#3. The past few months have been really really hard. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artdcnaldson · 7 months ago

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Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader

this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously

Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.

A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!

It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin.

The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.

"Working late?”

The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”

Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.

“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze.

“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”

He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass.

“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”

A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”

You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.

It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable.

Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag.

“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”

You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed.

“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.

The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”

Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer.

How long?

You took another drink.

“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.

“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”

His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking.

“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”

You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.

“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly.

You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”

A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”

He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn.

“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”

That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”

He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”

Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”

“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”

Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.

It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse.

“At the moment, yes.”

“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.

”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”

That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out.

“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”

It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.

You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up.

Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace.

It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one.

“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”

You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.

“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone.

The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.

The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.

Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in.

You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down.

Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway.

It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.

You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side.

You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably.

You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.

Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression.

Second choice, second choice, second choice.

Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled.

His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.

That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him.

It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed.

When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare.

Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.

Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser.

In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely.

“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later.

He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt.

Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat.

“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”

The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands.

How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?

He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”

His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.

“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”

Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”

He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip.

He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him.

You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave.

Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core.

”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”

Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.

He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation.

Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.

It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit.

When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?

He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back.

“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place.

He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”

His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge.

When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly.

You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair.

But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then.

You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”

His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?

“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”

You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled.

“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”

You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.

“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh.

He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle.

His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins.

“Tell me you’ve missed me.”

Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.

”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.

He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.

“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”

He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.

You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours.

When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.

His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies.

“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”

It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.

He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.

”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”

His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever.

Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.

You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.

When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest.

“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.

But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room.

”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”

He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying.

“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”

You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.

“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”

You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“

“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”

“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.”

His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”

You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”

He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”

Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”

The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.

Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all.

The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise.

Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?

”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”

“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.

“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”

Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.

Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind.

When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.

“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded.

He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”

You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.

A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes.

He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne.

“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.

“Patrick—“

“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“

“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”

You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”

He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”

You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”

”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”

You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat.

“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”

Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”

You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.

You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”

Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.

You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”

Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out.

“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”

You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod.

“Show me.”

Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”

You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”

You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever.

“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”

Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs.

His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.

“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist.

He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.

“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”

He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”

You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”

You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?”

He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance.

You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”

His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”

And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy.

Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.

The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need.

“Close,” you gasped.

He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.”

You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock.

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“

You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth.

When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep.

Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly. A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel.

“I love you, you know that?” He asked.

You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves.

“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.

He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”

“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest.

He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.

It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”

You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.

When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him.

You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air.

When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place.

Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment.

When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.

On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls.

The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.

You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones.

Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him.

You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.

He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”

The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.

At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early.

As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word.

You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.

#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader #changeover au #my writing

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princesssmars · 24 days ago

Text

she gon’ eat this pussy up cause it’s sweet!

yet another boxer!vi x reader

p.i - p.ii

wc : 3.310

contains : fxf. fem!reader. hair and skin tone not described. fluff. some jealousy made up by hotel sex. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). they both want that cookie so bad.

a/n : they keep getting longer help me. i already have kind of an idea of the next part in my brain because the day after i started this i had the horniest dream ever so i'll just write that out. here's the position if you can't get the logistics down ik that happens to me lmao. enjoy <3

you never saw yourself as the type to get on a plane at the drop of a hat just to get railed silly by your girlfriend, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself these past few months.

and one thing that’s made itself apparent? you and violet were fucking whipped for each other.

obviously it was to be expected, over six months in and this had been both of your longest relationship yet. you both made the time and effort to make sure it continued to be so, constantly spending quality time together and making sure boundaries were respected and desires were met.

it seemed that as everyday passed your shared devotion just increased tenfold.

as well as your… equal amounts of passion.

it was almost silly to look back and remember how you were so nervous that intimacy would change something in how she saw you. you don’t regret waiting and setting that boundary for yourself, but after the first few times together you really wish you had started sleeping with her earlier.

obviously sex wasn’t the only reason you loved violet. she was an amazing lover in every sense of the word, always ever so affectionate and caring to your physical and emotional well-being. you constantly told her you’re sure her clear superiority at being an older sister made her such a sweetheart, always protecting and looking out for you even when it wasn’t needed.

but it was only a matter of time before vi’s skills and charisma in the ring caught up to her, and before both of you knew it she had greatly increased in popularity to the point she was booking matches in other cities, occasionally leaving you along for weekends when she had to stay overnights to train and perform.

and you over it for the first couple of times. it wasn’t the end of the world when the two do you had to be separated, and when you got lonely there were always other ways you could be there for each other.

“how much longer until your back?”

“aww, don’t tell me my baby’s missing me already?” vi’s mocking voice rings through the receiver, groggy and low after falling asleep an hour prior before you called.

“can you blame me? normally i have you all over me every saturday night like clockwork, now i’m all alone in this bed. in my underwear. alone.”

she chuckled at your brazenness and audibly shifted herself over the phone. “oh yeah? maybe i could help you with that. wouldn’t mind staying up to help you…”

you hum playfully. “then maybe i could give you a visual guide?”

as soon as she hears the incoming face-time call vi’s eyes briefly close in bliss. god, does she adore you.

and of course having vi guide you through masturbating from miles away for the first time is a thrilling experience, but it still leaves a slight ache in your cunt heart to not have her by your side as often as you once did.

but when you saw the radiant look on her face on television after she won a fight, heard the joy in her voice when she called you as soon as she walked off of the platform, you didn’t have it in you to bring up your silly complaints about not having her by your side twenty four seven. she was finally living her dream, and you wouldn’t cause her any worries about balancing it with you.

so you’d shut up, use her flexing mirror pics to get off, and be patient. it shouldn’t be hard, you’re an independent woman and completely secure in your relationship.

well. maybe just independent.

a big company wanted vi as a sponsor and set up a schedule for her to fly out to film promotional material for nearly five weeks. your girlfriend was intuitive, asking you if you were okay with her being gone for so long. you looked at her like she was crazy, telling her she’d have to be insane not to take this chance even if it meant you’d be alone for longer than usual. she seemed unsure, but was still excited about the opportunity and bid you goodbye at the airport with a big kiss and a promise to see you soon.

it was fine, the same daily texting and calls as had happened before. but after a few days she tells you her conversation might be slipping because of some of the extra trainings they’re making her do for the promo. that’s all fine and dandy to you.

until you see it on social media. it starts as a clip of vi hanging out with some of her fellow boxer friends at a club, nothing out of the norm. but going though the comments makes you skip way to around the end of the video, and you feel your eyes burn into your phone when a woman, an admittedly gorgeous woman comes up to the table and sidles up right next to vi in the booth.

honestly, this was nothing new. you’d known since your introduction that woman drew to vi like a magnet. your own friend was starstruck when she talked to the both of you and gave you a very funny passive aggressive message when she found out the two of you were dating. you’d had to deal with desperate fans at her games, begging for a chance to talk to her, touch her, beg her to autograph their chests at one point?

so who you find out to be a fairly famous influencer show up at the same hot spots as your girlfriend who’s over a hundred miles away isn’t surprising. what is surprising is the fact they keep popping up in the same places. you would never for a second think vi would cheat on you. it still doesn’t help quell the little green devil that lives in your chest, though.

its am early friday afternoon in your apartment and you’re scrolling through delivery apps for a quick meal when you see vi’s contact come up at the top of your screen, answering it as soon as you process who’s calling.

“someone’s eager to talk to me.”

“it’s nice to talk to you too, vi. how was your day?”

“it was alright, we just did those pictures and photoshoots today so i got to just stand around and show off my good looks.”

“it is one of your strong suits.” you dryly chuckle and keep scrolling through the food options, battling between pizza or pasta.

“feels better when i have you looking at me, though. you doing anything tonight?”

“nothing much, dining in and watching a movie i guess.”

she hums and is about to say something else but the green ugly devil decided to reach its hand through your body and puppet your mouth for no reason whatsoever.

“you going back to the club tonight?”

“uhhh no, all my friends are busy and i have an early morning tomorrow. why, you feeling left out pretty?”

“what if i was?”its silent once again.

“then what if i did something about it?”

so you’re here, flying through the dark of night thousands of feet in the air and slowly descending to an airport where violet is waiting for you, standing at the pickup area is a very inconspicuous black tracksuit with a black beanie to cover up most of her hair and large black shades. there aren’t words to describe the euphoria you feel being back in her warm embrace, sinking into her arms as she rests her chin on your head.

“i cant believe you really did this. and i cant believe they let you through the airport wearing that.”

“i know, had to give security some autographs. cmon, we’ll go back to the hotel.”

you sit a little too close for safety standards next to vi in the back of the dark suv the company had been lending her for her stay in the city, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other sat innocently on your thigh. well, as innocently as it could be with vi. she wouldnt do anything too crazy with someone driving, but her thick finger did inch towards the gap between your legs a few times.

there’s an unspoken tension as you arrive at vi’s hotel and she takes your bags to lead you up to her room, keeping close to you until you make it through the door and she sets your stuff by the spacious closet.

she had sent you some pictures as soon as she had checked in, but it was still surreal seeing the thing in person. it was big, but it made sense since she was an extended stay on a ‘business’ trip of sorts. you smile seeing the left open chip bag on the desk and one of her favorite movies playing on the television.

you’re brought out of your stupor by a familiar large hand grabbing yours and tugging you over to the plush couch that sits against the end of the bed.

“so, what ‘cha think?”

”you roll your eyes and relax into the chair some more. “i think that you should take these brand deals more often. just make sure to keep brining me along.”

“oh i definitely would, wouldn’t want you feeling jealous again, would we?”

your mouth gapes open as your body sits upright, looking at her defensively as she struggles to hold in her laughter. there’s no denying it with her so you decide to do the mature thing and cross your arms with a pout.

“how do you figure that?”

“because i know people are talking about the influencers that keep showing up to our booths. and i know your best friend told me about your sour mood and threatened to kick my ass over it.”

you sigh and turn your body to hers, resting your leg over her thighs when she makes the motion to pull it over herself. “’m sorry, vi. you know i’d never believe you’d do that. it’s just…”

“it’s just what?” her thumb and forefinger come up to pink your chin and bring your downcast eyes to her attention, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“of course i do. i didn’t wanna complain because everything is going so greatly for you, and i didnt want to make it seem like im unsupportive. i couldnt be prouder of you, vi. it’s just hard not being around you so much. i love our calls and the pictures and everything but its not..its not you.”

her eyes turn soft and she shakes her head before pulling your entire body to rest on her lap, both of her hands coming up to your cheeks to bring you in for a sweet but hard kiss.

she pulls back and peppers some more kisses over your face until you start to laugh, the sound of your laughter always brighting up her day. “i understand, baby. you don’t sound unsupportive, i promise. it’s been hard for me too. i’ve missed you so much when i’ve been gone, you have no idea.”

you gently nod and give a dreamy sigh before sinking into her arms once again, hand coming up to palm at her hair as hers travel to your waist and gently massage up and down your back. you’re content to enjoy the moment until her hands start to skirt lower and lower and suddenly you remember that you’re back in the arms of you’re girlfriend who you haven’t been able to sleep with in literal weeks.

you let out a sharp squeak when her palms travel down to your ass and squeeze you over the fabric of your leggings, head coming do so scarred lips can whisper in your ear.

“how about i show you how much i missed you?”

you’re very glad that its been established you’re both desperate for each other, because otherwise you’d be nothing but embarrassed to be in this position.

you’re starting to feel a slight kink in your neck from staring down at the woman currently eating you out like she’s starving, but when she takes your clit into her mouth and sucks so intensely you throw your head back you briefly think any small amount of pain is worth the pleasure she’s giving to you now.

your arms hold you up on the back part of the couch, one knee resting on the armrest and the other on vi’s thigh so your pussy is right in front of her face for her to get easy access, her hands scooping and pulling you in by your ass and making it impossible for you to back up and avoid the pleasure when it becomes too much.

“vi, nngh, vi,” the only words you can get out are slurred mumbles of her name and curses as her tongue dips down to thrust into you. her nose bridge more than enough to give you stimulation on your clit as she somehow buries her head even further into your cunt and groans into you, the vibrations only driving you crazier.

you whine when she pulls her face away to stare up at you, eyes hungry and sweet like you’re a deity that’s letting her drink freely from the fountain of youth.

“you still jealous, muffin?”

“vi cmon, please keep going, please-”

your mouth gapes wider when she quickly leans down and licks a long strip up and over your clit, pulling away with more of you smeared over her lips than before.

‘fuck, violet,” your head tips back in bliss, concentration slipping as you feel her hot breath ghost across your clit and her eyes trained on your chest as you arch your back.

her fingers clench again and pull your cheeks apart, a little grin gracing her face at your high-pitched gasp at feeling the cool air of the hotel room hitting both of your holes.

“y’know, i seem to recall a certain someone making fun of me for being jealous just a few months ago..”

you groan as she speaks, pushing your hips in a futile attempt to get her to keep eating you out.

“not so fun when its you, huh angel?” her hand travels further up from your behind so her fingers can prod at your entrance, teasing your hole to bring more of those desperate sounds that she loves to pull from deep in your chest. “it’s ok, i know it was hard for you. could see how desperate you were over the phone.”

��i wasn't- oh, shit, i wasn't that needy.”

only about an inch of her ring and middle fingers are shallowly thrusting into you but its enough to drive you wild. its a bit humbling to realize she has you in the palm of her hand already, but you cant find it in you to care.

“tell that to my favorite pillow. swear i thought you were gonna give yourself rug burn last week.”

you drop your head to look at her again and she cant help but laugh at your best attempt at a scowl, eyes droopy and mouth scrunched in the cutest little pout she’s ever seen.

she bites her lip and suddenly pushes her fingers all the way to the hilt inside of you, silently reveling in how she has to hold your body up when your knee beside her starts to wobble.

she thought about teasing you more, holding her fingers in place and not moving until you admitted you were desperate for her, that you needed her. but she was just as desperate for you as you were for her, and when she feels your walls clenching around her combined with you starting to drip down her hand and wrist her brain goes on autopilot and she starts to fuck you at the pace she knows you love best.

in only an instant you're moaning and writhing above her, hips jerking back and forth for friction and your nails digging into the fabric of the sofa. a brief voice in your head tries to remind you that you’re in a hotel and other people can likely hear you, but like she can read your mind vi gives a stern whisper to ‘put it down.’ as soon as you raise your arm to bite into it.

vi lets out a mix between a laugh and a groan at your immediate obedience to her command and she briefly becomes aware of the arousal that's building between her own legs. she subconsciously starts rubbing her thighs together as she continues to stare up at your body. when your body jolts when she hits that spot deep inside of you she’s afraid she might actually cum in her pants and decides to distract herself by stuffing her face back between your legs.

it often scared you, how amazing vi was at eating pussy. you try not to think about how most of it was probably due to extensive practice, but when she sucks at your clit in that way that leaves a rather obvious noise you can't find it in you to care. she’s all yours now anyway, and the thought only brings you closer and closer to the edge.

she can tell you’re about to cum by the tremors in your legs and your hand coming to the back of her head to push her farther into your cunt. she likes doesn't care about the pain of your nails in her scalp. doesn't care that it’s becoming just a bit hard to breathe. there are two places in the world where vi truly feels at peace, in the ring during a fight and in between your thighs as she brings you to an orgasm. she tries to mumble gentle encouragements as you cum around her fingers but they only come out incoherent, the vibrations from her voice only driving you further up the wall as you release.

even as you come down your body still has little tremors brought on by vi continuing to lick and suck at you after your orgasm ends, only your hand digging into her hair and pulling her away able to stop her from going at you. her face is flushed, covered in cum, and her mouth agape as she takes deep breaths in and out. you’re sure you look no better but she makes no mention of what a mess you must be, only flopping her head to the side to rest on your thigh so she can stare up at you.

“i…i might have been a little jealous.”

she breathes out an airy chuckle at your confession and gently shakes her head. “i think we share that in common.”

your eyes start to droop closed in the bliss of the moment, your body in a dreamy state while vi kisses over your thighs and stomach before giggling when vi places a short chaste kiss right on your cunt,

“not a problem as long as we can keep reassuring each other, huh?”

you never saw yourself as the type to have to hide your face in a pillow when your girlfriend got delivered a noise complaint by a flustered hotel attendant at eight in the morning, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself lately.

#ooooooooooo #i had to move to balloon because i couldnt find a sticky lyric i wanted to use bye #dont even ask what im gonna title the next one #arcane #arcane x reader #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi fluff #vi smut #vi x reader smut #boxer!vi #someone help me find butchfemme photos please

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erodasfishtacos · 29 days ago

Text

You Belong With Me | pilot!h |

Prompt: YN and Harry are enemies until they’re not. YN doesn’t need another relationship but neither does Harry. It doesn’t go smoothly.

Word Count: 19k+

Warnings: discussion of miscarriage

author's note:

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There are currently 400 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

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you can check it out here!

there is more pilot!h on patreon

click here for a chance at a free month of my writing.

—-—

It isn’t love.

At least not a first.

YN cannot tell you the moment she fell in love with him.

However, she can tell you the moment that she knew.

YN had never had a casual hookup, she’d always been in committed relationships, and had pretty vanilla sex that almost always took place in a bedroom without much excitement.

For a long while, she never thought anything of it and deduced that maybe she just was not one of the people who had a wild adventurous sex life or was bold - it was just fine with her boyfriend in the past, it was never anything to write home about.

She definetly never thought that she would find out that she did in fact have a wild side at work of all places.

YN reveled in not rocking the boat, she’d never do anything unprofessional at work, and she was always one of the best employees - some whispered that she was a kissass or a try hard, YN just wanted to do a good job and hope that most people liked her.

YN had just gotten out of her longest relationship so far - she’d been with Noah since her first year of college and had broken it off after nearly six years of being together just about five months into her new job.

It wasn’t working out any longer, if they were honest, they hadn’t been working out for quite sometime.

YN doesn’t know exactly when she had fallen out of love with Noah but she had.

It was a rocky breakup.

They wanted different things.

YN wants a ring.

Noah didn’t want to get married.

Even though it wasn’t the worst breakup ever, YN really was struggling with all the stress it had put on her because her whole life had changed now that she was a flight attendant.

She had to let Noah keep their two dogs which really felt like she gave away custody because he could be home every night to take care of them while YN was never home for more than a few nights at a time.

Noah had owned the house they lived in which meant YN moved into an apartment that wasn’t that bad but it really wasn’t anything special, it didn’t really matter because she wasn’t home often enough and packed boxes lay untouched for a long time.

YN decided that being single was best right now, it would be near impossible to find a relationship that would work with her hectic hours and she wasn’t going on a dating app to have mediocre sex.

It only takes one person to flip her whole life around.

And that is a fucking understatement.

It officially marked her seventh month at the company and her second of being single - both were going somewhat well in her eyes.

Her parents wanted her to find someone, wasting no time in pestering her because they wanted her to have a wedding, to give them grandchildren.

Honestly, YN’s has not been looking.

At first, the breakup with Noah went fine, pleasant even but just a few weeks ago, it had turned completely sour after Noah had told her she wasn’t able to visit their two dogs anymore.

When YN was home, she’d swing by at least once a week to spend some time with her two fur babies whether in his backyard or taking them to the local park for a hike.

However, he’s found a new girlfriend and has stated that it’s no longer a good idea for her to come see the dogs but also said she’s not allowed to take them either which means she has completely lost them.

Noah: It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want my new girlfriend getting the wrong idea, you know? Sorta a buzzkill to have my ex and me sharing dogs like they’re kids or something. I hope you understand, maybe I can send pics

“YN, hello?” Her friend Elaina waves her hand in front of her cellphone screen to break her gaze from Noah’s text message.

“Sorry,” YN mumbles as she locks her phone and puts it on airplane mode.

They were waiting in the employee area for their flight to be ready, a little lounge that was a bit too humid and the coffee was always out.

“I was saying that today is Pilot Styles’ first day with Paradise Airlines after moving from Coastal,” Elaina explains to YN and the few other women that were huddled on the worn couches.

YN’s brow furrows at that, “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

She had heard rumors that a new pilot would be joining their team, be their captain as Paradise Airlines were unlike other companies - they tended to keep crews together on the same flights to build a good coworking relationship.

All the girls look at her like she had a second head, Justine speaking up first, “How do you not know who he is?”

YN doesn’t quite know how to answer that, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t remember anyone ever saying anything about that captain to me. Why is it a big deal that he is changing to our airline?”

Perry jumps in, excited that she gets to spill some gossip, “Well, we’re surprised you don’t know him because of the amount of shit that the stewardess’ bitch about him. It’s a big deal that he’s coming to our airline because every attendant I know hates him.”

YN wasn’t expecting that for the reason that he was so well known.

“I mean most pilots are a bit grouchy,” YN responds as she sips her coffee that has enough espresso to get her through the next ten hours, “They all seem a little miserable if I’m honest.”

Elaina laughs at that, leaning forward, “He’s not just a bit grouchy. He’s a straight up asshole. He’s probably the most unfriendly, unwelcoming person that I’ve ever met and I’ve heard from others that it’s the same. He treats everybody like they’re less than and is demanding, like everybody needs to bow down for him.”

“You’ve worked with him before?” YN asks Elaina, it sounds like she was speaking from personal experience and there was still annoyance in her tone as she recounts how she knows the captain.

“Unfortunately, I worked at Coastal Airlines for a few years before I moved here. Styles is probably around forty years old so he’s been here quite a while now. I didn’t have many experiences with him but I swear he made at least one attendant cry each flight.”

“Did he make you cry?” YN responds because that seemed to be what Elaina was insinuating as her friend picked at the foam of her cheap coffee cup.

“Once,” Elaina nods with a pursed smile, “I accidentally turned off the seatbelt sign right before major turbulence which was totally on me but Harry lost his shit on me, he wrote me a formal warning, told me that if i can’t do something as simple as button control that I should be working somewhere ‘more my speed’, and when I started crying - he fucking laughed at me for and told me I was being childish.”

“Maybe he was just having a bad day?” YN tries to justify because why would someone be so cruel for no reason, it didn’t make sense unless he was perpetually miserable.

Justine finally jumps into the conversation, “He has a bad day everyday. He usually sits down at the hotel bars for an hour or so after check-in. I’ve watched stewardess’ try to hit on him, get him to take them back to his room because even though he’s a dickhead, he’s fucking hot. A lot of the time, he just turns them down but sometimes he’ll toy with them. He’ll flirt, buy them a drink, and then laugh at them because they thought they had a chance with him.”

It’s official, YN already hates this Captain Styles, he sounds like a chauvinist pig and she hopes that she can just manage to keep a safe distance from him.

YN misses the social cues of the situation, she misses the way the other girls tense up, she misses the warning glances that they’re trying to silently give her, she misses the way their eyes widen at the doorway.

YN’s back was turned toward the door so she couldn’t see who walked in, didn’t even hear anyone, and shakes her head with a soft chuckle, “I don’t care how good looking Captain Styles is, he can fuck off if he thinks he can be an asshole to me. I’m not in the mood.”

And she was expecting some type of response from her fellow coworkers but instead they are absolute dead silence, sitting stock still, and looking down at their laps.

“Is that right?” A deep voice asks from behind her, it nearly sent chills down her spine at the tone, cool and collected but the sharp, authoritative edge was not going unnoticed by her.

YN squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment, already having a sinking feeling that it was none other than the captain, her new boss, behind her and had just heard her brave declaration.

She stands up, straightening out the pleats of her freshly ironed dress, and turns towards him.

YN feels her breathing stutter when she finally comes face to face with the man who no one has had anything good to say about and she feels a weird flip in her stomach.

They said he was hot.

But that really didn’t do any justice to the man standing in front of her.

He was hot, sure but he was devastatingly, intimidatingly handsome.

She’d never been so intimidated by someone based on their appearance alone, he was so beautiful that it was startling as he stared her down with a bored expression.

He was tall, lean but not in a scrawny way, it was obvious that he had lithe muscle on his body that was hidden away under his uniform, and said uniform fit him like an absolute glove.

Captain Styles had cropped brown curls with individual gray hairs scattered within, mostly near his temples which was the one of the only signs of his age, his eyes were a piercing green surrounding by dark lashes, and his lips were puffy, pouty, and currently in a frown.

YN realizes that he’s expecting a response and in that moment, despite his good looks, she decides that she’s not going to let herself be treated like shit because she has had enough of that from other men in her life lately.

She knows it’s only appropriate to apologize but she’s not going to grovel for his forgiveness, he could hate her because she already disliked him, and so she swallows her pride for the moment.

“I apologize, Captain Styles,” YN says clearly, not letting once ounce of anxiety slip into her tone, “That was inappropriate and uncalled for. It won’t happen again. I look forward to working with you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, studying her face and not letting the scowl leave his, its like he’s trying to look at her soul with how intent his stare is, and then he’s replying, “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same. It doesn’t seem like such a pleasure to work with you. However, I am hopeful you’re not as unpersonable with customers as you are with your superiors.”

YN’s has to stop herself from letting her mouth drop open at the harshness of his words, a ball of red hot fury beginning to build in her as she drops the faux smile from her face.

“I don’t think you have much room to talk about being unpersonable, Captain Styles,” YN tells him, making sure the words sound soft and just casual conversation even though it’s anything but - she can feel the eyes of her coworkers bulging at the confrontation.

Harry smiles brightly, his bright white teeth flashing almost dangerously at her words, “Even though it’s adorable, the attitude won’t last long. Not if you want to keep your job.”

YN doesn’t let that worry her, she could always find a job with another airline, there’s always a need and for some reason, she decides that she wants to pick a fight with this man when she’s never done something like this before.

“I’m good at my job and I’m friendly,” YN shrugs like she’s unbothered, she catches Harry’s fist clench tightly at his side in annoyance but it’s the only sign of it in his body, “I think you may be able to take some lessons from me because the latter seems pretty difficult for you, Captain.”

Harry’s eyes are dark, laser focused on her and no one else in the room, and her words don’t change his facial expression, he simply states to the room at large, “Change of plans for the flight to Heathrow,” He takes a minute to look at her name badge, “I would like Perry and YN to switch positions on today’s flight. The plane is boarding in fifteen minutes, please be prepared to board and prepare for takeoff.”

With that, he’s turning on his heel and striding right back out the door.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Elaina hisses as she smacks YN’s arm, “What the hell were you thinking?”

YN doesn’t really know what got into her, that man just brought something out in her that made her want to fight, to be a little be feisty, and get under his skin when no one else could.

“I wasn’t really,” YN admits with a nervous laugh, flopping back down on the sofa, “He’s just so arrogant, cocky. Men like that get on my nerves and I’m not going to let him treat me however he wants.”

“I have to say I’m relieved I’m no longer on cockpit duty but I’m sorry for you, it’s going to be a long flight,” Perry sighs as she sits up to throw her empty drink away.

Fuck.

“Of course,” YN shakes her head in annoyance, “Of course, he’s going to make me wait on him hand and foot now.”

“Depends, sometimes he really keeps to himself. Especially on the long flights but when he’s on a rampage, he’ll make the whole flight awful. Thanks for that,” Justine snorts but doesn’t actually seem that mad, like she knows YN is going to get the brunt of it.

“Lucky me,” YN responds sarcastically, it was about time they headed out to board.

Paradise had the nicest planes in the game, newest and most expensive, an average seat on board cost no less than a thousand dollars, and everyone had pods instead of normal seating.

It was for long flights, international which YN didn’t mind - she liked getting out of the country, sometimes she got to experience the cities for a day or so, not always.

The cockpit attendant was exactly what it sounded like, they were responsible for communicating with the pilots and then passing that message onto either the passengers or other employees.

They would ask the stewardess to check on things, give them drinks or prepare their food, and give them any updates that may be necessary for them to know.

Most flight attendants want the cockpit because it tended to be the easiest spot, didn’t have to deal with the unruly passengers much, didn’t have to be at their beck and call, and most pilots were pretty low maintances and kept communication to a minimum.

However, everyone seemed to want to face the customers for a ten hour flight than even have to talk to their pilot which wasn’t what YN had considered - it just shows how awful he is and she just subjected herself to it.

Takeoff is smooth, after a few minutes, Captain Styles’ voice filters through the intercoms where he discusses the flight, the weather, the time, and cursing altitude before wishing them a good trip.

He doesn’t bother YN until three hours in, pressing the button that signals to her that she is needed in the pit which she punches in the code and sticks her head in where Harry and his co-pilot are.

“Yes, Captain Styles?” YN uses her most professional tone because she truly wasn’t trying to get fired.

“Club soda with lemon,” Is all he responds without looking back, no please or courtesy - it was demand because he could.

“Yes sir,” YN has to make sure it doesn’t come out as sharply as she wants it, he’s already creating an itch under her skin, and its making her want to tell him off again.

She takes her time preparing the drink, no rush to be back which she’s hoping annoys him, and when she steps back into the cockpit, attempting to hand him the beverage - he doesn’t reach for it.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’d actually prefer a raspberry la croiax,” He again doesn’t make any effort to look at her and she swears she can see the slightest smirk at the corner of his lips.

“I’ll take the club soda,” The other man shrugs, taking it off of her hands so that it doesn’t go to waste, oblivious to the obvious tension in the small space.

YN knows that he’s doing it just to fuck with her, its unprofessional and immature but that shouldn’t surprise her with how much people have been warning her about him, right?

She again drags her feet and inhales deeply before reentering, hands out with the drink, and this time Harry reaches for it - she tries not to startle when their fingers brush momentarily, one of his rings bumping her.

“Miss. YN, I know I switched you position last moment,” Harry hums like he’s thoughtful, it actually makes her more irritated than when he’s blunt and cold, it like he’s playing a game right now, “But I think cockpit attendant is most likely the easiest job on this plane. If you cannot even get beverages in a timely manner than maybe you need some additional training or an even easier job.”

YN is absolutely staring daggers into the back of his head, she knows that this is usually when the other women cry or back away with their tail between their legs but YN wasn’t going to do either of those things.

She was going to kill him with kindness.

“Abolstuely, Captain Styles. I apologize for any inconvenience, I know you have such a hard job and I’m making it difficult. I’ll try better in then future, thank you for your feedback,” The fake enthusiasm is dripping into her voice and it’s obvious how much acting is put in to her demeanor.

She preens a bit when she realizes that it catches him at least a little of guard, his smirk faltering for a moment before his eyes narrow again and his nostrils are flaring, “Get out my pit.”

And YN has to contain her giggle, overjoyed that she’d managed to irk him, and it seems to do the trick as he doesn’t request anymore beverages for the rest of the flight and doesn’t interact with her nearly at all.

YN can at least give it to Captain Styles that it was a smooth flight, as they were landing and finally able to exit the aircraft - all the girls looked at her with wide eyes, most likely expecting it to look like she had cried recently but she hadn’t.

It was a tradition to dine together when they landed in a new country since Paradise made them a team and always paired them together, they were also at the same hotel which worked out for them to hang out.

Elaina, YN, Perry, and Justine were all sat in the hotel restaurant gossiping about different attendants and recounting atrocious customers when out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harry walk into.

He had changed from his uniform into a pair of loose black slacks and fitted black t-shirt as he headed straight toward the bar, he didn’t glance around to see his surroundings and slid onto a stool.

“He has no right to be that attractive when he’s that much of an asshole,” Justine grumbles, crossing her arms dramatically, “Almost every pilot sleeps around. Why is he the only one who doesn’t?”

“You don’t think he’s ever slept with one?” YN asks curiously because she doesn’t put it above Harry to do one night stands and then act like the girl didn’t even exist the next day.

“I think he was married at some point,” Perry shrugs, “And from what I know he didn’t cheat on his wife like most pilot’s do. I don’t know what happened but Brandy said she heard Harry tell one of his copilots that he was single a year back or something. So they must have gotten a divorce.”

That surprised YN, she knew that many people who worked for airlines and travel constantly tended to do quite a bit of sleeping around because they weren’t home often with their significant others.

There was a lot of cheating in this line of work.

So once again, it did throw YN through a loop that he wasn’t known as one of the serial cheaters like most pilots are - that’s not saying he didn’t cheat on his wife, he could have done it much more secretly but it’s hard to keep it that much under wraps.

“I’d divorce him too. I can’t imagine he treated his wife too well,” Justine adds in with a sip of her margarita and a chuckle, “Despite how handsome and charming he can be, he seems like a bit of a loner.”

YN was not going to feel bad for him.

The rest of the dinner goes well, Harry doesn’t turn to look at them once but he has to know they’re there - Perry and Justine got a bit rowdy towards the end of the night and their giggles were echoing through the room.

When they file out, YN glances at Harry which she doesn’t know why, and is startled to see that he’s staring at her through the mirror opposite the bar, only for a moment before he purposefully looks away.

“Fucking shit,” YN curses loudly in the empty bathroom, she’d only been back from dinner for not more than fifteen minutes and was about to hop in the shower when dropped her hairdryer right on the top of her foot as she unpacked her toiltery bag.

It was already showing signs of discoloration and there was a nice sized abrasion across the top - it was absolutely throbbing and the shower was forgotten.

She had showered before the flight and wasn’t too dirty which meant she was just going to wait until the morning.

Instead she slips into her pajamas which consisted of a plain black tank top and a pair of cotton shorts that had sushi rolls all over them - a gift from Elaina after a girls night of bad sushi which resulted in food poisoning in Japan.

YN had a bad habit of walking around barefoot, it didn’t matter whether it was her house, the woods, the hotel hallways - she’d grown up in the country and it was just a habit to not wear shoes when she didn’t have too.

She grabs the ice bucket from the countertop to go fill it with ice, she could wrap some up in a towel and ice her foot - hopefully to prevent it from swelling too much.

They had a flight back to the states tomorrow and it was another ten hour trip, they were required to wear a specific kitten-heel shoe and she knew a swollen foot would feel awful in it.

It was nearly eleven at night, she didn’t think there would be many people patrolling the hallway, and wandered out of her room down the corridor - following the signs that guided her to the ic machine.

She passes the elevators and continues down the row of room when she hears it beep and the heavy doors open, she doesn’t bother looking back because she’s sure it’s just someone going to their room.

Of course that’s not the fucking case though.

“It’s pretty disgusting to be walking around barefoot in a hotel,” A voice from behind her states with clear disdain in his low tone, “Then you get into a clean bed with filthy feet?”

YN internally groans because of course it’s him.

“Mind your own business, Captain Styles. We’re off the clock,” YN retorts back with more bite than she’s had all day as she continues to walk albeit at a slower than usual pace.

“Why are you limping? You weren’t limping earlier at the resturaunt,” Harry asks pointedly, his voice hasn’t softened and it’s like he is literally demanding the answers out of her, not asking.

Huh.

He was paying attention to her earlier.

Interesting.

“I dropped my hairdryer on my foot. I’m going to get ice for it,” YN can’t help the low but audible gasp that leaves her mouth when she steps down and a sharp pain shoots up through her already tender foot but then she feels the ice bucket being ripped out of her hand, “Hey! What the hell-“

“Quiet the fuck down, will you?” Harry hissed as he steps in front of her, cutting off her path, there was still quite a long way to go until the ice dispenser and she’d like to get this over with so she can rest her foot, “Go back to your room. I’ll bring the ice to you. What room number are you?”

He doesn’t sound like he’s doing it because he feels bad for her, his tone is making it seem like she’s being annoying and an inconvenience and if he gets her the ice then she won’t be such a bother to him - his facial expression isn’t saying anything different than that either.

“I can get my own ice,” YN tries to reach for the handle but he jerks it away childishly.

“I didn’t ask you whether you could or not. With how long it took you to bring me a fucking drink by the time you hobble back to your hotel room, the sun will be rising. Don’t make me ask again, what room number are you?” Harry grits out because he’s definitely annoyed but YN doesn’t know whether he has another state of being besides that.

“Three twenty seven,” YN mumbles defeatedly, she wasn’t going to stand in the hallway and argue any longer about a stupid bucket of ice, it pains her but she manages to say, “Thank you.”

Harry stares at her for a moment longer, frown etched onto his face, and he looks like he’s about to say something nice but then his eyebrows furrow once again and says, “Be more careful. I don’t want to have to deal with a new stewardess because you can’t walk and put some fucking shoes on.”

Then he’s sauntering off without waiting for her response and she can’t help but just look at his broad back for a moment in disbelief at what an asshole he is but there is at least some type of kindness underneath….maybe she’s imagining things because she’s tired and in pain.

There’s a knock on her door a few minutes later, she thought he’d be back with the ice sooner and she started to believe that he was purposely taking long because of what she did with his drinks on the flight earlier.

So when she swings open the door, she already has a major attitude as she snatches the bucket of ice out of his hand and scowls at him, “I know I took a long time with your drinks earlier but I’m actually in pain, its really rude of you to -“

Harry extends his hand, showing that he has a bottle of aspirin in it, “I went down to the little shop in the lobby and got this for you, didn’t know if you traveled with it but should help the swelling and pain for tomorrow’s flight.”

And YN actually feels bad because that was nice of him to do and so she sheepishly takes it, “I’m sorry I know we got off on the wrong foot. I just thoug-“

“I’m not going to be your fucking friend, save the apology or whatever you’re about to say. I do not care,” Harry shakes his head as his hands go back to his sides, “I’m looking out for my crew, nothing more.”

YN thinks she’s starting to see past his tough guy exterior even if she’s only known him for a few hours at this point.

“You bring every stewardess aspirin?” YN shoots back with a raised eyebrow.

Harry grits his teeth, jaw clenching, “I haven’t met one as clumsy or unbearable as you before.”

“It’s an honor to be the most unbearable one you’ve met in all your years of being a pilot,” YN flutters her eyelashes at him but there’s so much tension between them that she can almost taste it, she’d never felt this with someone before, “I look forward to living up to my title.”

It surprises her when Harry steps forward, their chests nearly touching, and he is looking down at her, “I’m not someone you want to fuck with, do you understand me? Listen to your little friends when they tell you about me, it’s all true.”

“I’m not scared of you,” YN shakes her head defiantly, crossing arms and bumping his chest just barely in the process but he doesn’t move back yet.

“I never said anything about being scared of me,” Harry responds almost conversationally, if he leaned forward just a bit more their lips would be connecting and….

And what the fuck.

No, YN, No.

“I don’t understand why you’re such a miserable asshole,” YN responds tightly, trying to reign in her thoughts, “But you’re going to have a hell of a time trying to make me fucking bow to you.”

Harry doesn’t like that, not one bit because he nearly snarls, and bites out, “You’re not going to last long on my crew. I’ll make fucking sure of that. I won't fire you but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to quit.”

YN finally snaps at that, this arguement clearly going no where, and she would have thrown the aspirin back at him but she actually did need it so as she reaches for the door handle to close it, she makes sure to let him know, “Fuck you.”

Harry's face transforms into a sickeningly sweet smile, dimples popping in his cheeks as he steps out of the room and into the hallway, “It’s been a lovely first day working with you, Miss YN. If you want to be intimidating, you might want to try it when you’re not wearing pajama shorts with sushi rolls on them.”

And with that, he’s disappearing down the hall.

As expected, the next day YN’s foot was swollen which made getting her feet into the kitten heels exceptionally hard this morning, her foot was already pulsating in pain by the time they got to the airport.

When they’re in the staff room, checking any updates for the flight, there’s a collective sigh of relief when positions are posted before they all look over at YN, she doesn’t even have to look to know what they’re thinking.

“You really pissed him off,” Elaina states as she frowns at her friend, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Styles put the same attendant on cockpit for two flights in a row.”

YN was relieved in all honesty because she was going to be able to sit more than the others and she’d rather not be on her feet for hours on end with her bruising in the just the very beginning of the healing phase.

“It’s because I’m not going to take his bullshit,” YN responds with another sip of her strong coffee, “I can see why he makes people cry, he’s a jerk but I'm not going to let him win with me. He gets on my last nerve so I’m going to make sure to get on his.”

“And if he fires you from his crew?” Perry asks and it’s clear that she’s trying to tell YN to cool it with the attitude because they really don’t want to see their friends lose her job.

YN almost spills about the conversation her and Harry had last night, how he doesn’t want anybody new on his flights which makes her somewhat confident that he won't get rid of her easily but she wasn't going to tell her friends about that interaction.

Instead she tries to come off as nonchalant as possible when she shrugs her shoulders, “So be it. I’m not going to kiss his ass for this job.”

Elaina and Justine are giving her the same disapproving looks like they don’t want to see the Rama unfold which will most likely end in YN getting the boot as it was much easier to replace a flight attendant than a pilot.

It must be tradition for Harry to come into the staff room before the flights to let them know that boarding is happening soon and if there’s anything that they need to be aware of.

When he walks in today, he notices how the others straighten up and sit more proper than they were before, giving the captain their full attention and YN can’t help but roll her eyes.

She knows it's outwardly rude but she doesn’t put her phone away when he begins to speak about the potential weather hazards and turbulence that may occur on the upcoming flight.

YN wants to smile because she can feel the daggers that Harry is boring into her as he speaks and she blatantly lets him know how uninterested she is in what he has to say.

After he is done speaking, he asks if there’s any questions or anything that the staff needs and they all respond pretty much in unison saying ‘ no Captain’ everyone except YN.

YN has never, not once been so insubordinate at work, she fucking thrived on being a model employee and for the life of her, she could not explain the brattiness that Harry brought out in her.

She was having fun making him angry and she’s never been that type of person, it was like she was also enjoying his attention even though it was negative but YN wouldn’t admit that.

It seems pretty easy to rile him up, get him on-edge, his bullshit tolerance was seemingly low which made it easy for YN to succeed.

“Miss YN, I’d like to see you privately. Now,” Harry orders with no budge, he hasn’t raised his voice but the words are distinct and pronounced.

“She’s just having a bad day,” Elaina, always the good friend, tries to justify because she’s definitely afraid that YN is about to get fired, “She doesn’t usu-“

“Did I ask you?” Harry snaps at the women, his eyes fiery now with confrontation, “Did I ask for your opinion? I think I can do my job just fine without your input, stewardess.”

He managed to make the job title seem less than or demeaning in the way it came out but Elaina’s eyes go wide in surprise and she instantly quiets back down.

“If you find it necessary to try to tell me how to manage my crew, you can start looking for another airline to work for,” Harry threatens but his gaze is already back on YN, her heart absolutely sinks when she hears Elaina start to sniffle to hold back tears.

That was the normal effect that he had on others, a few really harsh and threatening words would make them cry because they were scared of him and his wrath.

YN pats Elaina’s thigh, in a silent ‘thank you’ for trying to stick up for her but she pushes herself off the couch, quickly hiding the grimace when her foot reminds her it’s injured and grabs the handle of her heavy luggage.

“Fifteen minutes,” Harry tells the rest of them before he’s going back out the door but this time with YN in tow, again slower than usual as she’s trying to manage this bruised foot in heels.

Harry doesn’t take her far, just down the hall to an empty conference room and shuts the door - she wants to smile with how angry he seems to be but she also hates how handsome he was when he was like this.

His jaw was clenched but it showed off how defined and cut it was, his puffy lips were pouty and a bit swollen from biting them, and he made his shoulders as broad as possible like he was trying to puff up in defense.

“I think it’s a fucking record,” Harry almost growls as he crosses his arms, putting his hat on the table, “I don’t think I’ve ever despised a stewardess as quickly as you. How have you gotten anywhere in life with that spoiled attitude?”

“I could ask the same,” YN raises her eyebrow because he doesn’t have room to talk on attitude, “I’m not normally like this. You just bring out the absolute worst in me.”

“Good to know I have such an effect on you,” Harry smiles smugly, his teeth gleaming and those same dimples popping, “That I can get you so worked up.”

It definitely had a double meaning laced in those words.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” YN laughs like he’s told the funniest joke, “You’re not as great as you think you are. I’m not impressed.”

And bingo.

That must strike a nerve with him.

YN can already tell nobody ever tells him that.

His teasing smile drops into something stormier, “Cut the bullshit now. When I’m talking, you listen and pay attention, you’re not some silly little teenager who can’t take a moment away from her phone. I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to be disrespected so blatantly in front of my crew.”

YN’s insides sorta twist at that because when he lays it out like that, it was really fucking rude of her and just because they’re having issues doesn’t give her the right to be so outwardly disrespectful in front of the crew.

She actually means it when she says, “I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise like he’s surprised that she sincerely apologized but it relaxes him a bit after the apology, shoulders dropping just the slightest, and YN’s mind starts to drift on what his broad shoulders look like underneath the perfectly pressed uniform…

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

But god, even if YN couldn’t stand his personality, she really couldn’t deny how fucking attracted she was to him, it would be hard not to with how beautiful he is.

It helps to know that he doesn’t sleep with people he works with which means that she could fully keep this a fantasy.

“See you can be an obedient little puppy,” Harry lets the condescending tone lace through his words.

YN has to clench her fists by her side to avoid smacking the ever living shit out of him.

“Go fuck yourself,” YN hisses because he’s now managed to completely piss her off, “I take back my god damn apology. You absolute douchebag.”

Harry smiles again, eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights because he got the reaction he wanted out of her, and watches in amusement when YN grabs her luggage handle and though she can’t storm out of the room as she’d like with her foot, she exits without another word.

When she’s a bit down the hall, she stops, leaning against the wall as removes her shoe, massaging at the tender skin that was already pulsing from being in the heel.

It felt good to have it off for a moment but of course, Harry decides to come the same way down the hall which makes YN cut her rest short and slip back on her heel without looking at him.

As she starts back down the hallway, almost like yesterday night, the handle of her suitcase is pried from her hand by none other than Harry as he strolls down the hall, “What the fuc-“

“Keep your voice down,” Harry chides sharply, taking the duffle off her shoulder and swinging it over hers, “We’ll never make it to board on time with you limping around like this. C’mon, I don’t like being late and you’re going to make me.”

YN’s argument dies on her tongue because it’s actually very nice of him to be lugging her suitcase and duffel which they don’t say anything else but when they get inside the plane - Harry tucks them away for her too.

She’s relieved none of her friends are on board yet because she knew they would have a ton of questions if they saw what just happened.

And YN would not have a fucking clue how to explain it.

The next three months go on basically the same since being on the same flight crew with Harry, they would constantly go at it before flights, Harry would drag her into a private room and they’d argue a bit before he’d take her luggage to the terminal for her.

They never interacted at the hotel restaurant or bar but they happened to bump into each other a lot as YN made it a habit to get ice at night around the same time and they both never mentioned how Harry was magically coming up to his room at that time and would walk to the ice machine and back to her room together.

As time went on, the night walks with Harry, there wasn’t always much conversation, occasionally bitching about an unruly passenger or an idiot staff member, quite a bit of jabbing and poking at each other but it didn’t seem so filled with hatred anymore.

It wasn’t a pleasant relationship at all, they were both pretty awful to each other and YN typically ended every conversation they had with a ‘fuck you’ or some variation of it but now there were some not so hostile moments mixed in between them.

They weren’t friends, not even cordial really but YN knew that she had a closer relationship to Harry than anyone else on the crew and she’d had kept that hidden from her friends.

She didn’t want them to get the wrong impression, she knew they would jump to the conclusion that they were hooking up or that she liked him in that way - it was better to keep it on the down low even if there really wasn’t much to report.

It had been a late flight in, everyone had eaten one of the lackluster meals on the plane, and headed up to their hotel room the moment they landed to go to sleep.

YN was on the same boat, not bothering to get the unnecessary ice tonight, and she’s just stepped into her room when her phone buzzes with a text message from her friend back home.

Micah: What a dick. I didn’t even know he was in a new relationship, let alone that serious. [image attachment]

YN opens the conversation to a screenshot from Noah’s instagram, she’d blocked him after he refused to let her see the dogs anymore, and it was a picture of his most recent post.

He was holding a girl she didn’t recognize, her legs wrapped around Noah’s hips and her left hand held up to their face where they’re kissing, and a prominent diamond sat on her finger.

The caption was something sickeningly sweet about her saying ‘yes’ and how excited he is for the rest of their lives together.

They hadn’t even been broken up for an entire year yet.

One of the main reasons that they broke up in the first place was because after six years, YN was ready to settle down and get married but he said that he just didn’t want that right now and he wasn’t sure if he ever really wanted to get married.

It turns out that he just really didn’t want to marry her.

God, she was over him but the rejection still fucking stung.

She deletes the photo from the conversation so she doesn’t have to look at it any longer and she can’t go back to hyperfixate on it later but she felt like a bus just hit her suddenly as she sat in her empty hotel room.

YN wipes her eyes roughly, refusing to let herself cry over it, and instead, she does something she typically never does while she’s traveling for work - she slips on her shoes and heads right down to the hotel bar to get drunk.

The flight the next day wasn’t until noon so she didn’t have to roll out of bed super early and she just wanted to feel numb right now which alcohol had a great way of doing.

It was a bit busy for a weeknight, quite a few businessmen scattered around the lounge, a few couples, and a few lone people like herself when she sits down on a bar stool and orders Long Island.

YN wasn’t a light weight per se but it really didn’t take her much to be feeling good and by her third one, she was feeling warm and fuzzy, not as awful as she felt an hour earlier.

She was drunk, not to the point of blacking out or being belligerent but enough that she was ready to curl into bed and have a night long sleep and pray not to have a nasty hangover.

YN’s just ordered her fourth, a bit surprised that the bartender allowed it but she wasn’t showing any sign of being smashed, and then someone slid up beside her, close to where their shoulders brushed.

It was stupid but momentarily she wished it was Harry, thought it would be him but she frowns when it's one of the businessmen from the lounge that is grinning at her.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks even though he can see that she has a completely full one right in front of her.

“I’m good, thank you,” YN tells him without much kindness in her tone to let him know that she’s not interested in whatever he wants from her but that doesn’t seem to deter her.

“C’mon, just one? It’d be a crime not to buy a drink for someone so gorgeous,” He lays it on hard, he wasn’t sitting and he was too much in her space for her liking.

“I said no,” YN replies firmly, it was obvious in her body language that he was making her uncomfortable but he really didn’t seem to care.

“Are you married? What’s the big fuckin’ deal? I don’t see a ring on your finger, just have a drink-“ The man pushes, angrier as he realizes that he’s being rejected, YN ignores the wedding band on his finger.

“Is there an issue here?” A startling loud voice states from behind them and YN slumps in relief when she realizes that it was Harry.

“Who the fuck are you?” The businessman retorts, puffing up his chest and posturing like he was ready for a fight.

“Her husband,” Harry lies easily, he’s not as worked up as the man he’s confronted but he doesn't need to be - his presence and the way he holds himself is ten times more intimidating than the other man.

The businessman looks between the two of them before rolling his eyes, snatching his freshly ordered beer off the counter and going back to the table with his friends.

“Thanks for that,” YN tells him as she goes to take a sip of her drink.

Harry doesn’t allow her, intercepting the glass and putting it back on the bar, “You’re drunk. I think you’ve had enough to drink. It’s time for you to get to bed.”

YN frowns at the full drink, she can’t help the spoiled whine in the back of her throat, “But I want it.”

Harry surprisingly lets out a soft laugh, his hand coming to her shoulder and his thumb rubs a circle for a moment before he’s pulling back - realizing what he did but doesn’t lose his smile, “I know you do, seem to be really enjoying them but I think it’s time for you to get back to your room.”

“Mm, a few more sips,” YN coos which isn’t her normal behavior but she was drunk, she couldn’t be blamed for being a bit flirty with the prettiest man she’d ever seen, “S’good and sugary, make me forget.”

Harry’s brow furrows, “That’s an awful reason to drink. What are you trying to forget?”

YN shakes her head as she begins to pull out her wallet, grabbing a few bills but she stops when Harry directly hands the bartender enough to cover it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” YN mumbles because she doesn’t know why he was being nice to her.

“I know I didn’t, come on,” Harry replies, he gently holds her shoulder as she clumsily gets off the bar still and when she stumbles, Harry wraps his arm around her waist but just barely touching her to guide her, “You’re a sloppy drunk, aren’t you?”

YN pouts at that as they leave the bar, “I don’t drink a lot. I don’t think I’ve gotten drunk in the last year or two.”

“Why now?” Harry asks as he presses the button up when YN starts to tilt - the hand on her back finally moves to her hip, gripping her with more pressure to keep her standing.

YN snorts unattractively, her eyes were getting bleary and heavy, she was getting tired which happened when she drank liquor.

“Like you care why I’m sad,” YN scoffs as they’re stepping into the lift, he leans forward to press the number to their floor.

Harry pauses for a moment, he doesn’t tell her he cares but instead repeats more firmly, “Tell me what’s going on. I’m sick of asking.”

“My ex just got engaged,” YN whispers and fuck, she feels tears begin to prick at her eyes as she say it out loud.

“He’s your ex for a reason, why are you upset?” Harry responds but he doesn’t seem judgemental but curious.

“I was with him for six years. We broke up two months into this job. He said he didn’t want to be tied down, he didn’t think he ever wanted to get married, and he didn’t want me waiting around for a ring and babies,” YN swallows as she wipes at her cheeks, mascara was definitely starting to rub, “Less than a year later, he’s already proposed to a girl he barely knows. I don’t know why I wasn’t good enough for him. I was a good partner.”

Harry’s silent as the elevator goes up, his hand doesn’t leave her hip even though she’s not swaying but she appreciates it's ground her and makes everything seem a little less worse.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally says and he doesn’t sound like he’s being condescending - it actually sounds like he means it, “I cannot imagine what that feels like to go through. I can’t imagine why he would do that. You’re smart, intelligent-“

“Don’t act like you don’t hate me, Harry. Just to make me feel better,” YN butts in because she doesn’t need him to butter her up when she knows he doesn’t mean those things.

“I don’t hate you,” Harry’s voice is deep but quieter than it usually is, “You get on my nerves nearly every fuckin’ second of the day but that doesn’t mean that I don’t see how smart, quick-witted, beautiful you are.”

YN bites her lip because she didn’t realize that she needed to hear that, it’s been a long while since she’s got a compliment, and in about the year leading up to ending her relationship with Noah - he’d never say anything nice like this.

“Thank you, I-I haven’t heard anything nice like that in a while,” YN tells him as she continues to swipe away tears and look down at her feet because she can feel Harry’s eye watching her and she’s embarrassed she’s responding this way.

“You should be hearing those things everyday,” He sighs and squeezes the plush of her hip kindly, guiding her again when the elevator at or door opens, “I know it’s a bit ironic considering our style of communication but I do mean those things.”

YN tells him her room number and they begin walking down the left of the hallway, her mind is fuzzy but feels a little more clear after their conversation, “It’s fine, I’m just as bad and I started it for the most part. I don’t expect to hear those things from you.”

As they wind up at her door, Harry steps back and puts his hands into his pockets, “I should be nicer to you but I hate to admit I enjoy getting under your skin and making you angry. You’re quite pretty when you're pissed at me.”

And YN’s mind goes to insecurity right away because she knows that Harry doesn’t like her even though he said he doesn’t hate her, he has no reason to be this nice to her and even though they’ve had moments through the past months of niceness …

She doesn’t know what makes her blurt this out and she wishes she could swallow it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

“Are you trying to be all nice to sleep with me or something? Then you’ll be a dick again once you get what you want?” YN’s words are just a bit slurred but hold a somewhat curious, somewhat accusing tone as she watches him.

The small smile that had been on his face for their conversation drops and in its place was a frigid scowl and before he even spoke, she knew that she had offended him but the way his shoulders tense up and he takes another step back from her.

“You know what’s fucked up? I finally try to put myself out there just the littlest bit for you and all you can think is that I want to fuck you? You think that lowly of me?” Harry’s soft whispers were gone and back was the cold, emotionless bravado that echoed off the empty hallway walls, “That I was just trying to use you?”

“I-Harry, I didn-no, I didn’t,” YN begins to stumble because unlike their usual back and forth arguing that dissipates in meaningless banter, this wasn’t that - she had actually upset him and that was never her intention.

“Save it your bullshit apology,” Harry replies to cut her off, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in how idiotic he’s been, “I’m done trying if this is where it fucking gets me. I knew it wasn’t fucking worth it.”

And with that, he’s storming away from her without another word and he doesn’t look back as she stares after him dumbfounded at what the fuck just happened.

The flight the next day home, Harry puts her back on the back crew which was the further position away from the cockpit who dealt with the consumers in the back of the aircraft.

Her friends congratulate her on getting away from the pit because they didn’t know anything about how Harry and hers relationship has developed but all she could feel was anxiety about how much she’d fucked up.

He doesn’t come into the staff room before takeoff and is already in the pit when the stewardess’ board, YN doesn’t see him until the crew is heading off the plane.

Harry makes it clear he’s looking for no interaction as he hustles through the terminal with long strides.

They have a three day break and during that time, YN isn’t even thinking about Noah and his new engagement that originally had her so torn up in the first place.

All she could think about was Harry.

She had a wishful thinking that the time off would heal the wounds and they’d be back to normal but she knew that wasn’t the case when Harry put her again on the back crew.

She did not see him throughout the flight once again and stayed behind while the stewardess got off the aircraft when they landed which meant YN knew she wasn’t going to see him.

He makes a habit of this for the next three flights as well before YN can’t take it anymore, knowing that he’s actively avoiding her because she’d hurt his feelings.

He didn’t come to the hotel bar, he didn’t meet her in the hallway for their ice run, and it was more devastating than YN though which made her come to the frightening revelation that she might have a crush on the man she’d been mostly enemies with for over six months now.

She missed interacting with him, she missed fighting with him.

She missed the way his jaw clenched when she made him irritated, the way he looked like he wanted to reach out and manhandle her when she purposely ignored him when he called for her on flights and he had to come out of the pit, or the way he would squeeze her wrist lightly sometimes as a thank you when she would bring him a drink.

YN didn’t want to admit to herself that she felt something, maybe it wasn’t full blown feelings but just a smidge of fondness for the grumpy bastard.

And maybe part of it was that she felt special, Harry didn’t soften for anyone else but her and even though she didn’t tell her friends about it - she knew they were suspicious that YN was constantly on pit duty or that she hasn’t gotten fired after how sassy she can be to her captain.

After the fourth flight of no sign of communication, YN decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands because she didn’t know what she wanted with Harry but she didn’t expect it to suck this much when he didn’t engage with her.

They’re in Milan and when Harry doesn’t show up at the hotel bar, well YN wasn’t expecting him to at this point, and she needed to figure out what hotel room he was in.

She’d normally never be so deceptive but she was desperate, she walks straight up to the front desk and tells a bold-face lie to the young receptionist.

“My boss left his phone at the bar,” YN lies, flashing her own phone quickly, “I completely forgot what room he said he was in. Would you be able to tell me?”

The girl doesn’t think anything of it as she looks up the information, letting YN know what room and YN is thanking her before walking determinedly to the elevators.

It’s late by this point, nearing eleven and she was praying that he wasn’t asleep as she stepped up to his door, her heart was pounding out of her chest at the mere thought of being rejected.

It takes a good three minutes before she finally musters up the courage to knock on the door a few times - god, she didn’t even know what she wanted to say to him.

There’s a bit of rustling behind the door, YN wonders if he’s going to open it - there’s no peephole on these ones and her breathing freezes when he swings open the door.

He was in a pair of gray joggers that were low on his hips, the band of his underwear peeking over but the main thing was that he was shirtless and he had tattoos everywhere.

Her brain couldn’t tell if it wanted to focus on memorizing the black ink on his skin or the definition of his stomach, a trail of sparse hair leading from his belly button into his underwear.

Harry doesn’t give anything away from his face, blunt and cold, “Can I help you?”

“I want to say I’m sorry,” YN decides that is the best place to start, “You were kind to me that night and before that even, it wasn’t right over me to insinuate you were doing it for an inappropriate reason.”

“I don’t need a fucking apology, I don’t care,” Harry bites out and YN knows that his guard is a hundred percent up by the way his posture is uncomfortable and defensive.

“You do care,” YN replies surely, “If it hadn’t bothered you, you wouldn’t have been ignoring me for the three weeks. I hurt your feelings and I’m sorry because it wasn’t my intention.”

Harry doesn’t deny it again but he doesn’t admit to it either, instead he grits out, “It doesn’t matter either way.”

“It matters to me,” YN argues back, now getting defensive.

“It shouldn't,” Harry’s voice is back to being louder, firmer.

YN bit her lip for a moment, deciding on how vulnerable she felt like being with the man who showed absolutely none himself, “I’ve missed you these past weeks. I miss fighting with you on the flights, I miss our nightly ice machine walks, and you giving me a hard time in the staff room before takeoff.”

Harry’s lips twitch before he’s pulling them in a tight line, “I accept your apology.”

“Are you done ignoring me?” YN presses because this doesn’t feel resolved and she’s never had the urge to want to touch someone so much.

“For now,” Harry’s lips barely tilt into a smile.

It’s quiet between the two for a long pause, staring at each other, and YN doesn’t know what she wants but she feels like she’s just standing there like an idiot, “Well, goodnight. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

Harry’s eyes dart back up to hers, she realizes that he’d been checking her out, and he doesn’t show any shame in being caught before nodding, “We are. Goodnight.”

YN turns towards her room, the door closing softly behind her but she pauses after a few steps because she’s never been adventurous, she’s never been bold, and she might be making a mistake but fuck, she has to just try.

She’s retracing her steps, knocking on the door harshly, and it was like Harry hadn’t gone back further into the room yet because he opens it up quickly.

They don’t say anything before YN steps forward, heart pounding in her ears, and leans up - pressing their lips together and letting her hand rest on his cheek.

It flips a switch in him because he’s pulling her into his room, shutting and locking the door before walking her right into the entryway wall - his lips were persistent and taking over as he coaxes her mouth open to lick into it.

He knocks her hand away from his face but only so he can take hers between his hands, cupping her jaw on each side tightly as he moves her head how he wants to deepen the kiss.

YN’s never been kissed like this in her life, she’d never been more aroused either.

Harry presses his hips forward until their pelvises are pressed together, he wants her to feel how hard he’s getting as pressed against her and bites at her bottom lip.

YN whines at that, her hands coming up to roam over his chest, it was so defined and muscular, not what she was used to - Harry was hard and firm where Noah had been soft and plusher.

When she thumb brushes over his nipple, his pec twitches and she has to do it a few more times until she gets her fill.

He wasn’t shy when he sucked on her tongue, licked at the roof of her mouth, and made her feel like he wanted to feel every single part of her as he moved down to the hem of her shirt.

He pulls back with his lips a delicious bubblegum pink, swollen and shiny from their spit, “What do you want? Do you want me to stop?”

That’s the last thing she wants.

YN shakes her head, “Don’t want to stop, please.”

Harry smiles at her, it’s a softer expression than she’s ever seen from him and he leans forward, nuzzling her cheek for a moment before dragging her in for another long kiss.

“Can I undress you then, pup?” Harry murmurs against her lips as he starts to bring up the bottom of her shift but slowly enough that if she told him no, he would stop.

“Please, just want you,” YN agrees breathlessly when she tries to move to the button of her jeans, Harry knocks her hand away with an annoyed grunt and glare.

“Let me do everything, I just want you to enjoy it. Don’t worry, you’ll get all of me. I’ll give you anything you fuckin’ want,” Harry tells her as he sheds her top, then bra.

He looks torn for a second like he can’t decide whether he wants to play with her chest or continue until she’s fully bare but he decides against the latter, cursing as he pulls down her pants, “Knew you’d have the cutest tits.”

“You’ve thought about this?” YN questions as he moves to discard her underwear.

“Of course I fucking have, it’s all I’ve thought about for the past month. No, I wasn’t doing any of those things to get in your pants but it didn’t mean I didn’t want to fuck you,” Harry’s voice is getting deeper and raspier as he’s gets more and more turned on, “On the bed.”

Noah’s the only guy that YN’s ever been with.

It was uncomfortable to have such a devastatingly attractive man standing in front of her when she didn’t feel anywhere as sexy as him.

The worry only stays for a moment because when she’s spread out in the middle of his bed, he’s tracing every inch of her skin, and moans loudly as he moves to squeeze himself once, “I think this is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. God, you’re like a little angel, aren’t you?”

“Come here,” YN whimpers, reaching out for him because she needs to touch him and he obliges eagerly, he’s tugging off his joggers but keeping his underwear on as he crawls over the bed and on top of her.

Harry finds her lips again, dropping his hips to grind against her center, and it feels so fucking good, just this contact through two layers of clothing and it all like a new experience to her - she never felt this with Noah.

Harry’s mouth moves but he’s not just kissing, he’s licking at her, sucking, and biting all over her jawline then neck until he gets to her chest where he lets a pleased hum when he cups them.

“Puppy, how are you this perfect, hm?” Harry coos as he leans down to graze his teeth against her hard nipple, “Pretty little thing coming to my room, begging for me to touch her, and then you show off this body? Maybe I should ignore you more often.”

YN turns her head and bites meanly at his hand which makes him chuckle and kiss the curve of her breast in apology before he’s wrapping his lips around one, fingers coming to pinch and roll the other one.

“Fuck,” YN gasps because he definetly knows how to use his mouth and her back arches involuntarily, pressing herself further into him, and trying to grind her hips up against where he’s hard, wishing he could slip between her folds like this.

Harry leaves them wet and hard as his lips continue down the center of sternum, down on her belly and she’d never thought it would feel good to have someone nip and suck at her plush but it did.

When he starts to move even further down, closer to her pubic bone, she freezes which Harry can tell right away by the hand on his shoulder tightens and her legs still from where they were restless.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” Harry asks with concern as he sits up more on his elbows to make eye contact with her - she didn’t know how he managed to look so cute and so obscene at the same time with worried eyes and puffy lips.

“You-I just,” YN stutters and she wants to smack herself for being an idiot because she should have known that it would lead like this but softly, she says, “You don’t have to…you know, do that.”

“Do what?” Harry replies with confusion, his fingers were still tracing mindless patterns on her tummy, thumb smoothing at the skin.

YN groans in embarrassment, she could feel her face getting hot, “You know…I’m just saying you don’t have to…,” Her eyes dart down to her lower half so that maybe he gets the hint.

“What? Eat your cunt?” Harry clarifies and of course he’d be this fucking crass in bed, she shouldn’t have expected anything less, “Do you not want me to? If you don’t want me to, I don't have to.”

“It’s not that,” YN wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“You’re acting like it would be a chore to me. I am one hundred percent sure that I’ll get just as much pleasure from tasting you on my tongue, getting my face in your perfect little cunt. Now what’s the issue?”

“You’re going to laugh,” YN mutters and she wishes she would have just kept her stupid mouth shut at this point.

“Tell me now,” He’s gone demanding again, his fingers pressing harder into her skin now.

“I’ve just never had it done to me before,” She admits finally, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over her eyes to hide the absolute embarrassment of it all.

Harry crawls back up on top of her, forcefully moving her arm until they’re making eye contact, “I thought you were in a relationship for six years?”

“I was,” YN sighs as she curls her hand around his neck, “He said that men didn’t really do that often and he told me that he didn’t want to put his mouth on me and I never wanted to make him uncomfortable so we never did that.”

“Your ex is a selfish little prick,” Harry rasps against her lips, his hand moving down until he has his thumb pressed snug up against her clit which makes her twitch, “You get this excited from my thumb? You better not tell me he didn’t give you fingers either.”

“He didn’t want to do that either,” YN mewls when he starts a slow circular motion on her nerves.

“If it was possible, I’d have my mouth on your cunt and you riding my fingers every fucking day of the week,” Harry rumbles as he moves back down her body, “He’s a fucking dickhead who didn’t deserve you for a million different reasons. Do you want me to or no? I will understand either way.”

“Want it, Harry. I want it,” YN nearly slurs with how fucking turned on she is, her hips squirming again, and Harry gives her a dazzling fucking smile as he scotches down the bed.

He’s shouldering her thighs apart even further before he’s gripping the meat of one to keep her knee crooked and open as he groans like he’s getting pleasure from simply looking at her.

“God, I don’t think I’m going to survive this. I’ve never seen something this breathtaking before,” Harry says as he thumbs her folds apart, admiring her for another moment before he’s ducking down to bury his tongue tight up against her clit.

And holy shit.

She didn’t realize that this was what she had been missing.

Her legs try to close around his head but he keeps them spread and his other hand comes down the rest around her middle to keep her hips down.

He knows exactly what to do as he laps fat strokes of his tongue up from her core to her clit, over and over while YN is still relentlessly is trying to grind her hips up.

Harry pulls back which makes YN whine but he simply says, “Should have known what a brat you’d be in bed with how you are at work. Stay still now and let me do what I want to you. I promise it’ll feel good, baby.”

And his voice is so strict, demanding that she does finally relax into his hold which he rewards with fucking his tongue into her.

“M’close, Harry. Feels s’good,” YN moans as her stomach clenches.

“Come on, pup,” Harry coos against her, “Give me what I’ve earned, yeah?”

She’s almost disappointed she feels her orgasm coming because she doesn’t want to be over but Harry’s mouth is practiced and self-assured, he keeps the same pace throughout her orgasm which makes it longer by a few seconds.

YN melts into the mattress, body feeling loose and tingly as she comes down for her high, and her brows furrow when she sees Harry push down his briefs and begin to stroke himself with intent.

YN weakly kicks his thigh with a pout, “Don’t.”

Harry doesn’t stop but he slows down which gives YN a look at just how well endowed he is and to no surprise, mouth-wateringly beautiful.

“Don’t get myself off?”

“Fuck me,” YN breathes out, surprising herself with her boldness.

Harry’s hand stops, “Yeah? You’d let me get you on my cock, puppy? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

And….

YN wants to preen at the compliment, after feeling like she didn’t deserve anything to hear Harry say that made her stomach flutter even if it was just dirty talk.

“How do you want it?” Harry asks as he comes closer again, ducking down to kiss at her knees, thighs, and he peppers kisses over her mound which feels wildly more intimate than anything she’d ever done with Noah.

“However you want,” YN murmurs shyly because her only experience is Noah and they had a vanilla sex life to say the least, a whole lot of doggy and her riding him so he didn’t have to do any work.

Harry laughs at that, lips vibrating against her belly, “I’ll take you anyway you’ll let me. What do you like most? What makes you come hard?”

YN doesn’t have an answer to this because she’s never had an orgasm from penetrative sex before without her own fingers rushing to get her there so he doesn’t finish first and leave her hanging.

Harry is obviously experienced and so it doesn’t make her proud to have to feel inexperienced at this moment.

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry huffs out even though she didn’t say anything, he takes a moment to nip at her hip, “You’re telling me this fucker never got you off? Please tell me this is a joke.”

YN tries to cover her face again but he wraps his hands around her wrist and pulls them away, “This is so embarrassing.”

“It is,” Harry agrees easily, “For him. Can’t believe you were with him for six years and he couldn’t even make you come. You’re telling me she was neglected this whole time,” Harry frowns as his thumb comes back to her clit, “Should be a crime.”

“I mean I did get off but I had to….get myself there,” YN starts to wiggle again, wanting to chase the friction from his movement.

“I’d love to watch you do that sometime but tonight, you’re not going to have to lift a finger,” Harry tells her confidently before he’s positioning himself above her, lips brushing hers but not quite kiss as he lines himself up and she wraps her legs around his narrow waist, “I like this position. I want to see how gorgeous you are when you come.”

YN brings a hand up to his curls, knotting her fingers in the strands, and brings his lips fully against hers as he pushes in, it doesn’t hurt but it definitely takes a minute to adjust as Harry was much more blessed in the department than Noah was and she hadn’t had sex for over six months.

“Wait wait,” YN pants out, pulling back, “I -I’m on birth control but are you clean?”

Harry smirks at her like she’s asked something funny, “I’m clean. I got tested after my last partner.”

“Me too,” YN replies, relieved that they don’t have to stop.

Harry resumes kissing her but when he’s finally all the way in, his breathing stutters and he lets out a low whine that makes YN throb - like she felt so good to him that he couldn’t stand it.

“Harry, you feel so good,” YN mewls as he starts a slow but powerful rhythm, she was turned on to the point where she could hear it as he thrusted in and out.

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever felt, pup,” Harry praises and she doesn’t know whether it’s just the dirty talk, it most likely is but it still makes her feel empowered, sexy.

It becomes to much when he starts to pick up the pace to continue kissing, every other breathe out of YN’s mouth was a moan and he moves down to wrap his lips around her nipple and his hands came under her bum - positioning her more upwards so her backside was off the bed and he could slide in perfectly.

The change in position made him hit a spot she’d only heard about in her body, on every odd motion he would nudge it, and she was going to come again without any stimulation on her clit.

“Ha-Harry,” YN moans louder than she’s ever been and he pulls back from her breasts as he’s staring at her now, eyes studying her face.

“Oh baby, are you close f’me? Am I doing a good job?” Harry’s voice isn’t as steady as before either, there was a bead of sweat on his temple, and his chest was pink with arousal.

“Yeah, I’m close-“ YN doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before she’s squeezing around him, shaking as he keeps his pace to work her through it, and she’s a little dazed that she misses when Harry stills inside her - letting out his own filthy noises and praises as he comes down too.

YN didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t for Harry to collapse his full weight on top of her and nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck for a moment, kissing her pulse point before rolling off.

She doesn’t want to assume that she can sleep here, she still needs to take off her makeup and she doesn’t have pajamas, and she feels anxiety creeping in which makes her get off the bed.

Harry lays on his back, one arm above his head, stomach flexing as he catches his breath, unashamed as he lays on full display because he has to know how beautiful he is.

“Where are you going?” Harry frowns as he watches her gather her scattered clothes.

“Um…back to my room? I have to take off my makeup, change,” And she didn’t want to mention showering because she wasn’t going to sleep after he'd come inside her.

“You don’t have to, I don’t want you to think that I’m kicking you out,” Harry sits up more, reaching for his briefs before his joggers and standing up to go over to his luggage to rummage for a shirt, “Let me walk you back at least.”

“Walk of shame,” YN half-jokes as she pulls her top over her head, bra crumpled in her hand because she didn’t feel like putting it back on.

“There’s was nothing shameful about how fucking well you took it,” Harry gives her a cheeky smile as he grabs his keycard, her room was only a few doors down.

When she unlocks her door, she turns around with her hand on the handle, and doesn’t know what to say but Harry’s leaning down to kiss her softly this time, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

And when YN steps inside her room, closing the door behind her, she knows she’s royally screwed because that was the best sex of her life and now she knows for sure she has a fat fucking crush on Harry.

The first month after their original hookup was filled with more sex, it wasn’t every night but at least every other time they had to stay in a hotel - Harry would find his way into YN’s room and they’d have amazing sex each time.

He had her constantly on pit crew and they still bickered back and forth but it wasn’t as heated and it turned more into teasing than actual fights anymore which YN surprisingly didn’t mind.

YN felt like she’d gotten to know just bare minimum about Harry while she’d be pouring her heart out when the right moment hit, and he didn’t stay the night but he’d hang around for a bit before leaving her room.

It was also the month that YN realized that she didn’t just like vanilla sex and Harry had made her realize that very quickly because before him, she’d never had sex anywhere but in bed and a few times in a shower.

It had been an evening flight out, their flight had got delayed due to a gnarly thunderstorm which meant they would be stranded at the airport for another three hours before their plane came in.

Harry never spent time in the employee lounge, pilots had their own area which was rumored to be substantially nicer than the one that YN was currently sitting in.

They still have two hours until takeoff when she receives a text from Harry.

Harry: Come to the pilot’s lounge. Third floor near gate b32.

YN’s heart rate spikes as she gathers her luggage, her friends looking at her curiously, “I think I’m going to walk around a bit, maybe find a new book to read.”

“Want us to come?” Elaina volunteers but doesn’t seem eager to move from where she’s splayed on a overstuffed chair while playing Candy Crush.

“I think I’ll be fine,” YN replies as she heads out the door, it was actually good luck that all three of her friends appeared to be in a lazy mood because usually at least one of them would want to tag along with her.

YN knows other staff are not prohibited in the pilots lounge and so she’s nervous as she finds the long hallway that leads to the tucked away space that he’s referring to.

He’s waiting outside the door with his normal unreadable expression, his uniform perfectly fitted and pressed - the thrill of her being able to take it off of him makes her start to get wet without him even doing anything.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” YN tells him even though it’s obvious.

That makes Harry crack a grin, a wolfish tilt to his lips, “I’ll sneak you in.”

Harry opens the door with a special keycard, guiding YN into the lounge, it’s empty in here but it’s a million times nicer than the one that she’s used to with luxurious comfy seats, a pristine kitchen, and big flat screen televisions.

Harry moves to hold her wrist, tugging her along until they’re in the back corner, and Harry’s pushes open another door - to a single stall bathroom that looked like it could be out of a movie with shining tile floors and floral wallpaper.

“Harry,” YN warns because she knows with this is going and she doesn’t want to get in trouble.

“It’s fine, pup. There’s no one in here,” Harry soothes as he locks the door, he is predatory as he stalks towards her, his eyes dark and his movements slow but precise.

“Someone could come in at anytime,” YN points out desperately, she wants to do this but she wants to be assured that there’s no way that they’re going to get caught, even though he can’t guarantee that.

“Better keep your pretty noises to yourself then,” Harry rasps, YN has noticed how much scratchier and deeper his voice gets when he’s turned on, it’s unfairly hot.

She doesn’t have time to reply because he’s picking her up from under her bum and seating her on the sink countertop, his mouth moving to hers, and bringing her into a kiss that’s already filled with desire.

YN is nervous, she’s knows it’s dumb, and she doesn’t want Harry to make fun of her because of it but she’s never had sex somewhere this….risky and this is all so new.

Harry can tell by the way she’s kissing, distracted and in her own mind which makes him pull back, his thumb coming to rub at her bottom lip, pulling it down a bit.

“Do you not want to?” Harry checks as he watches her face, “We don’t have to, baby. We can wait until we get to the hotel. It’s okay with me either way. I should have check-“

YN cuts his off with another kiss before she pulls back, fingers coming to graze along the collar of his uniform, dipping underneath and caressing the skin as much as she could.

“I want to. I’m just nervous, I’ve never had sex anywhere but in a house,” YN’s face is heating with embarassment, admitting how fucking vanilla she is to someone who obviously isn’t.

Harry’s smile is nearly fond, “Tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay? M’going to show you that you deserve to be fucked whenever and wherever you want. I don’t know how your ex never did it outside the house. I thinking about fucking you everywhere, the hotel pool, over the edge of the bar, on the balcony.”

YN’s thighs clench and she presses their lips together to shut him up because sometimes his dirty talk is so sincere and downright filthy that she’ll combust if she hears anymore of it.

They don’t get caught but fuck it gets YN addicted because it’s not the only time it happens.

The second month, things had evolved even more.

Harry started saying that he was much too tired to walk back to his hotel room that was right down the hall and YN never kicked him out, he started staying after every time they hooked up.

YN would ask about Harry’s life outside of work but he really never divulged much which made YN remember each time that this was simply casual for him - there was no interest in a relationship and he didn’t like her like that, didn’t want to get to know her or open up about himself.

It made things harder, when he would kiss her so sweetly and tell her every time that she’s the best he’s ever had, it was hard to comprehend that he didn't have feelings for her either.

Especially on nights where he didn’t even get off.

He was too exhausted from a long flight but YN wasn’t, how he’d eat her out or give her his fingers as he kissed her softly, goading her sweetly to come so they could go to sleep.

He’d do nice things outside of the bedroom too.

On days where they didn’t have to be at the airport until noon, Harry would order breakfast to her room, he had arranged a massage for her, and then once a spa day when they had a day off in Toronto.

They still hadn’t hung out without having sex until almost three months into their casual arrangement.

YN didn’t feel good when they landed in London.

When she’d gone to her hotel room, she’d thrown up everything she’d eaten that day, and it felt like she’d been hit by a truck as she showered before laying in bed.

She hadn’t gotten sick again but she could tell that something she’d eaten had upset her stomach.

Then around ten, there’s a knock at her door.

YN groans because her body protests when she pulls herself off the bed to open the door - just in a big shirt and underwear because she already knows who it is.

Harry steps into the room, going to cup her jaw, and lean in for a kiss when she pulls back much to his displeasure - a frown gracing his face as she denies him.

“I don’t feel good, I’m sorry. I don’t feel like having sex,” YN tells him, hoping he doesn't mind too much - she remembers how upset Noah would get if she turned him down, “Maybe tomorrow morning but I got sick-“

Harry’s frown deepens as he guides her towards the bed, “We’re not doing anything if you don’t feel good. Don’t worry about the next time we are going to. We’ll find time when you’re feeling better.”

“But…” YN hates that she feels like she has to ask, “Are you mad?”

Harry looks a bit devastated at that question, his voice soft as he pats her bum as she crawls back in bed, “Why on earth would I be mad, pup?”

It’s the first time he’s called her that outside of sex.

He’d call her other things like baby, darling but that nickname hadn’t been spoken before in this context.

“Because I don’t want to have sex tonight,” YN wants to look away but he holds her gaze so intently.

Something clicks and Harry realizes that this insecurity must come from her last relationship.

“I wouldn’t be mad even if you never wanted to have sex with me again,” Harry assures her and he sounds sincere as he sits next to her, “I fucking love doing that with you but if you didn’t want to tonight or whenever, I’d never be upset. I respect whatever you want to do.”

“Thank you,” YN smiles weakly, she wanted a cuddle and it didn’t feel like she could because they didn’t do just that.

Harry nods, squeezing her thigh before standing back up.

“Have a goodnight,” YN tells him as he turns his back to her.

He whips around with confusion written all over his face, “You want me to leave?”

YN is just as confused, “I thought that’s what you were doing.”

“I was just going to turn off the floor lamp,” Harry nods to the light still on in the far corner, “But I can go if you don’t want me here-“

“No!” YN says too quickly, “I want you to stay. I just, we haven’t done this without you know…having sex.”

Harry’s face relaxes as he realizes he’s not being kicked out but he does move to turn off the lamp before stripping down to his briefs, he doesn’t respond to her last sentence but instead says, “Put on a movie.”

She does and he brings her into his chest and now that becomes a thing.

By the middle of the third month, they spend every night together when they’re traveling, and even when they’re not having sex, they go to bed cuddled up at night.

Harry doesn’t even bother with false pretenses and stops putting his suitcase in his own hotel room.

YN still finds frustration in how closed off Harry is, he’s attentive and at least acts interested when YN talks about herself and her life but he rarely gives anything out.

She’d been dying to know about his ex-wife, if what his friends said was true and he was married but he doesn’t ever mention an ex-wife or anything much for that matter.

It starts to feel like YN wants this more than him which isn’t fair to him because he never said that he wanted a relationship with her and she knew she fucked up by falling for him.

One night though, something changes and it begins to give YN hope that this wasn’t all in her head that he might like her too.

They had gone out onto the balcony of the hotel, they were in Madrid, and it overlooked the city as they laid on the lounge chair, YN in between his legs, and the warm air had a light breeze.

“I’ve never been to the Maldives, never been lucky enough to get a flight there,” YN hums as she plays with the rings on his finger, his hand resting on her belly, “But I’d say that’s my dream vacation. Always have wanted to go. Have you flown there?”

“I haven’t had a flight there, working wise. I had my honeymoon there,” Harry replies and his voice is tighter, more vulnerable than it was just mere minutes ago.

“Oh,” YN doesn’t know what to say.

“It was beautiful. The water was amazing, it just looked like you were living in a magazine,” Harry continues but he sounds strained like it’s hard for him to even talk about it.

“That’s why I want to go,” YN keeps her voice upbeat, giving him the opportunity not to elaborate if he didn’t want to.

“I was married for five years,” Harry tells her with hesitation.

“When did you get divorced?” YN can’t help but ask, hoping it doesn’t make him close back up.

“We didn’t,” Harry says but there’s no sharp edge to his voice, “She passed away.”

YN’s heart absolutely sinks into her stomach.

“I am so sorry to hear that, Harry,” YN squeezed his hand, bringing it up so she could kiss his palm and he allowed it.

“We…we were separated at the time and had filed for divorce,” Harry continues with a shudder, “We hadn’t been getting along for the past two years of our marriage. We got married right out of college, we’d only known each other for six months before we eloped. We were stupid and young. Once the honeymoon phase was over, we realized we had nothing in common or even really liked each other. We tried to make it work but we couldn’t.”

“I…uh, I didn’t want to be with her anymore but I still loved her,” Harry’s voice is shaky, “Not so much as a lover but she was still my friend. I…It was hard. She was in a car accident coming home from work, she was working the night shift as a nurse at the hospital. Drunk driver.”

“That’s heartbreaking,” YN feels herself getting upset for Harry, tears falling down her cheeks at what he had to go through, she couldn’t even imagine.

“Don’t cry, S’okay. I’m okay now,” Harry soothes as he leans forward to thumb at her damp cheeks, “I’m okay. I got counseling, I’ve worked through my grief.”

“I should be comforting you, I’m sorry,” YN apologizes but she’s taken by surprise when he leans forward and kisses her firmly, it’s not sexually charged but there’s so much feeling as he holds her to him.

It feels like more than just friends with benefits.

It has to be.

Harry was on a rampage at work, YN had never seen him so infuriated in her life as they were up in the air, five hours into a eleven hour flight, and he was more pissed than even his worst fight with YN.

The ground crew hadn’t fully fueled the aircraft, they weren’t going to make it to their destination on what they had left to work with, it wasn’t something that often occurred but it has happened occasionally in the past.

However, it meant that Harry had to work with staff on the ground to figure out what airport he needed to land out to refuel while figuring out the logistics of changing the course and time of the flight.

He hadn’t lashed out at YN but he’d chewed out nearly everyone else on the crew at least once but poor Perry got shouted out at least three times and she had cried two of them.

At the end of the day, the eleven hour flight took nearly fourteen, and by the time YN and Harry were in their bed, it was late, and they were both tired as they turned on a movie.

YN isn’t sure about how the topic went to their previous relationships but she answered anything Harry had asked about Noah, YN felt like she could do the same now that he had opened up about his wife.

“What did your family think of you getting eloped six months after meeting each other?” YN was curious, figured it wasn’t a crazy question to ask at all but Harry visibly tenses.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Harry throws up his guard instantly and usually YN is understanding but quite frankly, it is starting to piss her off now.

“Of course you don’t,” YN scoffs with an annoyed edge.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Harry shoots back, sitting up straighter and looking over at her.

“That you will never open up to me! I share everything about me with you and you give me absolutely nothing. You shared about your wife that one night but beside that, you’ve never let me get to know you!” YN points out as she sits up too, anger rising in her chest.

An expression that YN doesn’t recognize flashes across his face for a moment before he’s covering it with a scowl, “I don’t have to share anything with you, YN. We’re not dating, we’re not in a relationship. It shouldn’t fucking matter if you know me.”

And ouch, that….that really fucking hurt.

YN could feel herself getting more upset than she’s been in a long time because this was her getting rejected officially.

Because if this is all he wants, YN doesn’t know if she can be okay with that anymore.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” YN finds herself huffing out, ripping the covers off of her legs and standing up - she feels a wave of naseous run over her as she bolts to the bathroom, slamming the door and doubling over the toilet.

Harry opens the door, moving to pull her hair away from her face, and rubs at her back as she heaves into the bowl, moaning at how gross she feels before flushing - he takes a step back from her.

“Thanks,” YN mutters as he gives her room to walk over to the sink to brush her teeth, “My stomach’s been sensitive to food lately while we’ve been on trips.”

“I know,” Harry replies simply because this isn’t the first time he’d held her hair as she got sick.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” YN tells him and at the same time, her heart is completely ripping into two.

This is the moment she realizes how irrevocably in love with Harry that she is and she’s fallen so hard that it feels impossible to dig herself out of the hole she’s dug.

If she couldn’t have all of him then she knew she was hurting herself in the long run because she’d never get what she wanted from him and sex just wasn’t enough for her even if it was for him.

“YN,” Harry’s voice is smaller than it’s ever sounded, shocked by what she’s saying and his eyes are wide, pleading, “Don’t. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn't have said those things. Today hasn’t been a good day, I didn’t -”

“Don’t apologize, Harry,” YN shakes her head, voice steady and firm,“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I just…this isn’t working for me. I can’t just be a hookup for you, I don’t want that. I want to know you, I want more than what you want. It’s just better if we stop while we’re ahead.”

“YN, please just-“ Harry sounds like he’s begging but YN’s made up her mind and nothing has ever hurt more than this.

“Harry,” Her voice is stern, “Please just leave.”

He bites his lip because he wants to argue more, he honestly looks like he’s near tears but YN doesn’t know if that’s just her imagination as he exits the bathroom to gather his clothes into his suitcase - digging around for the keycard to his own room he threw carelessly somewhere.

YN didn't sleep that night, eyes hurting from how much she’d cried, cheeks raw from where she had continuously wiped away the traitorous tears because this hurt worse than anything she’d ever gone through with Noah.

YN does exactly what Harry had done to her in the past.

She hides away before flights because her friends have told her that Harry has been coming in looking for her and she switches positions with someone else so that she’s not in the pit.

She ignores Harry when he knocks at her hotel door one night, ignores his text messages asking for them just to talk, and lets the food he sends up from room services go cold.

It’s only been a week since the incident but YN hasn’t felt any better with her stomach issues as she settles back at home after another flight - she’s restocking her toiletry bag for the next day when she realizes that she didn’t need to refill her tampons.

YN’s heart sinks into her stomach when she realizes that she can’t remember the last time that she had a period but there is absolutely no fucking way that she’s pregnant because she was on brith control and took it regularly.

She was googling frantically the statistics of birth control not working and that the pill is ninety-one percent effective which means there’s only a nine percent chance it’s not.

But there’s a chance.

YN digs in her cabinets for an old test that she knew she’d shoved somewhere after she’d broken up with Noah and had sworn off sex, and she was shaking as she waited for the results.

Her phone chimes with a text from Harry.

Please, can we just talk?

Don’t shut me out. Please.

YN, can you just give me a chance to explain myself?

Please, YN. I can’t stand this. It’s killing me. Please.

And YN ignores them, hyperventilating as her alarm sounds, and she flips the plastic stick - a digital reading across the screen and in clear bold letters, it tells her what she didn’t want to fucking see.

Pregnant.

Holy fucking shit.

“No,” YN whimpers as she blinks at it, “No no no.”

She was responsible with her pill, how was she part of the small percentage?

It never happened with Noah, why now?

Why was it with the person who didn't want her like this?

YN feels lightheaded, stumbling to her bed, and burying herself in the covers because she doesn’t know what to think or do or feel because she’s pregnant with Harry’s baby and he doesn’t even want a relationship with her.

YN calls off work for the next two weeks because she doesn’t know what else to do, she had vacation time to use, and she couldn’t face Harry right now as she figured out what she was going to do or how she was going to tell him.

She’s still violently sick nearly everyday, feeling worse as the days go on, when her two weeks was up - she didn’t feel any better about going to work.

Harry hadn’t stopped texting her, trying to call her but she couldn’t even read them because it hurt too much.

YN is in love with him, she had a baby in her stomach that is half him, and he didn’t want any of that.

On the day that she returns to work, they’re going to London again.

She’d been having awful cramps all morning, getting sick twice in the airport bathroom, and felt like she was striking a fever as she boarded the plane.

Harry was out of the cockpit, standing right outside of it, and his eyes flash in concern when he sees YN, “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you -“

“I’m fine,” YN brushes him off, lying through her teeth as she stows her bag away before retreating to the back of the aircraft despite his eyes on her the whole time.

YN lets her friends convince her into going to the hotel restaurant that night despite feeling like death, the cramps hadn’t stopped, her head was now pounding, and she still felt overheated.

Her food was untouched as her friends giggled and gossiped around her but suddenly she felt like she was going to pass out.

The stomach cramps turned into a sharper pain, something she’d never felt before.

It was indescribable and she knew that she needed to go to the hospital.

And all she can think about is the baby.

That this isnt’ good.

“Oh…Oh my god,” YN gasps as she pushes her chair back, “I- I need to go to the hospital.”

All three girls jerk their head with wide eyes, immediately confused and worried, Justine who was sitting next to her, “What’s wrong?”

“Cramps, I’m having cramps. They’re….fuck, they’re bad,” YN groans as she moves her hand to her stomach, feeling like she may just double over in pain.

“Do you think that it might just be your period?” Perry asks as she begins looking for a staff member.

YN shakes her head sharply, “No-no because I'm pregnant.”

All three girls gasp in surprise, moving into action as they flag over the waiter to call the paramedics - the pain in her stomach was starting to overwhelm her.

“Call Harry,” YN shoves her phone at Elaina, “Please.”

“He’ll understand, YN. Don’t worry about work right now,” She tries to assure her.

“Elaina, call him,” YN says firmly, giving her a look, and that when all three girls register what she is implying - they try to hide the absolute shock as Elaina presses his contact information.

YN zones in and out of consciousness for a while, barely remembers when Harry arrives but he’s brushing her hair out of her face, murmuring things to her, and patting a wet rag on her forehead that someone gave him.

He clambers into the ambulance with her and she starts to come back to reality for a little while the paramedic begins to ask her questions about her health history.

She doesn’t know how it didn’t get communicated from her friends about what was going on but the EMT asks, “Do you have any idea why you’re having this pain?”

Harry’s hand is gripping hers tightly, he’s confused and has no idea what is going on but he’s shaking as he watches her.

“I’m-I’m pregnant,” YN manages to spit out and squeezes her eyes shut because she doesn’t want to see Harry’s reaction to that news.

His hand leaves hers.

“Baby, oh my god,” Harry gasps in surprise but he’s getting up from the seat, leaning over, and pressing kisses to her sweaty forehead, “You’re pregnant...”

“Your baby,” YN nods as she tenses as a cramp fleets through her body, “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I took my pills I promise, I don’t know how-“

“Sssh,” Harry soothes instantly, lips peppering kisses all over her face now as he strokes her hair, “S’okay, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m here and I love you so much, pup.”

YN blinks up at him blearily, “You love me?”

Harry nods, there’s tears in the corner of his eyes, “I’ve been trying to tell you for the last weeks but you wouldn’t talk to me. Of course, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” YN tells him but has to grit her teeth when another pain shoots through her and everything goes dark for a while.

YN wakes up in a hospital bed, there blinds are drawn shut and it’s dark in the room, she can tell it’s still night as there is no sun seeping through the cracks of the sills.

She feels substantially better than when she was being transported here but her side is still aching and as she blinks her eyes open, she sees Harry sitting right next to her bed with his head slumped against the edge of the mattress.

He was asleep and looked to be in the most uncomfortable position, sitting up in a chair with his back hunched at an awful angle, his one hand resting on his thigh but the other was holding tightly onto hers.

She could fully admit that her heart soared with love as she watched the man beside her sleep - it may sound creepy but she loved watching him like this because all his frown wrinkles were smoothed, he was relaxed with his puffy lips parted, his eyelashes long against his cheekbones.

Her free hand comes to his hair, carding her fingers through the curls, and lightly scratching her nails against his scalp.

It takes a minute but he finally stirs, a sharp intake of breath as he sits up with wide eyes, there was so much anxiety in his expression that YN had never seen before this night.

“Pup,” Harry rasps, his voice thick from sleep but he brings her hand up to kiss the back of it, avoiding the IV, “How long have you been awake?”

“Just now,” YN tells him and she knows, she knows she needs to ask what happened but the sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that she no longer has a baby growing in her stomach.

“I love you,” Harry breathes out quickly like he’s worried she’ll kick him out of the room, “Pretty much from the beginning I think. I should have let you in, I wanted to. I just…if I have you that means I could lose you. I’ve been through that and I don’t think I could handle it if that happened to you. I hadn’t been with anyone since my wife passed. It’s been ten years and I’m scared.”

“I love you too,” YN whispers sincerely, leaning over slightly and Harry meets her the rest of the way to lay a gentle kiss on her lips, thumb coming to brush under her cheekbone, “The baby..”

Harry bites his lip, jaw clenching but not from anger this time but YN’s absolutely alarmed when he starts to cry, “Our baby is healthy and stable.”

“Wha-What?” YN stammers out in disbelief, she had fully prepared herself for the news that she had miscarried, “The stomach pain, I-You’re lying. Please, don’t- I can’t.”

“Baby, no,” Harry coos soothingly, standing up and leaning over her, pressing his forehead against hers, “It’s wasn’t anything to do with your pregnancy. Your appendix ruptured. The baby was never at risk, they’re okay.”

“I had appendicitis? No-not a miscarriage?” YN clarifies because she doesn’t feel like she’s awake right now, she had prepared herself for the worst news possible.

“Yes, they removed your appendix. They checked on the baby. Everything is fine with you and our baby,” Harry assures her as he peppers kisses all over her face like he did the night before, “I heard their little heart beat, YN. They’re already growing and so strong. Fuck, I’m so in love with them and I just found out.”

“I took my birth control everyday at the same time,” YN begins to explain as she watches Harry’s hand drift down to her stomach, there wasn’t any sign yet maybe a little pudge she hadn’t noticed but he still laid his hand there protectively, “I don’t know why it didn’t, I’m sorry-“

“Do not ever apologize to me about this,” Harry replies firmly, his voice serious and deep as he pulls back to look at her, “Of course, this isn’t what I was expecting but I want it. I want it so fucking badly. I never- I never thought I had kids after you know…what happened.”

“I don’t even know anything about you,” YN sniffles as she pulls him back down, digging her face into his shoulder for comfort as his hand comes to cup the back of her head.

“We have about six months for you to learn every single thing about me,” Harry murmurs with a wet chuckle, “I’m done having walls up. I was trying to tell you that for the last month. I am so fucking in love with you I can’t think straight. I want you to know all of me.”

“I want that too, I want you in every way,” YN presses her lips to his shoulder, tears making his shirt damp.

“You have another night in the hospital,” Harry tells her, “For observation. I think I’d like to start now.”

“Okay,” She nods quietly, moving over with a wince until Harry can squeeze into the small hospital bed with her.

“I grew up in this shitty little apartment above a Chinese restaurant…” Harry starts his story, YN had never heard him speak so much but for the rest of her hospital stay, aside from naps, Harry doesn’t stop sharing.

And he never stops again after that.

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