stage to the other, engaging with the fans, twirling his microphone, pointing to signs, blowing kisses. He was in his element—electric, untouchable, radiating nothing but joy.

Then, the song faded into a bridge, and he took the brief moment to jog over to the back of the stage, grabbing his black bottle for a quick sip of water. He tilted his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before lowering the bottle and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

But just as he turned back to the crowd, a security guard approached the edge of the stage, holding out two plastic cups of beer.

You sat up straighter, watching as Harry’s eyes lit up with mischief. A slow smirk curled his lips before he took a knee near the stage’s edge, reaching out to accept one of the cups. The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the foundation of the stadium as he stood, beer in hand.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he took two large gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The excess liquid spilled over, streaming down the corners of his mouth, tracing a slow, golden path down his chin and onto his bare chest. The sight did something to you—your stomach clenched, heat coiling low in your body as you watched, mesmerized. His skin glistened under the stage lights, damp with sweat and now streaked with droplets of beer, a sinful sheen against the inked canvas of his body.

Then, with a final gulp, he pulled the cup away, grinning devilishly before tilting his head back slightly. You knew what was coming before it even happened.

With perfect precision, he pursed his lips and spat the remaining beer into the air, misting it above him in a sparkling, golden arc—his signature ‘whale.’

The audience lost it. The screams were deafening, fists pumping, cameras flashing, the entire stadium roaring in approval.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Your grip tightened on the balcony railing, pulse hammering, unable to tear your gaze away from the sheer presence of him. He was completely in his element—wild, unrestrained, effortlessly captivating. The neon stage lights flickered in shifting hues of gold and blue, catching on the dampness of his skin, highlighting the defined planes of his chest where the beer had trickled down moments before.

Your breath hitched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the remnants of the stunt. His dimples popped, eyes alight with something wicked, something playful. He licked his lips, whether to rid himself of the lingering taste or just to tease the crowd, you didn’t know—but either way, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?” he laughed into the mic, voice slightly hoarse from singing, but no less charming. The crowd’s response was deafening, a sea of voices screaming in admiration, chanting his name, some in thick Portuguese accents that made his smile widen.

You found yourself laughing softly, shaking your head in both amusement and sheer disbelief. God, you loved him.

As he turned to move back across the stage, his gaze flickered toward the balcony—the private guest area you were in.

His eyes found yours instantly. And for a split second, despite the thousands of people around him, despite the chaos, the music, the flashing lights, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

His smirk deepened, something knowing and burning behind his gaze, and he lifted the beer cup in your direction, sending you a subtle wink before tossing it carelessly to the side and diving straight into the next song.

Your heart plummeted. Plummeted so far you could feel a heartbeat between your thighs as your panties remained soaked just from watching the scene unfold.

Gripping the railing even tighter, you bit your lip, feeling everything all at once—love, pride, amusement, and an undeniable heat curling deep within you. Oh, you were so in trouble.

The moment the final notes rang out and Harry took his last bow, you were already on the move. The stadium lights dimmed as the crowd's roaring applause echoed behind you, but your sole focus was on getting back to him—on being the first person he saw after stepping off that stage.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you hurried through the dimly lit backstage corridors, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The distant cheers from fans still pulsed through the walls, mixing with the hurried chatter of crew members and the occasional bursts of laughter from passing bandmates. But none of it mattered.

Because the only thing on your mind was him.

The ache between your thighs had been building all night, your body tense with anticipation, wound tight from watching him move the way he did. The way his body swayed and pulsed to the rhythm, how he played with the audience, how he laughed and winked and commanded the entire stadium like it was his playground. The sweat glistening on his golden skin, the way his shirt clung to his damp chest, the audacity of him drinking that beer with such effortless sensuality—it had all set your body ablaze.

By the time you pushed through the door to his dressing room, your breathing was shallow, and your fingers trembled with the need to touch. The space was dimly lit, the air still carrying remnants of his cologne, the warmth from the performance lingering as if the very walls had absorbed the night’s electricity. You paced the floor, your boots barely making a sound over the plush carpet, each passing second stretching unbearably.

Then—footsteps. Heavy, hurried.

The door swung open, and before you could even think, you were moving.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal, and he caught you effortlessly, strong arms locking around your waist like it was second nature. Your legs wrapped around his torso, the firm press of his hands digging into your thighs as he held you up, and you wasted no time—your lips immediately peppering kisses all over his flushed face. His jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose—anywhere you could reach.

"You were incredible!" you gasped between kisses, feeling the warmth of his laughter vibrate against your lips. "You owned that stage, Harry—God!"

His chuckle was breathless, deep, still high on adrenaline. "That good, huh?"

"That good," you confirmed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to take him in—the damp curls sticking to his forehead, the glow of his skin, the way his eyes burned with something dark, something wanting.

Then, you kissed him.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that left no room for teasing, no room for patience. You pressed yourself into him, your fingers tangling into his damp curls, tugging him closer as his mouth opened beneath yours, eager and hungry. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that made your head spin, the heat between your bodies dizzying.

The sticky remnants of beer and sweat clung between you, his chest still damp, hot beneath your palms as they roamed, exploring, claiming. Your sequined top shimmered under the dressing room light, catching against the heat of his skin, the contrast of rough and soft making him groan into your mouth.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the sound barely audible between fevered kisses, his hands shifting to your ass, kneading, gripping. "This what had you running back here so fast?"

You whimpered against his lips, rolling your hips instinctively, needing more, needing him.

"You have no idea what you did to me out there," you admitted, voice breathless, lips grazing along the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. "The beer—the sweat—Harry..."

He let out a deep, raspy chuckle, head tipping back slightly as your lips trailed down his throat. "Mm. So you liked that, then?"

"Liked it?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers dragging down his chest, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "It ruined me."

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "That so?"

Before you could answer, he was moving. Turning with you in his arms, his pace quick and determined as he pressed you up against the nearest wall. Your breath hitched as your back met the cool surface, your thighs tightening around his waist, your skirt riding up even further.

Harry’s lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath warm against your mouth. "Tell me, love," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement but laced with hunger. "What exactly did I do that got you so worked up?"

You let out a soft whine from the back of your throat, the tone of his voice shooting straight to your core. “You know what you did,” you huffed. 

The man had only chuckled in amusement as his fingers readjusted their hold on your thighs, squeezing into the plush flesh. “I believe I told you to tell me, Y/N.”

Your hands found the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through as you puffed out another breath. God, he smelled so good. His cologne still lingered, mixed with the tart scent of beer and sweat. You drew in a deep breath, feeling your back press firm against the wall as he shifted. 

“The beer…,” you murmured, eyes scanning over the features of his face. Deep green eyes, perfect red lips. 

“What about the beer, hm?”

You swallowed. “The… the way you drank it. How it spilt down your chin, your chest..” Your words trailed off as a hand left your boyfriend’s shoulder to slide over the firm curve of his chest, your thumb brushing down his sternum. 

You rolled your hips down to meet him and whined softly. The black mini skirt you wore hitched up over your thighs, bunching up just below your hips. Harry’s lips found yours in a flash. The groan he let out was quickly swallowed in your mouth and you couldn’t help but feel content. Feeling his bulge pressed up against you sent a thrill up your spine to know he felt this way, right now, too. That he needed you as much as you needed him.

Harry's kiss was all-consuming, his lips pressing firmly against yours, demanding more as his hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs. The heat between you two was palpable, thickening the air in the dressing room, mingling with the remnants of his cologne, sweat, and beer. Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, pulling just enough to elicit a low growl from his throat, the vibration traveling straight through your body.

His grip tightened on your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall, your chest molding against his as his vest gaped open, the sequins glimmering under the dim dressing room lights. The slight stickiness of his skin from the sweat and beer sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the intoxicating mixture of sensations.

His mouth left yours just long enough to ghost down the side of your jaw, lips brushing featherlight over your pulse before he licked a slow, deliberate path along the sensitive skin. The wet heat of his tongue, contrasted by the scrape of his stubble, sent a warm ache pooling in your lower stomach.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice husky, words fanning against your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, palms gliding over the bare expanse of your thighs before they gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, your hips instinctively rolling against his, chasing the friction that sent sparks dancing along your nerve endings. He groaned at the movement, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment as his fingers flexed into your skin, grounding himself.

"You drive me mad, darling," he rasped, before tilting his head back up, his darkened green eyes locking onto yours. The hunger in them made your breath hitch.

"Standing there in the balcony, looking like that. Wearing this—" his fingers tugged teasingly at the hem of your sparkly top, his knuckles grazing your stomach "—knowing I couldn’t touch you. And then you look at me like that when I’m on stage?"

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as your hands smoothed down his chest, nails trailing lightly over his heated skin. "Couldn't help myself," you whispered.

"You looked so good, so in your element. The way you moved, how you drank that beer…" Your words trailed off as you slid your palms lower, fingers grazing over the faint definition of his abs.

Harry’s chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing uneven. He let out a shaky chuckle, his lips quirking up in a smirk even as his jaw clenched with restraint. “That did something to you, huh?”

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his collarbone. His skin tasted of salt and something uniquely him, a flavor you could never tire of.

Your lips traveled downward, slow and deliberate, as your hands splayed over his stomach, fingertips pressing just enough to feel the taut muscles beneath.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as you let your tongue flick out against his sternum, tasting the remnants of the beer that had trickled down earlier. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, your expression coy as you dragged a slow, flat tongue down the center of his chest, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your thighs before they slid further under your skirt, his grip possessive. “Fuck, love,” he exhaled, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, the green almost swallowed by blown-out pupils.

His hand came up to cup the back of your head, not to stop you, but to feel you, to remind himself that this was real.

As you slowly sank to your knees before him, his grip tightened in your hair, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. Your fingers smoothed over the front of his sequined vest, pushing it further apart, exposing more of the golden skin that shimmered under the dressing room lights.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire, his thumb tracing over your cheek before resting against your bottom lip. His eyes darkened as you let out a soft hum, hands sliding up his sparkly trousers to slip your fingers inside the band of his pants.

Your fingers slid inward under they worked the clasp undone, the sound of Harry’s zipper filling the air. Harry pressed his hands flat against the wall that held you between him and the surface while his green eyes pierced a look of need through you.

You let out a small, innocent giggle before tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers curling around the inside of his briefs and the outside of his slacks as she tugged both the materials down his toned legs.

The tattoos he had on his thighs were canvassed beautifully on his toned, tan legs. The tiger taunted her from its hold on his skin, a reminder from all the times she spent with her pussy attached to it. Your eyes, doe and tainted with something teasing, looked up at him as his cock sprang to life and slapped onto his lower abdomen. You giggled once more to yourself at the blissful sight. 

Harry’s cock was big. Thick and wonderfully above the average that it took four sessions to fully get him inside of you. And the sex you two had that day? The bedroom was wrecked. You couldn’t stop begging for his ‘big, thick cock’ to rip you open, eyes rolling back at the feeling (finally) of his balls slapping against your clit with each giving thrust as you were bent over for him.

His tip was a roaring red, deep in color and a thick swole at the base of his tip. A cooler tone of that same color painted the rest of his dick. Your fingers fluttered down his toned thighs, your eyes too busy being wrapped around his beautiful cock to notice his stare. But you felt it.

After a few mutters of complaint from Harry from your featherlight teases, your dainty hand finally wrapped around the base of your cock. He was warm. Heavy in your hand as your thumb slipped along the underside of his cock to raise it to your lips. Your lips puckered and gave kitten-like kisses and licks from his fierce burnt tip down to his tightening balls.

“Baby, c’mon…” Harry spoke. His voice was tainted with rough edges, holding off using anything above a whisper since he had last spoken. The hand that remained in your hair carded through the soft locks, his nails slightly dragging along your scalp so he could get a soft hum from you when you tilted your head back.

You were under his control, the palms of his very hands. Anything he gave to you, you took like his good girl. “Good girl,” Harry then muttered as if on cue, fond but lust-filled eyes circling your face of content. His touch was always so welcoming, so soothing and it hit every right spot.

When you felt Harry’s hand tighten in your hair to form a proper grip, that's when your tongue gave a flat lick up the underside of his cock. You held his shaft upright, your eyes locked on his heavy green ones as your wet tongue glided over the vein and swirled around his tip. 

When it came to sucking your boyfriend off, you got to work. It was pure bliss for you. You shifted on your knees and felt the wet squelch between your thighs. You were a soaking mess for him and had been since he got on that stage. 

Lips engulfed around his cock, your jaw slacked as you pushed him further down. Once about halfway, you pulled up to wrap your hand around him, delivering strokes to his dick as your eyes scanned his face. Harry never really cared for head before. It was pish-posh to him, it wasn’t something he needed or wanted deeply with a woman.

But when you came along? When you took his cock so far down your throat that you both couldn’t breathe? Harry was whipped. He always voiced how lucky he was to have you on your knees for him, and you thrived on it. You thrived on being the only one he needed.

Your tongue found its place back over his tip, cradling the head of his shaft as your tongue swirled gracefully around. Harry’s brows were furrowed in pleasure, his plump lips wet with his spit from all the times he had licked over them.

“Y/n—”.

Your mouth fully engulfed him before another word left his lips. His dick was heavy on your tongue as it slid further back, hitting the back of your throat. His cock curved to slip down your throat and you moaned, the tip of your nose hitting the patch of hair Harry had kept. 

With a deep inhale through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut. His musk mixed with his cologne made you let out a moan around him. He smelled so damn good.

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, pinching his brows together as he felt the way your throat molded to his cock with tight ease. 

You continued to bob your head, tongue pressing along the vein on the underside of his cock while your hand worked the half that you didn’t take. Your eyes fluttered back up to him.

“Shit, baby,” The man moaned, shaking his head as his eyes shut in pleasure. His jaw was slack, you could tell by the way he tried to clench his teeth. His curls fell across his forehead and the hand at the back of your head encouraged you.

Removing your hand, your throat opened back up for Harry’s cock as he pushed your head further down. His hips stuttered slightly as a gasping moan left his mouth, jaw now completely slack as the tip of his cock felt your warm, fluttering throat.

Harry’s grip on your hair was firm as he yanked you off, pulling his hips back with a gasp. You let out a whine as your lips formed a pout.

“Fucking hell, Y/n,” The man licked his lips with a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Harry’s hand left your hair to card through his and push curls back, hissing slightly as you kissed and licked along his tip. 

He was so wrong to deprive you of his cock in your mouth. You just loved it so much. Who wouldn't? Especially when it came to Harry.

“You… fuck,” He hummed low, eyes closing and head tipping back as your hand cradled his balls and began slow massaging motions. Your tongue slipped between the slit at his tip and under the crown of his dick along with your motions. And just when you think you had him again…

Harry had to pull himself together, snapping his eyes open as he straightened back up. “No,” He hissed, yanking your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. Your lips were glossed with spit, eyes the same from the pressure in your throat, though a huff passed your lips.

“If you keep doing that, ‘M going to cum. And the only place I want to cum right now,” He grunted, a hand wrapping around your arm to lightly pull you up. As you rose to your feet, you kept your doe eyes on check. 

His green eyes scanned your features for a moment before he cursed under his breath, continuing what he was saying. “Is inside ‘f you. Understood?”

You nodded and bit back a smile as your thighs clenched. Fuck, please? “Yes sir.” 

With that, Harry turned you around in a sharp motion, turning you both. Harry walked you both towards the leather sofa in the middle of the dressing room, his hand landing flat on your back as he gave you an encouraging push.

Your knees hit the leather seat before your hands hit the back, fingers curling around the ledge as you felt your boyfriend press up behind you.

You loved it when he was like this. The manhandling, the telling you what to do. It drove you crazy. Your pussy pulsed between your clenched thighs. You needed him, his thick cock pounding you, bad.

Harry’s large hands landed on the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he pressed his cock up against you over the material of your skirt. “Tell me, sugar,” his hands danced their way to your skirt’s hem around your hips and yanked them down to your thighs in one, swift motion. “You’re so wet.” 

“Why?” You could feel Harry’s long fingers graze the inside of your thighs, feathering over where you needed them the most.

You swallowed, arching your back down against the sofa as you turned back to look at him. “You.”

Harry ‘tsk’ed, his green eyes looking up to meet yours as his pointer and middle finger slid between your folds. Thick and silky, wet and warm. You coated his fingers like your life depended on it. “Give me better than that, Peach.”

Peach. He tossed that nickname one random summer when you two went down to help your grandparents on their farm in Georgia. He held you on his shoulders almost the whole way until he collapsed (he says from the sun, you say it was from the two buckets of peaches in his hands) under a shady tree. You two spent the rest of the evening out there soaking in Georgia heat and feeding each other fruit until the sun went down. He carried you all the way back.

“Your cock,” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingers. “I love having your cock in my mouth and—.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, cutting you off as he dipped a finger slowly into you. “You do love having m’cock in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded between a split moan, pussy swallowing his finger with greed. “I do. I do. I do. I love the way it feels, I love the way it tastes, oh—!”

Another finger inside now, pumping at a teasing pace and curling as they stuffed inside of you. It was your turn to moan filth now. You could hear Harry’s fingers inside of you, pumping and curling. That’s how wet you had been for him.

“You’re so wet,” Harry cursed under his breath as he scissored his fingers, his eyes flickering between your blissed look and his fingers that worked between your wetness.

He always loved how wet you got. Not needing to buy lube was fantastic, but the way you tasted and smelled is what got Harry going. He loved watching your thighs string with slick substance, and he loved diving tongue first into your pussy to swallow down as much as he could.

“Is this what you needed? My attention? You’ve been wanting it, hm?”

You nodded with a whine. “Mhm, mhm. Please,” you whimpered, wiggling your ass against him as his fingers curled inside of you once more.

“Been such a good girl during m’show. Waited for me, and then surprised me with a soaked pussy,” Harry grinned, shaking his head to his own amusement as he slipped his long, thick digits out of you.

That same hand of Harry’s returned to your cunt, his fingers collecting the pool of arousal before he wrapped a slick hand around his cock. “Need t’be fucked? I think you do, don’t you? My sweet little girl,” he sighed dramatically, slicking his cock with your wet in careful strokes.

“Yes, yes, please, Harry, just please.” You whimpered in need, wiggling your ass back. You could almost cry at the emptiness inside of you, just wanted to be full of Harry.

You gasped high when a hand came down to smack against your ass. It jiggled from the collision and Harry’s rings left a burn in their place. 

“Try again.” Harry’s green eyes looked up through his lashes. “Not my name, doll.”

You huffed softly, shifting on your knees to spread your legs as you felt Harry’s tip graze along your pussylips. “Please give me your cock, Daddy. Please. I need it.” You begged, soft whimpers in your words as you batted doe eyes at him.

With one swift thrust, Harry’s tip broke past your tight entrance and paved way for his cock to fill you up. You both let out simultaneous gasps as he bottomed out, your ass pressed flush against his hips.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Harry gritted through clenched cheeks while his large hands worked over your hips to get a firm grip. 

He drew his hips back slowly, sinking back into you quickly. Your lips broke out in a moan as the burn of his cock melted into you. It took him three thrusts to balance out, pulling nearly all the way out of you before pounding back into you. 

He was slow at first. Careful and deep. Your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut as your lips parted, his cock shooting thrills of pleasure to your body. Your clit ached with need under his grasp and cock.

Then his pace quickened. His head spun with thoughts of you, how tight you were and how perfect your pussy engulfed him. “Shit,” Harry groaned as he grinded his hips into you, allowing his cock to shift inside before he went back to his quick, even, and hard thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Take this fucking cock, jus’ like you were made for.”

You were over the moon. Behind your shut eyes were visions of Harry and that beer spilling down his chest over and over and over again.

“Oh,” you whined, your toes curling in your heels as his fingers connected with your clit. “Oh my god, fuck, please, please.”

His two fingers worked your clit at a fast matched pace to his thrusts. Your stomach coiled as each rub and thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Harry’s thrusts turned relentless. The moment he got you up and pressed against his chest, his other hand was reaching down to hook around the back of your knee and pull your leg up. 

“Oh my fuck!,” you cried out in a moan, the new angle allowing his cock to reach deeper. 

“Yeah? Jesus,” Harry grunted as he shifted his hips and replanted his feet. “So damn tight, so wet. Taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“It was,” you whined and nodded quickly, your hands placed over his arm that had you pulled flush against his chest. “Was made just for you,” you slurred, eyes drooping in pleasure as you broke into another whiny moan. 

“That's right,” the man panted, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “Perfect fucking cunt, takes my cock so well— fuck!”

Harry’s jaw fell slack against your shoulder, curls brushing along the side of your neck when he felt your pussy contract around him. Harry’s fingers circled around your clit, pinching and rubbing in all of your wetness. 

The both of you couldn’t stop the rush of moans. You weren’t even sure if the door was locked, but all you could think about right now was Harry.

His eyes broke open, staring down at your chest as your breasts spilled from your loose top. Harry’s hand slid from your waist to the bottom of your tit, cupping the fleshy mound in his hand. “The most perfect fucking body,” he groaned, squeezing your breast as he dug his fingers into your leg from the open hold. 

Harry continued to pound your pussy until you were a screaming, soaked mess. Your chest rose and fell in quick and uneven breaths in between moans and begs. “Please let me cum, please, please, fuck. Please, Daddy,” you whimpered, swallowing thick as his fingers brushed along your nipple. 

Harry groaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh as he continued his deep thrusts inside of you. You could tell he was getting close with the way his thrusts went uneven.

“Yeah? Need t’cum?” Harry taunted, squeezing at your nipple once again before his fingers mound your clit to rub at a quick pace. “Cum f’me, pretty girl.”

His permission was all you needed before your orgasm hit you. You cried out his name, nails digging into his forearm as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock. You squirted into the open air, the filthy sounds of your liquid splattering onto the brown leather beneath you two. 

Harry choked out a moan at the sight, jaw falling slack and eyes pinching shut. His own orgasm hit him like a train three thrusts after, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of his cum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!,” the man gasped, whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you as he pumped the final spurts of his release inside of you.

Your body trembled as aftershocks rippled through you, every nerve alight with pleasure and exhaustion. Harry's hands were slow and reverent as they traced over your skin, smoothing over your thighs before sliding up to your waist, fingertips pressing gently into your overheated flesh. His touch grounded you, brought you back from the blissful haze that had left you weak-limbed and breathless.

"Good girl," he murmured again, voice deep and rough with the remnants of pleasure, lips grazing the damp skin of your shoulder as he let his forehead rest against your back for a fleeting moment.

The warmth of his breath fanned across your spine, making you shiver despite the heat still radiating between you.

With a soft groan, Harry straightened, slipping away just long enough to grab a few tissues from the nearby table. He moved with that signature confidence, even in his post-high daze, but there was a new tenderness in his actions as he carefully cleaned you both up. His hands, so capable of bringing you to ruin, were equally skilled in their gentleness now—warm, patient, and familiar.

Once satisfied, he tossed the used tissues aside and reached for his duffel bag near the couch, unzipping it to pull out a pair of his soft, worn-in sweats and a shirt for you. The fabric was well-loved, carrying his scent—fresh cedarwood and the faintest trace of lingering cologne, something comforting and inherently him. 

He passed them to you before grabbing his own spare clothes, rummaging until he found a plain black T-shirt and another pair of joggers.

Rolling his shoulders, he started removing the sequin suit still clinging to his skin, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “God, I’m sweaty as hell now,” he groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic grimace. “S’like I ran a bloody marathon.” (wink wink.)

You snorted, tugging his T-shirt over your head and shimmying into his sweatpants. They hung loose on your frame, but that only made them all the more comforting. “You were putting in some serious work there, Styles,” you teased, watching as he peeled off the glitzy fabric and tossed it onto the couch.

Harry scoffed but shot you a smug grin. “’Course I was. Can’t have my girl unsatisfied, now can I?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes to play off the effect he still had on you. “Yeah, yeah. Get dressed, loverboy.”

He huffed a small laugh but did as told, slipping into his fresh set of clothes before collapsing onto the couch with a content sigh. His curls were a mess, damp at the edges where sweat had gathered, and there was still a faint flush to his cheeks. He looked comfortable, utterly relaxed—and, as always, completely unfair in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

You stepped closer, nudging his thigh with your knee. “Scoot over.”

Harry cracked one eye open and grinned. “That’s not how you ask nicely.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Harry.”

Chuckling, he lifted his arm in invitation. “C’mere, then.”

That was all you needed. You climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against his chest as he pulled you in securely, arms looping around your waist with ease. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat filled your ears, a soothing rhythm beneath your cheek. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns along your back, the heat of his palm seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, wrapped in the afterglow of shared intimacy and the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted to move just yet. Outside the dressing room, the distant hum of activity from the crew still breaking down the concert setup could be heard, but it felt like another world entirely.

After a moment, Harry pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Y’good?” he murmured, voice thick with lingering exhaustion.

You hummed, nuzzling further into his chest. “Mhm. Perfect.”

He smiled against your hair, holding you a little tighter. “Good.”

“Harry?” You spoke.

“Mhm?”

“When we get back to the hotel,” you started, your finger tracing little circles into his shirt, “I want to be the next thing dripping down your chest.”

“Fucking hell, babe.”

[stevebabey]

toothache

summary: Steve gets his wisdom teeth removed. You dote from his bedside, even if, post-anaesthesia, he seems to have completely forgotten you’re his girlfriend.

[3.6k + established!relationship + fem!reader]

There’s a faint beep from a machine tucked in the corner, but other than that the room is quiet.

As quiet as it can be, at least. Hospitals are never truly silent, you think. The whole building hums with the coursing thrum of rushing doctors and the buzz of fluorescent lights; a hive for busy bees.

Steve’s room is decently tucked away from any of the busyness of the some of the more frantic floors, thankfully.

Occasionally, a nurse does a round and you spy them walking by through the slats in the blinds. But besides that, it’s just you and your twiddling thumbs to keep yourself company until Steve wakes up.

The nurse who’d let you in left maybe 20 minutes ago — about how long she said it would take for Steve to wake back up. You don’t have a watch on, but the room has a big clock that ticks silently, the second hand juddering around the clock face.

You’ve been watching it, waiting to put said twiddling thumbs into action the moment Steve stirs.

And if you’re not keeping track of the time, you’re studying your boyfriend’s face.

Steve looks a bit silly and a bit lovely all at once.

He’s out cold in the hospital bed and his cheeks are stuffed with cotton, making him resemble a chipmunk, to stem the bleeding in his mouth. His face is lax and his cheek is slightly squished against the pillow.

There’s a touch of drool from the corner of his mouth. Well, just a touch is generous of you to say.

You’d wiped it away initially, doting and caring, but Christ almighty, he’s definitely out cold. It’s a river of slobber.

Your search for tissues was futile and after the second time you’d wiped it with your sleeve, you decided the pillow is soaking it all up just fine.

He must be on something really strong. Deep roots, the doctor told you whilst explaining why Steve was under so much anaesthesia.

Your lips purse worriedly as your eyes roam over his face. You hope the whole procedure won’t hurt him much.

Steve’s been through the wringer these last couple years, so much that one would expect something as minuscule as a wisdom teeth removal shouldn’t warrant too much worry — except it has the opposite effect on you. Left on your own, your worry grows exponentially.

You eye the clock again.

How long since that nurse left again? How long before Steve’s been asleep for too long? He's had one too many concussions, which you did tell the doctors about, but maybe they missed something. Maybe you should hit the call button anyway.

The clock ticks forward.

A nurse passes by the window.

On the bed, Steve’s fingers twitch.

A breath of sigh presses its way out your lungs, warm relief flushing through your chest, and you reach forward to click the call button in an instant. You’re on your feet quickly, crowding in closer.

The cool bar of the bed presses into your upper thighs as you reach across it to hold Steve’s hand.

Evidently groggy, Stave’s eyelashes flutter open. You’d think he looks like a Disney princess if his mouth wasn’t gaping open and drooling with blood. He groans, long and languid, reeking of pain and the subsequent painkillers.

Before he's even opened his eyes, he's shifting about. The muscles in his neck tense as he tries to lift his head.

“Hey, hey," You speak softly, thumb rubbing gently across the back of his hand. Your other hand brushes against his forehead, urging him to lay back down. "Just take it easy there, tiger."

Steve makes another gravelly groany noise but relents against your touch, sinking back into the pillow in one magnificent slump. His eyes are open, hazel peering at you curiously as he blinks slowly.

"Wuh?" He manages to say, his jaw barely moving.

Despite how you try to resist, an endeared smile pulls at your mouth.

They did say he would be a little dopey when he came to. You're just now finding out how dopey that means.

Glancing at the door, you wonder how long you should wait before hitting the call button again. You're pretty sure Steve, proactive as ever, is gonna start pulling the cotton out of his mouth as soon as he realises its there.

"—Wuh 're 'ou?—"

To Steve, perhaps, those were real words. You're not entirely sure what he's meant to say, though you hazard a guess he's asking who you are.

In the same moment you go to answer, Steve's eyes drift off to the ceiling, unfocussed.

He raises the hand you aren't holding and bumps it against his jaw, then releases a long, drowsy owwwwwww in response.

Are you gonna lose good girlfriend points for laughing at this? Your lips purse together once more, this time buttoning in your laughter.

You rescue Steve from himself, reaching out and grabbing the other hand before he can prod himself in the face again.

"Wah 'appened?" He says, his eyes sluggish as they drag back over to you. It looks like it takes immense effort and you reward him with a loving squeeze of his hand.

"Your wisdom teeth, baby. You got them taken out."

Steve's eyebrows rise at a snail's pace, his face slowly forming an astounded expression.

"My teef?" He says, baffled. "'Ey took them?"

He extracts his hand from yours, raising it back up as if he's going to search his mouth for the very missing teeth.

You capture it midway up, tugging it back down. "Careful, you don't wanna touch it again. It'll be very sore."

Steve, bamboozled by just how exactly his hand rapidly changed course, takes a long moment to register your words. He blinks, one eye at a time, like a frog.

"Ow?"

You can't resist a little grin, nodding. "Yeah, baby, ouch."

That seems to get the message across. Steve doesn't try to raise his hand again, however, instead he realises that you're holding both of them. He's very unsubtle, half-lidded eyes peering down the bed with a suspicious squint to them.

Then, very slowly, he begins to pull both his hands away.

You let him do so, amusedly releasing your soft grip. Maybe hand-holding — usually one of Steve's favourite things — isn't so nice when you're high as a kite. You only want your boyfriend to be as comfortable as possible.

Except, when you glance back up at Steve's face, the narrowed, suspicious gaze is now directed at your face.

"Y'ur nice." He slurs, the compliment completely at odds with his sceptical demeanour. His hands are still pulled to his chest, tucked up awkwardly. "'N gongeous. But—"

He manages to raise one finger up straight, the only movement of his hands.

"Am—"

The end of his sentence is stolen by the hiss of the door, pushed open by the same nurse from earlier. You didn't catch her name.

She's a nice looking woman, dressed in green scrubs, and she smiles upon seeing Steve up and awake on the bed.

"Why hello there, Steve," She greets casually, sidling up to the other side of Steve's bed with a clipboard in hand. "How are we feelin'?"

Steve's turned to face her but you can see the clear hesitation in his face, evidently searching for any hint of recognition.

The hands held up against his chest sway a bit. Steve blinks slow.

"Who 'r 'ou?" He repeats the same question he asked you in the exact same cadence.

The nurse smiles at that, which is a nice way of letting your anxiety know you're not allowed to be too worried.

"I'm your nurse, Marissa. We met a few hours ago before your surgery. Do you remember that?"

It's a careful probe, seeing just how much Steve's recall is working. He thinks about it real hard, eyes staring in the distance as his tongue poking out a bit in concentration, before he moves his head in a way that's probably a no.

"That's okay, Steve. Everyone reacts a little differently to general, but it shouldn't last longer than a few hours." She reassures him.

The clipboard in her hands has a few pieces of paper clipped to it and she flicks through them. You sort of wish you had Steve's hand to hold, just to comfort yourself. The bar on his hospital bed will have to make do.

When Marissa speaks, she glances over at you, talking to both of you. "Looks like everything went to plan, no hitches or issues. You'll be free to take him home in another 20 minutes or so—so long as nothing crops up."

You nod, grateful to hear that. Though, you're not looking forward to wrangling your loopy boyfriend out the door and to the car when he's in this state.

"Thank you very much." You express the gratitude for both you and Steve, knowing he's hardly thinking of manners at the moment. He'll thank you for it later. "I did have a—"

"—pssssssst."

You stop talking at the abrupt interruption, both you and Marissa surprised by Steve's interjection.

His attempt at a psst doesn't quite work to the normal effect and instead, he's painted his bottom lip in a bit of blood.

He's looking at Marissa, not you. One of his bunched up arms raises up to his mouth as though he's trying to cup it and hide his words. You resist the urge to pull it back down, worried he'll knock his jaw again.

Marissa, sharing a playful glance in your direction, smiles kindly at Steve.

"Yes, Steve?"

"Can 'ou tell th' nice lady," He's trying to whisper but failing miserably. "That I'm.... I'm..."

Steve scrunches up his face to try to think of a word. He regrets it quickly, another hissed and sluggish owwww leaking out as pain radiates through his face.

Your fingers curl tighter around the bar. It takes effort not to reach for his hand again — or jump in and ask Steve what he wants to say to you. He's clearly trying to be stealthy for a reason, even if it isn't working.

Marissa's pager beeps. She flashes a quick look at it, silences it, then turns back to Steve.

"I'm... 'ot bullshit." He finally spits out.

That surprises you.

Marissa, conversely, seems to be undeterred by such a proclamation. You wonder what else people have said whilst coming back up from anaesthesia. She pats Steve on the arm gently.

"No you aren't."

Steve appears to be bolstered by her agreement, his own head giving a slow nod. He's still speaking in that groggy way, not at all helped by his cotton-stuffed mouth. "Yuh, and I 'ave a— a girlfiend."

Huh?

Marissa catches on a moment before you do, a certain cheek creeping into her smile. She checks her watch, then focuses back on Steve and nods.

"Uh huh, big guy. Your girlfriend's actually here, did you know?"

As her words sink in, Steve's eyes blow wide. He looks equal parts stunned as he does excited.

You realise why he asked who you were and withdrew his hands all at once.

Your smile dissolves into a giddy grin, entirely too endeared by Steve's unbreaking loyalty to you, even if he is barking up the wrong tree.

"S'e is?"

"Yep." Marissa says. She nods in your direction. "And she's gonna take good care of you, alright?"

You wonder if this is the most fun part of her job.

"My girlfien'..." Steve sighs quietly, his eyes hazy. You don't think you're meant to hear it.

Marissa smiles at that and finally begins to backtrack towards the door. She checks her watch again, then says to you, "15 minutes. Then you're free to go."

She waves at Steve as she's disappearing through the door. "I hope you feel better soon, Steve."

Steve makes a valiant attempt at a wave back, but his hand barely hovers above the sheets for a second before he's dropping it back down.

He sighs loudly and a little more blood freckles his bottom lip. He reaches up for his face again and you intercept.

"It'll hurt more if you touch it." You say to explain, then quickly let go of his arm.

It slumps back down and you watch as Steve's face morphs through several different expressions, from frowning distaste to a disbelieving awe.

"Are 'ou..." He asks, slurring out the word. His hand picks up off the bed to curve up, pointing a finger back at his chest. "My girlfiend?"

It comes out tinged with astonishment. You laugh without meaning to.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Steve struggles to compute your response, given by how his eyes shift away lazily, then slide back to you, still wide.

"Yurrr lyin'," He lolls out the words. He waves one hand up, as if brushing off the joke you're supposedly telling.

"Am not!" You laugh. Then just to prove your point, you reach out and take his hand in yours, cradling it between your palms. "We're pretty serious, baby."

"Yo're 'etty," Steve counters, though pretty comes out strangely as he tries to not move his lips much.

The fact he can flirt back whilst so out of it is a feat, though it proves some of his charisma is just that inherent.

You notice, as he gazes at you, the surprise from earlier has somewhat sapped away but the awe in his face remains.

Steve's hand in yours turns over and he grips one of your thumbs tightly.

"I s'love... bein' a boyfiend," He says, deadly serious. Another roll of dribble escapes the corner of his mouth, yet somehow you're entirely captivated by his small admittances. He loves being a boyfriend.

"'ut dunno if 'mmm good at it. Am I?"

He wants to know if he's a good boyfriend. There's a little wobble in your heartstrings at his genuine concern.

You curl your fingers back around his hand tighter and nod. "Definitely."

Steve exhales a big sigh of relief, his eyes slipping shut as he gives your thumb a half-hearted squeeze.

"S'good." He mumbles.

As you soothe your fingertips over his hand, you hope his loopy mutterings aren't a manifestation of some constant worry you don't know about. It's normal to want to be a good partner. But Steve's own mention of bullshit is enough to make you unsure.

Is this what worries him? Are you not doing a good job at communicating back just how happy Steve makes you?

On the bed, Steve's eyes open again, seeking you out in languid, sleepy blinks. Upon finding you, he smiles. Well, you think he smiles.

What really happens is his face twitches and then he's making another drawn out owwww as he moves around his fresh wounds too much.

"Try not to move too much," You remind him. "It will keep making it ow, baby."

Despite what you've said, Steve continues to shift about—though you realise he's merely trying to inch closer to you. He's twisted a little, his shoulder curving towards you, but his head still laid flat.

"Can I 'it up?"

His speech is clearing up a bit, the words coming out better formed now. You nod at his request and shake off his grip on your thumb to hold his forearms, gently urging him up. It takes a moment, but he manages.

He's curved over like a shrimp, slumped and struggling to support himself.

You quickly stack the pillows behind him into more of a support and lead him to lean back against them. Steve lets you, gripping your forearms tightly as if he's afraid you'll drop him.

One settled, he releases his tight grip and gives another loud sigh. You're not fast enough to intercept his hand this time, Steve raising the back of it to wipe his mouth with.

It comes away with a smear of blood and saliva.

The volume of it must surprise Steve because he's dragging his hand back from his face, that same suspicious squint back on his face. He spots what he's wiped from his face and his eyebrows crease.

"Eeeew."

A giggle titters out of you. Steve is instantly distracted from his gross hand, his expression smoothing out as his head swings toward you.

"Hafta tell you somethin'," Steve says. His head sways a bit unsteadily as he thinks hard.

His groggy gaze draws down and up your face intently and you realise after a moment, he may have just checked you out.

"Yeah? What do you have to tell me?"

Steve nods as though he's the one who's spoken.

"Yea," He murmurs, then holds his hand up like he wants you to take it. It's the non-slobbered one, thankfully. You do take it, resuming the same soothing hold from earlier, this time intertwining your fingers.

Steve does another frog-blink, staring at your interlaced fingers. He drags his gaze up and slurps a bit as he inhales. "There waz... another lady here. But I tol' her. Tol' her."

He nods seriously, staring at you like he's waiting for you to nod along.

Your mouth twists into a poorly restrained smile. You wonder if he's talking about Marissa or if he's forgotten you were the other lady here earlier too.

"Told her what?"

"Tol' her," Steve repeats surely. He squeezes your hand and then shifts, not liking the intertwined fingers. He resumes his hold around your thumb. "I speaken."

Okay, you're getting a little bit better at decoding loopy Steve-speak, but this one? Lost on you.

You wiggle your thumb in his hold and furrow your brows a bit exaggeratedly so he can catch on that you don't quite understand.

"I," Steve slurs. He's moved his other hand up to jab himself in the chest, referring to himself — then he casts it in the direction of the door. "Taken."

It takes a moment, but his gesture is enough to clue you in. Another sugary, giddy wave singes your nerves. God, he's sweet.

You grin at him adoringly, leaning in to brush a piece of hair back from his face. Steve's skin is warm beneath your touch.

"You're told her you're spoken for, huh?" You coo softly, petting his hair back.

Steve preens at your understanding, managing a nod and a bright-eyed adoring gaze at you.

You run your hand over his hair again because he seems to like it and his eyes flutter under your sweet ministrations. His head nearly lolls back to dip into the pillow, but he catches it at the last moment.

"Yuh," He says absently. He nods again, focusing hard on meeting your eye. "Tol' her." He repeats again.

It seems it's very important to Steve that you know he would never ever think about cheating on you — even if it's with, well, you.

"Thank you, baby," You say, meaning it completely.

Steve smiles as much as he can, a sluggish half-motion that somehow makes him look even dopier. His eyes wander and he catches sight of the glob of blood and spit atop of his hand.

His eyes widen almost comically. He frowns worriedly and picks his hand up, holding it out in front of him, "Oughhh, wuh 'appened?"

The genuine concern in his words and his apparent very short-term memory makes it hard not to snort in amusement. Squeezing his hand again, you try to remain composed.

"Your wisdom teeth, remember? They took them out because they were hurting you."

"You're s' nice," Steve says, dropping his hand limply, the blood on it quickly forgotten. His fingers around your thumb tighten, giving another weak squeeze. "'M glad you're my girlfiend."

"I'm glad you're my boyfriend." You assure him sweetly.

"Yea?" Steve's gone back to that slow blink. He leans forward, shoulder hunched over, the whole motion seeming conspiratorial. He tries to whisper again. "Have'a 'nother secret."

Your brows raise. Another secret?

"Wanna tell me it?" You ask.

Steve nods sagely. He beckons you in closer with a limp wave of his hand, tugging slightly on your thumb. You lean in closer, unable to hide your grin at his antics.

"I," Steve pauses for a long, long moment. You watch as his eyes track back and forth sluggishly, very clearly trying to put his rapidly disappearing thoughts into order.

"I t'ink," He finally says, sounding more sure this time. "I lov' you. But shhhhhh. S'itsa secret."

Oh. Now, that is a secret. You and Steve have been dating for a while now, like you said it's serious, but not quite long enough to exchange any I love you's. Not just yet.

Only it's not really secret after all. You know.

You know in the same way you already know Steve's favourite perfume of yours and the way he likes his coffee in the morning. How he loves to hold your hand and doesn't ask, but loves it when you kiss him on the temple.

You've never asked. Enough time spent together and you just know these things.

Like how you love Steve and he loves you.

You grin brazenly, not even trying to stop it now.

"I'll keep your secret safe," You promise him. "Wanna hear one of my secrets? I love you too."

Steve clings to your hand preciously and his face takes on an expression which you can only describe as utterly starry-eyed. His hazel eyes, bright and less foggy now, stare at you owlishly. You'd give a handful of pennies to know what he's thinking right now.

"S'good," He finally says. Which makes you bark in laughter, as if he's saying glad that's settled.

"Yea' s'good." He inhales a big, slurping kind of breath and exhales. His shoulders sit a little more relaxed now and you wonder how long he's been waiting to tell you that.

You wonder more how he'll react when you tell him he spilled the beans while high out of his mind.

Then, just to spoil it — or sweeten it, depending on how you see it — he leans back over and whispers, "Wha's your name again?"

[wordpress-blaze-192228442]

How To Be A Positive Thinker

Bible Study, Grace Study

This is most case I have known so far. Most of you are having negativity thoughts towards your eye captured information, human action, matter of things. It is rather than a brighter one, especially when your body is aching, your head is spinning or you have a sleepless night.

How would you change to be an optimism thinker?

Firstly, you drop being-demanded thinking. Everyday, your life is demanded either by your boss, your husband/wife/kids, yourself. You change your mind to think this way: "no worries, I have God supply me all the grace, I will be fine." -- this is your mindset principle to over lap other negative thoughts constantly.

Alternatively, you do other things to "distract" you:

You can take a breath to look at sky🪐;

listening beautiful musics🎻;

"staring" at flowers 🌺🌱 and animals 🐣;

having a cup of coffee;

treating yourself a nice meal --being 😊.

When you are unhappy, engaging yourself with other healthy activities. In bible, focusing on Jesus Christ by declaring it: I will not worry, I rest. When I rest, God (or some other colleagues, wakakak. 🙊) works. Casting all my cares on I don't care whom. ☃️

Live an stress-free moment, taking a deep breath: just 5 mins each day will do; The Happier You are, the Stronger Your Health are. Healing ~~

P.S. It seems to me that a religious believer has more grit to change their habits of thinking than none believers.

Source: How To Be A Positive Thinker

[darkbluekies]

Talking to the dead

Mafia!yandere x reader

Warnings: dead sibling, mentions of digging up the grave

He's furious that you've escaped. Infuriated that you managed to slip past the guards again. He wants to put a bullet through their chests. They've tracked you down to the cemetery, a weird place, Silas thinks.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you sit by a tombstone, talking. There's no one around, who are you holding conversation with? He tells his men to stand by while he sneaks over.

"I'm in danger", you sob and chuckle slightly. "I've put myself in a dangerous situation, you know. I wish you were here. I could need a big sister/brother now. I need guidance. I don't know what to do, I'm so scared. Everything is terrifying." You sigh. "Well, now I've told you everything that has happened since you passed away. Quite the story, isn't it? Yeah ... I really miss you."

Silas sighs and scratches his neck, looking back at his guards, thinking. He knew that your sibling was dead, but he never imagined that he would find you like this.

"Y/N", he says carefully, wanting to catch you attention.

You gasp and hug the stone for dear life.

"Don't take him/her!" you scream in a heartbreaking tone.

Silas walks over to you, sinking down beside you. His heart breaks.

"I'm not going to take them", he reassures you. "Why don't you introduce me? Or have you already done that? I heard you told everything."

You still hug the stone tightly. Silas puts his hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that he won't dig up the grave and steal your sibling. He brings you back and takes a look at the name on the stone before placing his hand on it. I'll protect them, he thinks and hopes that your big brother/sister will hear him, I will die for them.

Silas brings your shaking, sobbing body into his arms and kisses the top of your head. He won't punish you for this, his heart can't allow it.

While taking your defeated form to the car, he turns to his men and tells them to visit the grave every week to plant new flowers, water them, light candles, and clean the stone. And if they ever miss a week, he will kill them.

[kathlare]

masterlist

I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for reading and engaging with the story. Your support means the world to me! To avoid any confusion, I’ve compiled a masterlist of all the chapters in chronological order, with each year broken down into its own set of chapters. Each year represents a different phase in Amelie and Lando’s journey, with the chapters unfolding in order of events as they grow and evolve. Some years may have more chapters than others, as certain moments in their relationship take longer to develop, while others might overlap as I occasionally get new inspiration that will influence the storyline.

I’m also open to any requests or suggestions you may have—don’t hesitate to reach out!

Thank you all again for being a part of this journey. Love you all! 💕

request over here!

Amelie Dayman x Lando Norris - Singer DR

2020 - The One Where We Pretend the Spark Isn't There

2021 - The One Where We Let the Fire Burn Out

2022 - The One Where Time Turns Us Into Ghosts

2023 - The One Where We Find Ourselves Again

2024 - The One Where We Hit Reset

2025 - The One Where We Build Our Bridge

[onlymagpie]

In which Milva asks Regis for a trim, and she finds out about the vampire-mirror phenomenon

[pinkboaclub]

Musician Ex-Boyfriend

Summery: You and Harry are exes, on the day of your wedding, he pays you a visit, causing you to rethink things.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on Harry), fem!reader

"You look perfect."

You turned at the sound of his voice, and there he stood—Harry, in a sharp black, the sincerity on his face was palpable.

It was your wedding day, but not the one you’d envisioned. The love of your life wasn’t the man currently getting ready. No, he was standing in the doorway, on the verge of being caught.

You’d snuck away to collect yourself. You’d told your bridesmaids all day that you were close to tears from happiness, but that wasn’t the truth. It was fear, anxiety, regret—things you’d spent months ignoring, burying under a carefully constructed smile.

You quickly scanned the open room, making sure no one could see him.

“You can’t be here,” you said, your voice tight with urgency as you strode over to him, heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. “If someone sees you, they’ll start talking, they’ll—”

Before you could finish, Harry grabbed your arm, pulling you into the empty hallway. His hands found your waist, pulling you into him, his warmth and familiar scent filling your senses. You glanced over your shoulder, your heart racing as you checked again. No one was around.

"Harry, please," you whispered, trying to steady your breath, feeling the sting of tears rise again. "This isn’t right."

"I didn’t think you would go through with it." His voice was flat, emotionless, his eyes avoiding yours.

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. You had met Harry when you were both 25. It was supposed to be casual—two people who shared a love for music, books, and movies. He’d been on tour with his band, and you’d happened to be in the same restaurant with friends when they all decided to head to a club. That’s where you two started talking, the connection immediate, as if you’d known each other forever.

The texts started right after, every day, just a few words at first, then entire conversations that lasted into the early hours of the morning. His tour ended, and soon enough, long-distance visits turned into real dates. Three years of love, laughter, and dreams of a future together. A future that seemed so certain until life, with all its complexity and distance, pulled you apart.

It wasn’t sudden. It was gradual—the small, constant strain that turned into arguments about who was too busy, who wasn’t putting in enough effort. And then, finally, the break-up. The day you sat on the couch in your shared home, too many unsaid words filling the air, the silence louder than anything you could say.

“I love you so much and I don’t think I’ll ever stop,” Harry had sobbed, turning toward you with pleading eyes. You didn’t answer, unable to speak through your own tears.

You didn’t even know how it had happened, but you went from sitting on your couch crying, to laying on the couch, kissing with drying tears on your cheeks, ripping each other's clothes off. Maybe it was a last resort to salvage something, maybe it was an intense goodbye, you never really knew.

After that, you stayed friends. You kept up the pretense for everyone else. Friends, family—they all still thought you’d get back together. Harry even brought it up a few times, and you’d feel that pull, that ache in your chest. Of course, you thought about it. How could you not? But the idea of losing him again, of having to grieve the loss for a second time, felt unbearable.

And yet, here he was, on the most important day of your life, not as the man you were about to marry, but as the man you once thought you’d spend forever with.

“I have to,” you said, your voice a little softer this time. “I have to marry him.”

“Why?” Harry’s voice cracked, his frustration palpable. “Why him? Why do you need to? Nobody believes you actually want this.” His eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading for something.

You didn’t have an answer that would make sense to him—or to yourself. All you knew was that your future, the one you’d once pictured with Harry, had slipped away, and now the only choice left was the one that terrified you the most.

You stood there, caught between two worlds—two versions of yourself, each one tugging you in a different direction. Harry’s eyes stared into yours, demanding something you couldn’t give. You wished you could explain it all to him, but the words were stuck in your throat.

“I do want this,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you believed it. “But... I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to do the right thing, and I’ve convinced myself it’s what I want. But—” You stopped yourself before the tears could fall. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Harry’s hands were still around you, his grip tight, like he was trying to pull you into a reality where the two of you could make it work. But it wasn’t that simple. You’d both changed, grown in ways that made that dream of forever feel distant, impossible.

“I just wanted you to know,” Harry’s voice softened. “That I never stopped loving you. I never stopped hoping… I didn’t think you would go through with this. Not like this.”

Your chest tightened at the words. They hit harder than you anticipated. “I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t think I could either. But… I need to. For me.”

“For him, you mean,” Harry corrected, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. Hurt? Anger? Maybe both. But there was a quiet desperation in his voice that made it hard to breathe.

You hesitated. “He’s a good man. And I do love him. I do. But it’s not... the same.”

Harry’s jaw clenched at your words, but he didn’t pull away. He just stared at you, his eyes dark, like they were holding back everything he wanted to say.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he said softly, almost too quietly for you to hear. “You’re pretending because it’s easier than facing the truth. You know it’s not right. But you’re too scared to admit it.”

The weight of his words made your heart skip a beat. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the gnawing feeling in your gut, the one that told you he was right.

“I’m not scared,” you said, but the words felt hollow. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

Harry took a step closer, his voice urgent now, low and rough. “What if the right thing isn’t what you’ve convinced yourself it is? What if you’re meant to be with me?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, it was like time stopped. His presence enveloped you—the same pull you’d felt all those years ago, that same undeniable chemistry that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. But now, everything is different.

“I can’t,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can’t go through that again, Harry. I can’t lose you and have to pick up the pieces of me after. I don’t think I’d survive it a second time.”

“I’d never hurt you again,” he promised, his voice cracking with emotion. “I swear. I’d never let you go, not like I did before. Please, just—just think about it. Really think about what you’re about to do.”

The silence stretched between you two, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling. “I can’t do this right now, Harry. Not today. Not when I’m about to be married, something I’ve promised to commit to. Please… just go.”

His face fell, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped back, looking at you one last time, his expression full of pain and love and the remnants of hope.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll always be here, waiting for you. No matter what.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the hallway, the echo of his footsteps still ringing in your ears.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, your mind spinning with everything Harry had just said. His words—his love, his pain—still hung in the air, refusing to dissipate.

But you had made a promise. To him, to yourself, and to the man you were about to marry. You had to keep moving forward, even if it felt like you were walking into the unknown.

You wiped the tears from your eyes, taking a deep breath as you turned to face the door at the end of the hall. The moment was passing, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, it wasn’t over. Not yet.

The sharp click of another pair of heels echoed from the other end of the hall, and you barely registered it before Aaliyah rounded the corner, her expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“There you are! I was starting to think I’d lost you for good! I-what’s wrong?” She halted in her tracks, eyes scanning your face, a frown forming as she looked at the tear stains streaking down your cheeks.

You quickly wiped your face, not caring that your makeup was surely ruined. "I—uhm," you faltered, struggling to find the words. "I’m just... nervous."

You almost told her everything. You wanted to. Aaliyah had been there for you through all of it—through the endless debates over whether or not you should try again with Harry. She knew the truth. She’d always known. But today wasn’t the day for honesty. Today was for pretending, for keeping the peace, for stepping into the life you thought you’d chosen.

“Oh, I know it’s stressful, but it’ll all be okay!” Aaliyah said, wrapping her arms around you in a comforting hug. You leaned into her warmth, her helping for only a moment. "I think I just need a little more time alone. To clear my head. Maybe go up to my room for a bit, have some water, a snack, you know?"

She hesitated for a split second, her eyes lingering on you as if she could see right through your smile, but she nodded, understanding your need for space. “Alright, I’ll stay down here. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

“Promise,” you said, offering a small smile as you hugged her back, then hurried past her, your heels clicking against the floor as you made your way toward the elevator.

You had rented a hotel suite for the bridal party to get ready, a place where you could unwind and prepare. Your fiancée had his own room, staying with his groomsmen, where they were now. You had also reserved a hotel room for you and your fiancé to stay in before your honey moon in two days… so, now you had a free room to be alone in—well, almost alone.

As soon as you stepped into the room, you closed the door behind you with a soft click. You slowly slipped off the silk robe you’d been wearing, the one that said “Bride” in sparkling letters across your back, and traded it for the simple hotel robe draped on the back of the bathroom door.

Then you pulled out your phone, scrolling far down your contacts. Your thumb hesitated for just a second before you started typing.

“If you’re still in the hotel, I’m on floor 4, room 415. If you meant what you said, I’ll be here, waiting.”

A sharp knock at the door made you jump. Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced your legs to move toward it, each step heavy and unsteady. When you opened the door, there he stood, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I can't marry him," you murmured, barely audible. The weight of the words broke something inside you, and tears began to spill down your cheeks.

Without hesitation, Harry stepped forward, pulling you into his arms. He closed the door softly behind him, the world outside suddenly fading away. You clung to him, your sobs muffled against his shoulder, as if his presence was the only thing keeping you in reality.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes locked, searching for the words you had meant to say. But they escaped you. Instead, with a sudden, desperate impulse, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was everything you’d missed, everything you’d been longing for—and it felt like home.

"I am scared by how much I want this, how much I want you." You finally said after you pulled away from your kiss. Harry tucked your hair behind your ear, taking a moment to admire your features before speaking.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me…of us…because I know-I know it would work this time. Were not as young, we know how to balance our schedules, and we know what it’s like to not be with each other. I love you so much Y/N”

Before you could cry anymore, you caved in to everything you knew you wanted. You kissed him again, this time leading him to the hotel bed.

"I am devoted to you," He murmurs as he unties your robe, his eyes not leaving your face. You both lay back. He watches the way your eyes widen when he moves one hand between your thighs to tenderly touch your core. "Let me please you," He knows he sounds needy, but he can't help it as he looks upon the woman he would do anything for.

“Please do.”

He took his eyes from your face and let them travel down your body, this was the first time he had seen you like this since you had broken up. He took in every inch of you, your beautiful bra-clad breasts, your rapidly moving stomach as you breathed. Then, your legs. Your left leg had a white lace garter belt on it. His hand slowly traveled up until he got to the garter belt.

“Supposed to be a tradition…a very odd one.” You broke the silence.

“I’m not complaining.”

He slowly pulled off the belt, your underwear following it.

He moves forward and leaves a trail of kisses along the soft skin of your abdomen and then down over your quivering thighs as his hand moves between your legs, letting his finger slip into you.

After watching the first drop of your arousal slide down his index finger, he had enough. He pulls his hand back and grips your thighs to keep you still while his mouth devours you.

Your soft little moans and attempts at saying his name make him grip you tighter, using his tongue in even more intricate ways just to coax out more of your sweetness, more of your angelic sounds. He squeezes one of your thighs and then slides his hand up along your side until his hand finds yours. He twines your fingers together, and then he gets back to devouring you like he was starving.

"I need more, Harry, please," You beg so prettily that he considers asking you to do so again, but he feels like it would be cruel after you’ve been so patient.

"Of course,"

He kisses you deeply to drown the pained whimper when he pushes his cock inside you without a pause, thinking it’s best if he gets the painful part over with as fast as possible. He grunts against your mouth as your nails dig into his shoulders. He stays still and kisses away your tears until you start laughing beneath him.

You’re the one who indicates that he is allowed to move by grinding your hips up against his. He hums in understanding and starts to thrust into you again. You too get lost as he find a perfect rhythm.

He flips you over with one quick motion after he has watched your breasts bounce for too many agonising moments without being able to do anything with them, his mouth becomes focused on them, finding the spots that make you cry out his name as loudly as you could.

“Fuck, baby.” He says, admiring your body continuously bouncing up and down. You move quicker at his encouraging words, riding him faster than you thought you could.

He takes one of your breasts in his mouth, twisting his tongue around your nipple, kneading the other with his hand.

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling the familiar surge of warmth spread through your body like—the same warmth he could only give you, one that was 10x stronger than your fiancé could have ever given you.

Your orgasm soon followed. You didn’t care about how loud you were. You didn’t care if someone walked in right now, you’d almost prefer it, maybe it would be your fiancé, or someone you both knew, they would tell him you snuck up to your room to ride the musician ex boyfriend, then you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.

“I-fuck Harry, it’s…” You stop, letting yourself moan from the euphoria you’re feeling. “It’s so good.” You finally spit out.

He chuckles at your inability to properly express your blissful feelings and tangles his fingers in your hair to pull you down for a deep kiss. He lets out a low groan as your fingers dig into his chest, followed by the shuddering of your body and the clenching of your walls around him that prompt him to spill his cum inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters as he tears his mouth away from yours. He knows neither of you should have done that, however, as Harry looks up at your blissed expression, he does not regret it, not one bit.

His arms wrap around your torso, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He lightly rubbed his fingers up and down your back. The only thing that could be heard in the room was your heavy breathing.

“I love you, Harry.”

[thecuriousbeauty]

Under His Watch-Part 1 (Harry Styles x reader)

Series synopsis: Y/N, an ambitious FBI intern, joins the homicide department, where she catches the eye of the brooding head detective, Harry Styles. As they tackle high-stakes cases together, Y/N uncovers a side of Harry no one else sees. Are they just boss and intern, or something more?

Word count: 9.1k

A/N:- Hello everyone, so sorry for being gone for a while, but I'm back with something new that I hope you guys will love! This is going to be a short, two part series so like it up and reblog so I can get the second part out soon!

Warnings: Talks of murder, drug dealings, killings, crime scenes, violence, usage of gun. No smut in this part, but definitely in the next;)

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The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden light through the open window. The air feels fresh, but with a touch of warmth that hints at the summer heat to come. Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a gentle reminder of the new day. A light breeze stirs the curtains, carrying the scent of flowers blooming outside.

In a small, cozy bedroom, y/n stands before her mirror. She fidgets with her clothes, unsure whether the outfit is too formal or too casual for her first day at work. She has seen agents usually wear suits, but she opted for a dark blue buttoned shirt and pants, because she was just starting as an intern. Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts her hair, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling inside her. Her heart races, each beat echoing the uncertainty of what’s to come.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The thought of the day ahead makes her stomach flutter—so many unknowns, so many new faces, and yet, the possibility of something great. She smiles at her reflection, trying to reassure herself. Beneath the jitters, there’s a spark—an energy that comes from stepping into something new, a sense of potential.

She checks the time and realizes she’s running a little late.The world outside is already awake, and so is she, ready to take on whatever her first day at work will bring.

Y/N doesn’t know when she decided to pursue a career as a detective. Maybe it was all the detective shows she used to watch with her father as a kid, or maybe it was the numerous novels she’d read. She loves the suspense, the mystery, and figuring out all the little clues. She loves the thrill of it. And now, as a result of her hard work and dedication, she has gotten into the FBI’s internship program.

The actual, Federal Bureau of Investigation. 

The FBI building looms like a fortress in the heart of the city, its imposing, angular structure made of dark granite and steel. The air is thick with history and authority, as if the walls themselves hold the secrets of countless investigations. As she takes her detective steps through the sliding glass doors, the buzz of activity inside is palpable. Agents in suits walk briskly through the sleek, modern lobby, while the hum of conversation fills the space with a sense of purpose.

The hallways are lined with framed photos of notable cases and agents, a constant reminder of the legacy the building holds. The lighting is stark, the floors polished to a mirror shine, and the walls adorned with maps and classified files that hint at the work being done behind closed doors. It’s both overwhelming and exhilarating—this is where the nation’s most pressing cases unfold.

“Oh, Miss y/l/n, right on time!”,  she hears before she sees none other than one of her superiors, part of the homicide department, Agent Eliza Carter. She had taken her interview. The woman held two coffees, and gave her the same kind smile she had given her that day.

“Good morning, Agent Carter!”

“Morning to you too. Sorry, I forgot to mention, you’ll be with homicide this month, probably another department for the next, and so on. Boss man’s just about to start the meeting, so come on quick!”

“Right. Do you know anything about the case?”

Her heels click behind her as she follows the agent, her eyes continuing to look around, absorbing everything around her. 

“Oh yeah, this is actually an old case. A really annoying one, you’ll see. Harry will brief us anyway.”

Harry. Detective Agent Harry Styles. 

Head of the homicide department, and one of the most renowned and respected figures in the field. His reputation precedes him: sharp, methodical, and almost legendary in his ability to solve cases that others can’t even begin to crack. She had heard stories about his brilliant mind, how he could piece together the smallest details that everyone else overlooked. The thought of getting to learn directly from him sends a rush of nervous energy through her veins.

“Can you get the door please?”, Eliza asks, and y/n quickly swings the glass door open for her, and then steps in herself, into the big room where there were around seven people gathered. All of them in matching suits, discussing amongst each other as they stared at the boards pinned with information about their cases. 

“Everyone, this is y/n y/l/n, our new intern, she’s gonna be with us for this month!”, Eliza introduces, handing one of the coffees to a man, who also gives y/n a smile. “Hello, I’m Ethan Grant.” 

The others also started introducing themselves, most of them friendly and smiling, two of them only giving her a nod, to which Eliza rolled her eyes. 

“Styles running late?”, Agent Cole Matthews asks as he looks at his watch. 

“I saw him getting a call, he had that face on.”, Nora says. She had short silver hair, and dark blue eyes, that looked like she would kill you if you pissed her off.

“Oh no, that can’t be good.”, Eliza shook her head.

“Face?”, y/n asks the girls who just smile at each other, Nora gives her a wink. “You’ll see.”

The door swings open with a quiet click, and Detective Harry Styles steps into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. Tall and impeccably dressed in a dark suit that fits just right, he exudes a quiet authority. His broad shoulders and confident stride catch the eye, but it’s his sharp jawline and the faint stubble along his chin that hint at a more rugged edge beneath his polished exterior.

His eyes—piercing, yet thoughtful—scan the room as he steps forward, his gaze pausing just long enough to meet each of their eyes, an unspoken understanding passing through the group. The way he moves is purposeful, the air around him almost charged with intensity, as if every step he takes is measured, calculated.

Then his eyes meet hers, eyebrows raising up in question. “New intern, boss.”, Ethan says. 

She acts quickly to introduce herself, “I’m y/n, it’s such a pleasure to-”

“We’re still talking interns?”, he rudely cuts her off, and her lips seal shut at his tone. 

“Yes we’re doing rotations this year, Harry, they must have given you a form to sign.”, Eliza said, and Harry let out a sigh, not even batting a single eye in y/n’s direction, turning around to the projector. 

“Whatever. Let’s get to work, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She’d imagined this moment so differently—she thought he’d at least say something encouraging, maybe give her a quick nod of acknowledgment. But instead, there’s only the cold, impersonal air of the office, and his complete disregard.

“We’re dealing with a 30-year-old man named Charles Russo. He's been on our radar before but slipped through the cracks. He’s involved in drug trafficking, but this isn’t just about drugs—it’s about control. He’s a key figure in a network that stretches across the city, and he’s responsible for at least three recent murders tied to his operations.”

A photograph of Russo appears on the projector screen—a mugshot from a previous arrest, his face hard and defiant, his eyes cold. Styles gestures to the image.

“This is our suspect. Russo has managed to stay under the radar for months, but he’s back in the game. We have intel from one of his associates that he’s been laying low, but now we’ve gotten wind of him resurfacing. We know he’s been making contact with his former contacts in the drug trade, and his movements have been tracked to the outskirts of the city.”

He pauses, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. The team leans forward, eyes narrowing as they take in every word.

“We can’t afford to let him slip away again,” Harry continues. “He’s ruthless. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. The last time he disappeared, it took months for us to get any leads. We’re not going to make that mistake again.”

“So what’s the plan?”, Nora asks.

Harry points to a map on the wall. The area surrounding an old industrial district near the city’s border is highlighted in red.

“We’ve got a lead. A tip from an anonymous source says Russo is meeting with one of his suppliers here,” Harry explains, tapping the map. “We’ll be setting up surveillance teams around this location. We’re going to hit him where we know he feels comfortable. His old contacts will be there, and that’s our chance to bring him in.”

He looks at his team, making sure they understand the stakes. "This won't be easy. Russo knows how to cover his tracks, and he won't hesitate to go violent if he thinks he's cornered. I want everyone to stay sharp, no mistakes. We’ll have undercover agents in place, and our best tech team will be monitoring the area for any sign of movement.”

He glances at y/n, the intern who’s been quietly taking notes in the back. His voice softens just slightly, but still firm.

“You’re going to work with Carter and Grant to run background checks on Russo’s known associates. I want every detail—every business transaction, every phone call, every scrap of information you can dig up. It could be the key to finding him faster. Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” She nods quickly, her mind racing. This is her chance to contribute, to prove herself, and she’s not about to let it slip away.

“Once we have enough intel, we move in. Fast, clean, and without hesitation. Our goal is to catch him off guard,” Harry finishes, his gaze sweeping over his team. “I expect everyone to be in sync. This guy has evaded us long enough. Let’s make sure it ends tonight.”

The room falls into a focused silence as everyone gets to work. The plan is set, and the wheels are already in motion. 

Eliza shows y/n her desk, and Ethan quickly shows her all the technology, y/n didn’t need much explaining, she was familiar with it all. She had even taken up courses in coding and hacking. 

Finally, it’s time to attack. Officers bustle around, adjusting their gear, making final checks on equipment, and running through last-minute details. The hum of radios, the clinking of handcuffs, and the soft rustling of jackets fill the air as the room feels like it’s on the verge of something big. y/n stands off to the side, a little on edge as she watches Harry gather the team for their final briefing. His green eyes scan the room with that characteristic sharpness, giving quick instructions to the officers heading to different positions. 

With a deep breath, she approaches Harry as he finishes talking to Detective Logan Pierce. Her pulse quickens, and she straightens her shoulders. This is it.

“Detective Styles,” she begins, trying to keep her voice steady, “I was wondering if—if I could come along. I know I’m new, but I’ve been following everything closely, and I’m ready. I can help in any way I can.”

Harry looks at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. There’s a brief silence before he responds, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not ready for this kind of field work. This operation is too high-risk, and it’s not something you should be thrown into on your first day. I need you back here, where you can handle communication, and make sure we stay on track. You’ll be a key part of this, just not in the way you expect.”

She feels a small pang of disappointment, but it’s quickly replaced by a sense of clarity. He’s right. She’s still learning the ropes. The reality of the danger in the field is something she can’t ignore. But at the same time, the disappointment doesn’t sting as much as she thought it would. She’s still going to play a crucial role.

“Understood,” she says, nodding as she pushes her feelings aside. She can feel a sense of purpose rising in her chest. “I’ll stay in touch with the agents, make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll be ready to react if anything goes wrong.”

A flicker of approval crosses Harry’s face, though he doesn't show it fully. “Good luck!”, she can’t help but call out as Harry reaches for his own bullet proof suit and a hint of a smirk crosses his lips. 

It was so brief, that she wondered if she had really seen it, or if she had imagined it.

The night is thick with tension as the operation unfolds, the air heavy with the weight of what’s at stake. Outside the industrial district, the team is in position, each agent hidden in shadows, waiting for the signal to move. Inside the precinct, y/n is stationed at her desk, headphones on, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she tracks the operation. Her eyes are focused on the live feeds from the surveillance cameras set up around the district, her mind sharp and alert.

The plan is simple—surround Russo and catch him in the act. The agents are ready, but they need to stay in constant contact. That’s where she comes in. She’s the lifeline,watching the feeds, listening to their transmissions, and keeping them updated. She had earpieces connected to Harry and Cole, who had teams on both doors of the warehouse.

Through the earpiece, the voice of Agent Logan Pierce crackles to life. “y/l/n,we’re about to move in on Russo. He’s on the move—heading toward the south side of the warehouse. We need a visual confirmation. Is he coming into our range?”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest, but she keeps her voice steady. “Got him. He’s moving east toward the rear entrance. You’ve got about thirty seconds before he reaches the blind spot. You need to move fast.”

“Copy that,” Pierce responds. “We’re moving in now.”

y/n watches the screen, heart racing as she tracks Russo’s every step, eyes darting between the surveillance feeds and the map on her screen. Every second feels like an eternity. She checks her watch, counts the seconds in her head. Then, suddenly, he disappeared.

“Shit.”, she says, trying to figure out where the piece of shit is headed now.

“I hope I didn’t just hear you say shit while monitoring one of the most important cases, newbie.”, she hears Agent Styles, and her cheeks redden a little bit, but she focuses on the task.

“Sorry, you need to wait, Agent Pierce, I’ve lost him.”

“You’ve lost him? What do you mean? He’s right here-”

“-No, I think..I think he’s coming around from the other door. Agent Styles?”

He answers immediately while y/n works on a way to monitor Russo again, “Yes, are you sure it’s not a connectivity problem or-.”

“I think he’s on your side.”

“Oh yeah? That mother fucker. Guys, close in.”

“Wait, y/n, are you sure? Cause this might be the last chance we have to get him and one mistake-”, Cole begins, a little unsure.

The image on the monitor shifts—Russo steps into the frame. 

“Agent Styles, he’s about to break through—wait for it—now!”

The moment she speaks, Harry and the rest of the team spring into action. They converge on Russo in a synchronized move, cutting off his escape route before he can even react. There’s a flurry of movement, the sound of boots pounding on the ground, and then, within seconds, Russo is tackled to the ground, handcuffed and subdued.

A burst of static fills her earpiece, followed by Harry’s voice. “We got him. He’s down. Nice work, y/n. You nailed it.”

He called her by her name for the first time and the compliment made her heart race in a way she hadn’t expected. She blinks, her breath catching in her throat. Styles—the man she had been eager to impress—had just complimented her, and it felt like everything she’d hoped for.

“Thanks,” she replies, trying to keep her composure. “I just did what I could.”

“Well you’re the first newbie to actually not piss me off on their first day. You can go home, y/n, enough for the day. We’ll bring him in.”

Y/N exhales slowly, a rush of adrenaline flooding her veins. Her hands shake just a little as she removes her headset, a smile creeping up her face. They did it. They caught Russo, and she was the one who helped make it happen. For the first time since walking into this precinct, she feels like she truly belongs.

___________________________________________________

Over the next few days, she really fit in with the team members. She especially loved talking with the girls, Nora and Eliza. They’re laughing about the latest office drama—how Agent Matthews accidentally spilled coffee all over Harry’s favorite jacket this morning.

“I swear, it’s like he doesn’t even notice how clumsy he is,” Nora says, shaking her head with a grin. “But Styles—he’s always so cool, never says a word. You’d think he’d be fuming after that.”

y/n chuckles, feeling more at ease in their company. "I bet he was just silently judging him in that typical Styles way. You know the look I'm talking about, right?"

Eliza laughs, leaning in. “Oh, absolutely. The silent judgment is his trademark. But I’m surprised he didn’t rip Pierce a new one.”

y/n finds herself grinning at the camaraderie, feeling like she’s starting to fit into the team’s dynamic. It’s easy, the way they talk, tease, and laugh together. 

She decides to stay back a little longer that day, her eyes skim through the pages—cold cases from years ago, some unsolved, others with only the vaguest of leads. She’s been digging into them to understand the bigger picture of how the team operates, trying to learn from the cases they’ve solved, and the ones they’ve left behind.

Her focus is interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She looks up to see Harry, his coat over his arm and his briefcase in hand. He stops a few steps away, his gaze lingering on the pile of files she’s working through.

Her gaze lingered on his arm, his sleeve rolled up enough for the ink on his forearm to peek through. She could see the dark outline of a tattoo—a design she’d never noticed before—curving around his wrist and disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt. The way the ink curled around his skin made her wonder how many more he had hidden beneath his clothes.

She couldn’t help but admire the way his sleeves clung to his muscular arms, the sharp lines of his body defining his form. His green eyes were a striking contrast to his skin, deep and captivating. They always seemed to hold a quiet storm, a vulnerability masked behind his professional exterior. The way his curls fell around his forehead, slightly unruly, added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished look.

There was something magnetic about his distinct features, something that caught her attention all the time.

“You’re still here?” he asks, voice quiet, as if genuinely surprised she hasn’t already left for the day. There’s something in his tone that feels different, not judgmental, but more... curious. Maybe even a little approving.

y/n clears her throat, trying not to seem too caught up in the files. “Yeah. Just trying to catch up on some of the old cases. Figured it’s a good way to learn how you all approach things.”

Harry studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before setting his briefcase down and taking a few steps closer. “You’ve got the right idea. We learn a lot from the cases we didn’t solve. The ones that slip through our fingers.”

She nods, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. “I’ve noticed that. Some of these cases... they’re so close to being solved, but there’s always one missing piece.” She pauses, flipping to a specific file that’s particularly puzzling. “What do you think about this one? A string of disappearances in a small town, no evidence left behind. It’s like they just vanished.”

Harry glances down at the file she’s holding, leaning over slightly, his voice low and contemplative. “Sometimes it’s not the evidence you’re looking for, but the pattern behind it. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks. But if you look at the people involved—especially the families, the connections between them—you might find something that doesn’t belong.”

“Thanks for that,” she says, her voice more sincere than usual. “I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking it.”

Harry gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “You’re thinking in the right direction. Just keep pushing yourself. That’s how we get better at this job.”

She smiles in return, feeling a little more confident in her approach. Harry glances at his watch, then looks back at her. “Well, if you’re going to keep at it, you’ll need a little company. I was planning to head out, but it’s quieter here than usual.”

y/n looks up in surprise. “You’re staying?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Not really,” he says, his tone dry, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Just thought I’d walk you out. It’s late. Wouldn’t want you to be walking to your car alone.”

Her surprise morphs into a small, grateful smile. “That’s... considerate of you. Thanks.”

He offers a slight nod, then gestures toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them walk out together, the quiet hum of the office behind them. Outside, the evening air is crisp, the sky darkening as they make their way across the parking lot.

As they approach their cars, y/n hesitates for a moment, then turns to him. “You’ve been doing this for a long time, huh? The whole... detective thing. How do you keep from getting burned out?”

Harry pauses, his hand resting on the door handle of his car. He looks at her, his expression momentarily distant, as if reflecting on the years of work behind him.

“It’s not about not getting burned out,” he says quietly, “It’s about finding what keeps you going. Whether it’s the people you work with or the cases that pull you in, you have to find something that reminds you why you do it.”

y/n nods, absorbing his words as they linger in the cool air between them.

With that, he starts his engine and pulls away, leaving y/n standing in the quiet parking lot for a moment. She watches his car disappear down the road, wondering what led him into pursuing this career.

___________________________________________

The next day, the guys are gathered around a table near the bullpen, eyes glued to a sports game playing on the office TV. The game is close, Ethan and Cole are already arguing over who’s going to win the match.

“Come on, you’re seriously betting on them?” Ethan snorts, shaking his head. “They’ve been playing like amateurs.”

y/n can’t help but overhear, the playful banter catching her attention. She’s not usually one for sports, but she’s been learning the ropes from her fellow agents. She knows enough to get by, and today, something about the challenge calls to her.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite,” she says, walking over with a raised eyebrow. “How much are we betting here?”

Ethan looks up, surprised, then grins. “Didn’t think you’d be interested, y/n. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

She smirks, her confidence growing. “I’m a quick learner. I’ll take your bet. I’m putting my money on the underdogs.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. This’ll be fun.”

As the game continues, the guys teasingly rib her for her risky bet, but y/n holds her ground, getting increasingly into the match. When the underdogs actually pull off the win, she’s the first one to stand up, pumping her fist in victory.

“Told you,” she says, beaming with pride as the guys groan good-naturedly. “Pay up, gentlemen.”

“Yes, we’ll be there soon, got it.” They all look up at the sound of their boss, who comes into the room, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Murder scene in Oak Drive, let’s go.”, Harry tells them, and everyone gets onto their feet, getting ready to go.

y/n goes to her desk as usual, knowing she’ll be given the duty of doing the background checks.

“Who’re you riding with Styles?”, Logan asks him.

Harry straps on his gun, and looks at y/n. “Can you drive?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Come on, then, newbie, let’s go to your first murder scene.”

y/n almost squealed with joy, jumping up in excitement, but then toned it down as Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

“Yes sir, right away.”

The car ride is quiet, with a subtle tension between them, an unspoken understanding, a quiet connection that neither has acknowledged. y/n's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as they approach the crime scene. He can’t help but steal a glance at y/n—she’s focused, eyes sharp, her thoughts clearly already at the scene ahead.

“You aren’t gonna faint, are you?”, Harry asks, breaking the silence. “Cause one of the interns did, seeing all the blood.”

She laughed lightly. “Nope, I’m excited, and I’m good with blood.”

“Good.”, Harry lets a small smile escape, and she pulls over to the crime scene. The other agents have already reached and are doing their allotted work. 

"Alright, you’ll handle the photos for now. We’ll take care of the rest."

Y/N nods, grabbing her camera from the seat beside her, trying to steady her nerves. She’s been given more responsibility lately, and with Harry’s subtle support, she’s been slowly gaining confidence.

 "Got it. I'll make sure to get everything."

As she moves closer to the crime scene, Y/N kneels by the body, snapping photos of the surroundings. Her heart beats a little faster as she works, but the adrenaline feels good. And while the scene before her is dark, there’s something about Harry’s quiet faith in her that makes her feel capable. She captures the details—each angle, each small clue—as if she’s been doing this for years. She steals a glance back at Harry, catching him watching her from a distance. For a moment, she wonders if he sees something more than just a hard-working intern.

As the team works around her, Harry steps away briefly to speak with the others, but his eyes flick back to her every so often. Y/N can feel it—his attention on her, the weight of it—but for now, she’s focused on her task. Still, there’s a strange pull between them, unspoken, but undeniable, lingering in the air like the tension of the scene itself.

Harry wants to leave soon, to talk to someone and take y/n with him, this time, he drives. As they pull away from the crime scene, Harry’s eyes are focused on the road, but his mind is already on the next step. Y/N’s still processing everything they’ve seen.

“So, what’s your take on this case so far?"

Y/N pauses, glancing up at him. She can tell he’s genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I think the victim knew the killer. Too many personal details for it to be random, but the motive’s still unclear."

Harry nods thoughtfully. "I agree. That’s why I’m going to talk to the first suspect now. Stay sharp—this could get tricky."

Y/N feels a small thrill at his trust in her judgment. It’s not just about the case anymore; it’s the way he values her input. As they drive toward the suspect’s location, she wonders if he’s giving her more responsibility on purpose, or if it’s just part of the job. Either way, it feels like a step forward.

After questioning the suspect, Harry and Y/N head back to the office, the car cutting through the quiet streets. Y/N’s mind is still on the conversation with the suspect, but then..her stomach growls loudly.

Harry glances over at her, his eyes sharp but gentle.

"Did you eat anything this morning?"

Y/N flushes slightly, trying to keep her cool, but the guilt is written all over her face.

"Yeah, I—"

"You didn’t eat, did you?"

Y/N shifts uncomfortably.

"I’m fine, really."

Harry sighs, shaking his head with a small smile."We’re making a stop. You’re getting something to eat. I know a good taco place.”

He turns the car off the main road, pulling into a small taco place. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh tortillas drifts through the air as they step out, and Harry opens the door for her, his usual professionalism replaced with a kind of care.

As they sit at a small booth, Y/N digs into her food, finally letting herself relax. Harry watches her for a moment, the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. After a few bites, she glances up at him.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you always so grumpy? You’re like... a walking storm cloud sometimes."

Harry chokes on his drink a little, caught off guard by her boldness. He laughs—genuinely, with a surprised smile that softens his usually serious face.

He chuckles and wipes his mouth. "Grumpy? I’m not grumpy. I’m just... focused."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Focused, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?"

Harry shrugs, his smirk turning wry, clearly amused by her bluntness."Okay, maybe I’m a little grumpy. But someone’s gotta keep this place in line. You can’t just go around smiling all the time like everything’s sunshine and rainbows."

Y/N laughs, and for a second, their eyes meet. There’s an ease between them now, something playful, yet still with an undercurrent of something deeper. Harry’s usual walls are lower, and Y/N’s teasing is making him more human in her eyes.

"I don’t know, sometimes I think it wouldn’t hurt to see you smile a little more. Just... not at the crime scene, please."

Harry chuckles again, and it’s the kind of laugh that feels lighter than usual—almost as if he doesn’t mind sharing this side of himself with her.

"I’ll try. But no promises.", he says with a soft smirk.Y/N found herself grinning as she saw his dimples poke out. She hadn’t realized how much she loved seeing that little dimple until now, how it made him look so much more... approachable.

After a few more bites, she glances up at him. "Why did you want to be a detective, Agent Styles?"

The question lingers in the air. Harry’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heaviness between them. "Because I lost someone who mattered. My sister... she was murdered by some people when we were younger. I couldn’t sit by, not after that."

Y/N’s breath catches, and she sees the pain flicker in his eyes—his calm demeanor betraying a history of loss that runs deep. It’s the first time she’s seen him so vulnerable, so open.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know.", she says quietly.

Harry shrugs, with a distant look in his eyes,"It’s alright. It’s been a long time... but it’s why I do this. It’s why I never give up on a case. To make sure no one else has to go through that."

There’s a pause, and Y/N feels the weight of his words sink in. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on his. The warmth of the moment takes them both by surprise. He appreciates the gesture, thumb ever so softly stroking a line on the back of her hand.

“You can call me Harry by the way, when we’re not at work.”, he says to lighten the air, and she smiles, drawing her hand back. “Okay.”

Little did she know that Harry had told her something that no one else knew about him. 

________________________________________________________

The precinct is buzzing with its usual morning chaos, the air thick with the noise of phones ringing, officers discussing cases, and the sound of feet shuffling across the floors. y/n is at her desk, flipping through some case files, trying to focus. She’s about to make another note, when she hears the unmistakable sound of Ethan and Eliza approaching her desk, their voices carrying through the room in a familiar, teasing tone.

“Well, well, y/n, looks like you’ve caught Styles’ attention,” Ethan says with a playful grin, sliding into the seat across from her. He leans back, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

y/n looks up, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Eliza raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, come on. We’ve all seen it. Harry doesn’t usually make time for anyone. But you—" she motions between the two of them, “—you got breakfast with him this morning. He doesn’t do that unless he’s got a soft spot.”

Eliza’s cheeks flush slightly. She opens her mouth to protest, but Ethan cuts her off.

“We’re just saying, Harry’s usually all business, right? But with you—” he gestures with a wink, “he’s practically a different guy. You must be special.”

y/n can’t help but laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off. Yes, they had eaten breakfast together that morning, because both of them happened to arrive early to the office. “You guys are ridiculous. We just had breakfast. He saw me sitting alone and he was just being... well, Harry.”

But they aren’t buying it. Eliza smirks, leaning forward. “Right, Harry just casually opens up to you about his deepest, darkest secrets over a bagel. We’re all jealous, you know.”

y/n shakes her head, a little embarrassed, but also secretly amused. “Okay, okay, I get it. He’s not a softie, I swear.”

Ethan grins, clearly enjoying teasing her. “Sure, sure. But just wait until the next big case. When he pulls you aside to give you a ‘confidential’ briefing, we’ll be here, dying of curiosity.”

y/n sighs, trying not to laugh as she adjusts the papers in front of her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m still the intern, remember?”

Eliza raises her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about. We all saw the way Harry looked at you when he was complimenting you yesterday. Like... he actually noticed your contribution for once.”

At that, y/n’s face goes a little redder, but she can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “He just—well, he just doesn’t say much. When he does, it’s kind of a big deal.”

Ethan chuckles, leaning in closer. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. Harry doesn’t exactly dish out compliments like candy. And if he says you’re doing good work? That’s... noteworthy.”

y/n laughs nervously, feeling a little overwhelmed by their teasing, but she’s also secretly flattered. She’s always admired Harry—his skill, his mind, the way he commands respect from everyone around him—and to hear that they’ve noticed the shift in his behavior, even in the smallest ways, makes her feel like she’s on the right track.

“Alright, alright, enough. You’ve got me all figured out,” y/n says, trying to play it off cool. “But don’t go getting any ideas. He’s still Harry Styles.”

“Sure, sure,” Eliza says, winking. “But we’ll be keeping an eye on you two.”

As they walk away, leaving her to her work, y/n smiles to herself, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. She wasn’t sure if Harry really had a soft spot for her, but just knowing that she’d earned a little of his respect—enough for the team to notice—felt like a win. Maybe she wasn’t just the intern anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to become something more.

______________________________________________

y/n has been busy lately. She passed her detective training exam but the theory exam wasn’t over yet, so she was preparing for that, along with managing the work she had been assigned at the FBI. It’s nearly midnight when Harry walks into the office, his eyes scanning the darkened room before landing on Y/N. He spots her hunched over her desk, staring at the screen, her tired eyes squinting in the dim light. By now he knows she’s a hard worker, but what really hits him is how late it’s gotten—and how she hasn’t stopped working.

Harry’s voice is tight with concern, trying to mask his frustration."Y/N, what the hell are you still doing here?"

Y/N looks up, startled, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard as she blinks at him, trying to hide the exhaustion on her face.

 "Just finishing up some things... It’s not that late."

He sternly walks closer. "It’s midnight. You should be home, resting. This can wait until tomorrow."

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops her. She’s used to his seriousness, but there’s something more here—something that’s not just about the case.

His voice softens, but still firm."You’re not invincible, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself."

Y/N sighs, glancing back at the stack of files on her desk, torn between wanting to finish everything and knowing she’s pushing herself too hard.

 "I’m fine, Harry. Really. I just want to get this done."

Harry’s frustration slips through as he says, "No, you’re not fine. You’ve been at this for hours, and you’re running on empty. I’m not leaving until you get some rest."

Y/N meets his eyes, seeing the genuine concern there, but also the subtle edge of worry in his features. She opens her mouth to protest again, but Harry doesn’t give her the chance.

Harry grabs her bag from the desk. "Come on. You’re getting in the car, and I’m taking you home."

She hesitates for a moment, but Harry’s serious enough that she knows there’s no point in arguing.

She grabs her things and follows him out of the office. The rain is coming down hard now, the city streets glistening under the dim streetlights. Harry opens the door for her, holding out an umbrella as they step out into the downpour.

They don’t speak at first, the quiet of the night surrounding them, just the soft patter of rain as they walk to his car. Once inside, the silence between them feels comfortable, but Harry keeps glancing at her, concern still etched on his face.

Harry breaks the silence."You sure you’re okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately."

“I’m fine, my detective exam is soon, I just really wanna make it.”

“You will, you’ve already passed the physical. Trust me, you don’t have to worry about making it, the exam’s gonna be very easy for you.”

She lets out a soft exhale, those words making her feel a little better. After all, he had gone through all of this. “Are you gonna apply to work here?”

“Yes, I think this is where I wanna work. Not sure about the department though, I still have other rotations. I’m going to be with foreign affairs next week.”

Harry gasps in hurt, glancing over at her. “You don’t wanna be in homicide? Is it because I’m grumpy?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s not you, Harry.. And I love homicide, the thrill is amazing! It’s just that I still have other departments to experience, you know, that’s what an internship is for.”

“Believe me, you aren’t gonna find any other department as interesting as this. But yes, you’re right. You have time to decide.”

The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, just the sound of the rain tapping on the windshield. When they finally reach her flat, Harry pulls up to the curb, parking the car in front of the building. He looks over at her, his voice quiet, with that same concern in it.

"You sure you’ll be okay getting inside? It’s late, and it’s still raining pretty bad."

Y/N nods, though she can’t hide the weariness in her eyes."Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, Harry."

He doesn’t move, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to say something more, but instead, he opens his door and steps out, walking around the car to open hers.

He holds the umbrella over her as they step out into the rain, his arm wrapping around her back and her arm as he keeps her close and they walk side by side toward her building. The air is cool, and the rain falls steadily, but there’s something about the closeness of the moment that makes it feel almost intimate.

When they reach her door, Harry stops, looking at her with that same quiet intensity. "You’re getting some sleep tonight. No excuses."

Y/N can’t help but smile at his persistence, the kind of care that’s always just under the surface of his gruff exterior."I promise. I’ll get some rest."

Harry doesn’t move immediately, his gaze lingering on her face. There’s an almost unspoken weight in the air now, a subtle shift between them. Without thinking, Y/N reaches out and touches his arm, her fingers brushing against his sleeve.

“Thanks for everything, Harry. Really."

His eyes flicker down to where her hand rests on his arm, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. Slowly, he lifts his free hand, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, and Y/N feels her heart race at the intimacy of it.

His voice is low, and a bit hoarse."Anytime. You don’t have to thank me."

The tension between them lingers in the rain-soaked air. Harry steps back, holding the umbrella just a little closer to her to shield her from the downpour. Then he whispers softly, "Sleep well, Y/N."

He gives her a soft smile before turning to leave. Y/N watches him walk away, her heart still fluttering from the small but meaningful moments they’ve shared. The rain still falls, but in that quiet moment, everything feels a little different—like they’ve crossed a line, even if just for a moment.

As she walks into her apartment, she can’t help but replay his words and the feeling of his touch, knowing that whatever happens next, something between them has changed.

_____________________________________________

Y/N enters the quarters, the soft click of the door barely audible as she steps inside. The usual hum of chatter and playful teasing is absent, replaced by an air of tension that hangs thick in the room. Her eyes quickly scan the group of agents—none of them in their usual good-natured moods, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Something’s off.

Her gaze lands on Harry, talking quietly with someone behind his glass office door. He looks serious, his posture rigid, eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in conversation about something important. Y/N walks to Nora who’s sitting at her desk, the usual casual grin replaced by a solemn expression.

"Hey, what’s going on? Why’s everyone so serious today?"

The agent looks up. "We got a lead on the Rotherl case. Word is, he has a fourth hostage with him. Cole and Eliza managed to track down where he should be right now and we’re just waiting on Harry’s word to go.”

“A fourth hostage?”, she gasps. She wasn’t part of the team during the investigation of the Rothel murders but she had read up all about it. He was one of the most wanted men, who kidnapped his victims before killing them. He had already killed three innocent people, leaving no traces behind him. If they had a lead on him, that was amazing.

She glances toward Harry’s office, where he’s still deep in conversation, his jaw clenched. Before she can ask more, the door opens, and Harry steps out, his sharp gaze scanning the room. “Let’s go, everyone. I’ve called for backup. Matthews, Carter, good job. Now let’s wrap this up.”

“This mother fucker has had enough of a run.”, Eliza mutters, strapping on her bullet proof west and tossing the other to her partner. 

Y/N’s been with the team for weeks now, and in that time, Harry’s allowed her to tag along when things got tense, letting her learn the ropes. She can’t imagine being left behind on something so big, not now.

She grabs her things, ready to move with the team, but Harry catches her before she gets too far, his lean fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Not this time, Y/N.", he says, his voice firm, with no room for negotiation.

Y/N freezes, her heart sinking at his words. She’s about to protest, but she catches the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and something else she can’t quite place. She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Come on, Harry. I’ve been with you through worse. You know I can handle it."

“It’s not about how much you can handle, y/n. This is a mad man, and you don’t even have a gun to defend yourself.”

“But I’m trained to fight, and I can use a gun if someone throws it to me-”

“-y/l/n.”, Harry cuts her off with his classic stern face. She hasn’t gotten her gun license yet, she’ll get that only after she becomes an agent after her exams, but she’s already done with all her training. He’s trying to protect her, she realizes. Still, she won’t back down so easily.

"You can’t keep me in the dark. I want to be there with you guys.”, she says firmly.

Harry stares at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if weighing the risk. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

He reluctantly agrees. "Fine. You can come. But you stay in the car. Understood?"

Y/N’s heart skips, but she hides her smile, knowing she’s won this small battle. She nods, her voice determined.

 "Understood.”

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge if she’s really going to stick to her word. When he finally nods, there’s something like relief in his eyes, mixed with the ever-present worry that seems to linger with him.

"Good. But if you step one foot out of that car, I swear I’ll drag your ass back inside myself.”

Y/N chuckles lightly, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. “Got it, sir.”

As Harry turns to lead the team out, Y/N follows behind, a mixture of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. This was more than just another case. It was a dangerous one, and she was in it, even if only on the sidelines. 

“Here, y/n, put this on.”, Ethan comes to her with a bullet proof vest just like everyone else’s. She didn’t think she’d need one sitting in the car, but she put it on, not wanting to start another argument with an agent.

They pile into the cars, the tension in the air thick as they head toward the high-risk location. Y/N’s fingers tap nervously on her lap as she watches Harry in the rearview mirror, his eyes already set on the mission ahead, and she can’t help but feel, even in the midst of everything, that tonight could change something between them.

The car rolled to a stop a few blocks from the dilapidated building. The air outside felt damp from the rain that had just stopped falling, but the tension was thick, and the city streets seemed unusually silent, despite the flashing lights of squad cars surrounding the area.

Y/N leaned forward in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the building in front of them. The usual lighthearted banter between the team was gone.She could see Harry’s figure through the windshield as he stepped out of the car, his dark coat flaring behind him like a shadow as he walked toward the rest of the team.

She saw the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his body was braced for the weight of what they were about to face. His focus was sharper tonight, sharper than usual. He was already in the thick of it, mentally preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the seat, but she stayed silent. Harry moved with precision, the rest of the team falling in behind him as they gathered around him. The air between them was charged, the kind of energy that only came when everything was on the line.

She heard Harry’s calm voice through his earpiece, “Position yourselves around the building. No one moves unless I give the word.”

Y/N nodded along with the rest of the team, even though Harry couldn’t see it. Her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze shifted from Harry to the building—dark and looming against the city skyline. She could barely make out the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Rothel. The man who had committed violent crimes. And now, he was holding someone else hostage.

Y/N exhaled slowly, gripping the seat tighter. The girl in the doorway, only a teenager by the looks of it, was standing frozen in place, her face pale with fear. Rothel had a gun to her forehead, and she heard him yell out something, but couldn’t make out what it was. Harry raised a hand to the rest of the team, signalling them to hold off.

She could hear Harry. “Rothel, listen to me. Let her go. We don’t need any more bloodshed. Just put the gun down.”

She couldn’t see Harry’s face from the car, but Y/N knew how carefully he must have been approaching the situation. His voice never cracked, but there was an undercurrent of urgency there—just enough to show he was trying to negotiate without pushing Rothel over the edge.

The earpiece crackled with static, and then Rothel’s voice, sharp and filled with fury, came through.

Rothel growled. “I don’t want to hear your deals. If you don’t back the fuck off, I’ll shoot her right here.”

Y/N’s hands went ice-cold. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. She swallowed hard, wishing there was something she could do, some way she could help, but all she could do was watch—wait—and pray that Harry could talk him down.

Harry’s voice came again, steady and unwavering.

“You don’t want to do this, Rothel. Let her go. We can work something out. Just... put the gun down. It’s not too late.”

Y/N’s eyes were fixed on the building as the tension in the air grew heavier. There was a shift, a subtle movement at one of the upper windows. She squinted, her heart dropping as she realized the figure there wasn’t just an observer—he was armed, and his sights were set on Harry.

Her breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she saw the man preparing to act. Without thinking twice, Y/N grabbed her earpiece, trying to warn the others, but there was no time for that. The danger was too immediate.

She threw open the car door, barely pausing before sprinting toward the building. Every step was fueled by a sense of urgency, her mind racing. She couldn’t let him hurt Harry.

Y/N reached the back of the building and found a staircase leading up. She didn’t hesitate as she ascended quickly, her heart thumping in her chest. At the top, she paused, ears straining for any sound—anything that would give away the shooter’s position.

There, at the far end of the hallway, the man stood, oblivious to Y/N’s approach. She didn’t think, she just moved. Silent and quick, she rushed toward him, tackling him off balance. They hit the ground, but the struggle wasn’t over.

“Move out of my way unless you want me to kill you, bitch.”, he growled.

“Oh you can try.”, she growled back.

The man pushed back, trying to regain his footing, but Y/N used every ounce of her strength to keep him down. He fought back, his hands grabbing at her, but she was faster—more determined.

In the chaos, she was struck hard, sending her crashing into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the growing pain. She couldn’t let him get to Harry. He needed to save that girl.

She heard gun shots from below and something that sounded like a cry of relief from the hostage, then she heard Harry’s voice through her fallen earpiece. “He’s down, great job team.” She made the mistake of letting her guard down for one second, in relief, and that’s when the man managed to rise to his feet and point the gun at her.

She heard Harry’s voice again, through her earpiece, now panicked. “Y/N, where are you? Answer me.”

Her vision swam from the dizziness, but she forced herself to focus. The man looked down and groaned in frustration. y/n laughed. “Guess your little plan didn’t work out, huh?”

“It was a good plan, now it’s all ruined because of you. Did you think I was joking when I said I’d kill you?”

“Y/N?”, she heard footsteps and Harry’s voice. 

“Harry!”, she called back, panic starting to rise in her chest. The gun was pointed at her, so she couldn’t risk moving. 

Harry points his own gun at the man. “Put it down right now, you sick bastard.”

y/n closed her eyes as she heard two shots fire at the same time. Then she heard a big thud. Suddenly, there was pain shooting through her body. The pain was overwhelming, but there was something else—disbelief, confusion, and the shock of what had just happened.

She had been shot.

She was brought back from her dazed state by Harry’s panicked, almost broken, voice, “Y/N, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay..don’t worry, o-okay?”

She could hear the crack in his voice, the fear that only came when someone was truly scared of losing someone they cared about. Her heart fluttered weakly in her chest at the realization. Her thoughts weren’t on the blood soaking her arm or the pain threatening to consume her. They were on Harry. He was here. He was with her. And as she fought to keep her eyes open, the last thing she heard was him calling her name, desperately holding onto her in the chaos of it all.

____________________________________________

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[cute-sucker]

sometimes you get bratty, but you can't help it but wiggle into rafe's lap. he's comforting in the way where he'll soothe the worries by gently helping you go the right way—but today he's grumpy too.

you can see it the way his muscles tense up as he works in his notebook. theres a crease in his forehead that wasn't there before, and while there may be things you would have caught before, today of all days, you're extra bratty.

it begins innocently with you kissing his shoulder, and then skimming past to his face. you're soft when touching him, but you know he can feel your glittery pink lipgloss sticking to his skin. any other day he wouldn't mind but he seemed to get all annoyed about it.

"shit, c'mon you can't be doing that. 'm busy right now. can't you see that?" he mutters, reaching to sit you down. you pout, folding your arms as you try not to take it to heart. yet you can't help but blubber a bit as your eyes get watery.

you're sniffling, and then heading over to get a napkin. more than ever you wanted rafe's hands on you, gently coaxing you to feel better. but somehow all you can do is hobble over closer to him, peeking over his shoulder.

it gets him even more annoyed, and rafe groans, pulling you into his lap. you can't help but squeal happy that he's paying you some attention. for one, happy that you're in his lap now, but it's clear with his steely blue eyes he does not mean well.

instead, he's scowling at you, patting you down and then touching the small part of your back before sandwiching you between his legs. you bite your lips to stop from smiling, and it's clear that you've won this battle by the way he's looking at you. but you can't help but open your mouth to say something before he skims his finger near your lips.

"behave."

[domm1etae]

you had two problems.

the first—your body’s ridiculous sensitivity lately. like, to the point where even the softest brush of fabric against your skin had you squirming, your thighs twitching from the sheer overstimulation.

the second—your menace of a boyfriend, who had zero self-control the second you put on a skirt.

you should’ve known better. the moment you stepped into the living room, san’s gaze locked onto your bare legs like a starved man eyeing his last meal. and then? game over.

"baby," he exhaled, voice dropping an octave as his hands slid around your hips, fingers already teasing the hem of your skirt. "you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?"

you barely had time to respond before he was palming the backs of your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. the marble was cold, but his hands were hot, burning through your skin as he pushed your legs apart.

"san—" you gasped, a pathetic attempt at protest, but the way he dragged his fingers up your inner thigh had your body betraying you, a full-body shudder making your legs snap shut around his wrist.

"nuh-uh, sweetheart," he murmured, prying them open with zero effort. his lips found your neck, biting down just enough to make you whimper. "you wanna wear this little thing around me, but you can’t handle being touched? cute."

your breath hitched as he pressed his palm right there, over your panties, feeling just how much trouble you were already in. his laugh was low, dark, teasing.

"sensitive today, huh?" a slow, deliberate rub that had your back arching. "guess i’ll just have to be extra careful."

(spoiler: he was not careful)

[yandere-writer-momo]

I know I promised Jervis, but Ed Nygma enraptured me. God I love that weird man. It’s short and sweet (to my standards).

Yandere DC Shorts: The Missing Piece

Yandere Riddler x Nurse Fem Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamic, stalking, obsession, DELUSIONAL man, exploring Ed’s OCD a bit, and Edward Nygma is obsessive

Edward Nygma knew he was the smartest man in the world. He’s proven it countless times with his elaborate attacks on Gotham city.

He was simply kind enough to leave clues because he enjoyed the game he played with Batman! The attention thrilled him for years… at least until he got a taste of genuine affection from the new nurse in Arkham.

Never had Edward felt his heart flutter and his stomach twist when (your full name), his sweet nurse in Arkham, gently disinfected the wounds on his pale skin that were inflicted by guards. Never had has his breath shuttered when she’d ask in her soft, velvety voice if he was okay… never had he experienced someone show care for him.

By the heavens it was simply addictive. The chemicals that released in his brain when he saw (your name)’s sweet, smiling face were better than any drug known to man. Edward never wanted anyone more in his life.

Look at him, (your name)! Love him! Let him worship you as you equally worship him! Praise him! Be his! His! His! His!

If only the poor, little nurse realized just how detrimental of a decision she had made just by the simple act of kindness… maybe then, it would have saved her from the obsession of a lonely madman.

.

.

.

“I never noticed your eyes were such pretty shade of green, Ed.” (Your name) smiled warmly at her patient whose ears turned pink. “They remind me of sea glass.”

Edward held his hands that began to sweat profusely in nervousness. She thought his eyes were pretty? He found every inch of (your name) pretty! From the tips of her toes to the strand of each hair on the top of her head. How could someone be so perfect?

“T-thank you.” Edward felt so nervous… he wasn’t used to someone’s utmost attention. To compliments and praise he had always desired since he was young. He was thrilled to finally be perceived.

“I’m glad you’re healing up nicely.” (Your name) smiled at him as his green eyes studied her expectantly like a lovesick puppy. “I’ve been so worried about you. I’m sorry the guards are so nasty to you.”

She had no idea he purposely riled those British guards up just to be able to be here with her. That he needed his fix.

“I have a riddle for you…” Edward gave (your name) a sickly sweet smile as his heart fluttered and the blood rushed to his cheeks. Would she be able to solve it? He hoped so! He would try to make it easy so she could figure it out…

“A riddle? For me?” (Your name) smiled at him. “I’d love to hear one.”

Here it goes… Edward mentally told himself before the usual cocky persona he presented to the world came back to the forefront.

"What grows stronger the more you share it, and makes your heart beat faster when you're near someone special?"

(Your name) thought for a moment before she smiled. “Is it feelings for someone?”

“Correct.” Edward smiled as he took her hands in his. “Do you… have feelings for anyone?”

“Not currently.” She told Ed as his grip tightened on her hands. His breath shaky and his eyes glazed over.

Was he not on her radar? Did she… not see him as a man? Was he not handsome enough? Did he not have enough brawn?

“Ed? Are you alright-“ Ed suddenly pulled her close with a strength she didn’t know he possessed. His body trembled as all of his frustrated emotions bubbled to the surface.

“Look at me.” He said firmly. “Am I… not attractive?”

(Your name blinked. Once. Then twice. Her brows scrunched together in confusion.

“What do you mean, Ed?” She softly asked.

Ed scoffed and looked away. Why had he shown such vulnerability to her? (Your name) should feel blessed to be in his general vicinity! She was ungrateful to have the attention of the ingenious Riddler! She should be the one who begged for his attention, not the other way around-

(Your name) gently placed a palm on his forehead. “You’re hot to the touch, Ed… why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?”

Ed completely melted under the touch. His eyes closed and his breathing calmed. Her touch always felt so right… like his missing piece.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: If you love me right, then who knows, I might let you make me Juno...Harry’s is the hot owner of a coffee shop you frequent. What are the odds he’s been dying to get your number??? A/N: Shout out to @howling-wolf97 for the request!! From my new Sabrina Series: Harry One Shots inspired by lyrics from our favorite little icon, Sabrina Carpenter.

Sabrina Series Masterlist

Have a Sabrina request?<-

Word Count: 10.2k

Warning: 18+ fluff/smut

Marie: Dude, is that for real? 

Y/N: Yes! Like we were talking, and for some reason, I felt bold and was like, prove it. 

Marie: Wow! Very bold for my prude whittle bb. 

Y/N: Omg, dude, I’m not a prude. I’m just shy, and honestly, I’m so proud of myself. He makes me so freaking nervous. He’s so fuuuuuucking hot. 

Marie: God bless his dad’s genetics! 🍆🍆🍆

Y/N: I know!! The whole package! 

Marie: He’s practically offering it up on a silver platter, bitch. You better hop on that…like for real! That’s the kind of dick for freaky shit…lol. 

Y/N: You’re annoying. Yeah, he seems very sure of himself, like it’s almost intimidating. I feel like there’s no guessing. He hasn’t really pushed the sex thing. That part was just random. That was the first time we talked about it. Do you think I’m objectifying him by sending you that? Fuck, I just got excited.

Marie: Definitely, but only if you tell him you did it, and it sounds like he wants you! Omg! Now you have someone to try those pink fuzzy handcuffs with…the ones I bought you for Christmas. 

Y/N: Maybe…who knows? 

Marie: Maybe he was warning you, preparing you for what’s to cuuuummm! And that’s you, girl! 

Y/N: Jesus.

Marie: Just saying…

Y/N: I have to go! I’m about to grab some coffee. I hope his hot ass is working!! 

Marie: Maybe he’ll make you come a latte…

Y/N: I hate you! bye!

Marie: You love me, and I’m happy you finally have someone decent on your radar! I’m sure he adores you, and you’re just overthinking it. Just talk to him. Text me if you see him. I want to know everything! 

You saw him the second you walked into the coffee shop.

It only took you ten minutes to hype yourself up enough to walk inside, but here you were. 

In the midst of your pep talk, after you sorted through all the possible scenarios, you decided the best thing you could do was place a mobile order, that way if he wasn’t there, you could be in and out, but as soon as your eyes landed on the mobile counter, Harry, your boy wonder barista, was chatting up some cute blonde, her friend standing close by. 

You could relate to the friend, staring doe-eyed, a stargazed smile playing at her mouth, and as you watched, you imagined that if her long hair was freed from her high ponytail, she would be twirling the long strands around her finger, tossing it over her shoulder every time her friend laughed, or Harry’s eyes moved to hers. 

She had that desperate third-wheel energy, and although you knew the feeling, the second-hand embarrassment gutted you from across the room, your insides crawling up as you witnessed the blonde let out a screechingly high laugh, one that felt way too forced, almost halting you in place as you made your way over to the counter, and you tried not to make a face.

This wasn’t the first time you had noticed pretty stragglers, the girls that lingered a little too long, and being the owner of this shop, he had an effortless way of collecting them, you chalking it up to good customer service because he was always going to need the business. You knew you could never be mad about this part because it was part of his livelihood. 

Especially when, as soon as you were in Harry’s line of sight, his eyes found yours, a broad smile spreading across that gorgeous face, and dammit, if you weren’t dying to follow through with whatever he may have been implying, the other night.

Because shit, when he sent you that pic, his rock-hard cock standing tall, and those fucking tattoos marking his v-cut. He had your head spinning. You weren’t even a dick pic, girl, and there you were drooling over the thought of that dick inside you, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why you asked for a picture in the first place—a dick is just a dick in your book, but there was something about just knowing, that horny thought tickling the back of your mind any time you saw him standing behind that coffee bar. 

The strange part was that you hadn’t even talked to him since. That was four days ago, and for some reason, you were too scared to speak to him. I guess there were other reasons: you had been busy with work, starting that new internship—more like a glorified assistant position—the first two days were long and grueling, and it gave you a few extra days to sit on the thought, but then you realized texting back would make it real, right? 

What kind of response was he expecting? 

It was late when he sent the picture, so it was understandable if you had fallen asleep, but you also weren’t sure if your not responding pivoted the vibe, and now there was only one way to find out.

Yes, you were, without a doubt, interested, but you had been out of the dating game for a while; you couldn’t even remember the last time you had sex. It would be nice; he could definitely break you in, clear the cobwebs, pick you up, and dust you off because a toy can only do so much, and lately, you’ve only been taking it out on special occasions…whatever that means.

And let’s be real; you’ve been doing anything to justify your barren behavior. 

Who even needs a special occasion to get off? What were you turning into? You were getting way too comfortable in your independent ways, and while that’s great for most, it was okay to loosen the reigns every once in a while and get your metaphorical “dick sucked” because you deserved it; you deserved this, and as you reach the counter, Harry is pulling your drink toward him, a sly smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, while the blonde talks at him. 

“Unfortunately, I have very little free time these days, but I can definitely ask the crew if they’re interested in any…was it Pilates classes?” He asks the blonde as her flirty smile falters ever so slightly, almost giving herself away, and your eyes move back to your drink, now clasped in his hand on the counter.

“Here, why don’t I get your number…I can, like, send you the info or something…” and you have to admit, it was smooth, the perfect segway to land the cute coffee shop owner’s number. 

Then your eyes flick to Harry, who’s patting his pockets, searching for his phone, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “You know what? I don’t have my phone…”

And just when you think he’s distracted, you reach forward across the counter, ready to swipe your drink and run, but he’s quick, strangely aware of your presence, and he snatches up the drink, a smile on his face as he says, “Maybe Jen at the register has a pen and paper you can write it down…” 

Then his eyes sweep to yours, sending you a wink—a fucking wink, and you have to stop your jaw from dropping because as soon as the blonde picks up on the interaction, she scoffs under her breath and looks over at her friend.

“Hi…” He says, giving you his full attention, and from the corner of your eye, you can see the blonde standing there dumbfounded, maybe rarely getting rejected because you can definitely tell that’s a pilates body, the perfect canvas for her matching Lululemon set, and when her friend tugs on her arm, you bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile.

“I’m here to pick up a mobile order…” you tell him, fainting innocence because, after all, you were the one that never texted him back.

Harry looks down at the drink in his hand, “Hmmm…did you order a grande London Fog with oat milk, no vanilla, sub brown sugar…” and Jesus, the way he says sugar makes you want to lick your lips, the word glazing over his tongue; that British drawl never getting old.

“Embarrassingly enough, yes…but it sounds ridiculous when it’s said out loud like that, shhhhh….” you say, reaching for your drink, but he only pulls it further out of reach. He’s in a playful mood this morning, and you can tell he’s not holding a grudge for your sudden onset of silence 

Because it was kind of sudden.

After you ran into each other at that John Mayer concert, the one your sister forced you to go to—You only remembered a few of his songs from childhood, the ones your sister played to death, so you spent that night drinking, pregaming before the show, you know, being a supportive sister until her boyfriend decided to come at the last minute, making you the tag along.

As soon as the music started playing, it wasn’t that bad. The whole set was acoustic, his smooth voice echoing off the stone mountains, the weather perfect as the stars twinkled above, and really, it was the perfect concert to sit cozied up to your boyfriend so you couldn’t be too mad at your sister because it was nice seeing her this happy. So, when you snuck away to use the bathroom, you weren’t expecting to run into your favorite hot barista, and what are the odds that he would be alone? 

He was standing in line for a drink, and you were just tipsy enough to follow through with a, “Oh hey…Harry, right?” like an idiot because you definitely didn’t know him like that, and surely it was weird on your part, approaching him like you had ever formally introduced yourself. 

Every transaction you guys have ever had was him being friendly because it was his job, right? Like for example, you knew his name only because he wore a name tag, not because you’ve ever taken the time to ask him, and maybe he’s asked you a few questions here and there, but you had seen him do that plenty of times, whether you were waiting in line or sitting in the cafe before you finished school, you know, a friendly shop owner trying to get business and that’s what you thought, but then he called you by name, and this was new because you couldn’t remember if you had actually heard him say it directly to you—you would have remembered the way it fell from his perfect lips as you watched his dimples dip into his cheeks.

And once you got over the initial shock of him knowing your name, him clearing the air, trying to play it down, telling you he sees a lot of regulars out and about, you said, “I guess I thought I flew under the radar…” which was silly, because what the fuck did you mean by that and what did you know about planes, then he laughed and told you:

“I’ve definitely noticed you on many occasions…” As a clever smile turned up the corners of his mouth, you felt it: the heat creeping up your neck, your cheeks warming as his eyes swept over your face, stealing your focus, and it was sudden, his effect as the noise began to fade—a head rush—then the world started slowing down around you, your heart echoing in your ears. When he smiled, he licked his lips, and you watched as that smile spread into a knowing grin, and just like that, you were hooked, like magnets, for the rest of the night.

Then, somehow, it was all smooth sailing, and that’s the part that gets you later when you look back on that night. It was like a miracle from the fucking universe because what were the chances—and when he offered to buy you a drink, and you found out he was there by himself, you felt brave enough to ask if he wanted to join you because fuck being the third wheel when you had a chance to chat up the hot-ass coffee shop owner. 

You couldn’t believe your luck. How many times did Harry lean over and whisper in your ear? His deep voice like velvet brushing down your spine, and each time, Harry inched closer and closer until you were shoulder to shoulder. With every movement he made, you felt him—hyper-aware of everything, all the little details as John Mayer practically set the mood, him ending the concert with ‘Your Body Is A Wonderland,’ and thank the fucking stars up above because, dammit, if that song hasn’t become Harry’s theme song in your head because nothing else will do because now you would have that moment forever, floating across your memory.

When Harry politely placed his hand on your knee, whispering, “We should exchange numbers….” as John said his thanks, wishing everyone a good night, you sat there wishing you could end this night with Harry’s lips on yours.

Maybe in another universe, Harry would have kissed you goodnight, but you were with your sister, and you had already made plans with her. So when your sister tried to play matchmaker and invite him to join you guys after, he graciously declined, telling you guys he had to open in the morning, and that’s when you realized you were actually okay with his not joining. You needed time to digest this evening, mull it over until it was real, and as you floated still on a high from the evening to the car, there you were, sending him a text just before your phone died.

That night, as you crawled into bed hours later, still riding that same high. Harry’s face was fresh in your mind, familiar but in a new light. 

All you could think about were those fleeting moments when you guys traded phones—Both of you entering each other’s numbers as you stole a quick glance at Harry’s shakey fingers, typing away at your keyboard—There was something so vulnerable about the idea of your phone being in his hands, of you holding his, an act of trust right off the bat, you thought as you plugged in your phone— a hazy daydream of Harry’s fingers playing out, picturing his yellow nails, each one marked with a happy face, and it’s exactly how you felt, how he made you feel.

Because how did it happen? And when your phone came back to life, there was his name, Harry Styles, a message setting the tone for all the weeks to follow:

H: Hi, Sorry! I’m passing out soon. The dreadful opening shift is killing me this week. I’m really glad we ran into each other. Kind of crazy, but I’ve been trying to think of ways to get your number for a while. I hope that’s not weird or anything. Thanks for letting me crash your evening with your family. You were definitely a pleasant surprise. See you around.

Fast forward several weeks, and here he was, standing before you, once a stranger but still one of the sexiest guys you had ever seen because, let’s not pretend like you haven’t been eyeing him ever since you started coming to this coffee shop.

 Now, there were numerous possibilities—the looming thought of him being inside you, hanging over your heads, added static building between you, and yes, his flirting right now is solidifying the deal for you because he wants you. You can see it in his eyes, the electricity coursing through your veins when they flit to your mouth, and then he says:

“I was getting worried…I haven’t heard from you,” and he smirks nonchalantly reading the label of your drink as your eyes sweep over his face. 

His playfulness simmers into that casual, relaxed demeanor you’ve grown so fond of, and you can’t help but smile, your body warming at the thought of that last message, the image flashing across your vision, but there’s something different about the interaction, the thought of him more intimate because now you had the pleasure of piecing together more details, more things about himself that he’s revealed, and let you kept, collecting bits of Harry that only make you like him more.

“I’m sorry, I started that internship…it was crazy the first few days…” you tell him.

“Oh yeah, I was wondering how that was going…” and this makes you smile. His attentiveness, his genuine curiosity about your life because he really did seem interested this whole time, from the very beginning. 

“I was hoping I didn’t scare you off—”

“Mmmm…” you nod, getting lost in a trance, his words like a switch, igniting that little flame within. He has a way of sucking you in, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room, the way he holds your gaze, never flinching, never shying away.

“Yeah?” He nudges, a curious look pulling between his brows.

You clamor a nervous laugh, the sound making you stumble over your words, “Yeah—I mean—no—no…not scared…I mean, no, you didn’t scare me off…”

“Not scared…” he laughs

And you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head, as a smile spreads across your face, “Yeah…whatever that means…” you laugh, this time taking control of your reaction because shit, you are giving yourself away, and it’s no wonder you didn’t text him back because you can’t even keep it together enough to form the right words, let alone a sentence for that matter.

“Mmmmm….” he hums, that sly grin back in full swing, and you don’t even want that hot drink anymore because it’s fucking roasting in here, and you hope with all your might that he’s not picking up on your embarrassment, but then he says:

“Did you want a water?”

“A water?” you repeat confused.

“Yeah, you usually get a water…you seem thirsty this morning—”

“Thirsty?” you question, caught up in that smile.

“Yeah, do you want extra ice, maybe cool you down a little bit?”

This is when you finally catch on to his joke, “I think I have to go and never come back, “ you say, turning away slightly.

“No—no—no—no—no—no” He laughs, reaching over the counter to grab your arm, and you feel the blush creeping further, setting your whole body on fire. “I’m just joking… you’re cute when you blush….”

“Oh really? Because now I think I want to die,” you force, hitching your thumb toward the door as he releases your arm.

Harry shakes his head, that smile even more persistent, “I’m only teasing…here…” he says, pushing your drink forward, “I promise I won’t poke anymore fun…” and just as the words fall from his mouth, a random girl walks up, grabbing her drink, her eyes trained on Harry, smiling over to get his attention, but his eyes never leave your face. 

All you want to do is climb onto this counter and let him take you right then and there—let him claim you, make you his, pray that you’re his one and only because every time you see him, that want, that need to have him. Buries itself deeper inside you—each new day, every new detail only makes you like him more.

“Would you want to come over tonight?” Harry asks, catching you off guard, the question tripping you up again.

“Oh, my roommate is having people over tonight, so I can’t host…” you tell him, unaware that you heard the question wrong because this would be the first time you guys hung out alone, without the safety of a crowded bar or the public eye of his coffee shop.

“No—” he laughs, thoroughly entertained by you this morning, “Would you like to come to mine? I don’t mind hosting…maybe watch a movie or something…”

Or something…you think, something wild, your thoughts spinning as you nod your head up and down, words suddenly hard.

“So is that a yeah?” he pokes.

“Yeah—yeah—yeah—” you confirm, still nodding, “Yup, that sounds good…that sounds really good…” 

And you’re kicking yourself for that last bit, “Really good, huh?” he repeats, really driving it home.

“God, I have to go…” and you fucking giggle like a little schoolgirl, “I think I need caffeine or something…” you tell him backing away.

He chuckles, his eyes dropping to the drink in your hand. “I steamed it extra hot this morning…” 

“Thank you! I—” you tell him, your tone rising as you turn away because you almost walked right into that one, and just as you’re about to push through the door, Harry shouts, “I’ll text you…” and then you’re through the door, gasping in a breath, the cold air filling your lungs; a soothing relief. There is no way you can look back, and as you slide into the driver seat, your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and you lift your ass in your seat and peer down at the screen, swiping it open:

H: I’m looking forward to tonight. I’ll start thinking of movie options. Let me know what you think you might be hungry for, and I’ll order food.”

If this had been a weekday, you would have called in. You would have risked the internship because this was monumental—You were going to Harry’s place—This was bound to be a turning point, a change in scenery for you both, more personal, shifting the mood from friendly to possibly sexy, and this you had to prepare for.

You waited until you got home to text him back. 

You didn’t want to come off as too excited; you wanted to play it cool. I guess, yes, you could have texted him back right then and there, but why not leave some mystery? You already knew you wanted Chinese food; that was a no-brainer, but when he texted you and told you his internet was down. He asked if you had any DVDs, and this made you laugh. You had only kept a few random movies over the years stowed away in a box in your closet, a sparse collection curated specifically for you, especially not for a hot dude you were trying to get with.

And when you pulled your old box of belongings from the dusty top shelf, you laughed the second you opened it. There, sitting on top, were three random DVDs—you were beside yourself because now you were questioning your younger self, wondering why the fuck you would keep any of these movies, store them away like prized gold.

Okay, maybe there was something about the movie ‘Twilight’ that was worth keeping. You could understand that, and as you pulled it from the box, your eyes swept over the cover. You thought about the kind of vibe it would set, and it seemed like a movie you’d make your boyfriend watch when you just wanted a movie to cozy up together, something you knew he would never enjoy but would watch for you because he loved you. Maybe it would be okay if you both had seen it, but if Harry hadn’t seen it. This wasn’t the time, so you placed it on the floor next to you, making it an option.

When you pulled ‘The Notebook’ out, the cover Ryan Gosling and Rachel Mcadams about to embrace in a passionate kiss, you literally laughed out loud because there was no way in hell you wanted to watch this movie with him. It was way too soon. What message would you be sending if you chose that one, maybe you were overthinking this all, but hell, this was a big deal, and you wanted it all to go smoothly. You didn’t want to imply too much this early on, but at the same time, the more you thought about it, the more you thought that you could actually see this going somewhere, and maybe it wasn’t just the sex you wanted—it was him.

Everything about him screamed—interested.

It didn’t seem like a facade to get you into bed because if that were the case, you think he would have already acted on it; something about the pace of your interactions meant more than a hookup. 

You found his genuine curiosity in you endearing, the biggest turn on in a very long time, and if sex came cool—He was already “fucking” your brain with his authenticity because if you really broke it down. None of the boys that have popped up in the last couple of months were ever worth your time. You had been waiting around for a man—a real man, to swoop in, a man that was sure of himself, that had his shit together, that was interested in more than just a casual hook-up because you were over that bullshit, over the feeling of being disposable in somebody else’s roster. 

And while you weren’t fully sure of Harry’s intentions, you bet if you asked, he would tell you. 

He was busy. He had a business to run, for heaven’s sake, and something told you he didn’t have a lot of time to fuck around, like when he told that pilates instructor he was busy, there was definitely some truth in that. You could tell he was organized with his time by the way he made plans—each hang out thoughtfully procured with your time at the forefront, never flaking or making excuses, never changing the plans at the last minute.

In fact, everything about him so far was a major turn on, and as you skimmed through your underwear drawer, trying to piece together a matching set because you could be a grown-up too, you laughed, your eyes flick over to the third movie laid out across your floor—Juno

That was the one.

That would be the perfect movie. You couldn’t even remember the last time you watched it, at least not as an adult. So you did the polite thing and sent him a picture, the movies lined up in a neat row, and as you sent the picture, you internally wished that he would choose Juno like maybe that would be the universe’s way of saying, “Yeah…you’re on the same page…this ones a keeper…”

H: We should talk about your movie collection later…but without a doubt, Juno for me…but I wouldn’t be opposed to The Notebook either…I’ll let you pick.

You laugh, falling back onto your bed, watching those tiny little dots move at the bottom of the screen.

H: Also, I’m going comfy vibes, like sweatpants and t-shirt kind of night, just a heads up.

Then you’re kicking your feet, that inner school girl rising up again, and now you’re fucking obsessing over this guy, over the fact that he just gets it, like somehow he’s becoming the complete package, like all those late-nights thinking about him was finally starting to pay off.

H: Ordering the food now, see you soon! 

You send him a text, leap off the bed and rush to finish getting dressed; that picture of his dick in the foyer of your mind, and you squeeze your thighs together at the thought, already horny with the idea of just walking through his door, the idea of sitting on the same couch and it’s like you’re a teenager all over again, dying to makeout until your lips are chapped, rub your body against his until the friction has you wet until his hands are roaming your body, needy to explore every inch of you.

This is what you’re thinking as you wait for him to open the door, your heart thudding away in your chest. When you hear the click of the knob and the door creaks open, your stomach twists with butterflies, the flutter seizing your whole body as he reaches out to embrace you in a hug, but your hands are full, and you can only lean into his side, a half-ass hug as he starts collecting each item, kicking the door closed behind you.

“Glad you found it okay,” Harry tosses over his shoulder as you follow him into the living room.

Harry sets your stuff down on the coffee table just as the doorbell chimes, “Ah, that must be the food, be right back, just make yourself at home…” He smiles, his eyes searching your face, and you hope you’re not coming off too nervous because, let’s face it, this is intimidating as fuck. 

You figured he had his shit together, but his place was amazing, eclectic yet put together like he actually paid full price for his couch, probably brand new—a large fluffy L-shape—you couldn’t help but flop down onto the cushion, exhaling all your self-doubt because what’s the worst that could happen, you think as your eyes flit shut, sinking into the feeling of comfort. 

“I’m going to grab some dishes,” he says, stirring you from your thoughts, and you open your eyes as he releases the sack of food, the boxes making a dull thud as they hit the table.

You push yourself up with a smile, him catching you in the middle of testing out his sofa, “Comfy couch,” you tell him, clearing your throat. 

He laughs, “It really is. If I fall asleep during the movie, you’ll have to wake me.”

“I was literally just thinking the same thing. I drank coffee before I came, so—”

He runs a hand through his hair, “I honestly did the same…I didn’t want to leave a bad impression. I’m notorious for falling asleep early.”

You laugh then, “Well if I had to get up at the ass crack of dawn to open a coffee shop, I would never have a social life.” 

“My social life is barely functioning…trust me….” He tells you, “I’ll be back in just a second. Are you good with chopsticks, or would you like a fork?” 

“Chopsticks are great, thank you.” You grin, your cheeks squishing into a wide smile.

“What?” he asks, matching your smile.

“Nothing…nothing…I’ll set up the movie,” you offer, needing to look away, needing to look anywhere else because he is so fucking cute, and those sweatpants are so hot on him, hugging the bulge you know is there, and if you stare too long you might start undressing him.

“That would be perfect, thank you.” and his manners make you smile even more as you stand to your feet, slipping your shoes off to get cozy. 

The movie is set, and when he sees the opening menu of Juno, he laughs as the old wood floors creak under his soft footfalls. His presence fills the room in a matter of seconds, drawing you back to the moment, making you all too aware that this is real when he sits closer than you expected, his elbow softly grazing yours, and you can’t seem to find any words, your heart racing, maybe second-guessing if you’re actually ready for this, and really this is just you guys watching a movie. 

You know it doesn’t have to be anything else, but then there’s the desperate side of you, the side that wants to explore every option because there is something about him that feels safe and open to every prospect.

Getting past the eating part was fine, and as you guys cozied up with your plates and the movie began, it wasn’t even strange that the opening scene was a mild sex scene because you were both adults, and honestly, it was barely a sex scene, mostly implied, kind of like this night with Harry.

It was when the eating was done, all the niceties out of the way. 

There was still an hour of the movie left, the room dark now, only the soft glow of the television casting light over you both. Harry’s knee was casually pressed against yours as the both of you sat cross-legged on the couch. Every time he moved even the slightest, your eyes would drop to your knee, a low hum buzzing up your thigh, and as soon as you brought any attention to the touch in your mind, that feeling of want pulled between your legs, making you suck in a slow, silent breath through your nose, you reminding yourself to breathe, trying not to draw any attention to yourself.

Eventually, you relaxed enough to sink into the movie— overly focused on the screen—even when Harry stretched his legs out and slid further down on the couch cushion, his arm stretching across the pillow behind your head. You didn’t even move. You just sat there so quietly and so still, nearly holding your breath, and maybe he must have picked up on this because then he was pausing the movie, suggesting a bathroom break.

And the second he walked out of the room, you felt your whole body decompress, and you filled your lungs with as much oxygen as you could, gulping in air like the second he walked back in the room, he would steal the very air you were breathing. 

Why were you still nervous? 

He hadn’t tried anything, he wasn’t being weird or hinting at anything, no hidden expectations floating to the surface because you guys really were just hanging out, but that still didn’t make it feel any easier. Before he left the room, you could feel the tension straining in your shoulders as you sat there, your muscles burning from your rigid posture—you needed to chill; you were the one that needed to get your shit together. 

When you heard his footsteps, you shot up from the couch like a fucking weirdo, almost losing your footing, but you caught yourself before you could fall, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips, and by the way, your face was already starting to burn, you were glad it was too dark to see the flush rising to your cheeks.

“All good?” He asks, a slow smile spreading as his brows knit together.

You nod, forcing an odd laugh, “Is the bathroom that way?” you point in the direction he just came from, and you barely catch his nod as you take the long way around the couch, avoiding any chance of touching or his body brushing yours because it’s obvious you’re being a fucking chicken, because there’s no way a grown man was inviting you over to just watch a movie.

 As you shut the door behind you, you exhale, realizing you were holding your breath that entire walk to the bathroom, and then you can’t fill your lungs quick enough as the anxious thoughts rise within, suffocating you, your anxiety trying to get the best of you. 

You can do this. 

Everything is okay, you are capable of communicating, you could march in there and just talk, you could ask what the deal is, what it is that he’s looking for because if it’s just to fuck, that is doable that part feels like a piece of cake, you would love to get off, but this was more, you can feel it in your bones, there was knowingly something different about him, and it scared the shit out of you.

And while you wash your hands, you try and avoid the mirror, avoiding your eyes, because you know what they would convey, and you already felt cowardly enough. 

So, of course, when you walk back into the living room again, you take the long way, not daring to look at Harry. Then you take your spot back next to him without a word, feeling his eyes on you, your body tensing up, and as you stare at the screen waiting for him to unpause the movie, he doesn’t. 

That’s when you chance a glance over at him, his eyes roam over your face, and then he leans past you to turn on the lamp as you hold your breath, the scent of him lingering in your nose as he settles back onto the cushion, this time facing you, and you look over and try and give him a corky smile, but you know it looks strange because the muscles in your cheeks keep twitching.

God, this is embarrassing, you think, and Harry clears his throat, “Umm…is it cool if we clear the air?”

And without a word, you nod, forcing yourself to face him, sitting up straight because you got this, you can do this, get this part over.

“I guess I just wanted to be clear about…I guess my intentions…I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone…and I guess I’m feeling a little rusty. If that makes sense?” He explains, making your heart pick up. 

“Yeah…same,” you mutter, your throat tight, and you swallow down hard.

“I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate this all…you know, like…I don’t know. I really like you, and I was hoping we could like—” 

“What? Have sex—?” You blurt, making him gasp out a laugh, and really, you just wanted to cut right to the chase and figure out what your next move needed to be.

He looks nervous, a funny smile spreading across his face as he runs a hand up the back of his head, “I mean—” and he laughs, his nerves visibly getting the best of him, and this makes you smile because you definitely just jumped the gun.

“Is that what you’re wanting?” he asks, looking down at his hands, “I guess I’m trying to figure out what you’re looking for—” He starts

“To be completely transparent, I’m sort of looking for something a little more serious…I mean, sex is great, but—”

You jump in then, “No—yeah, the other…” you clear your throat, “Like something serious…I’m sorry, but you make me so fucking nervous…”

“Am I being too forward?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

And you laugh, “No, I just think I really like you, and it’s just…been a while, you know? It’s also been a while since I’ve dated anyone…or I guess…like had sex…”

“Mmmm…” he hums, and then he laughs, “Not to push the sex narrative, but it has been a while for me, as well….like maybe a year or so. I don’t know. I stopped keeping track. I’ve been really busy with work, and I wasn’t really looking for anything, and then I saw you at the concert…”

Your eyes search his face then, but you know he’s telling you the truth, “So…like, how serious are you thinking? Like someone to exclusively hook up with? Fit into your busy schedule? What are you looking for? I would rather be on the same page.”

“Like dating…like a girlfriend…like maybe this could be something that moves further…”

And for some reason, you narrow your eyes at him, cocking your head to the side, “With me?” you question. 

Harry laughs again, “Well…yeah, you silly.”

Then you had to back up the conversation, “So the other night when you sent me that picture, it wasn’t for the sake of a hook-up?”

“I mean, I’m interested in hooking up, but it doesn’t have to be right now…I don’t know, I guess I just wanted you to know I was interested…” Then he laughs, his eyes shying away from you again, “Like I said, I’m rusty. Was that a weird thing to do? It’s been a while since I’ve done that…actually, I’ve only done that one other time…so—”

“I did ask for it…” you clarified, grabbing his attention.

“Yeah…I guess you did.” Then his eyes drop to your mouth.

And now you’re feeling bold, “I’m very interested…” and when your eyes dart away from his, you feel your face growing hot, laughing to yourself as you contemplate the conversation because you didn’t see it coming, but there was a piece of you that was glad it was happening, maybe even a piece of you realizing you may have a communication kink because you’re definitely getting turned on the clearer his intentions get and when he asks:

“What are you thinking?” That’s when you look over and smile, watching his smile spread across those perfect lips of his, and you bite down on your lower lip, deciding which dirty thought to divulge because there might be too many to choose just one.

Then you bite your lip harder, trying to suppress your smile, but it’s no use, and you say, “I mean…we can wait as long as you want to explore the physical side, but I’m down whenever you are…like so down…” 

This cracks him up, “So, just like whenever?” 

And you match his laughter, falling back against the couch pillows, “I might let you make me Ju—no—” and you can’t even say it with a straight face as you both burst into laughter, all the tension seeming to go with it, and it’s like the room is brighter, the air lighter around you as you suck in a hard breath, almost choking on your own laugh. 

“I’m actually on birth control…so the Juno thing might be out the window,” you tell him, placing a hand on his knee. You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t even realize it. Then he’s resting his hand on yours, smiling over at you. 

That’s when you feel the pad of his thumb moving back and forth over the top of your hand, and you look down, “Hypothetically speaking…” he says, squeezing your hand, and your heart leaps in your throat as you begin to grip his hand. 

“If I were to ask you if you wanted to stay the night one day… would you be down with that?” Then he grips your hand back, and you loosen your hold, laughing because you keep giving yourself away.

“Honestly? You ask.

And he nods, that cute smile stretching, his dimples sinking into his cheeks, “Can we just like get the first hook-up out of the way…because if I wait any longer, I might psych myself out”

“Fuck…” he breathes, “Yes—I feel the same way…like right here? Or in my bed?” he forces, relief washing over his features, a new air of excitement filling the room.

“Oh…did you want to finish the movie?” he adds right before you tell him:

“Fuck no—” laughing as you squeeze his hand again. 

“You look like someone who would have a comfortable bed…” you tell him, standing to your feet.

Harry rises with you, still holding your hand. “My rooms upstairs—” he says, his eyes flicking to the stairs through the archway.

“Okay…?” he questions, his eyes scanning your face for any hesitation.

“Yes—” you nod as he begins to pull you toward the stairs.

As soon as you reach the landing at the top of the stairs, he turns around, laughing, “Wait—you said I look like someone who has a comfortable bed?”

“Is that really what you’re thinking about…? You laugh.

He shrugs like he’s stalling, or maybe he’s nervous, “I mean… among other things…”

“Harry, are you nervous?” you ask, squeezing his hand again, and honestly, you’re hoping that he says yes because you’re not sure how this is going to go down, but you’ve been horny for him long before he sent you that photo, so you don’t really care about the details; you just want him inside you as soon as possible. 

“Honestly…I don’t think I’ll last long. I just thought I would warn you…”

You smile then, lifting your hand to stroke his cheek, “Then we’re both in the same boat…we’ll just say the first time doesn’t count. Deal?” 

“Deal, “ he says, letting out a light laugh. You stand there, taking in his face. A boyish grin setting in, about to push you to the edge, and you practically leap to the tips of your toes, pushing your mouth to his.

At first, he’s stunned, but once you begin to move your mouth, he grabs hold of your face, taking a step back. When he takes another, you break the kiss, excitement coursing through you, and you peek over his shoulder, wondering which door leads to his bedroom. When he realizes what you’re doing, he grabs your hand and pulls you toward the end of the hall, pushes through the door, and it smacks against the wall as Harry tugs you through the doorway.

The first thing you do is grab hold of his shirt, his picture flashing across your vision. 

You have to see those tattoos in person, and when you begin to pull at the hem, he takes your cue and lifts it over his head. Now you’re the one who’s stunned as a whole series of tattoos come into view, halting you in place. Then your eyes are feasting over the plains of his body, the muscles, the random array of tattoos—since when did coffee shop owners look this fucking hot? Like, what did he do before this? But then you’re driving these thoughts away, your hands already moving over his skin—a palm brushing flat over the butterfly at the center of his chest, and it’s almost too much.

You drop to your knees, at eye level, with the leaves inked into his lower abdomen, and you lick your lips, grabbing hold of his waist, a light touch tracing along one side with the tips of your fingers. “Jesus,” you breathe as the leaves disappear into the band of his sweatpants. Before your eyes move any further, you gaze up at Harry. His eyes are trained on you, a lazy smile spreading on his face, and then he laughs.

“If you put those lips around my dick, I swear I’ll only last two seconds. Your touch has already got me so close…” He tells you, bending at the waist to lift your chin, and when he plants his lips to yours, you breathe him in, working yourself back to standing, your mouth never leaving his.

You pull away from the kiss, pressing your hand flat against his chest, needy, pushing him toward the bed, “I could probably get off just by looking at you…” and you both laugh at this, but you’re serious. 

Everything about him is working you up, and now you’re so turned on that you feel yourself opening for him, your pussy throbbing the entire time you bound up the stairs.

Harry stumbles back onto the bed, sitting at the edge, and brings you between his legs. When he gives your shirt a playful tug, you lift your arms, giving him permission, and he yanks it up, up, up until he’s standing, pulling until you feel the collar of your shirt wisp over the tips of your fingers, then he tosses it to the ground with a smirk on his face—your red lacy bra on full display in the low light of the moon, casting silver light through the window.

When he sits back down on the bed, he draws you toward him again, his hands on your waist, gripping the meat of flesh, a hunger rising up as he buries his face into the hallow between your breast, and when you run your hands through his hair, Harry lets out a soft groan, a puff of heat fanning over your skin, and you bring your face down to the crown of his head, breathing in the smell of his hair. 

Harry’s hand moves from your waist to the clasp

of your bra, fidgeting with the hook as he nibbles the tip of your hard nipples through your bra. All you can do is watch, a chill running up your spine, a rush surging through you as soon as your bra comes off, and this is happening, this is real, and when Harry looks up and smiles at you, you need him inside of you—now.

Desperate for it, desperate for him.

You were ready, that consistent ache between your legs tugging at the pit of your stomach. You wanted him fast and deep; you wanted him to open you up, stretch you so that you would remember, a sore reminder later, a feeling that he was there—leave you reeling, craving more—crave him as you crave him now, like a sweet tooth, one bite never enough.

“Now—” you force, “Now—I need it now,” you tell him, your hands on his shoulder, moving down his chest as you’re pushing him back, and Harry laughs, his body following your command, the muscles in his stomach flexing and relaxing as he lays back on the bed. 

Then your eyes are drifting down, his grey sweatpants marking the outline of his dick, and it’s joy, pure joy, that giddy feeling tightening your chest, adrenaline shakey at the tips of your fingers as you reach for the elastic waist of his pants. 

“I’m so fucking turned on—” he mutters, the words flying out of his mouth, your hands colliding as he helps you ease the pants down, his boxers coming with, catching on his thighs, his dick seconds away from springing free, and harry lifts his legs as you rip off his pants, tossing them across the room with such force, that you can’t help but laugh as Harry’s eyes follow, the pants knocking a picture off the wall, and the frame comes crashing down to the floor with a smash, the sounds of glass shattering fills the room, and Harry doesn’t even flinch because he’s grabbing your face before you can even see the damage. 

Harry stands to his feet, one goal in mind, and that was to get you naked, “Still good?” he asks, but you’re too distracted, his rock-hard cock bobbing between the two of you, and when he laughs, it pulses a slight bounce, and it’s like striking gold, your eyes wide, lit with curiosity, every ounce of excitement you felt before hurrying to your needy hands as you reach for his penis, wrapping your hand around his girth, a gasp slipping past your lips as his warmth seeps into the palm of your hand.

The thought was enough before, but the feeling of him in your hand is even better, drawing that hunger to the surface, your mouth watering, and you swallow hard as you rip your eyes away from the dick filling your hand. When you meet Harry’s eyes, you both smile, sharing a knowing look as you nod your head, a late response bubbling up, and then you lick your lips, smoothing them together, contemplating whether or not you’re going to drop back down to your knees, and then you say:

“I need you inside me—” gliding your hand down his shaft as Harry sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, the quick sensation of pleasure too much for you both, and he stops your hand mid stroke, his jaw clenching as he squeezes his eyes shut, and when his head falls back, lips parting—You’re losing it. 

Without thought, your crawling back onto the bed, pulling at the waistband of your yoga pants, too fucking tight for this situation because it’s taking too long, every movement bringing awareness to your wet pussy, the cold air grazing over your newly exposed skin. Then Harry is helping you tear them past your ass, lifting your hips as his knuckles drag down your legs with the rough effort of ripping them past your ankles.

 Never again, you think, never again will you waste time with such a useless fabric as you bring your hand between your thighs, smearing the wetness building within you up your slit, readying yourself. Watching Harry’s mouth gape open when you spread your legs, and god, you are so fucking wet, so fucking horny that you think you’ll explode, and as Harry strokes his dick, his hand moving up and down, you dip your fingers inside, slowly pushing them in, only enough to slick your entrance, then out, and in again, so smooth, open, begging to be filled, to be stretched.

When Harry presses a knee into the edge of the bed, you pull your wet fingers from inside you, making Harry smile. 

He drops his dick as he climbs onto the bed next to you, him watching as you suck your fingers into your mouth, eliciting a small moan from Harry as he grabs hold of your wrist, your fingers slipping out of your mouth with ease, then Harry is making them his the moment they enter his mouth, his tongue moving over your fingers, then you feel the suction, feel the vibration at the back of his throat when he groans, satisfaction loosening his tight-knit brows.

You can’t take it; that’s when you’re pulling your fingers from his mouth, pushing him back onto the bed, and climbing on top, in one swift movement, “Is this okay?” you ask, the thought of asking barely at the forefront of your mind, and when he grabs your hips to line you up, lifting himself to adjust you both, the answer is evident in the movements because he’s just as desperate, just as needy. 

“Is this how you want it?” he asks, and you nod your head, feeling shy suddenly, heat creeping into your cheeks—the exchange of words slowing things down enough to put things into perspective in just a matter of seconds.

“This is good…” you answer, on the verge of second-guessing yourself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” you breathe, straightening your spine, your body relaxing slightly, nervous, but the look on Harry’s face is reassuring you, something telling you he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation.

“Will you tell me if you want to change positions if this is too much…” And he smiles then, a playful smirk as you lean forward, and you press your hand into the bed, next to his head. Your face inches from his. 

You laugh then, “I want it to be too much…” you tell him, confident in the fact that no matter what position, it’s going to hurt, so why not have control? 

Besides, you wanted to watch him come undone, be the reason he’s calling your name.

“Dammit… you’re dangerous…” he laughs, his tone low, a silky rasp in your ear, as you drop your mouth to his neck, pressing your lips to his soft skin, breathing him in as your free hand navigates his dick to your opening, the stretch immediate as his tip dips in, and your breath, catches as you shove him inside you. Amazed by the force it takes just to inch him in the smallest amount as Harry exhales a heavy breath into your neck, and holy shit, your lack of sex is finally catching up, you think as you push yourself up, your face hovering over his.

“Fuck—” you breathe with a smile, trying not to laugh, and your eyes sweep over his face, your brain taking mental notes of every look of pleasure that has stolen Harry’s features, saving them for later. 

“We can go slow?” he says, leaning up to grab hold of your face, a harsh breath leaving your mouth as he presses his lips to yours, his dick inching further in with every movement.

You pull away from the kiss, teetering on pain’s edge as you rest your forehead against his, “Just push into me…” you whisper, lifting your head to look him in the eyes.

“What?” He asks, confused, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Let’s just rip the bandaid off—” Then it’s happening. Harry gazes up at you; a moment of hesitation, then he grabs your hips and bucks himself deep inside you, the pain ricocheting through your teeth as you bit down hard, sealing your pained moan behind your lips, and you screw your eye shut, sinking your weight into your hips ceasing any further movement.

“…fuuuuuuuuuuck….” you whisper, your head spinning, dizzy with the thought of his cock buried inside you, like he’s splitting you open, carving out a space for himself. 

There was no going back after this because this is the kind of dick you dreamed of, the kind of dick you wanted to break you in, claim you, make you theirs, and even if there’s pain now, there’s bliss in the thought of knowing.

“Take your time…” he breathes, his voice a strained whisper, and you can tell this is just as painful for him, but in a different way, your walls gripping him tight, and as you release a breath, the pain begins to ease with the thought of exploring the onset of pleasure gradually taking way, the exploration a vice of its own, and it’s just enough.

And when you open your eyes, there he is, Harry, staring back at you, a look somewhere between concern and pleasure, because then you’re moving your hips, slow, getting used to the feeling of him inside you as Harry grips the meat of your hips, exhaling when you lean back down, to kiss his lips, a warm breath filling your mouth, and there’s the pleasure—you and Harry—chest to chest, two hearts beating as one—then he’s moving you guys along, planting his feet into the bed, and you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. 

Harry lifts his hips, grabs hold of your ass, and pushes into you, easing apart your ass cheeks just enough to open you up more, dipping deeper this time, repeating the motion until you’re bouncing up and down on his dick, both of you pushing moans in out of one another’s mouth, each one louder than before, the sensation overwhelming every sense of your body. 

Every thrust drives deeper as you feel your body begin to succumb to the pressure building, a knot tightening in your lower belly, and it’s this, this is what you wanted.

All of it. 

The sound of satisfaction echos around you, the squeak of the bed, the thud of the wooden headboard banging against the wall, both of your efforts playing in tandem, the push and pull—a give and taking until the both of you are forming a rhythm, two bodies playing out like a fucking symphony, every moving part a perfect balance. 

Then you’re crying out his name, pushing up on his chest until your palms are flush with his dewy skin, and when you lock eyes with his, you nod your head, tilting your hips back and forth, your movements growing desperate, faster, and when you say:

“I’m close,” Harry leans up and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you down hard, the friction slowing, each movement deeper and deeper.

“How close are you?” He forces

“I’m close—don’t stop…” you plead.

“Fuck…” He breathes, thrusting hard, “So good—”

“Don’t stop—” you beg. “Don’t you dare fucking stop—”

“I’m so close—” he groans, and you slam your hips down, seconds away; just seconds, that’s all you need.

“I’m gunna come…” you force, stealing your orgasm as you grind your hips into his pelvis, your knees stretching as wide as they can, the position limiting, but it’s just enough, and when Harry drives into you again, yelling out your name, it seals your fate, your whole body buckling, and you collapse, your pussy gripping his dick tighter, seizing around the contour of his hard cock as Harry bursts inside you, his pulsing dick the perfect ending as you ride out your orgasm.

And then you’re both catching your breath. Your bodies pressed together, the thud of his heartbeat racing across your lips, your face buried in the crook of his neck now as you nibble a soft bite into the pulse beating under his skin. Harry lets out a breathy laugh, cool air sweeping over your damp shoulder, and you don’t move, his dick still inside you, both of you unwilling to part. 

When you lift your head, taking in the sweaty glow of his face, you sweep a stray curl from his forehead as a soft smile spreads, his dimple dipping. “ Hi,” he whispers, his voice dripping like honey from his lips, and it’s so sweet, kindness emanating through every gentle touch, pouring out into the delicate kiss he plants on your lips as you bask in the afterglow of pleasure.

And it’s strange how quickly your mind just switched gears because now you want to beg for forever, have him hold you in his arms just like this, laugh, tell him he just marked his territory because there’s no going back, you think again, really meaning it, your mind in the dizzying aftermath of pure fucking bliss because now you want to make him fall in love, pray that this was a starting point, pick his brain, ask him what he’s thinking as your thoughts spiral.

All of this running through your mind as you deepen the kiss, Harry holding you tighter, then he breaks away, falling back onto the bed, his body relaxing as he crosses his arms behind his head, and then he smiles, face beaming, “Is it too early to think you may have just locked me down…hopefully you’re okay with that.” 

And really, the joke is on him because he doesn’t even know the half of it, so when you send him that sweet little smile, all you can do is laugh, thinking if he only knew, but I guess we’ll find out.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! Hope you enjoyed!

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