#Harry Styles x Y/N | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maudie-duan · 5 days ago

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Summary: Fuck domestic bliss…because you couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t want to bite Harry’s head off or if sex still existed between you both—weeks of cold indifference have turned into all the little angers adding up until you both finally hit your boiling point, and shit hits the fan, a breaking point neither one of you saw coming, and that's it! Now cue the aftermath as you watch the dust settle. How will Harry help you mend all the broken pieces that are past the point of fixing? A/N: This story is based on this request<- bear with me. I did veer off course slightly! But only like the slightest bit. I only added some little gems that made that juicy request even better. Long story short, my brain turned the request into a “worship kink,” and here we are! Warning: Fighting, Filth, Fucking, and Fluff. xFem!reader, this one gets a happy ending!😉 Word Count: 7.6k

Fuck domestic bliss.

What was it anyway? A phrase you had heard so many times and understood, had been lucky enough to have felt and lived it, but lately, you felt it slipping through your grasp little by little.

The contradiction of closeness lies in this truth.

Sometimes, the very comforts of domestic life that once drew you together can slowly pull you apart, familiarity breeding not contempt but a dangerous indifference. Maybe this wasn’t everyone’s truth, but there is truth in the tiny details—In the words left unsaid, in the gestures you keep to yourself, the small angers that were never addressed.

Somewhere between the shared routines and the predictable rhythms of togetherness, you lost sight of what truly mattered—the connection you had that once felt like magic was being buried beneath the mundane details of everyday existence.

And this was you and Harry.

Stuck in the rut of everyday life.

A rut it was because when was the last time you guys had sex? Felt the warmth of his body, not the chill that came with the silent shuffle of starting each new day, the curt good mornings said in passing, or perfunctory kisses goodbye. You knew you both desperately needed this reset.

Dinner had been perfect so far—a homemade lasagna in your favorite vintage casserole dish, the one with the delicate blue flowers around the rim that had been your grandmother’s. It was the only thing you wanted from her estate; you saved it for truly special occasions, and tonight—a chance to finally reconnect with Harry—felt worthy.

When Harry complimented your cooking, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he reached for seconds, you felt the first real thaw in the frost that had settled between you. Maybe tonight could be the beginning of finding your way back to each other. It was the kind of evening you both needed after a long week. The kind where the outside world ceased to exist, where deadlines and meetings and stress melted away with each sip of the rich red wine Harry had brought home.

A perfect, cozy bubble of domestic bliss.

Until it wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not how you load a dishwasher,” you almost snapped, watching him haphazardly stack plates on top of each other, silverware pointing in every direction, the sight of it already getting under your skin.

He glanced up at you, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. “Does it matter? It all gets clean anyway.”

You sighed, setting down the wine glass you’d been drying. “Yes, it matters. The water can’t reach everything if you stack them like that. And the silverware needs to be sorted.”

“I’ve been loading dishwashers since before I met you,” Harry replied, continuing to place a bowl where it clearly didn’t belong. “Never had a problem.”

“Well, you’re having one now,” you said, moving to his side and beginning to rearrange the dishes for what felt like the 100th time since you moved in together, “Look, the plates go here, vertically. And cups on the top rack.”

Harry took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? You’re actually reorganizing it?” And he huffs out a breath like a child being reprimanded, and it sets you off even further.

“Someone has to do it properly.”

The tension in the room shifted.

Thickened.

What had started as a simple correction was quickly becoming something else entirely, but you knew you couldn’t go on like this without saying another word.

For weeks now, you’d been swallowing your tiny irritations—the dishes left in the sink, the damp towels on the bathroom floor, the half-empty coffee mugs abandoned throughout the apartment. Each small oversight had been a pebble added to the growing pile of resentment, and suddenly, this dishwasher incident was the final stone that sent the whole thing tumbling down.

The pressure of all the unspoken frustrations had been building inside you like a kettle about to whistle, and now the steam needed somewhere to go.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s tone held an edge to it now, the one you recognized as his defenses going up.

“It means,” you forced, ripping a mug he had wedged between two plates, “that you never load it right, and I always end up fixing every damn dish.”

Harry scoffed. “For fucks sake, here we go. ‘Harry never does anything right.’ Is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant. I can hear it with every word you’re saying”

“If it’s not complicated, then why does it matter how I do it?” His voice was rising now, hands gesturing emphatically. “Why do you always have to micromanage every damn thing I do in this apartment?”

“Micromanage? I’m not your fucking mom, Harry!” You felt the heat of anger rising to your cheeks, fury burning through you. “Asking you to load the fucking dishwasher correctly is micromanaging?”

“It’s never just about the dishwasher, is it?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign he was getting truly agitated. “It’s the way I fold the damn laundry, or how I organize the fucking refrigerator, or the fact that I put my shoes in the wrong spot. The shit I do is never good enough for you.”

The accusation landed hard, stinging more than you expected, piercing through your irritation, hitting something deeper. “That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair? Am I wrong?” Harry’s eyes were dark now, his jaw set. “You say you’re not my Mum, but you’re always correcting me, always finding something wrong with how I do things.”

“I’m not—That’s not fucking true and you know it!”

“Yes, you are!” His voice echoed in the kitchen, making you flinch, and you stilled your movements, “You think your way is the only right way, and God forbid anyone do things differently!”

That’s when you felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, your pride refusing to let him see how much his words were hurting you. “I’m just trying to help,” you whisper.

“No, you’re trying to control,” Harry shot back, his voice still loud. Harry was so caught up in his anger that he couldn’t read the room--see the pain lacing your features, “There’s a difference.”

The silence that followed hung heavy, painfully deafening, filled with all the things you both wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. You stared at each other across the kitchen, the distance between you feeling like miles rather than feet. It was terrifying how quickly love could transform into this—how the face you had memorized in all its expressions could suddenly seem like it belonged to a stranger.

The green eyes that usually held such warmth for you now flashed with something cold and foreign. In moments like these, it was easy to forget the thousands of tender touches that had come before, the whispered affections you shared in the dark. Anger had redrawn the map of his features, making him unrecognizable, and you wondered if he saw the same frightening transformation in you—if your face had become a mask that concealed the person he had fallen in love with.

“You know what?” Harry finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I don’t need this right now.” He turned away from you, moving toward the counter where his keys lay.

As he passed the sink, his arm swung out with what seemed like unnecessary force, the dramatic fashion of a child not getting their way, his tantrum knocking against your precious casserole dish that was perched on the edge where you’d left it to soak, and then you caught his eye for just a fraction of a second.

And what was it that you saw?

Was it a flash of vindictive satisfaction hovering at the surface, or was it your imagination coloring the moment with your own anger?

Had he done it on purpose?

Because it all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

Time seemed to slow as you watched it teeter, then fall.

You felt the crash as it hit the tile floor, the loud crackle like an explosion, booming through your entire body as a lash of anger tore down your spine; the sound of the scattering pieces filled the quiet apartment as shards of ceramic exploded outward in a constellation of blue and white.

You stood there holding your breath in the aftermath, a split second of recognition as your knees went weak with despair.

“Harry! What the fuck is wrong with you!” The words tore from your throat as you dropped to your knees, shaky hands hovering over the broken pieces of your beloved dish. Maybe it was dramatic, but he knew how much you loved that dish, and here you were staring down at each fragment, each piece feeling like it represented a memory you would lose forever—all the stories it held through time, years of meals shared, now the life you were building with Harry—the meals it would never see.

Harry stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and regret. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Just go…” you whispered, carefully picking up a piece of the rim, the delicate blue flower now split in two. The longer he stood there, the angrier you got until you were yelling, “Just go, Harry! Since that’s what you want to do anyway—Just fucking go!”

“Babe, I’m sorry about the dish, I really am—”

“It’s not about the dish!” And this time, your voice broke, the tears finally spilling over. “It’s about you wanting to walk away instead of talking to me. It’s about you thinking I’m trying to control every detail of your fucking life when I’m just asking you to do something simple.”

Harry’s expression hardened again. “And there it is. It’s simple to you, so I should just do it your way. My feelings don’t matter.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant.” He shouted, stealing the air from your lungs, your ears ringing with the silence that fell over the room.

And this was the final blow.

The last accusing blow that sliced between you, a perfect circle of hurt and misunderstanding, and you watched, gutted, as he grabbed his jacket, his movements stiff with anger, fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quicker.

“I need some air,” he spits, not meeting your eyes. “Be back later.”

The door closed behind him with a finality that made your heart sink, and there you were, abandoned, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the broken pieces of your casserole dish as tears streamed down your face. His departure felt like a betrayal—choosing escape over resolution when things got too difficult.

It was always like this, wasn’t it? When emotions ran too high, he fled, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces while he walked free of the responsibility of working through the hard parts together.

Slowly, carefully, you began to gather the fragments, each one a sharp reminder of the words he left you with. The dish was beyond repair; you knew that. Some things, once broken, couldn’t be fixed, and now you hoped your relationship wasn’t one of them.

As you dropped the last piece into the trash can, a sob escaped your throat. You knew It was just a dish, you tried to tell yourself—Just a thing—A material thing that could be replaced, but it was your thing, the one thing that held the most meaning. And now it was gone, reduced to shards in a garbage bag, just like your perfect evening had been reduced to angry words and a slammed door.

And there you were, cleaning up the mess, cursing to yourself as you properly loaded the dishwasher. Of course, the irony of it all was not lost on you as you slammed the dishwasher door shut like Harry had slammed the apartment door, and you poured yourself another glass of wine—a large one this time—and crawled onto the couch, ready to sulk in the misery of you and Harry’s aftermath.

Alone.

And if he could be petty and walk out the door.

So could you.

One episode turned into two, and you lost track of when your wine glass emptied the first time because then you were opening another bottle, your eyes drifting to your phone periodically, checking for any messages, any sign of life, but there were none. Each passing minute twisted the knot in your stomach tighter. Where had he gone? Was he drinking at some bar, venting to strangers about you?

Or worse.

Had he found comfort in someone else’s arms? You knew that would never happen, but would he have been angry enough this time? Your heart pounded as the intrusive thoughts multiplied, each more gut-wrenching than the last. The questions circled in your mind like vultures, swooping lower with each passing hour, feeding on the fears—leaving too many questions unanswered as the hours ticked by one second at a time.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the key in the lock.

But you didn’t turn around, keeping your eyes fixed on the television screen where a contestant was having a meltdown over a collapsed soufflé. The door opened and closed softly, followed by the sound of Harry removing his shoes—placing them in exactly the right spot, you noted with amusement, listening to his quiet footfalls, each step reminding you of the lingering irritation still caught at the surface.

His footsteps were hesitant as he approached the couch, stopping just behind you. You could feel his presence, the familiar warmth of him, but you didn’t speak. Let him make the first move, you thought. Let him show you where his head is at.

“You’re watching our show,” he said finally, his voice quiet and a little rough.

You nodded, still not looking at him. “Seemed fitting.”

“Without me?” He almost whined.

And the pained tremor in his voice had you turning around, meeting his eyes for the first time since he had left. Your heart sank when you saw they were red-rimmed and tired, his curls a mess like he had been running his hands through them repeatedly—a nervous habit you’d always found endearing.

“You weren’t here,” you replied simply.

Harry winced, acknowledging the hit. “I know. I’m sorry.” Your body stiffened as he moved around the couch, cautiously sitting down beside you, leaving space, maybe too much distance, as he tried to respect the invisible boundary your tough stance was emanating.

You knew it, but you couldn’t help it.

You were still mad.

Still hurt.

Part of you wanted to maintain the cold front, your pride still stinging from the fight, but deep down, you ached for him to ignore the warning signs completely—to pull you against his warm chest, wrap you in those strong arms that have held you so many times.

You wanted him to make a move, be the one to make the first real motion toward fixing things.

But fuck, it was never easy to let go of a grudge.

And so you remained rigid.

Your cold exterior stubbornly at odds with the longing building inside you.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he continued, that sadness still in his eyes when you didn’t respond. “It was childish, and it didn’t solve anything.”

Coldly, you took a sip of your wine, considering him over the rim of the glass. “No, it didn’t.” And your tone was dry, already wanting him to work harder for the apology.

Harry sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “I was angry, and I felt... I don’t know, attacked? But that’s not an excuse. I should have stayed…talked it out.”

“Yes, you should have.” Your voice was steady now, the tears long dried. “And you shouldn’t have broken my dish.”

“That was an accident,” Harry said quickly, giving you the most sorrowful eyes that made you want to melt. “I swear to you, I would never deliberately break something you love. I was careless, and I’m so, so sorry.”

You believed him.

You really did.

Harry wasn’t cruel, just hotheaded sometimes.

“It was special to me,” you whispered.

“I know, baby.” He reached out tentatively, not quite touching you. “I know it was. And I know it’s not just about the dish.”

You perked up at this, his answer surprising you, warming your insides up, “You do?”

Harry nodded, his expression solemn. “I had a lot of time to think while I was walking around. About why you were really upset and why I got so defensive.”

This is what you had been waiting for, you thought as you set your wine glass down on the coffee table, giving him your full attention. “And what did you come up with?”

“That you weren’t trying to control me,” he confessed. “You were trying to help...in your way. And I took it personally because...” He paused, searching for the right words. “Because sometimes I feel like I don’t measure up. Like I’m not good enough for you.”

The confession stunned you.

So bare and honest that it made your heart splinter.

How long had he been carrying this weight?

The thought that he’d been feeling inadequate while you were oblivious sent a wave of guilt crashing through you. All this time, your attempts to help had been reinforcing his deepest insecurities—a reality so far from what you had intended that it left you without words. You never wanted to be the source of his self-doubt, the reason he questioned his worth, and your throat tightened with the shame of it as you reached for him.

Because he had always been enough.

This had never been a doubt in your mind.

“Harry, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He gave a sad smile. “You’re so put together, so organized. You know exactly how everything should be done. And I’m... not like that. I’m messy and forgetful and I load dishwashers wrong.”

A small laugh escaped you, then. “You do load dishwashers wrong.”

His smile grew a little, encouraged by your softening, and dammit, that sweet little dimple in his left cheek appeared, the one that always made your fucking stomach flutter. “I know. But when you point it out, sometimes it feels like you’re pointing out all the ways I’m not perfect. All the ways, I’m not what you deserve.”

“Oh, Harry, my love...” And you moved closer to him, that icy barrier between you beginning to dissolve. Your thigh pressed against his, warm and solid, sending a subtle electric hum through your body. “That’s never what I mean. Never.”

“I know that, rationally,” he said, finally reaching out to take your hand, and his thumb traced slow, gentle circles on the delicate skin of your wrist, the innocent touch awakening nerve endings you had forgotten existed after weeks of distance. “But emotions aren’t always logical, are they?”

As you squeezed his fingers, you felt the familiar calluses on his palm, slightly rugged, but these were the same hands that could fix a leaky faucet, soft in the way they could cradle your face with a heartbreaking tenderness that never left you guessing, and you couldn’t look away from his lips as you replied, your voice slightly lower than before. “No, they’re not. And I’m sorry too. I can be... particular about things. I should be more patient, more understanding that we have different ways of doing things.”

Harry brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles that lingered just a beat too long to be innocent. “I worship you,” he said gently, his eyes never leaving yours, the green darkening as his pupils bloomed. “Every part of you. And I should be more open to learning your way, especially when it comes to things that matter to you. Like vintage casserole dishes.”

The mere mention of the dish brought a fresh pang of loss to the pit of your stomach, but it was duller now, overshadowed by the heat suddenly building between you. You knew it was happening the second he said ‘Worship,’ the word sending a rush of thrill up your spine, a wave of excitement swelling through you the closer your bodies got.

And you wanted it.

Welcomed it even as that familiar ache awakened between your thighs. “It was just a thing,” you said, echoing your earlier thoughts, your voice huskier than intended. “Things can be replaced.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry said, reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand, his movement causing his thigh to press harder against yours. “I have something to show you.”

He pulled out his phone, and you, without hesitation, shifted closer, tucking yourself against his side as he unlocked it. You had missed him, missed this, and you let your head lower to his shoulder, breathing in his scent— his cologne and something uniquely him that had always felt like home.

As he navigated through his search history, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his shoulder through his shirt, feeling him shiver in response, momentarily distracted his thumb hesitated over the screen for just a moment before he found what he was looking for and tilted the phone toward you.

Your heart stopped.

On the screen was an eBay listing for a casserole dish—not just any dish, but one identical to the one that now lay in pieces in your trash can and as your eyes roamed the listing, Harry pushed a kiss to the top of your head.

The listing showed it had been purchased just an hour ago.

“You bought this?” you asked, looking up at him in surprise, ready to jump his bones right here, right now, because you wanted him so fucking bad.

Harry nodded, a hopeful expression on his face that quickly shifted to something heated, more primal as your bodies connected. “It’s being shipped express. Should be here in a few days. I know it won’t have the same memories attached, but we can make new ones.”

And there it was again.

That ping.

That pulse.

That pull deep in your gut, and your body flushed at the thought of it as the heat spread across your skin like wildfire. “You spent your evening searching for a replacement?”

“Part of it,” Harry admitted, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach tighten with want. “The rest I spent realizing how much I never want to miss moments with you again. Not even watching people cry over pastry.” And he nodded toward the television, where the show was still playing, forgotten in the background.

The sincerity in his voice.

His genuine regret.

And that fucking lovesick look in his eyes melted the last of your resistance.

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity—every breath, every slight movement charged with unspoken desire. You set the phone down and moved closer to him, consciously letting your breast brush against his arm again as you pressed against his side, and his sharp intake of breath told you he felt it too.

That magnetic pull.

That desperate need to reconnect not just emotionally but physically.

“Prove it,” you said softly.

Harry blinked, his breathing growing shallow as he caught the unmistakable invitation in your tone. “Prove what?”

“Prove that you never want to miss a moment with me again.” Your hand found his thigh, fingers tracing an intentional slow path upward. “Prove that you’re sorry.”

“Tell me what you want?” His voice gravel, a tone that sent liquid heat collecting between your thighs, a shiver down your spine with want.

You leaned in, letting your chest press against him as your lips brushed his ear, teeth grazing his lobe before you whispered, “I want you to worship me.”

A low groan vibrated from deep in his chest, his entire body tensing, his hunger barely restrained as he moved without hesitation. Harry slid from the couch to his knees before you, his strong hands pushing your thighs apart, gentle but insistent, the pressure wanting, and holy fuck, the look he gave you from that position made your clit fucking throb with anticipation.

And this is what you missed; this is what you both needed.

“I do worship you,” he said, his fingers skimming up your inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they approached your warm center before diverting to the hem of your shirt. “Every. Fucking. Part of you.”

His words made your heart jump.

Your heart picking up when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, moving with tantalizing ease as he lifted it, exposing your stomach as his knuckles deliberately grazed your heated skin. Your nipples were already pressed hard, almost painfully, against the fabric of your bra as cool air met your exposed flesh, waking your entire body with its presence.

“I worship your strength…your strength to have to put up with my shit.” when he laughed, his hot breath fanned over your skin, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your quivering stomach, his tongue dipping past your navel in a way that made you gasp. “Your kindness…god baby, your fucking kindness.” he breathed, his tone weak as he pressed another kiss higher, working his mouth up your body.

Every time Harry’s mouth met your flesh, you drew your legs together, trying to dull the pulsing ache taunting you between your thighs, but Harry wouldn’t budge, and as they closed around his body this time, you felt a light pinch at your inner thigh making you buck your lower half.

And then you sucked in a sharp breath when Harry’s teeth scraped a gentle path against the underside of your rib cage. “Your passion,” he added as his hands slid around to your back, fingers splaying across your heated skin before they found your bra clasp, flicking it open with a practiced ease that reminded you of all the countless nights of pleasure because without a doubt there had been so much pleasure.

Harry’s eyes never left yours, green depths swimming with a craving, a hunger, something deeper, more profound as he removed your shirt and bra in one fluid motion, “I worship your heart,” he continued, cupping your breasts, a tender grasp as he said, “So full of love, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Greedy, you arched into his touch, your body more than ready, responding to each word that tumbled from his mouth with every caress. “Harry...” you breathed.

“Shh,” he soothed, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his warm tongue circling the sensitive peak. “Let me show you. Let me prove it to you.” Then Harry’s wandering hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down with your underwear as you lifted your hips to assist him.

As the last barrier between you fell away, you found yourself naked before him in the soft glow of the living room light, and there was something sacred in this vulnerability—a heartfelt intimacy that transcended the physical. His worshipful gaze felt like kneeling at the altar to pray as you lay there naked.

With Harry, you never needed to hide—his eyes had always been your safest place, a sanctuary where every part of you was cherished without judgment. This moment of being completely bare before someone who held your heart with such care felt like the truest form of yourself that you could ever give him.

Then his hands were skimming up your calves, over your knees, along your thighs, your entire body humming with his touch. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you for permission as if he needed it, and you felt that tight flutter deep in your belly.

All you could do was nod, unable to form words as the anticipation built within you. Harry smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that promised pleasure beyond measure, and you felt all the lingering tension leaving your body.

Then he lowered his head, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, working his way inward with deliberate care, each kiss slow, but you felt the silent plea with every touch of his lips to your skin, a quiet apology, each brush of his fingers a promise of devotion.

He started gently, teasing at first, licking a slow, delicate line up your slit, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against your pussy lips, and you gazed down at him, holding your breath as you watched his calm composure falter, his need for you making him weak, his brows drawing together in pure agony.

Pain and pleasure stole his features as he stilled his movements, sucking in a harsh breath against your thigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into your skin. You watched him force a shaky breath from his lungs, and he pushed a hand into the crotch of his jeans, his whole demeanor shifting, physically aching from the presence of your pleasure.

“This...I worship this.” he rasped, pulling back to drive his point home, and you tried to draw your legs together as a breathy laugh slipped past his lips, and he nips your inner thigh with his teeth, making you gasp out, and you comply spreading them wide.

And like a flip of a switch, he dove in with a renewed hunger, his tongue already working, circling your clit as the other hand left your thigh, and then you felt his fingers teasing at your entrance, gathering your wetness, his finger sliding against you before slowly pressing inside.

One finger at first, curling upward with expert precision to find that spot that made your fucking toes curl.

“Oh, god—Harry!” you cried out, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he bellowed against you as he added a second finger, ready to stretch you as he pumped them in and out in rhythm with his tongue. “So tight, baby—say my name. Let me hear how good I make you feel. Let me hear how much you fucking need this.”

And it’s true you fucking needed this.

You both did.

And now you wanted the release.

All at once, the dual sensation of his mouth and fingers was overwhelming, and you found yourself writhing beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair while the other gripped the couch cushion desperately, holding your breath as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity, the sensation curling tighter and tighter in your lower belly.

“You’re dripping for me,” he rasped, his voice rough with want. “So fucking wet. Could drown in you and die happy.” Then his fingers twisted inside you, pressing harder against that perfect spot, his tongue flattening against your clit, firm this time, steady pressure you knew would have you coming in seconds.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breaking as you felt yourself approaching the edge. “Please, Harry, right there—baby—please!”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” he groaned, briefly lifting his mouth before immediately returning to your slick heat. “Want to feel you come on my tongue. Want to taste every drop you give me. Need it like I need air, baby, this is mine...”

Then you felt his fingers curl, curving inside you, hitting that exact spot with each thrust while his tongue worked your clit with unwavering focus. The combination was too much—the physical sensation coupled with his filthy words and, dammit, the sight of him between your thighs was so fucking beautiful, Harry completely devoted to your pleasure.

“I’m going to—” you moaned, your thighs beginning to shake uncontrollably as you fisted his hair, your grip tightening, pushing his face into your pussy like you could fit him inside you.

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice vibrating across your sensitive flesh. “Come for me, baby. Flood my fucking mouth.”

And then it was happening: your orgasm hitting with such staggering force that it knocked the air from your lungs, crashing through you in waves that seemed to go on forever, and you screamed out his name as your back arched off the couch, your walls convulsing around his fingers just like he wanted, and Harry moaned deeply against you, drinking in your release, his tongue gentling but never stopping as he guided you through every aftershock, every tremor of pleasure.

Harry didn’t stop until a soft whimper left your mouth, and you gently pulled away; only then did he reluctantly withdraw his mouth and he pressed his forehead against your trembling thigh, catching his breath in hot puffs against your skin as you gazed down at him, catching sight of your essence glistening on his lips and chin, a testament to your undoing.

When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, his gaze burned with more than just desire—they held a fierce, almost predatory pride in having unraveled you so completely, Harry knowing he had earned every shudder and cry his mouth had coaxed from your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your shaky thigh. “So fucking beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

“Come here,” you said, letting out a lazy laugh, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm as you tugged at his shoulders. “Let me kiss those shiny lips.”

Harry smiled as he rose from his knees, his movements a little stiff from the prolonged position. Of course, as he stood, you couldn’t help but stare hungrily at the prominent bulge straining against his jeans, and he moved to sit beside you on the couch, his lips a dark blush, wet with the evidence of your pleasure, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw, untamed hunger.

“I meant what I said,” he told you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with shaky fingers. “I worship you. Every part of you. And I’m so sorry for hurting you earlier.”

And even though you hear his words, you don’t respond. Instead, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep, aggressive kiss, gradually licking across his lips first, tasting your own arousal with a moan that made his entire body go slack.

And the groan that left his mouth spoke volumes as you climbed onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as you straddled him, barely breaking the kiss as you continued, pressing harder, your tongue exploring every corner of his mouth, finding every hint of your essence that was left, a whole new greed filling your chest.

“You like that?” you asked, grinding slowly against his erection as you pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing his. “You like when I’m filthy for you? When I lick my cum off your face?”

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath you, his pupils completely blown with lust. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

You smiled wickedly, dragging your tongue along his jaw to his ear. “You taste so good mixed with me,” you breathed, feeling him shudder beneath you. “And I believe you,” you added, your voice softening slightly as you pulled back to meet his eyes, stroking his flushed cheek. “And I forgive you. Now let me show you exactly how much.

Relief washed over his features, followed quickly by a need that seemed to rise up as you knowingly licked your lips, tasting the last glimmers of yourself. “Now,” you continued, your hand moving to the bulge in his jeans, “let me show you how much I love you too.”

Harry’s breath hitched as you palmed him through his denim jeans. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you assured him, working at his belt buckle. “I want to taste what I do to you. I want to taste us together.”

Your words pulled a deep moan from somewhere inside him, his hips lifting of their own accord to help as you tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free him, his dick bounced up between you, hard and straining, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

You leaned down, maintaining eye contact as you licked it away, savoring the salty-sweet flavor that mingled with your own taste, still lingering on your tongue, and you watched Harry’s eyes roll back, his hands already fisting in the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “If you keep that up, this is going to be embarrassingly quick.”

You smiled against him, pressing a kiss to his sensitive head. “That’s okay. We have all night for round two.”

Before he could respond, you took him into your mouth, sliding down as far as you comfortably could. The sound he made—half groan, half your name—felt like one of the most erotic things you had ever heard as your head began to move.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, saliva dripped from your lips to his shaft as you pumped him with your hand. “You like watching me choke on this big dick?” you asked, voice rugged before you took him deep again, this time letting your throat constrict around his tip.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his thighs tensing beneath you. “I’m not gonna last if you keep that up.”

You loved this part.

This was your favorite part, watching how easy it was to make him come undone.

And you continued to work him with your mouth and hand, establishing a rhythm that had him panting and cursing above you. When his hands found your hair, it wasn’t guiding, just connecting, Harry needing to touch you as you pleasured him.

“I’m close,” he warned after only a few minutes, his voice strained. “So close, babe.”

You pulled off with a pop, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “Not yet,” you said, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. “I want to feel you.”

Harry’s hands immediately went to your hips, steadying you as you positioned yourself above him. “Are you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, deep and passionate, as you slowly sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he was fully seated within you. The stretch now arousing the desperation even more, your body still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want this. I want you.”

You began to move, setting a slow, grinding pace that had both of you moaning, and Harry’s hands roamed your body, touching everywhere he could reach, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, really his.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, the words like a prayer being answered. “I love you so much. Never want to fight with you. Never want to be apart from you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, increasing your pace as the pleasure built again. “Always, Harry. Even when we fight.”

“Fuck—you’re so big,” you moaned against his lips, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. “Can feel you so deep inside me.”

“So—tight,” Harry pushed, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as you began to pick up your pace. “So fucking wet and tight around me. Like this pussy was made for me.”

And you both laughed when your eyes met his. Both of you realizing it had been way too long since you had spoken these filthy words into existence, but you needed it, both of you spurring one another on as the pleasure took hold of each of you.

You established a rhythm, rising until just the tip remained inside before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt each time. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps, each sound breathing life back into the space.

“That’s it,” Harry urged, his voice strained as he thrust up to meet your downward movements. “Ride that dick. Show me how much you fucking need it.”

And dammit, what had Harry said? you needed it like you needed the air in your lungs, the blood flowing through your veins, the fucking heart pumping in your chest that could only beat for him.

In this moment.

Always.

You needed him.

Forever.

The tension between you had transformed completely, the anger of earlier replaced by a desperate, all-consuming love. Each movement, each touch, each whispered endearment was a reaffirmation of your bond, stronger now for having been tested.

You felt hunger drive from within as you increased your pace, grinding your clit against his pelvis with each downstroke. “So deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back as he hit that spot inside you. “God—Harry—you’re so fucking deep.”

His hands moved from your hips to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as you bounced on his lap. “Look at you,” he groaned, eyes dark with need, with purpose as they raked over your body. “Taking me like this. Fucking goddess.”

The pleasure was building, charged with a thrilling energy that had you both sloppy for more as your second orgasm loomed even faster than the first. Harry could tell—he always could—and he slipped one hand between your bodies to circle your clit.

“Want you to come on this dick?” he forced, his voice a rough growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Going to squeeze me so tight I can’t hold back?”

“Harry—” you moaned, each movement becoming erratic as you chased your release. “Make me come, Harry. Need to come with you inside me.”

“The way you take me so deep... fucking incredible.” he praised, thumb stroking your clit in circles, moving in sync with your movements.

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice tight with the effort of holding back. “Want to feel you come around me.”

The added stimulation was all you needed, and you felt your second orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, less intense but somehow deeper than the first, and you moaned out Harry’s name as your inner walls clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

Fuck.

It was so good.

This was so good.

And then he was burying his face in your neck as he came, his arms wrapping around you so tight that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began as a swell of longing flooded your body, and you held him just as fiercely, riding out the waves of pleasure together until you both collapsed, spent and satisfied.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, connected in the most intimate way, hearts beating against each other as your breathing slowly returned to normal, and Harry pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, before finally finding your lips in a tender, loving kiss.

“I really am sorry,” he murmured against your mouth. “About the fight, about the dish, about leaving.”

You stroked his hair, smiling softly. “I know. And I’m sorry, too, for being so rigid sometimes. Maybe we can work on it together?”

Harry nodded; his eyes were serious despite the blissful aftermath you guys found yourselves in. “We will. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the seller is including the matching serving platter too.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, pure joy replacing the last vestiges of hurt. “You found the matching platter? Those are even rarer than the casserole dish!”

“Only the best for you,” Harry said, his smile mirroring yours. “I told you, I worship you. Every part of you, including your love for vintage dishware.”

You kissed him again, pouring all your love into it. “And I worship you, Harry. Even when you load the dishwasher wrong.”

When his laughter joined yours, filling the apartment with the sound of happiness restored. The broken dish was forgotten, replaced by the promise of new memories to be made, new moments to be shared, and a love that was stronger for having weathered its first real storm.

As you curled against him, content and complete, you knew that this—this imperfect, sometimes messy, always passionate love—was the most precious thing you would ever possess. And unlike a casserole dish, it couldn’t be broken by a careless moment or a heated argument. It could only grow stronger, more beautiful, with each challenge overcome together.

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ghstyles · 2 days ago

Text

Inevitable | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 7.9k

Summary: Harry is struggling to differentiate between a partnership and an ownership

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The smell of garlic and tomatoes filled the air, mingling with the quiet bubbling of sauce on the stove. Y/N stood barefoot in the tiny kitchen of her apartment, stirring the pot of pasta while humming something off-key. The place was small, barely enough room for two people to move around without bumping into each other, but somehow, Harry didn’t mind.

He leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, watching her with a strange kind of focus. Not calculating. Not suspicious. Just…curious. Like he was still trying to figure out how she made this feel normal.

“How much longer?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

He checked his watch even though he already knew. “Two more minutes.”

She gave an approving nod and went back to stirring. “You’re weirdly good at timing stuff.”

Harry smirked. “Occupational habit.”

She didn’t ask what occupation. She never did, not directly. That was one of the things he liked about her. She didn’t force pieces out of him before he was ready to give them.

There was something different about nights like this. No weapons. No bodyguards. No phones buzzing with encrypted messages. Just her in a loose T-shirt and shorts, hair tied up, hands stained faintly red from the sauce she’d insisted on making from scratch.

He stepped behind her, resting a hand lightly on her waist as he peered over her shoulder into the pot. “You sure this isn’t going to poison me?”

She elbowed him gently. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t use marinara.”

His laugh was low, real, and surprised even him a little. It echoed off her narrow kitchen walls, like something unfamiliar trying to find its place.

She turned, looked up at him with those bright, honest eyes, and smiled.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said, tiptoeing to press a kiss to his cheek before padding away.

Harry stayed where he was, hand still hovering in the air from where she’d touched him. He stared at the empty space she left behind, the quiet warmth still clinging to his skin before taking over the stirring.

This was different.

And for once, he wasn’t sure if that scared him or made him want more.

His thoughts were interrupted by her screams

Harry's entire body tensed at the sound, instinct taking over before conscious thought. In one fluid motion, he dropped the wooden spoon, pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans, and was moving toward the bathroom.

The door was unlocked, although he'd have kicked it down if it wasn't, and he pushed it open with his shoulder, weapon raised and ready. His eyes scanned for threats, body positioned to shield Y/N from whatever danger had caused her to scream.

"What is it?" His voice, deadly calm, yet the one that made grown men tremble. His eyes continued sweeping the small bathroom, looking for an intruder, a threat, anything that would explain her terror.

The bathroom appeared empty except for Y/N. Nothing seemed out of place. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry. But Harry knew better than most that danger could hide in plain sight.

"Angel, talk to me. What happened?" His grip on the gun didn't loosen, his body remaining between her and the door, ready to eliminate whatever had frightened her.

“Harry!” She says, clutching the back of hs shirt, “there’s a huge spider over there” she points to under the sink

Harry's entire demeanor shifts in an instant. The lethal tension in his body doesn't quite leave, but his expression changes to one of disbelief. He stares at Y/N for a beat, then looks toward the sink where she's pointing.

There is indeed a spider there. Not particularly large by his standards, but clearly enough to terrify her.

He slowly lowers his gun, tucking it back into his waistband with deliberate movements. When he turns to face her, his expression is a dangerous mixture of relief and irritation.

“A spider.” His voice is flat. “You screamed like someone was murdering you...because of a fucking spider?”

Y/N lifts her chin, acting a lot calmer than she felt. “It jumped, Harry. It had intent.”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. The adrenaline is still pumping through his system, his body primed for violence that isn’t necessary.

“Christ, Y/N. I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tensing. “Don’t scream like that unless someone’s trying to hurt you. I nearly shot first and asked questions later.”

Her expression softens, guilt flickering behind her eyes. “Sorry...I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just…spiders. They’re unpredictable.”

Despite his harsh words, he turns back toward the sink, grabbing a piece of toilet paper. “Where is the little bastard? Under here?”

He crouches down, muttering under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking spiders causing more problems than the Italians.”

Y/N stands a safe distance back, arms crossed. “For the record, I would’ve handled it myself if it wasn’t plotting my assassination.”

“Assasination” he scoffs under his breath

She pouts, “don’t make fun of me. I could have died” she says dramatically.

Harry glances over his shoulder at Y/N's dramatic pose, one eyebrow raised as he reaches under the sink.

"Died? From this?" He emerges with the tiny spider trapped in the tissue, holding it up for her to see. "This little thing? It's smaller than my fucking thumbnail."

Y/N's eyes widen at the sight of the spider, even safely contained in tissue. She takes another step back.

"It was huge from where I was standing! And it moved so fast. Don't bring it closer to me, Harry!"

Harry's lips twitch, fighting back what might almost be a smile. He stands, purposely taking a step toward her with the tissue-wrapped spider.

"What's wrong, angel? Thought you were dying a minute ago. Want to say goodbye to your would-be killer?"

"Harry Styles, I swear to God—" Y/N backs up until she hits the wall, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "If you come any closer with that thing, you're…sleeping on the couch for a week!"

Seriously? They didn't even live together. But that was all her fear filled brain could conjure.

He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that doesn't match the surprisingly playful glint in his eyes. He moves to the toilet and flushes the spider away.

"Empty threats, princess. We both know you can't sleep without me." He washes his hands thoroughly before turning back to her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed. "Besides, my couch costs more than most people's cars. Wouldn't exactly be a punishment."

Y/N rolls her eyes, her heartbeat finally returning to normal now that the spider is gone.

"My hero," she says sarcastically. "Saving me from the terrifying arachnid menace."

Harry pushes off from the sink, closing the distance between them in two strides. He places one hand on the wall beside her head, effectively caging her in.

"Next time you scream like that, it better be because you're in real danger..." his voice drops lower as he leans in "...or because I'm making you come so hard you can't help yourself."

“Harry!” She says, shoving him back. Her cheeks flush. “I’m pretty sure our dinner is burning”

He doesn't budge when she shoves him, solid as a wall. His eyes darken at the sight of her flushed cheeks, clearly enjoying her reaction. He leans in closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"Let it burn," he murmurs, lips brushing against her skin. "I'm suddenly in the mood for something else."

The scent of something scorching finally registers, and Y/N ducks under his arm, escaping his cage.

"The pasta, Harry!" She hurries toward the kitchen, her bare feet padding quickly across the floor.

Harry follows at a more leisurely pace, watching her rush to save their dinner with amused interest. By the time he reaches the kitchen, Y/N is already turning off the burner, waving away the smoke rising from the pot.

"Shit," she mutters, looking at the blackened bottom of the sauce. "It's ruined."

Harry leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, observing her disappointment with a mixture of amusement and something softer he'd never admit to feeling.

"I told you to let it burn," he says, voice low and teasing. "But now we have no dinner and I'm still hungry."

He pushes off from the doorframe, stalking toward her with predatory grace.

"We could order in," Y/N suggests, still fanning at the smoke, not noticing his approach until he's right behind her.

"Or," Harry says, strong hands settling on her hips, spinning her to face him, "I could just eat you instead."

Before she can protest, he lifts her easily, setting her on the counter beside the ruined dinner, positioning himself between her legs.

"What do you say, angel? Still worried about the fucking pasta?"

Y/N blinks at him, her fingers clutching the edge of the countertop tightly. Two months into their relationship, she still wasn't fully accustomed to Harry’s intensity. She’d been confident, teasing, self-assured, even a little cocky.when they first met, holding her ground against his sharp gaze and sharper words. But being with him, really with him, and catching glimpses of the ruthless man beneath the gentle hands and teasing smiles…it made her pulse race and stomach tighten with nervous anticipation.

Not nervous in a bad way. Never in a bad way.

Maybe, she realized, it wasn’t just seeing the real him that unsettled her. Maybe it was that, the longer she spent with him, the more her own mask slipped. The confident front she’d worn to impress him at the beginning was gradually replaced with something softer, something more genuine. Vulnerable. Real.

She swallowed softly, meeting his dark gaze through lowered lashes. "I was really looking forward to it," she admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry studies her face, reading her nervousness with practiced ease. Something in his expression shifts, not softening exactly, but recalibrating. His hands remain on her hips, but his grip loosens slightly.

"You really wanted the pasta that badly?" he asks, his voice dropping its seductive edge, replaced with genuine curiosity. "Why?"

Y/N looks down, fingers still gripping the counter edge.

"I just..." she hesitates, looking almost embarrassed. "I wanted to make you dinner. A real dinner. I thought it would be nice."

Harry's thumb traces small circles on her hip, a rare gesture of reassurance. His other hand moves to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You were cooking for me," he states rather than asks, his expression unreadable.

Y/N nods, looking vulnerable in a way that would make Harry want to destroy anyone else who showed such weakness. But with her, it stirs something different.

"No one's cooked for me since..." he stops, jaw tightening as if catching himself revealing too much. "It doesn't matter."

He steps back, creating space between them, and runs a hand through his hair.

"Get your coat," he says abruptly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"What? Why?" Y/N asks, confused by the sudden shift.

"Because I'm taking you out." Harry reaches for his keys on the counter. "If my girl wants dinner, she gets dinner."

My girl.��

The words echo softly in his own mind, startling him with their sincerity. They feel foreign yet oddly comforting, slipping naturally past his defenses and settling deep into his chest. He’s never been possessive like this before. Protective, yes, territorial even, but never with this quiet, intimate kind of claim. Calling her his made his chest tighten, emotion stirring inside him that he wasn't entirely ready to acknowledge.

But the feeling was there, undeniable and real.

He helps her down from the counter, his touch gentler than most would believe him capable of.

"But Harry, it's late and—"

"There's a place across town. Owner owes me." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "They'll open for us."

The unspoken truth hangs in the air. Harry could get anything he wanted in this city with a single phone call, that doors would open and people would scramble to please him out of fear or debt or both.

"Get your coat," he repeats, softer this time. "I want to watch you eat something that isn't fucking burnt."

“And whose fault is it that it’s burnt?” She smiles, pecking his cheek before making her way to her room to change really quickly

Harry watches her walk away, his eyes tracking her movements with possessive attention. When she's out of sight, he pulls out his phone, making a brief call. His voice shifts to something colder, more commanding than what he uses with Y/N.

"Thomas. I need the restaurant open in twenty. Just one table." He pauses, listening. "I don't give a fuck what time it is. Make it happen."

He ends the call just as Y/N returns, now wearing a simple dress that hugs her curves. Harry's eyes darken appreciatively as he takes her in.

"That was quick," he comments, reaching for her coat before she can grab it herself. He holds it open for her to slip into. It was a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture from a man who had ordered three hits last week.

"I didn't want to keep you waiting," Y/N replies, sliding her arms into the coat sleeves. "You get grumpy when you're hungry."

"I get grumpy when I don't get what I want," he corrects her, his hands lingering on her shoulders after adjusting her coat. "And right now, I want to feed you."

He guides her toward the door with a hand on the small of her back, grabbing his car keys.

"You know," Y/N says as they step into the hallway, "normal boyfriends just order pizza when dinner gets ruined."

Harry locks the door behind them, his expression amused.

"When have I ever given you the impression that I'm normal?" He leads her toward the elevator, his hand never leaving her back. "Besides, last one kept staring at you," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "That's why we don't order pizza anymore."

Y/N's eyes widen slightly. "Harry...what did you do to that delivery boy?"

The elevator doors close, and Harry's reflection smirks in the mirrored wall.

"Nothing permanent," is all he says, pressing the button for the lobby level. "Just made sure he found a new route."

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The restaurant is empty except for them, just as Harry demanded. The lighting is dim, the atmosphere intimate, with a single table set in the center of the room. The owner himself has been serving them, his hands trembling slightly whenever Harry's gaze falls on him.

Harry is cutting into his steak when he notices Y/N's attention fixed on her phone under the table, her brow furrowed in concentration. He pauses mid-cut, watching her for a moment before reaching across and plucking the device from her hands in one swift movement.

"What's so fucking important that—" He stops, looking at the screen, his expression shifting from annoyance to disbelief as he reads aloud: "'Fatal spider bites per year in the United States.'"

Y/N reaches for her phone, cheeks flushing. "Give it back!"

Harry holds it just out of her reach, scrolling through the search results with his thumb, his lips twitching dangerously.

"Seven deaths," he reads, looking up at her with barely contained amusement. "Seven people out of three hundred and thirty million. You're literally more likely to be killed by a fucking cow."

He slides the phone back across the table, watching as she snatches it up defensively.

"I was just checking," she mutters, putting the phone away in her purse.

"Checking if your dramatic performance in the bathroom was justified?" Harry takes a sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving her face. "It wasn't, by the way."

Y/N narrows her eyes at him. "You don't know what that spider was thinking. It could have been venomous."

"Angel," Harry leans forward, lowering his voice despite them being alone, "I've seen men with guns try to kill me with less conviction than you had about that spider."

The owner approaches nervously to refill their wine glasses. Harry barely acknowledges him with a glance, but it's enough to send the man scurrying away again.

"If you're so worried about dying," Harry continues once they're alone, cutting another piece of his steak, "you should reconsider who you're having dinner with. That spider's got nothing on me."

Y/N takes a bite of her pasta, properly cooked this time, and points her fork at him. "At least you warn me before you bite."

Harry's expression darkens with heat, a slow smile spreading across his face that makes the owner, watching from across the room, visibly shudder.

"Is that a request, sweetheart?"

“No!” She says quickly, flush creeping up her neck. “Just an observation. And…behave. We’re in public”

Harry's gaze travels from her flushed neck back to her eyes, lingering deliberately on her lips in between. The predatory smile doesn't fade.

"Public?" He gestures around the empty restaurant with his knife. "Do you see anyone else here? Thomas cleared out his entire staff except for himself, and he knows better than to look our way unless I call him over."

As if on cue, the owner's eyes dart away when Y/N glances in his direction. The man busies himself polishing already clean glasses behind the bar, clearly trying to become invisible.

Harry sets down his knife and reaches across the table, his fingers capturing her wrist. His thumb strokes over her pulse point, feeling it quicken under his touch.

"I could bend you over this table right now," he says, voice low and matter-of-fact, "and no one would say a fucking word about it."

Y/N tries to pull her hand away, but his grip tightens just enough to hold her in place.

"Harry!" she hisses, looking mortified. "That's—you can't just—"

"Can't I?" His thumb continues its maddening circles on her wrist. "This entire block belongs to me, angel. I can do whatever I want."

He releases her wrist suddenly, picking up his utensils again as if nothing happened.

"But I won't," he adds, cutting another piece of steak. "Not because we're in public, but because I'd rather take my time with you later."

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before adding: "Besides, you haven't finished your pasta. And after all the drama about cooking dinner, it would be a shame to waste this one too."

Y/N stares at him, caught between relief, embarrassment, and something darker she doesn't want to examine too closely. The thrill that runs through her at his words.

"You're impossible," she finally says, picking up her fork again.

"No," Harry corrects, pointing his knife at her. "I'm inevitable, sweetheart. There's a difference."

He signals for more wine, and Thomas appears instantly at their table, pouring with shaking hands.

“Thank you” Y/N looks over to Thomas and offers a warm smile that hopefully balances out Harry’s whole intimidation act.

Thomas freezes mid-pour, clearly startled by Y/N's kindness. His eyes flick nervously to Harry, as if seeking permission to acknowledge her directly. When Harry doesn't immediately object, the owner manages a trembling smile in return.

"Y-you're welcome, miss," he says quietly, his accent thickening with anxiety. "Is everything to your liking?"

Before Y/N can answer, Harry's hand shoots out, gripping Thomas's wrist with enough force to make the man wince. The wine bottle tilts dangerously, a drop spilling onto the white tablecloth.

"You're here to serve, not chat," Harry says, his voice deceptively soft but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Pour the wine and fuck off."

Thomas nods frantically, finishing the pour with trembling hands before backing away. Y/N waits until he's out of earshot before turning to Harry with a disapproving look.

"That was unnecessary," she says, folding her napkin in her lap. "He was just being polite."

Harry takes a slow sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.

"He was staring at you."

"He was not," Y/N protests. "And even if he was, that's no reason to terrify the poor man. He's just doing his job."

Harry sets down his glass, his expression unchanged but something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

"His job is to serve food and keep his eyes on the fucking floor. Not to smile at what's mine."

Y/N's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

"I am not a 'what,' Harry. I'm a person. And you don't own me."

The restaurant seems to grow quieter, if that's possible. Harry goes still in that particular way that makes even his most hardened men nervous. The calm before a storm.

"Don't I?" he asks softly, leaning forward slightly. "Tell me, angel, whose car do you drive every day? Whose credit card is tucked in your purse right now? Whose clothes do you wear when you fall asleep?"

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, her jaw tightening.

"That doesn't mean you own me," she finally says, her voice quieter but no less determined. "It means you take care of me. There's a difference."

Something shifts in Harry's expression. The barest hint of surprise, quickly masked. He studies her for a long moment before his lips curve into a small, dangerous smile.

"Taking care of what's mine," he corrects, picking up his fork again. "But we can call it whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart."

He glances toward Thomas, who's trying to disappear into the shadows of the bar.

"Eat your pasta before it gets cold. Again."

“No,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I won’t.”

She leans back in her chair, tension radiating off her in waves, eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. Her expression is guarded, a subtle tremor running beneath the strength she’s trying hard to project. It’s obvious she’s upset, hurt even, and she isn’t making any effort to hide it from him.

Harry's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. The restaurant seems to drop several degrees in temperature as he slowly sets it down, the metal clinking against fine china with deliberate precision. He watches her closely, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. He isn't accustomed to this kind of open resistance from her, not like this. Usually playful, usually teasing, their arguments until now have been surface-level, nothing deeper. But this, this silent challenge, this quiet anger, is new. It pushes at boundaries neither of them have fully tested yet, pulling them both into unfamiliar territory.

His face is unnervingly calm, but his eyes have gone cold. Its the same expression his men have learned to fear. He studies Y/N like she's a puzzle he can't quite figure out, or perhaps a problem requiring elimination.

"No?" he repeats, the single word carrying weight far beyond its simplicity.

Across the restaurant, Thomas has gone completely still, like prey sensing a predator. Even the soft classical music playing in the background seems to fade.

Harry leans forward, forearms resting on the table, his voice dropping to that dangerous quiet that usually precedes violence.

"Let me be very clear about something, Y/N. No one says no to me. Not my men, not my enemies, and certainly not the woman warming my bed."

Y/N swallows but doesn't back down, though her crossed arms now look more protective than defiant.

"Well, I just did," she says, her voice impressively steady despite the fear flickering in her eyes. "I won't eat while you're treating me like a possession instead of a partner. And I won't sit here while you terrorize innocent people just because you can."

Harry's jaw tightens, a muscle twitching. For several long seconds, he says nothing, the silence stretching taut between them.

When he finally speaks, his voice is dangerously soft. "Two months with me, and suddenly you think you know how this works?"

He reaches for his whiskey, taking a deliberate sip before continuing.

"You walked into my world with your eyes wide open, angel. You knew exactly who I was. What I am." His gaze is unflinching. "Did you think I'd change? Become soft because you spread your legs for me?"

The cruel words hang in the air. Y/N flinches as if struck, tears welling in her eyes. She pushes her chair back, standing abruptly.

"Take me home," she says, voice thick with unshed tears. "Now."

Harry remains seated, looking up at her with an expression that gives nothing away.

"Sit down."

"No," she repeats, more firmly this time despite the tremor in her voice. "Either take me home or I'll call a cab."

Something dangerous flashes in Harry's eyes. A glimpse of the violence that's always simmering beneath the surface.

"You walk out that door without me, sweetheart, and you better keep walking. All the way out of my city."

It's not just a threat–It's a promise.

They stare each other down for a charged, unbearable moment, silence crackling between them like an impending storm. Y/N lifts her chin, gathering every bit of courage she has left.

“I won't let you speak to me this way," she says, voice shaking yet fierce, breaking the silence like glass shattering. "I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done for me.”

She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, forcing back tears born from hurt and fury. When she drops her hands, there’s resolve in her expression, her gaze unsteady but determined, as she turns sharply on her heel, walking away from him and toward the door without looking back.

Harry watches her walk away, his expression carved from stone. For a moment, it seems as though he'll let her go. That whatever had built between them over the past three months will end here, in this empty restaurant with her retreating back.

Thomas, still frozen by the bar, doesn't dare breathe as Harry slowly rises from his chair. The movement is deliberate, predatory. He tosses his napkin onto the table and follows Y/N, his pace unhurried but purposeful.

He catches her just as her hand reaches for the door, his fingers wrapping around her upper arm. Not painful, but firm enough to stop her.

"Look at me," he demands, his voice low.

Y/N keeps her face turned away, tears still threatening to spill despite her efforts to contain them.

Harry's other hand comes up to grip her chin, turning her face toward him with surprising gentleness considering the storm in his eyes.

"I said, look at me."

She meets his gaze then, defiant despite her tears. For a long moment, they stare at each other, a battle of wills where they both know he could overpower her physically, but somehow, she's managing to challenge him anyway.

Something shifts in Harry's expression, not exactly softening, but recalibrating. His thumb brushes across her cheek, catching a tear before it can fall.

"You're the only person alive who could walk away from me like that," he says quietly, his voice rough with an emotion he can't quite name. "The only one I'd follow."

He releases her chin but keeps his hold on her arm, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I don't know how to be what you want," he admits, the words clearly costing him. "This—" he gestures between them "—isn't something I've done before."

Y/N swallows, her anger still evident but mingled with something else now.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are, Harry. I'm asking you to respect who I am."

Harry's jaw tightens, his eyes searching her face as if looking for weakness, for deception. He finds neither.

"My car" he finally says, but his tone has changed—it's still commanding, but lacks the earlier cruelty. "We'll finish this conversation at home."

He leads her to the door they originally came through, his hand moving to the small of her back. A possessive gesture, but one that feels more protective than controlling now.

As they pass Thomas, Harry pauses, his voice carrying clearly in the silent restaurant.

"The bill's been settled. If I hear a single word about tonight from anyone, I'll burn this place to the ground with you in it."

It's a reminder to Y/N as much as to Thomas that while he might bend for her, Harry Styles remains exactly who he's always been.

Harry still holds the car door open for her, the silence between them heavy and oppressive. She climbs in without meeting his gaze, her movements sharp and guarded. Settling into the seat, she crosses her arms tightly across her chest and turns slightly away, angling her body toward the window as if placing an invisible barrier between them.

Harry closes the door gently, too gently for the violence still simmering under his carefully maintained composure, and walks around the car, sliding into the driver's seat without a word. The tension in the small space feels suffocating, thick enough to choke on.

The sleek black Audi cuts through the night, its engine a low, powerful growl that matches the tension inside. Harry drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his knuckles white with tension. His eyes remain fixed on the road ahead, but his awareness of Y/N is palpable.

The silence between them is heavy, charged with unspoken words and the aftermath of their first real confrontation. Street lights flash across Harry's face in rhythmic intervals, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline, clenched tight with restraint.

After several minutes of suffocating silence, Harry speaks, his voice low but controlled.

"You know what I do," he says, not a question but a statement of fact. "You know who I am. What did you expect?"

Y/N continues staring out the passenger window, watching the city blur past. For a moment, it seems she might not answer.

"I expected to be treated with respect," she finally says, her voice quiet but firm. "Not like another one of your possessions."

Harry's grip on the wheel tightens, his knuckles going even whiter.

"Respect," he repeats, as if testing the word. "The men who respect me do so because they fear me. Is that what you want, Y/N? To fear me?"

He takes a sharp turn, the car's tires squealing slightly on the asphalt. When Y/N still doesn't look at him, something in his composure fractures.

"Answer me," he demands, the command in his voice impossible to ignore.

Y/N finally turns to face him, her eyes still reddened from earlier tears but her gaze steady.

"No, I don't want to fear you. And I don't. But that doesn't mean I'll let you treat me like you treated Thomas tonight. Or like you own me because you pay for things."

Harry's jaw works as he processes her words. They stop at a red light, and he turns to look at her fully, his green eyes intense in the dim car interior.

"Then what do you want from me?" There's genuine confusion beneath the frustration in his voice—a man who understands power and control suddenly faced with something he can't dominate or buy.

The light turns green, forcing him to return his attention to the road.

Y/N uncrosses her arms, her posture softening slightly.

"I want a relationship, Harry. Not a transaction. Not ownership. A partnership."

Harry scoffs, though there's less heat in it than before.

"Partnership," he mutters, shaking his head slightly. "I don't have partners, sweetheart. I have subordinates."

"Then what am I to you?" Y/N challenges, turning more fully toward him now. "Just another subordinate who happens to share your bed?"

The question hangs between them as Harry pulls up to her apartment building, parking with practiced precision. He turns off the engine but makes no move to exit the car, his hands still gripping the wheel as if it might ground him.

"You're..." he begins, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Such a rare occurrence for a man who commands with such certainty. "You're different."

It's not the answer she wanted, but it might be the most honest one he's capable of giving right now.

Y/N turns to face him fully now, her eyes shimmering with hurt in the dim light of the car. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she's developed whenever she's upset.

"Then what the fuck was that back there?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly. "If I'm so different, why would you say that to me? About...about 'spreading my legs' for you?"

"That hurt, Harry. More than I thought you could hurt me," she admits quietly, vulnerability evident in every line of her body. "Is that really all I am to you? Just another conquest who happens to last longer than a night?"

The words hang between them, her usual wit and sarcasm stripped away, leaving only the raw hurt of a girl who's fallen for someone far more dangerous and complex than she ever anticipated.

Harry stares straight ahead through the windshield, his profile sharp and unreadable in the shadows. The muscle in his jaw works as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. For a man who makes decisions that end lives without hesitation, he seems suddenly uncertain.

When he finally turns to look at her, a glimpse of vulnerability so brief it might have been imagined flickers across his face.

"I said it to hurt you," he admits, his voice low and rough. "Because you challenged me. In front of someone who works for me."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration.

"No one does that. Ever." His eyes hold hers, intense and searching. "But you did. And I..." he hesitates, as if the words physically pain him "...I reacted badly."

It's not quite an apology as Harry Styles doesn't apologize, but it's as close as he's likely to come.

Y/N blinks rapidly, her throat tightening painfully around a fresh wave of tears. "I wasn't trying to challenge you, Harry. I just wanted you to treat me like a human being. Like someone who actually matters to you."

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against her cheek with surprising gentleness, tracing the path her tears had taken earlier.

"You're not a conquest, Y/N." His thumb brushes over her lower lip, his eyes following the movement. "If that's all you were, you wouldn't be here now. You'd be a memory. A pleasant one, maybe, but nothing more."

She exhales shakily, looking down as fresh tears cling to her eyelashes. "Then don't treat me like I'm disposable. I can't...I can't feel this much for someone who makes me feel worthless in the next breath."

His hand slides to cup the back of her neck, applying the slightest pressure, not forcing, but guiding her closer.

"I know. The truth is," he continues, voice dropping lower, "I don't know what the fuck you are to me. I just know I want you in my bed every night. I want to hear you laugh at your own stupid jokes. I want to kill anyone who makes you cry."

His gaze intensifies, something dangerous and possessive flaring in his eyes.

"Including myself, apparently," he adds with a mirthless laugh. "Which is a fucking problem I never anticipated."

He leans closer, their faces now inches apart.

"So no, you're not just someone who 'spreads her legs' for me. You're..." he searches for words that don't come easily to a man like him "...you're the exception to every rule I've ever had."

His hand tightens slightly on her neck, his next words almost a warning:

"And that scares the shit out of me."

She sniffles, “and what rules were those?” She whispers, not pulling back, which to Harry was a good sign.

Harry's eyes search hers, something vulnerable and almost uncertain flickering behind his usual intensity. His thumb traces small circles against the nape of her neck, a soothing gesture that seems instinctive rather than calculated.

"Never let anyone close enough to become a weakness," he says, his voice a low rumble between them. "Never care about anyone more than you care about power. Never apologize."

His lips quirk in a humorless smile.

"Never follow anyone who walks away from you. Never explain yourself." His fingers tangle gently in her hair. "Never let someone see the parts of you that aren't...useful."

He draws a breath, his chest rising and falling with it. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher, more honest than she's ever heard it.

"I've built everything I have on those rules. Every bit of power, every ounce of respect. And then you walked into my life with those soft eyes and that mouth that doesn't know when to stay shut..."

His forehead touches hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

"And suddenly, I'm breaking every one of them."

Y/N lets out a shaky breath, her fingers hesitantly finding their way to his wrist, holding onto him like he's something delicate. Something precious she doesn't want to damage further. "Maybe you don't need those rules anymore," she whispers softly, her voice fragile but filled with quiet conviction. "Maybe some things are stronger than control."

His hand slides from her neck to cup her cheek, his touch gentler than a man with blood on his hands should be capable of.

"I don't know how to do this, Y/N," he admits, the confession clearly costing him. "I know how to own things. I know how to control people. I don't know how to..."

He struggles with the word, as if it's foreign to his tongue.

"...care for someone without trying to possess them."

Her eyes soften, tears welling again but not from hurt, not this time.

His eyes lock with hers, intense and searching.

"But I'm trying. For you, I'm fucking trying."

It's as close to a declaration as a man like Harry Styles can make. It’s an admission of vulnerability that would get him killed in his world if anyone else heard it.

She brings a hand to his face, cupping his jaw, “and I understand that, but trying doesn’t involve purposefully trying to hurt me. I need you to understand that”

Harry goes still under her touch, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire for her gentle contact and discomfort at being confronted with his own behavior. He doesn't pull away, though, allowing her hand to remain on his face.

"I understand that," he says after a moment, his voice low and controlled. "I just don't like it."

He turns his face slightly, his lips brushing against her palm in a gesture that's almost tender.

"When I'm challenged, I eliminate the threat. It's instinct." His eyes find hers again, intense and unwavering. "But you're not a threat to be eliminated. You're..."

He struggles again, a man whose vocabulary has plenty of words for violence but few for tenderness.

"You matter," he finally says simply. "And I don't want to hurt you. Even when you piss me off. Even when you challenge me in front of others."

His hand covers hers on his face, pressing it more firmly against his skin as if anchoring himself.

"I can't promise I'll never say something cruel again," he tells her honestly. "I am who I am, Y/N. But I can promise to try not to hurt you deliberately. Not like tonight."

He leans in, his forehead touching hers again, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

"Just don't walk away from me like that again. I don't know how to handle it." The admission costs him, she can tell by the tension in his jaw. "And I can't guarantee what I'll do if you try."

"I need you to understand that," he echoes her words back to her, his grip tightening slightly on her hand.

She nods, “I do. But I also can’t promise that I won’t walk away again if you repeat what happened tonight. Got it? I won’t let you speak to me like that again” She says, not backing down, looking into his eyes and hoping he could meet her halfway.

Harry holds her gaze, a battle of wills playing out in the confined space of the car. The silence stretches between them, tense with possibility. Finally, his lips curve into something not quite a smile but more an acknowledgment of her courage.

"You've got more balls than half my crew," he says, a reluctant admiration in his tone. "Standing your ground with me like this."

His thumb traces her lower lip, his eyes following the movement.

"Fine. I won't speak to you like that again." The concession comes with a condition, his voice hardening slightly. "But you need to understand something too, angel. In public, especially around my men or anyone connected to my business, you can't challenge me openly. Not if you want to stay in my world."

He shifts closer, his presence filling the car with controlled intensity.

"It's not just about my pride. It's about survival. If they see weakness in me, if they think you can control me..." he doesn't finish the thought, doesn't need to.

Y/N considers his words, understanding dawning in her eyes. She hadn't fully considered the implications of her actions within his dangerous world.

"I understand that," she says finally. "I won't undermine you in front of your men. But that restaurant was empty except for Thomas, and you were being cruel to him for no reason."

Harry's expression darkens slightly.

"Thomas isn't just some innocent restaurant owner. He launders money for me. He's in my debt up to his eyeballs." His jaw tightens. "And he was looking at you like he was starving and you were a fucking meal."

"He was not," Y/N protests, though with less conviction now. "He was just being nice."

"Men like that aren't 'nice' to women who look like you without wanting something," Harry says flatly. "Especially not women they know belong to me."

Y/N bristles slightly at his choice of words.

"I don't 'belong' to you, Harry," she reminds him, but her tone is gentler than before. "That's the whole point of this conversation."

Harry's eyes flash with something dangerous, but he controls it, his hand sliding to cup the back of her neck again.

"You're mine," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. "That doesn't change. What changes is how I treat what's mine."

He pulls her closer, his lips a breath away from hers.

"I'll try to be...better. For you. But don't expect me to become someone I'm not." His eyes hold hers, intense and unwavering. "I'm still the same man who puts bullets in people who cross me. The same man who built an empire on blood and fear. That doesn't change just because I care about you."

Y/N swallows, the reality of who and what he is hanging between them.

"I don't want you to be someone else," she says softly. "I just want you to be your best self with me."

Harry's expression shifts, something almost vulnerable flickering across his face before it's gone.

"I'll try," he promises, the words simple but meaning more coming from him than flowery declarations would from another man. "Now come home with me."

It's both a command and a request—the most balance he can offer between who he is and who she needs him to be.

She smiles, “Did you just call my ‘shitty apartment’ home?”

Harry's lips twitch, the tension between them breaking slightly at her teasing. His hand slides from her neck to her cheek, thumb brushing across her lower lip.

"I said 'come home with me,' not 'let's go to your home,'" he corrects, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always makes her pulse quicken. "Your shitty apartment is where you keep your textbooks and that ridiculous collection of stuffed animals."

He leans closer, his breath warm against her ear.

"Home is where I fuck you until you forget every reason you were mad at me," he murmurs, his hand sliding to her thigh, fingers tracing slow patterns over the fabric of her dress. "My bed. My place."

Y/N shivers slightly at his touch, but manages to maintain her composure, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Bold of you to assume I want you anywhere near me tonight after what you said," she challenges, though there's less heat in it now, more of their usual banter returning.

Harry pulls back just enough to look at her, his green eyes darkening with desire and something more possessive.

"You're still mad," he acknowledges, his hand not moving from her thigh. "That's fair. But we both know anger looks good on you, angel. Makes your eyes shine, your cheeks flush..."

His fingers inch higher on her thigh, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Makes you wet too," he adds, voice dropping lower. "Doesn't it?"

Y/N flushes, torn between desire and the lingering hurt from earlier.

"You can't just say something awful and then expect sex to fix it," she says, though her body betrays her with a slight shift toward his touch.

Harry's expression grows more serious, his hand stilling on her thigh.

"I don't expect sex to fix it," he says, surprising her with his honesty. "I expect time to fix it. But I want you in my bed tonight, even if all we do is sleep."

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers again in that oddly intimate gesture.

"I sleep better with you there," he admits quietly, the confession clearly difficult for him. "And I've got an important meeting tomorrow. Need a clear head."

It's as close as he'll come to saying he needs her, not just wants her, but needs her presence.

Y/N studies his face, seeing the sincerity beneath the desire.

"Fine," she relents with a small smile. "But only because your sheets are nicer than mine."

Harry's answering smile is slow and knowing.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, angel." He starts the car again, his hand remaining on her thigh as he pulls away from the curb. "Or not sleep, depending on how forgiving you're feeling by the time we get there."

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this-is-tiny-mia · 1 day ago

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Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 2

General Masterlist uni!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of betrayal.

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, still staring at the email, torn between slamming the laptop shut or throwing it out the window entirely. The room was too quiet—that kind of quiet that made your thoughts unbearable, every line of Harry’s email replaying over and over in your mind.

You read it once, twice, at least ten times, blinking and rubbing your eyes, hoping it was some weird dream that would disappear if you looked away.

But it didn’t.

There it was: the email, glaring at you, with everyone’s email address in the recipient field.

The furious sound of the door bursting open snapped you out of your daze. Your eyes darted to Juliet, standing in the doorway, phone clutched in her hand, her face mirroring your shock and disbelief.

“Holy—” she started.

“Shit,” you finished.

Juliet rushed over, peering at your laptop, her jaw dropping as she confirmed what she’d already seen on her phone. “Oh my god. It’s real. The whole class—the entire 22 students—got this?”

You nodded numbly, closing the laptop with a sharp snap. “What’s happening? What is this? Is he... mocking me or something?” Your voice cracked as your thoughts spiraled a thousand miles a second.

Juliet stared at you “Mocking you? Y/N, he didn’t even mean to send it to you! Or anyone! This was a huge, accidental, disastrous mistake.” She paused “And that’s the thing—it’s raw. It’s real. It’s...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s tragic and romantic and messy, just like the two of you.” She was too dramatic for her own good, maybe that’s why she chose literature and just maybe that’s why her name suited her so well.

“It’s mortifying!” you shot back, standing up abruptly and pacing the room. “It’s embarrassing! It’s—” Your hands gestured wildly in the air. “It’s a lie! That’s what it is!”

Juliet folded her arms, watching you wear a path into the carpet. “You think it’s a lie? After that email? Y/N, come on. No one writes something that vulnerable if it isn’t true. And they definitely don’t send it to the entire class by accident if they’re not losing their mind over it.”

You stopped mid-pace, running a hand through your hair, your emotions a swirling mix of anger, confusion, and something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Juliet watched you pace, her expression softening. “Y/N, it’s not a lie. Come on, you read the same thing I did. That wasn’t just some random excuse or a joke. That was real. Like... the kind of real people don’t just write down unless they mean it.”

“How can you be so sure? He’s barely spoken to me in years, Juliet. He’s ignored me, avoided me—he doesn’t get to just... just drop something like this and expect me to believe it.”

Juliet sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against your desk. “Maybe he doesn’t expect you to believe it. Maybe he doesn’t even expect you to read it. Hell, he probably wishes the ground would swallow him whole right now. But, Y/N... he wrote it. And that’s gotta count for something.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “What am I supposed to do? Ask why he thinks writing about me like I’m his tragic love story is okay?”

Juliet’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I mean, that’s one option. Or, you know, you could just talk to him. Like two grown adults. Maybe figure out why he felt the need to pour his heart out in the middle of a class project.”

You shook your head, resuming your pacing. “It’s not that simple. If I talk to him, it’s like... I’m acknowledging it. Acknowledging him. And after everything, I don’t think I can do that.”

Juliet walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop moving and look at her. “You don’t have to figure this out right now. But, Y/N, don’t let this sit and fester. You owe it to yourself to at least try to understand what’s going on here. Whether you believe it or not, Harry just handed you a piece of himself”

Her words lingered in the air as she stepped back, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. The email, now closed behind the laptop, felt like it was still burning into your mind. You weren’t sure what your next move would be, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

🌷

The week was quiet. Too quiet.

You barely saw Harry around campus, and when you did, he seemed to be actively avoiding your gaze. His usual confident stride looked hesitant, shoulders slumped, as though the weight of his email disaster had physically manifested on his back.

Not that you cared.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time Juliet glanced at you with an arched brow, her unspoken words hanging in the air.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in your own thoughts. The email replayed in your head in snippets—his words, the tone, the rawness. It was like a broken record you couldn’t stop, even when you desperately wanted to. The anger in you simmered, hot and unrelenting, blocking out any other emotion trying to creep in.

Friday arrived, and so did the storytelling class.

You had spent the entire week doing everything possible to avoid Harry. But as the day approached, the dread of sitting in the same room as him grew too overwhelming to ignore. You told yourself you weren’t going—not because you were scared or unsure, but because you simply weren’t ready.

But Juliet had other plans.

“Y/N, get up. You’re going,” Juliet said firmly, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. “I’m not going, Juliet. I don’t have a story ready, and I’m not ready to deal with…him.”

“That’s exactly why you need to go,” she replied, yanking the blanket off with zero remorse. “You can’t avoid him forever, and skipping class isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Watch me,” you muttered, curling into a ball.

Juliet rolled her eyes “Listen, Y/N. Do you think he’s going to magically disappear? Or that ignoring this will make it less messy? No. What you need is closure. And maybe... maybe you’ll find it in that classroom. Or at least you’ll hear what he has to say. He’s probably dying to explain himsel”

She was right, ignoring it wouldn’t make it less messy, but maybe you wanted to believe he was going to dissapear

“Look, just come with me,” Juliet said, softening her tone. “You don’t even have to talk to him. Just sit in the back, pretend he doesn’t exist. But please, don’t let him take this class—or your peace of mind—from you.”

She got a point.

With a sigh you got out of bed. “Fine”

Juliet grinned, tossing you your bag.

🌷

The classroom was unusually loud when you arrived, but the moment you stepped in, the noise died down, replaced by the tension of stares. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what they were thinking. Of course, they still remembered the email—how could they not? It was the freshest gossip on campus, a dramatic story for everyone but you. For you, it was a mess.

Juliet gave you a reassuring nudge as you walked past rows of desks, guiding you toward an empty seat in the middle. "Ignore them," she whispered.

You tried to focus on her words and not on him. But there he was, sitting in the back corner of the room besides Noah. At least Noah accepted his offer. His face was unreadable as his eyes followed your every move. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your head as you slid into the seat next to Juliet.

"Just breathe," Juliet murmured, pulling out her notebook. You mirrored her movements, pretending to organize your things as if your heart wasn’t racing out of control.

The minutes dragged on. Conversations around the room resumed, but you couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood in your ears. The weight of his gaze never wavered, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

And then, his voice broke through the noise.

“Juliet, can we switch seats for a minute?”

Your entire body froze. Juliet looked at you, then back at Harry, her expression shifting between surprise and excitement.

“Um...” Juliet hesitated, glancing at you for guidance.

You swallowed hard, staring straight ahead, willing her not to move. But Juliet, being Juliet, wasn’t one to back down from a dramatic moment.

“Why?” she asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed “Please?”

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t even look at Juliet, but why? you swore you didn’t want to talk to him, hell you were avoiding him all week, so why weren’t you running away, why did your legs decide to stay still, Why?

“Fine. Take it,” she said, stepping aside and shooting you a look.

Harry slid into the seat beside you, his presence immediately overwhelming. He didn’t say anything at first, and neither did you. The silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he started speaking. "Look, I know you don’t want to hear anything I have to say"

Then why are you here? you thought.

You kept your eyes fixed on the notebook in front of you, your hand frozen mid-scribble.

"I didn’t mean for the email to happen like that," he continued "I was trying to send it to Noah—just Noah—and I don’t even know how I messed it up so badly. But I know that doesn’t matter. It’s out there now, and... and I’m sorry."

He hesitated, waiting for a response. You didn’t give him one.

"I know it probably made you feel a million things—angry, embarrassed, hurt... and you have every right to feel all of that. I would, too."

Your grip on the pen tightened, but you didn’t look at him.

"I wasn’t trying to drag you into this, Y/N. I swear I wasn’t. I just—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was selfish. I was trying to make sense of something I’ve been too much of a coward to deal with for years. And now... now I’ve made it even worse."

You stayed silent, your pen hovering over the page, unmoving.

"And I know you probably hate me for it," he said quietly, almost to himself. "For everything I did back then, for the way I acted... and for now. I get it. I’d hate me too."

Still, you didn’t speak.

Harry exhaled slowly, as if trying to release some of the weight pressing on him. "I just wanted you to know I’m sorry, okay? For all of it. Even if you never talk to me again, even if this ruins everything even more than it already is... I needed you to know that."

He sat back in his chair, letting the silence between you stretch. But you still didn’t move, didn’t speak. And eventually, he stopped trying.

“Or maybe even if you want an explanation for everything, your friend Juliet probably knows where to find me,” he said, standing up and leaving again for his seat.

No, I know where to find you, you thought again.

🌷

After Harry's words echoed in your mind, you couldn't shake the way he had spoken to you—so raw, so regretful, yet so distant. The days following his apology felt like an eternity of silence, and yet your mind wouldn't stop replaying that moment over and over. The way he had stood there, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the quiet weight of his apology that lingered in the air. The words themselves had been heavy, but the silence afterward was even worse. You didn’t talk to Juliet about it. Instead, you spent hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened—what you had said, what he had said, and where everything had gone so terribly wrong. Was he really sorry? Did it even matter? You had asked yourself all the same questions a thousand times, but nothing seemed to have an answer.

That’s when it hit you: If you were ever going to move on, if you were ever going to understand anything, you had to do something about it. You had to go to him. Not for closure, not for anything grand or meaningful—but for yourself. Maybe Tragic Juliet was right all along.

So, when Friday arrived, you decided to go.

The campus was busy, students chatting and hurrying to their next destinations, but you weren’t really seeing any of it. You only had one destination in mind. You found yourself walking toward a secluded spot near his dorm. It was tucked away between the larger buildings, a quiet little hall filled with nature—a place you had seen him before, reading, writing, or drinking something late at night. Even if you didn’t want to, your mind couldn’t help but remember that.

And there he was, sitting at the only table there, his head down, focused on something—his phone, a textbook, you couldn’t tell. But he was there. Just like you knew he would be.

For a moment, everything felt suspended in time.

Harry didn’t look up at first, but when he did, his eyes widened slightly. The moment your gazes locked, everything about the past few days seemed to crash together in an overwhelming rush.

“Y/N, I…” he began, standing up immediately.

You crossed the room, your pulse racing, and stopped just a few feet in front of him, interrupting him. “Five minutes, and that’s all I’m g….”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. He sounded brave. “I can’t say what I want to say in five minutes, and you know it. Look, if you really want to hear me out, if you’re really willing to give me a chance to talk, I’m starting by telling you the truth. I need more than five minutes.”

And he was right. almost half a life of mess needed more than ten minutes.

“Fine…” you said, taking the seat in front of him, but he stood still “aren’t you going to sit down?”

“I was about to” he said faking he wasn’t just there stupidly shocked that this was actually happening

For a brief moment, that small exchange felt oddly normal, as if everything between you was okay again. Maybe, just maybe, the spark hadn’t completely disappeared.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

“We were in Year 10 when I decided to... screw everything up, basically. But this started way back in Year 8 or 9. Something like that.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, but every time I saw you walking through the school doors, it felt like I was the luckiest guy alive. And this isn’t some cheesy love confession—it’s the truth. I was confused. I was excited. But I was also terrified.”

He took a sip of water, his hands trembling slightly. You didn’t say a word, just kept looking at him, trying to process every sentence as it came.

“And yeah, it’s so fucking cliché. Best friends falling in love. Good job, Harry,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I had the best years of school with you, and I didn’t want to ruin it over... a crush. I thought I could just shove it down, bury it, and stay your best friend. But the longer I stayed close to you, the harder it became to pretend. I thought I could get rid of those feelings if I just... distanced myself. But that backfired. Completely.”

He exhaled shakily and continued, his voice softer now. “The more I pulled away, the more I wanted you. And by the time I realized how much I’d messed up, it was too late. I wasn’t there when Zack broke up with you. I wasn’t there when you had that breakdown during P.E. I wasn’t there when we threw our graduation caps in the air—like we promised we’d do together. I missed everything, Y/N. Everything.”

His words twisted in your chest, each one hitting harder than the last. He knew exactly where he had been absent—every moment you had felt his absence, even the ones you hadn’t consciously remembered.

“And it sounds so childish, so immature,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I promised you the truth, and there it is. I swear, I didn’t look at your applications. I didn’t even try to end up in the same class as you. But somehow, it happened. And I told myself that if we crossed paths again, I’d let you feel whatever you needed to feel. If you wanted to yell at me, hit me, hate me—I’d take it. I deserved it.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “And then I screwed that up too. Who even invented the ‘Reply All’ button? Why the hell would anyone need to reply to everyone?!” His voice grew more frustrated, and for a moment, it felt like he was arguing with himself, replaying the past week in his head.

“I’ve messed up more times than I can count,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “Even when I picked you for the project. I thought I could be subtle, keep it under the radar so no one would notice. But instead, I did the complete opposite...And th..”

It wasn’t just an apology anymore—it felt like he was punishing himself, listing every mistake, every failure, every regret.

“Stop,” you said firmly, not out of anger but concern.

He froze, his breathing heavy.

“Sorry,” he said, exhaling like the weight of the last few days had finally caught up to him.

“I think that’s enough,” you said, standing up.

“No, it’s not enough,” he said quickly, following your movement. “I still need to—”

“It’s enough, Harry.” Your tone was calm but resolute. The seriousness in your eyes made him stop.

He held up his hands in surrender, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay,” he said quietly, almost defeated. Harry had never pushed—not back then, and not now.

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niallerspayno · 12 hours ago

Text

Only Angel

Materlist

When you land a job as your dad’s assistant on One Direction’s tour, the last thing you expect is to fall for Harry Styles—especially when your dad is Paul. What starts as flirty banter turns into something secret, messy, and real, and hiding it from the band (and your very protective father) proves harder than you ever imagined.

Tags: Harry x reader, long hair harry, Paul's daughter reader, smut (fingering, unprotected p in v, female and male receiving oral), some fluff and angst

Author's note: Set during the Made In The A.M. era, but I've kept Zayn in the fic

...

You adjust the strap of your bag and shift awkwardly in the elevator as it climbs to the top floor. Your heart’s been doing this annoying fluttery thing all morning, but you keep telling yourself it’s just nerves. That, and the fact that your dad didn’t tell you much—just that the job was yours, and to be on time.

That’s how you find yourself here, freshly unemployed, freshly humiliated, and now… freshly hired as an assistant for One Direction.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hotel suite already buzzing with energy. You barely get two steps inside before—

“There she is.” Your dad’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Alright, lads, eyes front. This is my daughter. She’s joining the crew, so try not to scare her off on day one.”

Your mouth opens to say hi, maybe something funny, but then you actually look up and see them.

Louis is sprawled across the couch like he owns the place—legs kicked up, phone in hand, smirk firmly in place. “Paul, mate, you didn’t tell us your daughter was fit.”

“Louis,” Paul warns.

“I’m just saying!”

Niall gives you a small, friendly wave from the kitchenette, a spoon sticking out of his mouth and a tub of Nutella in hand. “Heya. You want some? Helps with first day nerves.”

Liam is the first to actually stand, his expression warm as he offers you a hand. “Ignore them. Welcome to the circus.”

You shake it gratefully. “Thanks. I brought my own straightjacket.”

He laughs, and something in your chest unclenches just a little.

Then there’s Zayn—quiet, observant, perched near the window with a sketchbook balanced on his knee. He lifts a hand in greeting, dark eyes flicking over you once, twice. You smile back, a little unsure.

And then—

“Hi.”

The voice is deeper than you expected. Smooth, slow, dragging like honey over gravel.

You turn—and your heart does that annoying fluttery thing again, but this time it’s not nerves.

Harry Styles is taller in person. His hair is pulled into a loose knot at the nape of his neck, a few curls escaping to frame his face. He’s dressed in a worn black tee and jeans that cling far too well to his hips, rings glinting on his fingers as he extends a hand toward you.

“I’m Harry,” he says, smiling like he already knows how this story ends.

You clear your throat and slip your hand into his. “I’m Y/N.”

His grip is warm, his touch lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he lets go.

“Pretty name,” he murmurs. “Didn’t expect Paul to have such a stunning daughter.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t expect Harry Styles to be such a cliché.”

That earns a low laugh. “Touché.”

Before he can say more, Paul claps a protective hand on your shoulder, his tone all business. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s working under me. Strictly professional. Got it?”

Harry holds up both hands like he’s surrendering, but the grin tugging at his lips betrays him. “Loud and clear, boss.”

Paul narrows his eyes for a second longer, then turns his attention back to you. “Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the schedules and what’s on for today.”

You follow him through the suite, but you feel Harry’s eyes on you the entire time. Burning into your back. You don’t dare look—mostly because you’re pretty sure if you do, he’ll smirk, and that might just kill you dead.

“Don’t let them get to you,” your dad says, handing you a clipboard. “They’ll try, trust me. Especially that one.”

“Noted.”

You sneak one glance over your shoulder anyway.

Harry’s still standing there. Still watching. And when he catches you looking, he winks.

You quickly turn back around, heat crawling up your neck.

Yeah. You’re in trouble.

...

It’s been a week.

Seven days of wrangling schedules, fetching coffee orders with ridiculous customizations, and reminding five grown men what “soundcheck” actually means.

And somehow—somehow—Harry Styles has managed to be both the bane of your existence and the highlight of every damn day.

He’s made a sport of flustering you. Brushing past a little too close. Whispering “good morning” like it’s a secret. Stealing your pen just to hand it back with a wink. Every look feels like a dare. Every smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Spoiler: he does.

You’re mid-way through checking everyone off for soundcheck when you realize—of course—he’s the only one missing.

You scan the suite, then glance at the time. Five minutes until they’re due downstairs.

Paul is across the room, deep in conversation with the stage manager, so you slip your phone out and shoot off a quick group text.

You: Everyone here for soundcheck except one suspiciously curly-haired diva.

Immediately, Louis replies.

Louis: If I have to drag him out of bed again I swear to god.

Zayn: He was in the hallway like 10 mins ago?? Probably wandered off being mysterious.

Liam: Check the roof. Or the mirror. That’s where I usually find him.

Niall: Want me to check the buffet?

You roll your eyes, bite back a smile, and head out to find him yourself.

You’re halfway down the hall when you hear it—low humming, half a tune, half a distraction. And then, there he is.

Leaning against the wall just outside the fire escape, head tipped back like he’s posing for a damn magazine cover. One boot pressed flat against the wall, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the fact that you’re inside and the lighting is dismal at best.

You pause in the doorway, one brow raised. “Lost track of time, did we?”

He doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tips his head toward you like he was waiting for this exact moment.

“Knew you’d come,” he says easily, a grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

You cross your arms. “It’s part of my job.”

“Mmm.” He tilts his head at you. “Is that what this is? Work?”

You narrow your eyes at the way his voice dips on that last word. “You’re five minutes late.”

He pushes off the wall with deliberate ease, the heel of his boot thudding softly against the floor as he closes the distance between you.

“Five minutes,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on yours as he approaches, “and already you’re chasing me down. Can’t stay away, can you?”

You scoff, but your feet don’t move. “I’m chasing a paycheck. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he says, dipping his head a little, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I just pay attention.”

He stops in front of you, close—too close. His scent hits you first, something warm and clean, laced with the faintest trace of mint tea and cologne. His sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose, revealing green eyes that scan your face like he’s memorizing it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Your breath catches. “I look at you the same way I look at the coffee machine. With exhaustion.”

Harry grins, his tongue just barely swiping across his bottom lip like he’s tasting the flirt off the air.

“That so?” he asks, stepping in even closer, until your back brushes the edge of the doorframe and there’s nowhere else to go. “Because I don’t make you nearly as jittery as that machine does.”

You hate the way your heart stumbles. Hate more that he can probably feel it, standing this close. Your voice comes out tighter than you’d like. “You’re full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, cocking his head, “but I’m also right.”

His hand lifts, slow, and for a terrifying second you think he’s going to touch you—but instead, he tugs the edge of your lanyard gently between two fingers, the one with that damn silver ring catching the light.

“You should be careful with me,” he says softly. “I’ve been known to cause… complications.”

You lift your chin, refusing to be the one who backs down first. “I’m not scared of complications.”

That gets you a real smile. Dangerous and dimpled.

“Good,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Then maybe you’ll stop pretending this is just a job.”

And with that, he drops your lanyard and steps back, like he didn’t just completely knock the air from your lungs.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder as he strolls back toward the suite. “Wouldn’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

You don’t move for a full ten seconds.

Then you exhale, check your pulse, and mutter to yourself, “Get a grip.”

But you’re smiling.

And you are absolutely in trouble.

...

You’ve had enough.

It’s been ten days of Harry brushing your arm in passing, whispering cheeky comments under his breath, letting his gaze dip a little too low when you think no one’s watching. He always leaves you breathless, flustered, two steps behind while he walks off smug as hell.

Not today.

Tonight’s show is in a big arena. VIPs in the wings, cameras everywhere. The energy’s electric, the crew a well-oiled machine. And you? You show up early. On purpose. Hair done, lip gloss on, and a tight black dress under your tour jacket—fitted, simple, just the right amount of dangerous when the light hits the sheer paneling over your thighs. Just enough to make a certain someone’s brain short-circuit.

He finds you in the green room. Of course he does.

You’re leaned against the counter, phone in hand, sipping water like you don’t notice the moment his eyes land on you.

But you do.

You feel it like a heat wave. The pause in his step. The way his jaw ticks. He says nothing at first—just watches as you turn slightly, jacket slipping off your shoulder like it has a mind of its own.

You glance up through your lashes. “Something wrong, Styles?”

He blinks once. Then again. “That’s not your usual… assistant attire.”

You shrug, taking another slow sip. “Guess I felt like being appreciated for more than my scheduling skills today.”

He steps forward, eyes raking over you with a little more bite now, the teasing replaced with something darker. “You trying to kill me?”

“Not at all,” you say, all fake innocence. “I just thought I’d remind you that two can play this game.”

His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. That stupid smirk returns—but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes now. Something sharp. Possessive.

“I like this side of you,” he says lowly, inching closer. “Confident. Calculated.”

“Dangerous?” you offer, tilting your head.

He smiles. “Only to me.”

You don’t move when he stops just in front of you, the counter behind you pressing into your back. His hands don’t touch you—he doesn’t even lean in. But it’s the tension in the air, the electric pull between your bodies that says he’s one wrong breath away from giving in.

Then, slowly, deliberately, his fingers find the edge of your jacket, brushing the fabric aside just enough to skim his knuckles over the bare skin of your arm.

“You really wore this for me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper now, his eyes locked on yours like you’re gravity itself.

You keep your chin high. “Maybe I was curious what it’d take to wipe that smug look off your face.”

His laugh is quiet, dark, a little breathless. He braces one hand on the counter beside you, his body angled into yours—not touching, but close enough that you feel the heat of him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

“And you’re stalling.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up. His free hand lifts, fingers tracing a featherlight path along the exposed skin at your collarbone. Just the barest touch, but it sets your whole body humming.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

His nose drags along your jaw, breath warm, teasing. His hand trails lower, grazing your waist, his rings cool against the fabric of your dress. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter to keep from grabbing his shirt.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his pupils blown wide, chest rising with shallow breaths.

Then—

“Whoa—Jesus, I didn’t see anything!”

Louis’ voice barrels into the room like a wrecking ball, followed by the loud slam of the door as he immediately backpedals out again.

You and Harry both freeze.

A beat of stunned silence.

Then you let out a breathy laugh, pressing your forehead to Harry’s shoulder. “Well. That was subtle.”

Harry groans, tipping his head back toward the ceiling. “He’s never letting me live this down.”

You pat his chest and step around him, fixing your hair like you didn’t just nearly kiss him against the catering counter. “Guess we’ll both have to behave now.”

He grabs your wrist, gently but firmly, pulling you back just for a second.

His voice is low. Serious.

“I don’t want to behave.”

Your stomach flips.

But your dad’s voice booms down the hall again, this time closer: “Y/N? Where the hell’s that setlist?”

You swallow, nod once, and finally pull away.

“We’ll finish this later,” you murmur.

And Harry just grins.

“Promise?”

...

The concert’s a blur.

You spend most of it half-focused, jotting notes and checking cues, trying to keep your head clear and your hands busy. But your eyes keep drifting to him. To the way his shirt clings to his chest by the second chorus. To the damp curls sticking to his forehead under the stage lights. To the way he glances toward side stage after every song like he’s looking for something.

Like he’s looking for you.

By the time they hit the last note and the crowd roars, your heart is pounding louder than the bass.

You slip away during the encore, weaving past techs and assistants and Paul, who’s preoccupied with a headset and shouting something about exit routes. Your feet move on instinct now. Backstage hallway. Left at the corner. Harry’s dressing room.

The door creaks as you push it open, and there he is—half changed, hair a wild mess, shirt undone, chest still heaving from the rush of the set.

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

You shut the door behind you. Locking it.

“Still want to behave?” you ask quietly.

He turns, slow, eyes dark. “Not even a little.”

In two steps he’s in front of you, one hand cupping your jaw, the other landing low on your waist as he backs you gently against the door. His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling, teasing.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” he murmurs. “All night. All week.”

You smile, just a little. “Payback’s a bitch.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it dies on his lips as they finally crash into yours—hot, hungry, no more teasing, no more games.

It’s a kiss that says finally. His hands are everywhere—trailing your sides, gripping your hips, tugging at your jacket like he can’t decide if he wants you clothed or bare.

You tug him closer by the front of his shirt, bodies flush, mouths parting with a shared gasp as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss turns messy, desperate. His hand slips under your dress, palm skating up the back of your thigh. Your breath stutters.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Tell me to stop.”

You shake your head. “Don’t you dare.”

That’s all he needs.

His mouth crashes into yours again, rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and heat. His grip on your thigh tightens, dragging it up around his waist as he pins you to the door. The sharp bite of the wood at your back is nothing compared to the way his hips slot against yours, hard and eager, already grinding into you through your dress.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You do. You can feel it—his cock pressed against you through his jeans, straining, twitching every time your hips roll up to meet his.

He lifts your other leg, and instinctively, you wrap them both around him. He groans at the contact, rutting forward, lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting at the spot just below your ear.

“Harry—” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Been thinking about this all night,” he growls. “Thinking about you in that little dress, walking around like you weren’t fucking begging for it.”

His hand slips between your bodies, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. He swears again, breath hot against your collarbone. “Already soaked.”

You gasp when he pushes the fabric aside, dragging two fingers through your folds—slow, teasing, obscene.

“Been like this all day, haven’t you?” he murmurs, voice rough as his fingers press in, sliding deep. “Knew exactly what you were doing. Walking around in that fucking dress, looking at me like you wanted me to lose control.”

You cry out, your back arching off the door as he curls his fingers just right, his thumb grinding tight circles over your clit.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” His mouth finds your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before soothing it with his tongue. “You knew. You wanted this.”

You moan as he picks up the pace, his fingers pumping fast and filthy, knuckles hitting that perfect spot over and over. Your thighs are trembling already, your body taut with pressure, pleasure building fast and hot in your belly.

“God, you feel so good around my fingers,” he groans, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged. “So fucking tight. Bet you’ll feel even better around my cock.”

You whimper at the thought, hips rocking against his hand, chasing every sensation he gives you.

Then he pulls back slightly, eyes locked on yours. “Take it off.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

“The dress,” he says, licking his lips. “Take it off. Want to see you.”

You nod, breath catching in your throat as his fingers slip from you. He lets you down gently, your legs trembling as they meet the floor again. His hands never leave you—trailing down your arms, steadying you, worshipping every inch.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the hem of your dress, tugging it up slowly. He watches, transfixed, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as inch after inch of skin is revealed.

When the dress clears your head and hits the floor, you stand before him in nothing but your bra and panties—both already crooked from his earlier teasing. You should feel shy, exposed. But under his gaze, you feel powerful.

He breathes out like he’s been holding it in for hours. “Jesus, baby…”

Your hands go to the clasp of your bra, but he steps in, catching your wrists.

“Let me.”

He unhooks it with a practiced flick and lets it slide from your shoulders, baring you completely to him. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching the way you arch into his touch.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “So fucking perfect.”

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing his stomach as you pull it up and off. His chest is flushed, tattooed, still glistening faintly with sweat from the show. Your hands smooth over the planes of it, slow and deliberate.

Then you drop to your knees.

His breath hitches, but you only reach for his jeans—unfastening them, dragging them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and aching, and you can’t help the way your mouth waters at the sight of it. Thick. Flushed. Dripping at the tip.

You glance up at him, and his jaw is clenched tight, eyes dark and locked on you.

“Later,” he mutters, pulling you back up to your feet, already guiding you toward the couch. “I need to be inside you.”

You let him lead you, knees hitting the cushions as he drops behind you, settling back against the sofa and pulling you into his lap. His cock presses against your thigh, hot and heavy.

You reach between you, guiding him to your entrance, and the moment his tip pushes in—thick and aching—you both moan like it’s the first breath after surfacing from underwater.

He grips your waist, fingertips digging in as you sink down, slow and deliberate, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. The stretch burns just right, and the way he fills you makes your whole body tremble.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head falling back against the couch. “So tight. So wet. You feel—god, you feel like heaven.”

You plant your hands on his chest, roll your hips once, slowly. He twitches inside you, eyes flying open to watch your every move.

You start to ride him properly then, lifting and dropping your hips, letting the motion grow faster, harder. He meets you thrust for thrust, fucking up into you with just as much heat, just as much need, the slap of skin on skin building between your bodies.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” he pants, hands moving from your waist to your ass, gripping, guiding. “Wanted me to fuck you like this. You knew exactly what you were doing in that little dress.”

You whimper and throw your head back, grinding down onto him as deep as he’ll go. “I knew.”

He groans like you’ve ruined him.

Your hands slide into his hair, finally giving in to the temptation that’s been driving you mad for days. It’s soft and wild beneath your fingers, curls slipping through as you tug, hard, forcing his head back.

His mouth drops open. He swears.

“Do that again,” he breathes.

So you do—twisting your fingers tighter, dragging a moan from his throat as you ride him faster, messier now. Your breasts bounce with every movement, his hands never leaving you—touching, squeezing, worshipping.

“Look at you,” he rasps, bucking up into you harder. “Taking me so fucking good. Like you were made for me.”

You crash your lips to his, teeth and tongue and heat, and he groans into your mouth, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit.

“I’m close,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to breathe.

His eyes are wild now, hungry. “Then come. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”

His words send you tumbling.

Your hips jerk, thighs trembling as the orgasm rips through you—hot and fast, stealing your breath as you clench tight around him. A strangled moan escapes your lips, head falling forward, forehead pressed to his.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice a wrecked whisper. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, you feel—”

He cuts off with a gasp as your walls flutter around him, milking him, dragging him right to the edge.

His grip on your hips tightens, almost desperate, and he forces out, “Can I—fuck—can I come inside you?”

You lift your head, eyes dazed but clear, meeting his.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, I’m on birth control—please.”

That’s all it takes.

He moans your name like a prayer and slams up into you, deep and hard, once, twice—and then he’s spilling inside you with a low, guttural sound, fingers bruising your hips as he holds you down, burying himself as far as he can go.

You feel every pulse of it, every hot wave as he fills you, your body already aching and slick with the proof of it.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves.

You’re still pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. The thud of his heart pounds beneath your palm, matching the rush still echoing in your ears. He’s still buried inside you, the heat of him thick and warm, your bodies locked together, trembling in the aftermath.

But eventually, your thighs start to ache and your body gives a little shiver.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky but content, “I should… probably move.”

“Slow,” he murmurs, nodding. “Easy.”

You lift your hips gently, carefully easing off him with a soft gasp as his length slips free. He holds you steady, fingers tightening for a second as he watches the way your body clenches from the loss. You feel the mess of it between your thighs, sticky and warm—but all you care about is the way his hands settle back on your waist, grounding you.

You shift to straddle his lap more comfortably, your chest still against his, legs trembling slightly. One of his hands rubs slow circles into the small of your back, and the other tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then your fingers are in his hair again.

You’ve been dying to do this—really do this. Not just tug at it in the heat of the moment, but run your fingers through the soft curls, comb them back from his forehead, memorize the way they coil between your fingers.

He hums, eyes fluttering shut as he melts beneath your touch.

“You really like my hair, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek as he leans into your hand.

You smile, lazily dragging your fingers through another curl. “I think I’m obsessed with it, actually.”

He laughs, breathless and warm. “Dangerous thing to admit when you’re sitting in my lap.”

You smirk. “You’re the one who begged to come inside me.”

He groans, tossing his head back dramatically. “And I have zero regrets.”

You lean forward, brushing your lips to his jaw. “Good.”

He wraps his arms around you again, holding you tighter, your skin still damp and sticky, but neither of you cares. You could stay here forever—limbs tangled, hearts still racing, your hands playing in his hair like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

After a beat, he sighs, voice low against your neck. “You alright?”

You nod, still tucked against him. “Better than alright.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then one to your collarbone. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

You let out a sleepy groan, nuzzling closer. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Same,” he mutters, but he’s already shifting, helping you gently off his lap. “But if your dad catches us like this, I will die.”

You giggle, letting him scoop you up off the couch as he stands. “Guess I’ll let you live, then.”

...

It’s been a few days.

A blur of shows, travel, crew dinners, and secret glances across crowded rooms. A blur of stolen moments. Locked doors. Late nights. His mouth on your skin, your clothes in a pile on the floor, his hands learning every inch of you like he’s making up for lost time.

And now… now it’s one of those nights again.

Harry snuck into your hotel room an hour after the band finished press. He barely got the door closed before he was on you—kiss rough, hands eager, laughter muffled into your neck when you pulled him onto the bed by the front of his hoodie.

Now, your room is dark except for the city lights filtering through the curtains. The air is warm with the smell of skin and sleep and something softer than either of you will say out loud.

He’s lying on his back with his head in your lap, one arm flung lazily across your thigh, curls spilling over your bare legs as you card your fingers through them again and again. His eyes are closed, lips parted, a tiny satisfied smile on his face like you’ve lulled him into the safest place on earth.

Your fingers pause for a second, tangled in the curls behind his ear.

He notices.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep and sex. “That’s cheating.”

You laugh softly. “Sorry.”

You resume the soft strokes, but your heart's hammering now, nerves coiling under your ribs.

He sighs again, content. So damn content.

You bite your lip. Then, quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

His lashes flutter open. He doesn’t lift his head, just looks up at you with those soft green eyes. “Course you can.”

You hesitate, thumb sweeping slowly across his temple. “This thing between us…”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You exhale. “Is it just sex? Like, a friends with benefits thing? Or is it…”

You trail off, not sure how much to say. Not sure what you’ll do if he says it’s nothing. That you’re nothing.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then he shifts, lifting his head from your lap so he can sit up beside you, facing you properly. The movement is slow, almost cautious. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw.

His voice is quiet. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex like that and not felt something.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in, eyes searching yours. “I sneak into your room at night because I can’t sleep unless I’m near you. You drive me insane in the best way. I want you—every version of you. And if you’ll let me… I want more than just this.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of the warmth blooming in your chest.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Good. Because I… I want that too.”

His whole face softens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Yeah.”

He kisses you then—slow and tender, mouths brushing like neither of you wants it to end. When you finally pull apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm, fingers still curled gently beneath your chin.

“I want this,” he murmurs again, like a vow. “But I know what comes with it.”

You nod slowly, your hands sliding down to rest over his. “My dad would kill you.”

That gets a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “He’d kill me slow.”

“And the boys…” you sigh, pulling back enough to see his face. “They’d tease you mercilessly. Or worse—worry it’s gonna mess with the band.”

“And management?” he adds, voice low now. “They’d have a meltdown. Headlines, speculation… you know how fast things spread.”

You nod again, the weight of it all sinking in. “So… we keep it quiet. For now.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, his expression unreadable for a beat.

“Can you live with that?” he asks softly. “Sneaking around? Pretending like you’re not mine when all I want is to show everyone?”

Your heart stumbles.

“I can,” you say. “If it means I am yours. Even if it’s just for us.”

His jaw tenses, and you can tell he’s battling every instinct to pull you in and say screw it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales slowly, pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go.

“You are,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re mine.”

You press your face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest.

“And you’re mine,” you murmur.

He kisses the top of your head and holds you tighter. “Then they don’t have to know. Not yet. Not until we’re ready.”

You nod, curling closer.

It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. It’s complicated.

But it’s real.

And for now, that’s enough.

...

It’s been three days since that night in your hotel room.

Three days of stolen glances and secret smiles. Of brushing past him in narrow hallways, pretending not to feel the burn of his hand on the small of your back. Three days of aching.

And today?

Today has dragged.

Everything feels too loud, too long, too slow. Every call sheet is wrong, every email never-ending. And Harry… Harry’s been a menace.

It’s like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

The way he leans back in his chair during interviews, legs spread like he owns the world. The way he tucks his hair behind his ear, slow and deliberate, curls bouncing around his face like he’s in a shampoo commercial. The way he chews on his thumb while looking down at his lyric notes—lips pink and plush and perfect.

You’ve been pretending to focus all afternoon, clipboard in hand, chewing your pen cap like it’ll distract you from the very real, very filthy thoughts in your head.

But nothing helps.

Not when you keep imagining those curls in your fists.

Not when you keep remembering what his voice sounds like between your thighs.

By the time the boys finish rehearsals, you’re restless. Wound so tight you might snap if he so much as breathes in your direction.

And of course—he finds you the second he’s free.

You’re tucked away in a quiet dressing room going over the revised schedule when the door shuts behind you with a click. You look up—and there he is.

Sweaty. Smirking. Hair a mess.

Fucking beautiful.

He says nothing at first. Just watches you.

You swallow. “We don’t have long.”

“I don’t need long,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I just need you.”

Your breath catches.

He closes the distance in three strides, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you against him. His lips graze your ear.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want to eat me alive,” he whispers.

“I do,” you breathe. “But I was trying to be professional.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes, curls falling loose around his face, his pupils already blown.

“Fuck professionalism.”

Then his mouth is on yours.

Hot. Urgent. Desperate.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your ass, lifting you onto the counter behind you. Your legs spread without hesitation, heels hooking behind his thighs to keep him close.

You kiss him like you’ve been starving, like you need this to breathe. Your hands go straight to his hair, finally tugging like you’ve wanted to all day—hard and greedy, curling your fingers into the roots and pulling just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

“God,” he gasps, grinding into you. “You love my hair.”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly along his scalp just to feel him shiver. “Wanna pull it while you’re buried between my legs.”

His head drops to your shoulder with a growl. “Say that again and I’m dropping to my knees right now.”

You smirk, breathless, tugging again. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He growls low in his throat, and in one fluid movement, his hands are on your jacket, shoving it down your arms. His mouth never leaves yours for long, just broken kisses between quick movements—your fingers fisting his shirt, tugging it up over his head, revealing warm skin, inked muscle, and the kind of body that makes you ache.

“You first,” he murmurs, dragging the hem of your dress up, up, up—until you lift your arms and he peels it off in one smooth pull.

You’re left in your bra and underwear, flushed and already wet, and he looks at you like he wants to ruin you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes.

Then he drops to his knees.

He kisses the inside of your knee first. Then the other. His fingers slip under the band of your underwear, tugging them down your thighs slowly—like he wants to savor the reveal. He slides them off your ankles, discarding them somewhere behind him, and then his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open wide as he settles between them.

You shudder at the first brush of his breath against your core.

He groans, low and rough. “You’re already dripping.”

You can only nod, fingers curling around the edge of the counter behind you.

And then his mouth is on you.

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, groaning again like he’s tasting heaven. His tongue flicks your clit, light at first, teasing, circling, then pressing firm and hot as he sucks you into his mouth. Your hips jolt.

“Fuck—Harry—”

Your hands find his hair without thinking, sinking into the curls, tugging hard.

He moans against you.

The sound vibrates through you and only makes you tug again, a little rougher this time, wrapping your fingers tighter. He loves it—you can feel it in the way he groans, in the way his tongue moves faster, deeper, like every pull of his hair spurs him on.

Like he’s addicted to it.

He eats you like a man starved—messy, unrelenting, burying his face between your thighs with no care for control. His hands slide under your ass, holding you steady as he works you over with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every part of you until you’re panting, writhing, begging.

You pull hard on his hair again, and he groans louder, grinding his tongue against your clit in tight circles.

“You like that?” you gasp, tugging again.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth shiny, lips swollen. “Fuck yes.”

Then he dives back in.

You cry out, one hand braced on the mirror behind you, the other still tangled in his hair, pulling as he flicks his tongue faster, harder—relentless. Your thighs start to shake.

“Harry—I’m gonna—”

He moans like he’s proud, sucking your clit hard as two fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart with a choked gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling, his name spilling from your lips over and over as you come undone against his mouth. He holds you through every second of it, tongue dragging through your slick, licking up everything he can get, like he’s not letting a single drop go to waste.

And still—still—your hands are in his hair, tugging without rhythm now, desperate and delirious. And still, he groans for it. Like he wants to be wrecked by you.

You don’t know how long it takes before you finally collapse back against the mirror, thighs twitching, chest heaving, completely undone.

And he’s still kneeling, lips swollen, eyes dark, grinning like he just won something.

Which—fuck—he did.

Your breathing’s still uneven, thighs trembling from the aftershocks, but when Harry finally rises from between your legs, his lips glossy and jaw tight, you catch the fire in his eyes.

He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, tongue dragging across his bottom lip like he’s savoring every drop of you.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he breathes, almost reverent.

You don’t respond.

You act.

Your hands slip up under the hem of his shirt, palms flat against his flushed, tattooed skin. He hisses softly at the contact, your touch gentle compared to the wreckage he just made of you. You push the shirt up slow, watching every muscle in his stomach tighten under your hands, until you finally tug it over his head and drop it to the floor.

“Your turn,” you murmur, gaze dropping to the waistband of his jeans.

His breath catches. “Yeah?”

You nod, backing him up until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of the chair in the corner. He sits without resistance, legs spread, eyes on you like you’re a fantasy come to life.

And then, slowly—purposefully—you sink to your knees.

Harry’s mouth parts, chest rising sharply.

Your hands find his belt, unfastening it with infuriating calm. He lifts his hips just enough to help as you drag his jeans down his legs, then his boxers, releasing his cock—already flushed and heavy, the tip glistening. He’s hard again, impossibly so, despite what he just gave you, and the sight of it makes your mouth water.

You glance up at him through your lashes as your fingers wrap around the base. “So responsive.”

He laughs, but it’s breathless, strained. “Sweetheart, you exist and I’m hard.”

You hum, giving him one slow stroke. “Poor thing.”

And then you lean in.

You start soft—just a kiss to the head. Then another, lower, your tongue flicking the underside as you stroke him with a lazy rhythm.

Harry’s head falls back against the chair, his fingers already threading through your hair. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t guide.

He lets you have him.

You lick a stripe up the side of his cock, kitten-licking the head again before finally taking him into your mouth—inch by inch, dragging your tongue along the underside, eyes still locked on his.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, hips twitching. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum around him, sinking down deeper, and the sound makes him shudder.

“Jesus,” he gasps, breath catching. His hand flexes in your hair again, the other gripping the armrest like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. “You feel—fuck, you feel so good.”

You set a steady rhythm—slow at first, teasing, taking him deep before pulling back and dragging your tongue over the head. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking in sync with every movement of your mouth, your spit slicking him up messily, perfectly.

He’s panting now, mouth slack, eyes barely open as he watches you.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, the words broken by a low moan. “You’re so fucking good to me.”

Your fingers dig into his thigh as you pick up the pace—taking him deeper, faster, letting his cock glide over your tongue until your lips meet your fist and your jaw aches, but god, you don’t stop.

He’s close. You can feel it in the way his hips twitch, the way his thighs tense under your hands.

“Baby—” he gasps, voice cracking. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

You don’t stop.

You don’t want to stop.

You look up at him, eyes dark, lips stretched around him, and he breaks—with a strangled moan and a sharp jerk of his hips, he spills down your throat, hot and thick and overwhelming.

You swallow every drop, slow and messy, your hand still working him through it, gentle now, coaxing out every last twitch, every last moan.

He slumps back in the chair, completely undone, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his hairline.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, head rolling against the cushion. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip, smug and satisfied.

And that’s exactly when—

Knock knock knock.

You freeze.

Harry’s eyes fly open, wide and panicked.

“Y/N?” It’s Liam’s voice. Too casual. Too close.

You scramble upright, nearly tripping over your own knees as you snatch Harry’s shirt off the floor and throw it at him with a whisper-hiss: “Get dressed!”

He’s laughing silently, still boneless in the chair, but he yanks the shirt on while fumbling for his jeans.

You swipe a hand across your mouth, grab your dress and jacket, running a hand through your hair as the door opens.

Liam steps in, mid-sentence. “Paul’s looking for you—what the f—?”

He stops dead.

The silence is instant.

Your dress is halfway over your hips. Harry’s shirt is inside out and only buttoned halfway, his belt dangling undone, hair a mess, lips still swollen.

And Liam sees all of it.

His eyes bounce between you, wide with shock, disbelief, and dawning horror.

“Liam,” you start, breathless. “I—this isn’t—”

“You’re kidding me,” he says, stepping back like he walked into a crime scene. “You’re—oh my god.”

“Mate, just—” Harry stands quickly, trying to fix his belt, but his voice is too calm. Too Harry. “Can we talk about this like adults?”

“Adults don’t sneak around like horny teenagers in dressing rooms!” Liam snaps. “Are you serious right now?”

You wince, dragging your dress down properly. “Please don’t yell.”

“I’m not yelling,” Liam says—loudly—his jaw clenched, voice trembling more from sheer rage than volume. “I’m processing. I walked in and saw my bandmate half-naked and Paul’s daughter with her dress around her waist. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?!”

Harry sighs, buttoning his shirt correctly now. “Liam—”

“No. No, you don’t get to play this calm, charming bullshit right now,” Liam snaps, pointing at him. “That’s Paul’s daughter. Paul. The man who literally pays our salaries and trusts us not to fuck around.”

Harry holds his hands up. “I’m not—this isn’t just fucking around, alright?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Liam bites. Then he turns on you, betrayal flashing across his face. “And you. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“I am,” you say quickly, stepping forward, jacket clutched to your chest. “Liam, please, I know how it looks, but we didn’t plan for it to happen like this. It’s not a joke. I swear.”

He stares at you, eyes searching. “Are you together?”

You hesitate—then nod. “We’re figuring it out. But yes.”

He makes a strangled sound and looks like he’s about to launch into another rant, so you grab his arm.

“Please don’t say anything. Please. Just not yet.”

His eyes widen. “You want me to lie to your dad?”

“I want you to give me a chance to tell him myself. When I’m ready.”

Liam looks like he might explode. “Y/N—”

“Liam, come on,” Harry says quietly. “You’ve known me forever. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t real.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Liam snaps. “Because if it is real, then it’s even worse. You don’t think Paul’s gonna lose it when he finds out one of us is secretly dating his daughter?”

You flinch, but don’t let go of Liam’s arm. “Please. I’m not asking you to lie forever. Just… let me handle it.”

Liam stares at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, finally, he exhales through his nose and drags a hand down his face. “You have one week. One. Then I’m telling him.”

You nod instantly. “Okay. Thank you.”

He looks between the two of you again, still fuming. “You better hope he hears it from you first.”

Then he storms out, the door slamming behind him.

Silence settles again. You exhale shakily, then glance at Harry.

“Still think it could’ve gone worse?”

Harry raises a brow. “Yeah. He could’ve punched me.”

You groan. “Give it time.”

He walks over and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You okay?”

“Nope.”

“You were amazing,” he murmurs. “Even if he hates me now.”

You sigh, leaning into him. “I don’t think he hates you.”

There’s a pause.

Then you add, “Yet.”

You and Harry manage to make yourselves look somewhat presentable before slipping out of the dressing room separately.

Ten minutes later, you’re in the green room, clipboard in hand, pretending you’re not still shaking from what just happened—and from the fact that Liam hasn’t looked at either of you once.

He’s seated on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, jaw tight, staring at the floor like it’s personally offended him.

The other boys filter in casually—Louis first, sipping from a water bottle, followed by Niall and Zayn mid-conversation.

Louis’s eyes skim the room once before landing on you. Then Harry.

Then Liam.

Then back to you.

And his brow lifts. “What’s with this vibe?”

Niall looks up. “Yeah. Did something happen? Liam looks like he’s about to start throwing furniture.”

“I’m fine,” Liam says tightly, not moving.

“You’re not,” Louis says slowly, eyeing him. “You look like someone slept with your sister or something.”

There’s a beat.

Harry coughs.

You freeze.

Zayn, who’s been leaning against the wall, straightens. “...No.”

Louis’s eyes widen. “No.”

Niall’s head snaps between all three of you like he’s trying to catch up mid-film. “Wait, what—?”

Then he squints.

At Harry.

Then at you.

And you know it’s obvious.

You’re both freshly flushed. Your hair’s a mess. Harry’s shirt is still on inside out, and there’s a faint pink flush crawling up the side of his neck, dangerously close to a hickey. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he walked in.

And you?

You haven’t made eye contact with a single person.

Louis gasps. “Shut. Up.”

Zayn groans. “Unreal. Absolutely fucking unreal.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—are you two actually—?”

Louis just cackles, pointing at Harry like he’s won a game show. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Zayn shakes his head slowly, arms crossed. “Wow. And here I thought the sexual tension was just for sport.”

“I knew something was going on,” Louis continues, grinning like it’s Christmas morning. “You think I haven’t heard the noises coming from Harry’s room the past few nights? I thought he was just really, really into that meditation playlist.”

Harry snorts. “Definitely wasn’t meditating.”

“Harry!” you hiss, smacking his arm.

“What?” he says, entirely unrepentant. “Just saying, I was in a very mindful headspace.”

Liam lets out a strangled noise that sounds part scream, part groan. “Oh my god. I’m going to throw up.”

Niall, still catching up, squints at you. “Wait. So this is real? Not just a one-time thing?”

You glance at Harry, then nod. “It’s… real.”

Louis whistles, low and dramatic. “Well, congratulations, Styles. You’re a dead man walking.”

Zayn nods. “Start writing your eulogy now. And maybe pick out a nice coffin.”

Harry just smiles wider, all teeth and smug satisfaction. “Totally worth it.”

Liam shoots him a glare sharp enough to kill a weaker man. “You are not going to survive this tour. You understand that, right? The second Paul finds out—”

“He won’t,” you say quickly. “Not yet. Liam’s giving us a week.”

“Which is incredibly generous,” Liam mutters.

Louis claps his hands. “Right, so we’ve got six days, twenty-three hours before Paul goes full wrath-of-God on Harry.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Liam mutters, standing. “Because once Paul finds out, your fun is going to be at the bottom of the ocean.”

He storms out again, grumbling under his breath about children and poor life choices.

The door slams behind him.

Silence lingers for a beat—then Louis lets out a long whistle. “Yikes.”

Niall blinks. “So. Do we… do we comfort him? Or do we just let him stew?”

Zayn shrugs. “Man needs a minute.”

You exhale and sink down onto the nearest couch cushion, pressing your clipboard to your chest. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Harry sits beside you, completely unbothered, arm slung across the back of the couch. “Could’ve gone better.”

Louis snorts. “Could’ve gone nuclear.”

Niall points at you. “You alright?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect to get caught mid-scandal.”

“Mid-oral scandal,” Louis corrects with a grin. “Let’s call it what it was.”

Harry snorts, reaching for your hand. “We’ll be more careful.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll get another chance,” Zayn says dryly, arching a brow.

Harry winks. “Oh, I will.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush anyway.

Niall grins. “God, you two are so obvious now. How did we not catch this earlier?”

“Because I’m good at lying,” you mutter, half into your clipboard.

“And I’m just incredibly charming,” Harry adds helpfully, squeezing your hand.

Louis fake-gags. “Ugh. Disgusting. Someone tell Paul now just to get it over with.”

“Do not joke about that,” you say, pointing at him. “I’m already imagining the heart attack. Do you want to be responsible for giving my father a coronary?”

Louis raises both hands in surrender. “Nope. I like Paul. I’d just prefer not to be within five miles of Harry when he finds out.”

Zayn pushes off the wall with a sigh. “Well, we’ve got a week to brace for impact.”

“And hide anything sharp,” Niall adds under his breath.

The others start filtering out of the room, still murmuring and laughing among themselves, leaving just you and Harry on the couch.

He watches you for a moment, eyes soft now, playful edge melting into something quieter.

“You really okay?” he asks again, gentler this time.

You lean into his side, bumping your shoulder into his. “Yeah. As long as we make it out of this alive.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We will. I’ve survived screaming fans, Simon Cowell, and Louis’s cooking. I can handle your dad.”

You laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”

Harry grins. “Maybe. But you’re still into me.”

You look up at him, brows lifted. “What gave it away?”

“The blowjob probably.”

You groan, smacking his chest with your clipboard. “You are the worst.”

“Still totally worth it,” he says, tugging you closer.

You sigh, letting yourself relax for a moment in the quiet.

And for now, at least—he’s right. Totally worth it.

...

The next morning starts deceptively normal.

Room service trays cover the table. Coffee cups, half-eaten toast, and little pots of jam are scattered across the surface like breakfast exploded and no one cleaned up. Louis is reading the headlines aloud in a dramatic voice, Niall is already on his second croissant, and Liam is definitely pretending to focus on emails just so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with you or Harry.

You’re seated beside said menace.

Harry’s in a worn grey t-shirt and sweats, curls still damp from the shower, and he smells like mint and hotel soap and last night. You’re in one of your tour hoodies and bike shorts. Totally innocent. Totally casual.

Except your knee keeps bumping his under the table.

And his pinky keeps brushing yours.

And you are absolutely not thinking about the way he kissed you breathless before you even left your hotel room that morning.

You stab your fork into a piece of fruit. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?” he asks, far too innocent, reaching across you to steal a grape off your plate. His arm lingers longer than necessary, brushing your chest as he leans back. “Sharing?”

You glance at him. Narrow your eyes.

He grins—dimples and danger wrapped in a face you really shouldn’t trust.

You should know better by now.

But your hand still slides under the table, settling on his thigh.

Too high.

His breath catches, sharp and quiet, as your thumb starts to move in slow, teasing circles. His leg tenses under your touch, and you feel him shift slightly, like he’s trying to decide whether to stay still or drag you into his lap.

You’re just starting to smile when—

“Seriously?” Zayn’s voice cuts through, bone-dry.

Your hand stills instantly. Harry’s doesn’t—his fingers slide higher up your thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes your breath hitch.

Zayn doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “Right in front of my toast?”

Niall nearly chokes on his juice, coughing into his sleeve.

Louis leans across the table, grinning like he’s been waiting for this moment all morning. “Told you two you’re not slick.”

Liam groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I regret giving you a week. This is going to be the longest week of my life.”

Harry smirks, entirely unbothered. “I’m a dead man walking. May as well enjoy the time I’ve got left.”

“By giving us a live porn show?” Zayn deadpans.

Louis rolls his eyes but still grins. “There’s an empty storage closet three doors down with your names on it. Soundproof-ish. Go be disgusting in private.”

You glance at Harry.

He raises a brow.

Then you’re both out of your chairs at the same time, barely waiting for permission.

“I swear to God,” Liam mutters behind you, “if I hear anything—”

“We’ll be quiet,” Harry tosses back without looking.

“You’ll try to be quiet,” Zayn mutters.

Louis raises his coffee cup in salute. “Good luck, soldier.”

Harry tugs you down the hall, quick and determined, fingers locked with yours like he might combust if you don’t get there fast enough. He finds the closet Zayn mentioned, swings the door open, and pulls you inside.

The door hasn’t even clicked shut before he’s on you.

Harry kisses you like he’s been waiting hours—days—for this. Like the idea of keeping his hands off you for one more second is physically painful. His mouth crashes into yours, urgent and hungry, his body pinning yours to the wall in the tight space. Your back hits it with a soft thud, breath knocked from your lungs, and it only makes you kiss him harder.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers spreading wide across your waist, the heat of his palms branding your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do this since breakfast,” he murmurs, mouth trailing down the side of your jaw, then lower, brushing over the base of your neck. “The way you touched me under the table—fuck, you’re a menace.”

You laugh, breathless and already trembling, your hands tugging his shirt up and over his head. It drops to the floor as your nails scrape lightly down his chest.

“You started it.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils blown, mouth already swollen. “And now I’m going to finish it.”

His lips crash into yours again—messy, open-mouthed, claiming. One of his hands grips the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him while the other curls around your jaw, tilting your head until you’re exactly where he wants you.

You moan into his mouth, fingers finding his hair. You tangle them deep in the curls, tugging hard enough to make him groan, the sound low and wrecked against your lips.

It’s frantic. Desperate. Dizzying.

And then—

Click.

The door swings open.

“Y/N—”

Your whole body jolts as you whip around, heart slamming into your throat.

Your dad stands in the doorway.

Frozen. Eyes wide. Face blank.

He takes in everything in one horrible, split-second glance—your hoodie hanging off one shoulder, Harry shirtless, lips swollen, your fingers still twisted in his hair, both of you flushed and breathless, clearly tangled in something that was about to become much more.

You and Harry spring apart like you’ve been burned.

“Dad—” you start, voice thin, shaky.

“Don’t.” His tone slices through the air like ice.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t storm in or slam the door again. He just stares. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Like he doesn’t want to believe it.

“I trusted you,” he says quietly, but it lands heavier than any scream would have.

You open your mouth to explain, to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

Harry takes a cautious step forward, shirt still bunched in one hand. “Paul—”

“No.” Your dad lifts a hand, firm and final. “You don’t get to play the nice guy, Harry. Not when you’ve been sneaking around with my daughter behind my back.”

Harry flinches, the silence after the words hanging too heavy to breathe through.

“It’s not like that,” you manage, voice hoarse. “We weren’t trying to hide it to hurt you—we just—”

“That’s enough.” Paul’s voice is sharp, final. His eyes narrow as he cuts you off. “Get dressed. Meet me back in the suite.”

Then he turns, and the door slams behind him with a force that makes you flinch.

Silence rushes in, thick and suffocating.

You’re still frozen in place, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, heart racing like you’ve just sprinted off a cliff with no idea where the ground is. Your hands tremble at your sides—you don’t even realize you’re still clutching the front of Harry’s sweats until his hand gently wraps around yours.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice low and grounding. “You okay?”

You nod. Then shake your head. “I don’t know.”

He exhales slowly, eyes searching yours as his thumb brushes lightly across your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes for a beat, leaning into the warmth of his palm. Letting it steady you. “I can’t believe it happened like that.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But it’s going to be okay.”

He pulls you into his chest and you go without hesitation, letting yourself melt into him, your face pressed into his bare shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his waist. His skin is still warm. His heart is still racing, too.

“We’ll talk to him,” he says, threading his fingers through your hair, “together. It’ll be okay.”

You nod into his neck, barely a whisper. “Okay.”

But even as you say it, you’re not sure either of you believes it yet.

You let him hold you for a moment longer, burying your face in the curve of his neck, wishing you could stay there just a little longer. But eventually, you pull back, tugging your hoodie into place with trembling fingers.

Harry grabs his shirt from the floor and slips it on, movements slower now. More careful. Like he’s trying not to make things worse by rushing.

Then his hand finds yours. Fingers intertwine, warm and grounding.

You hold on.

Together, you make your way back to the suite.

Paul is pacing, arms crossed, jaw tight. The other four boys are planted across the room, wearing matching expressions of guilt—like they’d all just been caught watching the world’s most awkward car crash.

Louis is the first to notice you. His mouth opens, then shuts again, which might be the most restrained he’s ever been in his life.

Liam is all clenched jaw and twitching fingers, eyes darting between you, Harry, and Paul like he’s waiting for something to explode.

Niall shifts uncomfortably, clearly trying to melt into the arm of the couch.

And Zayn just sighs and mutters, “Told you it was a terrible idea.”

Paul stops pacing the second he sees you. His eyes drop to your joined hands—Harry’s fingers still laced tightly with yours—and something flickers behind his expression.

Disappointment. Hurt. And something that cuts deeper than either: betrayal.

“Sit,” he says simply.

You and Harry obey without a word, sinking onto the couch side by side.

Paul doesn’t sit right away. He stands across from you, arms crossed, jaw tight. The silence stretches painfully long. You feel Harry tense beside you, feel his fingers twitch like he’s preparing to take the hit for both of you.

From the corner of your eye, the other boys try—and fail spectacularly—to look busy.

Louis has a magazine open upside down.

Zayn is suddenly very invested in the stitching on his jeans.

Niall keeps adjusting the lid on his empty water bottle.

Liam stares out the window like he’s praying it’ll crack open and suck him into the void.

Paul ignores them all.

“Alright,” he says, voice calm in that scary, clipped way you know too well. “You’ve got two minutes. Start talking.”

You and Harry glance at each other.

Then Harry clears his throat and says, “It started about a month ago. And it wasn’t planned. It just… happened.”

Paul’s brows raise. “Just like that?”

You speak quickly. “We weren’t trying to lie to you. We just—didn’t know how to tell you.”

“And sneaking around seemed like the better option?” Paul’s eyes cut sharply to Harry. “I trusted you. Not just as one of my artists, but as someone I thought had a little more respect than this.”

Harry straightens slightly. “I do respect you. And I care about her. A lot.”

Paul doesn’t flinch, but his voice drops a note colder. “So much that you risked her job? Your job? The stability of this entire tour?”

No one breathes. You’re fairly certain Louis has stopped blinking.

Harry holds his ground. “I didn’t go into this to mess anything up. And I know it looks bad. But it’s real. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t.”

Paul turns to you. “And you?”

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. “I care about him. This isn’t just some fling.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Paul exhales and sinks into the armchair across from you, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Do you have any idea the position this puts me in?” he mutters. “The press, management, the fans… and I can’t even fire one of you, because that’d mean firing my daughter or blowing up the band.”

Niall makes a tiny choking noise in the background.

Zayn kicks him under the table.

Paul’s head snaps around.

His eyes narrow. “You,” he says, pointing at Niall. “How long have you known?”

Niall freezes mid-sip of his empty water bottle. “Uh…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Niall sets the bottle down slowly, like it might explode. “A few days. Maybe a week. Kinda hard to miss when Harry started acting like a lovesick golden retriever.”

“Niall,” you hiss.

He shrugs helplessly. “What? It’s true!”

Paul shifts his stare to Zayn, who doesn’t flinch.

“How about you?”

Zayn leans back with a sigh, arms crossed. “Saw it coming a mile away. Just didn’t realize it was this serious until Liam caught them half-dressed.”

Harry lets out a quiet groan beside you.

Paul turns to Louis next. “And you?”

Louis grins, completely unapologetic. “Oh, I’ve definitely heard things through hotel walls. Thin ones. Also, you did say not to scare her off, and I’m just saying—I think she’s brave for sticking around.”

Paul raises a hand to his temple like he’s fighting a migraine.

“And Liam,” he says slowly, “my last hope.”

Liam lifts both hands. “Don’t look at me. I tried to stop them. Gave them a whole week to come clean.”

Paul blinks. “You knew and said nothing?”

“They promised to tell you!” Liam protests. “And I’ve been living in a state of constant anxiety ever since.”

Paul groans and rubs both hands down his face. “Unbelievable. All five of you.”

“We’re very supportive,” Louis offers.

“Quiet,” Paul snaps.

The room falls silent again, thick with unease.

Then Paul turns back to you and Harry, fixing you both with a look that could level a stadium.

“One chance,” he says firmly. “I’m giving you one chance to do this right. If anything happens—if the media catches wind, if fans start speculating, if anything compromises this tour or your safety—you’re done. Both of you. I don’t care how serious this feels or how in love you think you are. You do not come before this job.”

Harry sits up a little straighter, no trace of his usual charm on his face. “We understand.”

Paul’s gaze shifts to you, waiting.

“I understand,” you echo, your voice quiet but certain. “We won’t let it interfere.”

For a long moment, Paul doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s trying to find the kid he raised in the mess you’ve made.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, jaw still tight. “I need some air.”

And without another word, he turns and walks out the door.

This time, it closes softly.

Not a slam. Just final.

The moment it clicks shut, the breath leaves your lungs in a rush.

You slump back into the couch, pulse still thudding in your ears.

“Well,” Louis says brightly, tossing his magazine over his shoulder. “That was fun.”

Zayn lets out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see Paul go full dad mode in a band meeting.”

Liam rubs his temples. “Can we all just take one day—one day—off from emotional trauma?”

Niall gives you a small, lopsided smile. “You alright, love?”

You nod slowly, fingers still tangled with Harry’s. “Yeah. I think so.”

Harry squeezes your hand. “We’re okay.”

And despite everything—the fallout, the lecture, the fact that the entire band now knows way too much—you believe him.

You’re okay.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #long hair harry x reader #long hair harry x you #long hair harry fanfiction #harry styles smut #long hair harry smut

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alohajix · 24 hours ago

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

A supernatural, slow-burn smut series where ancient bloodlines, soulbonds, and forbidden desire collide.

Genre: supernatural romance, suspense, slow-burn smut, dark tension.

Warnings: tension, obsession, biting, blood play, smut, strong language, supernatural themes (full warnings listed per chapter).

Status: ongoing.

***

SUMMARY

In the fog-drenched town of Willowridge, [Y/N] has always felt the pull of the supernatural. She doesn’t know why—only that it thrums beneath her skin, whispers in her blood, and haunts her dreams. She’s spent her life searching for answers, for meaning in the symbols and shadows that call to her… and then she meets him.

Harry Styles is the last living heir of a bloodline the world believes to be extinct. A hybrid born of vampire and wolf, he’s lived in silence, hidden behind the iron gates of Styles Estate, a crumbling estate thick with history, power, and curse. He doesn’t take mates. He doesn’t fall in love. Not anymore.

But fate doesn’t care for rules.

When she stumbles into his world, a bond awakens between them—raw, ancient, irreversible. What begins as curiosity spirals into obsession. And as secrets unravel and darkness rises, one truth becomes terrifyingly clear: she was his long before they ever met.

And now… she may never leave.

***

READ THE STORY

Chapter One – The Sigil

→ Coming Wednesday, May 1st.

Chapter Two – The Pull

→ Coming Wednesday, May 8.

***

EXTRAS

The Playlist

Character Aesthetics

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk199o @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music

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erodasfishtacos · 13 hours ago

Text

A Fix For Loneliness

prompt: YN is learning she has no self-preservation. It’s why she keeps running into her stranger. A man who won’t tell her anything, gives her instructions, and occasionally isn’t downright awful.

word count: 9.5k+

warnings: h is obviously not a good person, violence, blood, medical stuff, mean H, dark H

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

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

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first FIFTEEN to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

A little reminder, my prices are still $3USD and $5USD - you have to sign up via web browser and NOT through the App Store - they are charging fees now!

———

YN was too kind.

She knew that.

It’s why she became a nurse, to help others in their time of need, and that’s exactly what she did in the emergency department of her local hospital.

When she was walking down a back alley one night (she knew it wasn’t safe but it was such a quicker shortcut after a thirteen hour shift she couldn’t ignore it even if it was one in the morning).

YN’s half-asleep on her feet when she runs into quite the scene, a man who has to be around her age was dressed in dark jeans and a black tee shirt.

There was blood dripping from his jaw and his bottom lip was swollen up, already bruising under the drying blood.

He had just tossed something into the dumpster before slamming the lid shut with a deafening echo and despite the warning signals, YN can’t ignore him.

“Oh my goodness. You’re bleeding, sir,” YN jumps into nurse mode, hurrying up to him and without permission, tilting his head gently to the side.

The man narrows his eyes at her, clearly taken aback, and takes three big steps away from her reach towards the opposite building.

He makes a show of spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the pavement before wiping his mouth crudely with the back of his hand.

His voice was deep and scratchy, it matched his appearance, his accent thick and rough, “M’fucking fine. Back off and mind your own god damn business.”

YN is used to fiesty patients, it doesn’t phase her much as she examines him from afar now, “I’m a nurse.”

The man sneers at her, “Surprisingly, I’m not fucking blind. I don’t want your help. Run the fuck along now, little miss hero.”

YN glances down, still in her scrubs, of course he would see she’s a nurse, and distraught at this man refusing help.

She’s tired, she’s overworked, and the fact that she knows she’ll perseverate on this if he doesn’t let her help makes her choke out a frustrated sniffle.

The brunette man, with a scowl of impatience scoffs of disbelief, “Are you really about to fuckin’ cry?”

“I jus-just want to help. I lost tw-two patients today and couldn’t-couldn’t save them,” YN begins to tear up now, wiping her eyes, it was always a hard day when she lost patients.

Two today.

An older woman with a heart attack.

A teen in a car accident.

“Fucks sake,” The bloody man groans under his breath, his eyes darting up and down the alleyway, “You’re going to cause a scene over this, aren’t you? I don’t have bloody time for this.”

He stomps towards her which makes her freeze but he stands in front of her with a agitated flick of his hand, “If you’re going to do your nurse shit, do it! I don’t have god damn time for your cry baby act. Of course, I get my plans ruined.”

YN obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he seems like he has places to be and she’s holding him up.

Where on earth could he go with his face looking like that anyways?

“I-I don’t have anything with me,” YN stutters after a moment, this man was intimidating as he had major height advantage, he appeared lean but his muscle definition proved he was strong.

“Okay, then see ya’,” He grunts lowly, moving to turn on his heel but YN grabs his wrist without thinking to stop him.

“My-uh, my apartment,” YN’s throat is dry, what the fuck is she doing, “I have the stuff at my apartment up the street.”

“Did your parents never teach you stranger danger? Inviting a man you’ve never met, bleeding, up to your apartment?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, wiping his continuous bleeding wound with his shirt, flashing a sliver of his carved abdominal muscles.

“You need help,” YN replies unsurely, her behaviors are so uncharacteristic but she felt drawn to help this stranger.

A small group of people pass the corridor of the alleyway, with laughs and drunk words, and the man she’s standing with perks up at high alert.

“Fuck,” He hisses angrily, that seemed to be his favorite word, yanking his hand out of her grip and muttering so softly YN doesn’t know whether she heard him right, “gonna get me caught.”

“Stand over there and turn around,” The man demands sharply, YN wasn’t used to being talked to that way but she finds herself walking towards the edge of the alley and turning away.

YN hears rustling, the dumpster being open and closed again, and a few unidentifiable noises before she hears his footsteps approaching.

His hand on her shoulder is tight as he spins her around, “If I let you fix me up, will you leave me the fuck alone and more importantly, never mention this to anyone?”

YN’s brow furrows, “Why can’t I tell-“

The man hisses in agitation, fingers digging into her skin more has harshly, “Answer me.”

It’s the first time that chills are sent down her spine at his gritted words, everything in her is screaming to run, her fight or flight triggered.

“I-I won’t tell,” YN agrees breathlessly, skin tingling when he lets go and pushes her forward, not aggressively but enough that she stumbles.

“Then move already,” He orders and when she tries to turn around to look at him, his hand comes to her neck, keeping her facing forward.

Whatever he was doing in that alley, he really didn’t want her to see, and he didn’t seem like he was open to answering questions.

YN keeps trying to justify why she’s letting a bleeding, angry man into her home as she shakily unlocks the door.

There’s no justification.

She’s putting herself in so much danger.

It had to be something about how attractive he was that made her trusting that he wouldn’t hurt her, like he was too pretty to be deadly.

A trick of the eye, maybe.

He stands in the entry hall, unmoving, and uncomfortable as he doesn’t look around, keeping his gaze on her.

“I want you to know that I’m only allowing you to do this so that you don’t run around and squeal, alright?” He reminds her, voice a bit louder to scare her.

YN nods.

“I also know where you live now, stupid girl,” He shakes his head, like he’s in disbelief YN was such an idiot, “I won’t hesitate to come back.”

She was.

Stupid.

Now her fingers were trembling as she accidentally drops her keys.

“Bat-bathroom,” YN whispers as she pokes her thumb in that direction, “Uh, my supplies.”

“I’ll stay here. I’m not coming in any further,” He crosses his arms, akin to a cornered animal who’s about to be trapped.

YN hopes he doesn’t see when she nearly trips over her own feet as she makes her way to her small bathroom, her nursing/first aid kit was under the sink.

He’s standing in the exact same place he was before, he hadn’t moved an inch, and fuck, he’s scary.

“Um, can you please sit there?” YN points nervously to the entryway bench, not coming closer until he begrudgingly sits on the edge.

“Hurry the fuck up,” He snaps at her suddenly, shaking his leg impatiently and the abruptness makes her jump, “I haven’t got all day, miss lil’ hero.”

It doesn’t sound like an compliment rolling off his tongue.

YN pulls out a cotton pad, soaking it with antiseptic fluid, and shakily says, “This is going to sting a bit. I’m just cleaning it first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her but he does flinch when she puts her fingertips on his jaw to move his head more to the side.

When she applies the pad, if it hurts, he doesn’t give anything away, his eyes don’t even blink as he sits with his hands on his knees.

After get a fresh cotton pad and drenching it again, she moves onto his lip, and she’s so on-edge, she stumbles over his foot and falls forward.

The man grips her hips hard, pushing her back upright, and appears even more agitated as he huffs, “Chill the fuck out, alright? M’not going to do shit to you. I don’t even want to be here. You’re the one who dragged me to your apartment. Stop being so fuckin’ dramatic.”

YN’s not going to cry despite her bottom lip quivering.

YN’s father was a calm quiet man

She didn’t grow up with brothers.

She wasn’t used to being treated so bluntly, so rudely by anyone, let alone a stranger she was trying to help.

“Are you about to cry?” He asks in surprise, a cruel laugh leaving his throat as he smiles widely, he has dimples, “You’re such a delicate little flower.”

Again, it was definitely an insult.

YN’s throat contracts as she pushes down tears and it wasn’t just because of him, today was hard and she was tired.

“You don’t need stiches. The cut on your jaw is superficial, just a lot bleeding ,” YN determines as she uses a butterfly bandage to close the wound tightly.

YN tilts his chin towards her, his eyes were striking in how green they were as they blinked up at her from under dark lashes.

They were just as frightening as they were beautiful because there was something about meeting his gaze that was like staring at a hungry lion.

YN starts to dab at it with the pad again as it slowly oozes.

She can feel his gaze on her face, it’s making the hair stand up on her arms.

“Skin is just uh, irritated. Nothing major,” YN tells him, holding pressure to stop the bleeding, “How did you get this banged up anyways?”

That triggers him.

He stands up suddenly, making her stumble backwards, and he steps into her space until her back is up against the wall and he’s cornering her.

“I don’t know what bad luck I was dealt to have to deal with such a nosey bitch in my business but you better stop asking questions,” He warns as she can feels his breath, he smelled surprisingly good like citrus and sage.

“I’m sorry,” YN chokes out, it was feeling harder to breathe now.

What the fuck did she get herself into?

“For fucks sake, calm your ass down,” He grunts as he directs her to sit on the bench he was just on, “Stop being a god damn drama queen.”

YN can’t reply, simply nods and stares at the ground.

Why did she let this man in her home?

She needed her head examined, clearly.

He squats in front of her, eyes deadly intent, “I’m going to leave right now. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. If you talk about anything that you saw tonight, I’ll have no problem visiting here again.”

YN nods again, watching him stand and he’s still looking at her as he sighs, hand on the doorknob and says, “Do not ever invite a stranger into your house again, you stupid girl.”

YN wishes that she didn’t think about that man again.

But she does.

Over and over.

Every time she walks past an alley.

When she walks home at one in the morning.

But months pass.

No signs of him.

It was a big city.

She didn’t know whether he lived here or not, hell, she didn’t even get his first name during the interaction.

Six months and no signs.

YN dreams about him three separate times.

One of which make her question her sanity.

“Be quiet f’me,” He whispers against her lips, hand wrapped around her throat, “Don’t want to hear you unless you’re moaning pretty.”

YN’s staring wide eyed at him, trying to beg with her eyes as he brings her lips to his by the grip on her neck.zzz

“Gonna show me what a nice lil’ pet you can be?” His dimple is popping as he licks her lips before squeezing a bit tighter, “Can’t wait to feel your cun-“

YN wakes up by her alarm, heart pounding, and a hand coming up to touch her throat, the ghost of where she felt his fingertips.

She takes a very cold shower that morning before work.

Matthew was nice enough.

He was an emergency medicine doctor which is how they met in the unit.

They rarely worked the same shift but in passing, he had managed to pull YN aside and ask if she’d be interested in going on a date.

YN wasn’t necessarily jumping for joy but she was bored, life was pretty mundane at the moment, and her romantic life was nonexistent.

He was overly cocky, the type of doctor who liked to wear his scrubs into the grocery store so everyone knew his title, corrected people when they didn’t address him with Doctor first.

She didn’t realize that this is how she would meet her stranger once again.

The first date was in the afternoon, at a coffee shop in midtown and he had picked the spot.

“I come here atleast once a day,” He laughs as he orders a large black coffee and a bran muffin of all things, “Same ole’ routine.”

“I’ve only been here a handful of times-“ YN pauses when she catches a familiar flash of green, knowing the color distinctly.

She’s been dreaming of it.

Her stranger.

He was sitting in a booth, in the furtherest spot back in the corner with a coffee and a pastry that hadn’t even been taken out of the wax paper.

YN’s heart seizes, blinking twice to make sure that she is not imaging this, that it isn’t just a look alike man.

His unsettlingly intense stare, the scowl etched on his face, it was no doubt the man who had been invading her thoughts for the last six months.

He doesn’t break eye contact first, YN glances back to her steaming chai tea first, lying easily, “Sorry, thought I saw an old friend.”

“Yeah, I run in to quite a few here too,” Matthew agrees without notices her slight shift in demeanor as she forces herself to focus on their conversation.

YN gives herself permission about three minutes later to let her eyes flit across the room, back to that corner.

He was gone.

His coffee and pastry gone.

There was already a new couple sitting there.

YN is half-convinced that she imagined it in the first place, how did she not see him get up and walk past her?

Had that couple been sitting there the whole time?

“I’m so sorry, Matthew. I have to run to the restroom, excuse me a minute?” YN smiles, hoping it doesn’t come off as forced as she stands up and heads towards the back.

YN goes into one of the stalls, sitting down for a moment and just taking a deep breathe because she can’t figure herself out right now.

YN can’t sit in her forever which she wishes she hadn’t even agreed to this date.

When YN unlocks the stall door, she begins to let out a scream when there’s a figure leaning up against the sink, waiting for her.

The person rushes forward, clamping a hand over her mouth as citrus and sage overwhelm her senses .

“Shut the fuck up, right now.”

Why does YN almost slump in relief at the harsh words?

Maybe because this proves that she didn’t conjure him up in her head.

To confirm that he was as startlingly handsome as she has been remembering him to be in the last months.

Even more so actually.

“Are you going scream when I take my hand off?” He asks pointedly, his lips were near her ear, whispering but seeming so loud.

YN shakes her head vehemently that she won’t.

She should scream.

She’s not going to though.

He takes a few steps back, no longer even close to touching her, and once again, he looks angry at her as complains, “Lil’ fucking drama queen.”

This is definitely her stranger.

YN just stares at him, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Why are you here with him?” He asks with the same agitation, his fists were clenched against his sides tightly.

“Do you know Matthew?” YN was confused by his question or why he would care.

“What did I tell you?” He snaps at her, taking a step forward again like he wants to grab her, “Don’t ask me questions.”

“Why can you ask me then?” YN doesn’t know where the confidence is coming from, puffing up her chest.

It gets finished quickly when he brings his hand up to hold her chin, “It’s different. Now answer me.”

YN’s blood pressure must be through the roof right now as she manages to find her voice, “I’m on a date with him.”

The stranger doesn’t like that answer.

His fingertips tighten on her skin before releasing, his tongue peeks out to run over his bottom lip, “I recommend you stay the fuck away from him.”

“Why?”

“You clearly have no sense of self-preservation so I’m trying to save you a lot of trouble in the future. End the date, make an excuse, and don’t go out with him again.”

“I want to know one thing,” YN request as she chews on her bottom lip.

“No.”

“What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

They stare at each other.

YN can’t decipher if he’s being truthful or not.

As he did the night they first met, her puts a firm hand on her shoulder, and guides her towards the bathroom exit.

With his lips touching the shell of her ear, he reminds her with a hiss, “Go do exactly as I say. Leave and go the fuck home.”

He pushes her forward, she puts her arms up to avoid smashing her face off the door, and pushes it open, tripping out into the hallway.

YN legs are wobbly as she makes her way back the table, “Matthew, I am so sorry. I’m really not feeling well.”

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He teases as he stands up and pushes his chair in.

No, I just saw my stranger.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

“Nope. I’m good, don’t want you coming down with whatever bug I have,” She replies with a dismisses wave of her hand, willing herself not to look back towards the bathrooms.

“I’ll text you to reschedule. I hope you start to feel better soon. Please text me if you need anything,” Matt smiles genuinely, a concerned expression on his face.

Why didn’t Harry want her to be around him?

How did he have the right to order her around when he wouldn’t answer simple questions?

YN’s mind is reeling as she walks home.

It’s like she expects to see her stranger, watching her walk home but there’s no sign of him, and just like that he disappeared into thin air.

YN visits the coffee shop multiple more times.

He’s never there.

Matthew texts her multiple times checking on her, offering to bring her soup or medication, and telling her what a good time he had.

In an act of defiance, against her stranger who has only come into her life twice but has occupied her mind ten-fold, she agrees to another date.

It’s not as if Harry will find out but it still felt freeing to actively disobey his warning.

And so when Matthew asks…

Matthew: If you’re feeling better, I would love to take you out this weekend.

YN feels a sense of guilt that she’s thinking more of her stranger than Matthew when she replies.

YN: I would absolutely love that. Just let me know how to dress. :)

That is how she finds herself inside of a nice restaurant on Saturday night, dressed in a satin dress and strappy heels that she hadn’t worn in ages.

Matthew had picked her up in his run of the mill, base model sports car, that was flashy but in quite an unimpressive way.

He was dressed in a nice suit and managed to get reservations at an exclusive, small restaurant in the heart of the city.

Matthew and her were sitting at a two person table toward the back.

Next to them was a round table with place settings for six that was yet to be occupied, the notecard only specifying, ‘Styles, Party of Six.’

They are being poured their first very expensive glass of Pinot Noir when a group of men, somewhat boisterous and rowdy for the setting, are seated at the round table next to them.

“And so Doctor Flint told me that the cadaver ligament we were to use was lost. How on earth do you misplace a body part?” Matthew laughs whilst he tells her this story from the old hospital he worked at.

YN was trying to focus but she hears a voice that is eerily familiar.

“Settle down. This isn’t a fucking bar.”

The hair on the back of her neck stands straight up.

Her stranger.

This isn’t a coincidence.

It can’t be.

YN refuses to look up, past Matthew’s head because she’s terrified of what she might see or more like what she knows she’ll see.

“He put it in the employee fridge! Can you believe that?” Matthew honks out a laugh, slapping the table like he just told the world's funniest jokes.

“That’s insane,” YN agrees, forcing a fake laugh out of her suddenly dry throat, “Sounds like it could be a scene from a movie.”

YN knows that he’s watching her.

It’s the untold feeling that’s inkling up her spine.

She feels in danger for the first time.

Real danger.

How on earth is he sitting across from her?

Is he following her?

That had to be the only answer.

Had she acquired a stalker by helping him all those months ago and the coffee shop just sparked it again?

But that does equate to what he warned about Matthew?

YN convinces herself that she didn’t hear his voice, that it’s all in her head, and she’s going to look up to confirm that she was in fact going insane.

After a deep breath, YN tilts her chin up and gazes directly into the eyes of the man she was praying wasn’t staring back.

Her stranger was positively fuming, he was leveling her with a downright murderous glare that actually made her concerned for her safety.

YN darts her eyes back towards Matthew and ignores Harry for as long as humanly possible as he chats on with his friends.

Everything is working out until her date excuses himself to the restroom, before the main course comes out.

Fuck.

YN anxiously pulls out her phone to distract herself.

Until someone is plucking her mobile right out her hands, a thumb pressing into the nape of her neck as a warning to keep looking forward.

“Bathroom. Five minutes after he gets back,” Her stranger leans down to speak into her ear, he moves so sleekly that she’s never even been alerted he got up.

“My pho-“

“You’ll get it back when you meet me in the bathroom,” Harry tells her before he’s standing up and walking back to his table, slipping her cell into his suit jacket pocket.

Did he really just steal her phone?

YN digs her nails into her palm, keeping an eye on the clock after Matthew sits down, waiting until the five minute mark before excusing herself.

There’s only a single bathroom which when she pushes through the already cracked open door, her stranger is leaning against the counter like last time.

YN takes the initiative to lock it behind her.

She shouldn’t but she does.

“Give me my phone back,” YN demands, unsure of where the bravado is coming from as she steps further into the room.

Harry doesn’t give her a wicked smile, his lips are tight, and his jaw is clenched.

He is absolutely pissed.

“What the fuck did I tell you last time, stupid girl?” Harry’s volume is louder than she anticipated, making her jump in surprise.

YN doesn’t respond, the heart palpitations that were now the norm for her interaction with this man are in full effect.

“Come here,” Harry orders furiously, moving away from the counter.

YN stands her ground.

“I said come the fuck here or I’ll smash your phone right off this god damn floor,” He threatens as he watches her, lip twitching in displeasure at her not listening the first time.

YN really would rather not pay for a new cell phone at the moment and slowly, she drags her feet towards him.

”Yeah, I don’t have time for your lil’ drama queen bullshit tonight, darling,” Harry sneers as he grabs her by the waist, moving her forcefully until he can pick her up and sit her on the sink counter.

YN readjusts her dress, she’d heard a slight rip but she wasn’t going to point that out at the moment.

Harry’s hand comes to her jaw, gripping it and forcing their eyes level, “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is? Or do you lack any semblance of common sense?”

It’s hard for YN to talk with his hand holding her jaw, her words jumbled when she garbles out, “Why are you following me?”

His brows furrow in confusion, “You think I’m following you?”

”What are the chances that you show up in two places that I’ve been? While I’m on a date? Unless you’re following Matt….” YN trails off because that would make no sense, it was much more likely that he was following her around.

It was clear Matt had no idea who Harry was because he hadn’t recognized or acknowledge him at the coffee shop or at dinner when Matt would have definetly seen him when he was returning from his bathroom break.

Harry grip tightens enough that she squeaks, trying to pull away, and he hadn’t even seemed to realize he was using much force because it instantly loosens again.

Oddly, he reaches his thumb out to run along her jawbone, and it’s half comforting, half annoyed when he mutters, “You’re fine. Stop.”

She was pretty far from fine at this point.

”Are you that desperate for a lay?” Harry asks bluntly, he was standing in between her thighs and if anyone would have walked into this room, they would be under a much different impression than what’s actually going on.

”Excuse me?” YN gasps, affronted at his questioning.

Harry rolls his eyes at he reaction, his thumb was still rubbing against her skin but his grip had him in control, “I specifically told you to never associate with that guy. Here you are a week later, dressed up all pretty f’him, and what…you gonna let him take you home?”

If YN didn’t know any better, there sounded like some jealously in his tone.

”I don’t know what was going to happen after dinner,” YN bites out, trying to exercise her jaw muscle against his fingertips, “Maybe I would have let him take me home and fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes darken, his pupils dialating further in his anger, and his hand moves from her jaw to the side of her neck, thumb ghosting over her pressure point as a silent threat.

”Can I tell you what I think?” Harry murmurs, with the smallest hint of a smile like he’s cracked the code to something.

”You’re going to anyways,” YN mumbles, her own annoyance flooding her body.

”You’re not even into him. I think you agreed to this date just to spite my warning, huh? Tell me I’m wrong,” Harry’s voice is deeper, smoother, and downright dangerous.

”I do-“

”Tell. Me. I’m. Wrong,” He recites each word distinctly, his teeth gritted as his eyes dart from her eyes to his grip on her throat to her lips back to her eyes in a vicious cycle.

YN bites at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she doesn’t know why Harry is so good at figuring her out but now she doesn’t feel like she’s in a position to lie either.

She avoids it by saying, “I don’t know you. You won’t let me ask questions. Why should I trust you? There was no reason not to go on another date. Why because of your ominous warning?”

”Yes because of my fucking warning,” He snaps back at her, stepping further between her thighs until their chests are nearly bumping and his familiar scent is lingering against her, “I know what I’m talking about. Stay the fuck away from him.”

YN shouldn’t push his buttons.

She should oblige, agree, and then avoid him for the rest of her life.

But as always, she goes against all those natural instincts and eggs him on further.

”Well then who would I go home with tonight?”

Harry doesn’t appreciate that comment.

Not by the way he’s moving to wraps his fingers around her wrist and tug her off the counter, “I’m taking you home now.”

“Wait, I-“ YN responds in surprise, not resisting his hold as he helps her onto her feet, her high heels were not made for this type of activity.

”No, you want to keep playing with me? You’re going to lose, every fucking time,” Harry retorts as he begins to lead her towards the door, “You’re going to go home to your own apartment, by yourself. Use your fingers, a toy, I don’t really care but you’re not going home with that guy.”

YN feels awful that Matthew is sitting out there, their main courses about to be served, and it will be the second time that she is ditching him when neither had been her intention.

“My dress,” YN stops moving, right as his hand is on the doorknob, “You fucking ripped it. I cannot go outside like this.”

It was true, from the stretch of the countertop, the already high-cut slit on the right side of her dress was now up to her hip, flashing the obnoxiously red lace she had on underneath.

Harry’s eyes move down with a cluck of his tongue, “Really fuckin’ desperate, huh?”

But before YN can defend herself, he’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and wrapping it around her waist, tying it in the front, and it hangs enough to cover at least where her underwear is flashing.

”There, now come the fuck on. I have shit to do,” Harry retakes her hand, tight and firm as he opens the bathroom door, and instead of going towards the dining hall, he’s going further back into the hallway.

He’s letting them out of an emergency exit into an alleyway.

She expects him to dismiss her, to tell her to get home, and to not contact Matt again.

Instead, what actually happens is that he continues walking with her, out of the alleyway and towards the streets that will lead to her apartment, seeing as he definetly didn’t forget where she lived.

YN was cold, goosebumps breaking out along her arms as her bare arms hit the windchill, her jacket left at the restaurant.

“My jacket,” YN points out, pauses quick enough that Harry nearly bumps into her from where he was following closely behind.

His hands come to her shoulders, encouraging her with a bit of force to keep walking, “I’ll have one of my friends grab it.”

YN hated walking in these heels, it’s why she had spent the money on the Uber.

“It’s cold,” YN complains as they’re about halfway there, he’s only a step behind her, ready to grab her at any moment.

“Walk faster then,” Harry replies in a bored tone, his hands once again moving to her shoulder to give her a light shove forward.

YN wants to scream, maybe unstrap her heel, and hit him with it because he was truly the most incorrigible person that she has ever met in her life.

Her stranger stays silent until they make it to her door, he easily ignores the unflattering comments YN makes under her breath, only receiving a shove or push as a response.

When YN fumbles for her keys, Harry waits like he’s invited in, and YN doesn’t have the will right now to fight.

As soon as they get in, Harry shuts the door behind them and she plops on her couch to start unstrapping the heels.

Her hands are shaking.

She wants to blame the cold but she knows it’s her nerves.

“Pathetic, shaking like a leaf,” Harry huffs as he watches, kneeling down and smacking her hands away, heavy rings stinging her skin, and he begins to undo them himself, “Can’t even get your own shoes off and you want to act like you're tough with me.”

YN watches, heart in her throat at the sight of her stranger kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped tightly around her ankle as the other fusses with the straps.

Why does she get this deep pitted urge to rile him up, just when he starts to act calm?

“I’m going to see Matthew again,” YN wishes her words had come out with a bit more confidence even though they were a downright lie.

Harry stops his actions, blinking up at her with an unreadable expression, “No.”

“You can’t-“

Harry lunges upward, eye level and angry once again, his teeth were gritted as he went to his usual means of control.

A firm grip of her chin.

“I can. I am telling you I can. Leave it the fuck alone and move on. You don’t even like the bloke,” Harry calls her out, it’s a statement, not a question.

“I haven’t even got to know him-“

“Nor do you need to. Stop fuckin’ around because you’re making my life harder by doing this. And I really don’t like when people make my life harder. Especially spoiled lil’ drama queens,” He’s getting agitated enough that his grip gets harsh, painful, and she flinches in response.

Just like last time, he loosens his hold and his frown deepens, “M’not going to hurt you. Don’t have to act like that.”

“Yes, as you squeeze me. I don’t even know who the fuck you are,” YN pulls out of his grip, he allows it but his other hand is still on her ankle.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Her stranger argues, “Bottom line. Stop. Fucking. Up. My. Plans.”

”I don’t even know what they are,” YN shots back, she felt like they were talking in riddles at this point.

”Go to work, do your cute little nurse shit, and come home,” Harry repeats through clenched teeth, he finally moves to take off her other high heel.

”Forever?” YN snorts sarcastically, wriggling until she can untie his suit jacket from around her waist, making it a point to toss it next to him on the floor.

She felt even more satisfaction when she realized it was a Gucci piece.

Harry’s eyes stay directly staring into hers.

”Until I tell you elsewise,” He replies cryptically, “You’ve ruined enough things f’me. I need you to stop or m’going to have to do something to make you. Don’t try to think you’re smart and defy me. I’ll know.”

YN’s head is spinning, “You’re telling me I’m not supposed to date or have a social life until you say so? A stranger I don’t even know?”

”If you want to stay out of danger. Yes,” He replies like it’s that simple, he’d taken off both of her heels by this point and didn’t seem to realize that he was still holding her foot, thumb pressing into the arch on the bottom.

”This isn’t fair,” YN feels her throat tighten.

Fuck, she was not going to cry.

”It doesn’t have to be fair. Life isn’t fuckin’ fair, darling,” Harry’s voice is venomous as he speaks, his accent was distinct and each word was enounciated harshly.

”Maybe I should just risk it,” YN slouches back into the couch, kicking his hand off of her.

”No, you won’t fuckin’ risk it,” Harry leans up, his hands on either side of her knees, and it would be an intimate position giving any other circumstance, “You need a date that bad? Having a dry spell, pet?”

There’s a roughness in his voice that makes her want to close her thighs.

God, what the fuck is wrong with her?

She is quiet literally being threatened by a stranger and she feels arousal pooling in her belly?

She’s going to fucking die at this rate.

”You said I can’t go out. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have someone come back to my place,” YN is fucking with him at this point, to rile him up even further when she should be doing the exact opposite, “My sex life counldn’t possible interfere with your ‘plans’.”

Harry’s jaw flexes under his skin, if looks could fucking kill.

”Do you need a lesson?” Harry sits up, his hand shifting to her hip and it sends a shockwave through her.

His fingertips were ghosting over the exposed red lace, lightly, curiously.

”A le-lesson?” YN stutters, eyes wide and god, she wanted to spread her legs further.

”Yes, a lesson. To keep you in this god damn house,” Harry reiterates as his fingers slip underneath the thin fabric near the waistband, snapping the elastic against her hips and making her jump, “Do I need to show you how to use your fingers? Buy you a god damn toy? Something because I need you to stay in this fuckin’ house and I don’t know how many different ways to emphasize it.”

YN knows how to use her fingers but there’s something about the texture, calloused roughness of her stranger’s that make her want his instead.

She wasn’t some sex-hungry feign.

Her currently dry spell had been lasting over the past year.

It was something in particular about her stranger that made her realize just how long it had been.

She wasn’t made uncomfortable by his finger wandering by her hip.

Despite how threatening, how out of line this man was, for some reason she felt like she could trust him not to hurt or take advantage of her.

She had never been this risk-taking in her entire life.

And this isn’t normal risk-taking.

”I know how to use them,” YN bleats back, heart jumping when his thumb rubs over the thin skin of her hip, his hand slipping just underneath the fabric of her dress, “Just don’t like to.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Harry shakes his head, a bit more solemn and quiet for the moment as he watches his hand.

There’s a pause.

A long enough moment of silence that it reels Harry right back into reality.

He straightens up before standing, kicking her shoes aggressively out of his way as he storms towards the door, “You better fuckin’ listen to me. It really won’t end well for you if you don’t.”

“When will I -“

When will I see you again?

When can I not be a prisoner in my own house?

Why am I going to be a prisoner in my own house?

What the fuck is he trying to protect me from?

What plans am I fucking up?

There’s all those questions and more on the tip of her tongue but she can’t even get the first one out before Harry is cutting her off.

”You’ll know. Now lock your fuckin’ doors and go the fuck to sleep.”

YN also doesn’t know anyone who used the word ‘fuck’ as much as her stranger.

But she finds herself listening as he slams the door on his way out, trembling on it’s rusty hinges, and locking it behind him like he couldn’t manage a way in if he really want.

YN didn’t know exactly what he was up to, but it wasn’t good.

It was six days until YN had to face Matthew.

YN had been surprised that she hadn’t received any text or calls.

Then she goes into her settings, realizing that while Harry had stolen her phone that he’d manage to block his number, delete their conversation, and delete his contact information on top of it.

Fucking dick.

YN can’t avoid Matthew in the cafeteria.

As she’s waiting in line for her salad to be made and he strides right up to her with a displeased expression she’d never seen on his normally smile-laden face.

”If you didn’t like me, you could have just said so before standing me up twice,” Matthew tells her, he’s trying to keep his tone casual as he acts like he’s reading the nutritional facts on the back of his energy drink.

”I am so sorry,” YN doesn’t look at him, looking directly at the woman making their food instead as she works, “It’s…this isn’t like me. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. I’ve just had some….issues that had unexpectantly popped up.”

Matthew scoffs, slamming his tray down a bit too aggressively, “If you’re going to lie, at least make it beleiveable. Do you know how lucky you were that I gave you a chance? I’m a fucking doctor. You’re a nurse. You should be chasing me, not elsewise.”

YN squeezes her eyes shut because it’s not worth starting a fight in the middle of their workplace, “Matt, I’m really just trying to enjoy my lunch break on my fourteen hour shift. Please, just leave me alone. Like I said, I’m sorry about what transpired. It’s on me.”

Matthew surprises her by ducking to whisper in her ear, “You are a no one, YN.”

None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her stranger.

She wouldn’t be feeling so useless.

Alone.

It had been four months since she’d seen her stranger.

Not one trace of him.

Despite the fact that she had been listening, she didn’t go out on dates, and she didn’t bring anyone home.

A nice nurse anesthetist named Paul had wanted to take her out on a date, YN was somewhat interested but turned him down gently, stating that she wasn’t ready for a relationship.

It made her angrier as the months went on.

She hated her stranger.

She missed her stranger.

It’s takes four and a half excruciatingly isolating months until something changes.

YN had a ten hour shift tonight which wouldn’t have been bad but she hasn’t had a day off in nearly two weeks and she was run ragged.

YN had the next three off to recuperate which would start by passing out immediately in her bed after showering.

When YN unlocks her front door, her eyes are heavily lidded as she locks it behind her, flipping on the switch, and kicking off her black tennis shoes.

”It’s ‘bout fuckin’ time.”

YN drops her water bottle, her phone, and her purse - causing all the contents to start to spill and roll out.

”Jesus Christ, so jumpy, m’little drama queen,” He laughs meanly as his voice doesn’t come any closer.

YN hasn’t looked at him yet but has a sneaking suspicion that her stranger is sitting comfortably on her couch after breaking in.

She should be worried as to why he’s here.

Instead she feels a flair of anger bubble up in her chest, “Four and half fucking months. You let me be alone with nothing and no one for four and a half months, Harry.”

When she turns to face him, her anger quickly dissipates when she realizes that he’s injured.

He’s shirtless, which YN doesn’t have time to let herself look over his tattoos, his rippled muscles, any of it because he’s currently holding his balled up white shirt to his eyebrow.

There was barely any white fabric to be seen, sodden with dark red blood.

“Oh my god,�� YN gasps as she steps over her spilled items, rushing towards the couch.

There were streaks of blood trailing down the side of his face, leaving a trace all the way down to his pecs where it finally dried.

“I’m fine. I just need you to do your lil’ hero act on me, okay?” His teeth are stained red from where his bloody lip has poured into his mouth.

YN feels awake suddenly, rushing to her bathroom to retrieve her kit, and running back to her living room just as fast.

“Harry, I don’t-“ YN fumbles, nearly dropping her supplies, going completely scatter-brained in panic and the shock of seeing her stranger after so long.

”Hey,” Harry replies, loud enough to make her jump, and with his free hand, he does what he always does, grips her chin and levels their eye contact, “Stop freaking out. Isn’t this what your fuckin’ job is? Do you do this at the hospital?”

YN shakes her head, “This is different.”

“Well then act like it’s not,” Harry’s hold on her isn’t as rough as it normally is and she has a creeping suspicion that he’s smeared his blood on her face but that was the least of her concerns.

YN goes to her kitchen sink, scrubbing her hand thoroughly before tucking her hands into a pair of latex gloves before she’s removing his destroyed shirt to examine the actual injury.

It wasn’t the worst that she had ever seen but it was far more serious than the injuries that he had the first time that she saw him.

”I’m going to do the same thing as last time. I’m going to clean it first,” YN informs him through shaky breath as she soaks a cotton pad to begin to swipe over the split skin gently.

Harry, once again, doesn’t show any type of reaction that it’s painful.

He only continues to stare at her face as she does her job.

When the cut is completely cleaned up, YN’s able to examine it better, and realizes that he definitely needs stitches.

”You need at least five or six stitches,” YN tells him after taking a step back, peeling off the gloves, “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”

Harry doesn’t move, his chest is moving steadily, calm as ever.

”No, I want you to stitch me up,” Harry replies like that’s a normal request.

”I don’t have numbing medication or pain medication, I-“

”I don’t need it. Will you come the fuck on?” He pushes, sitting up a bit straighter, and he has no right to get annoyed at her right now when he’s the one causing all of this.

YN knows she shouldn’t do what he’s asking.

Shouldn’t give in to another one of his demands.

But she does.

”Fine,” YN lets out a long exhale, digging through her kit for another pair of gloves and the material for sutures.

”Wait f’a minute,” Her stranger interrupts her, hand coming to grip her hip, and bring her attention back to him, “I don’t want you fuckin’ shaking while you do it. I need you to calm down, okay? Everything is fine, right? You know that.”

”I don’t know that,” YN frowns as she rummages through her kit, ignoring that he wants her eyes on him, “I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know you but I’ve listened to you for the past five months.”

“I know you have,” He replies simply.

Was he watching her?

”And nothing bad happened to you, did it?” Harry prompts, squeezing her hip encouraging her to look at him.

YN begrudgingly does, surprised by the softness on his face, his normal harsh frown lines had dissipated.

”No,” YN agrees honestly, “I have just been lonel- never mind.”

She finds herself choking up on the word, tears threatening to spill because she’s tired, confused, and fucking lonely.

Harry’s eyes are unreadable like the usually are, they’re concerned and his squeezing turns almost into a gentle massage of her plush right there.

”I’ll fix it, okay?” Harry sighs as YN tugs on another pair of gloves, “I need you to continue to listen to me, follow my instructions, and I’ll make sure you’re not lonely, okay?”

YN doesn’t believe him for a moment but doesn’t have the energy to argue, “Okay.”

Harry knows that she isn’t buying it, “I mean it. I stick by my fucking word. I’ll fix it if you continue to listen.”

YN nods in agreement, carefully taking the curved needle from the sterilized packaging and threading it through the suture material, “You’ll need to come back here or go to the doctor in about a week and a half to get these remove. They don’t dissolve.”

”Okay,” Harry acknowledges but he’s more subdued, like something about YN complaining about her loneliness had stuck with him.

”Sit back,” YN orders as she’s ready to start work and when she leans over, she not only realizes it’s a shitty angle but her lower back is screaming at her from being on her feet for an unreasonable amount of hours today.

Harry must recognize it, surprisingly perceptive for how cold and disconnected he can be, “C’mere.”

YN should put up a fight.

YN should do a lot of things that she doesn’t.

Harry pulls her in until she’s sitting in his lap, thighs straddling over his closed ones, and she rests her bum on the thick of his quad muscle.

It actually was a much easier angle to do what she needed to do.

Her strangers hands come up to steady her hips, resting in the dip above her hip, and his hands were massive, his fingertips nearly reaching her bellybutton from the way that they were splayed.

”It’s going to hurt. Try not to flinch or anything,” YN mumbles, ignoring the butterflies that were starting to go crazy in her belly.

The roles are reversed when YN grips his chin to keep his head at the angle she needed it as she decided how to go about this.

She can with one hundred percent certainty say that she’s never sat on a patient’s lap while giving them stitches.

Harry doesn’t so much as flinch as she begins, his eyes were studying her face the whole time, hands firm around her waist, and unrelenting in their grip to keep her steady.

The only noise in the room is their breathing, more so YN’s, and a sharper intake from Harry when she has to pierce the needle through his sensitive, bruised skin to pull it shut.

”D-done,” YN replies after she ties the thread of neatly, snipping it with a small pair of scissors before sitting back, her back was still aching.

Harry hadn’t said anything during the whole thing, he doesn’t smile but he isn’t frowning either as he moves to hold her chin, his favorite thing apparently, and his thumb swipes over her bottom lip.

It was oddly intimate.

”Thank you,” Her stranger tells her sincerely, no teasing or harshness.

YN nods, swallowing because she should get off of his lap but she feels planted where she’s at.

Until she can’t help the massive yawn that has her eyes watering, bringing her hand to cover her mouth.

”S’time to get you to sleep,” Harry decides as he stands up and positions her on her feet, “You need to stop workin’ so much. You’re going to die of exhaustion.”

How does he know how much she works?

YN’s too tired to question it further.

”Need t’shower,” YN mumbles back, rubbing at her eye.

”It can wait, you’re ‘bout dead on your feet. Hold on,” Harry disappears down her hallway, she can hear him going into her bathroom like he just has full permission to explore her house.

He comes out a moment later with a damp washcloth, without asking, he begins to wipe at her face, and when the white fabric starts to stain red - she’s alarmed before she realize that it wasn’t her own blood that had dried on her face.

”You can…um, you can shower before you leave if you want,” YN offers as she allows him to wipe her off, moving down her jawline and throat.

She expects him to turn it down.

”I might actually take you up on that. This…this wasn’t part of my plan for the night and I still have things to do. I’ll lock up on the way out?” Her stranger tosses the washcloth on her kitchen counter.

”Yeah, m’going to go to sleep,” YN waves her hand at him, her eyes were starting to close without her permission as she drug her feet towards her bedroom.

”Jesus Christ, I’m fucked.”

YN hears him mutter that under his breath, not meant for her to hear, and she doesn’t know what it means anyways, it was probaly about his plans that didn’t go his way.

After she changes into her pajamas, YN realizes that Harry doesn’t have a shirt on, and she rifles through her drawers until she finds a shirt from an old boyfriend that would fit him.

She folds it, leaves it right in front of the bathroom door, and goes back into her bedroom.

Underneath the covers, she tries to sleep but instead finds herself listening to her stranger.

He must drop a bottle in the shower at some point.

Then the water’s being shut off after awhile.

A bit of shuffling and the door opening.

What she doesn’t expect is when he steps into her doorway, leaning against her doorframe, in the shirt that she had left for him.

”Bye,” He replies simply, no ‘thank you’ or anything.

YN sits up, “No, not ‘bye’. When…when is this going to end? I can’t keep living like this, Harry. I -“

”I said I would fix it, didn’t I? So stop bitching,” Harry snaps, the calmness that had settled between them had disappeared, all the softness that he’d shown just a bit ago had been lost now.

YN frowns at him, “I’m so nice to you. I don’t understand why you treat me so poorly.”

”If you think I’m treating you poorly, you don’t want to know how I treat others,” Harry laughs, the cruelty seeping back into each syllable, “You’re just a sensitive lil’ drama queen.”

”Fuck you,” YN shoots back for the first time because she had been overly nice and accommodating for a man she didn’t know anything about.

The frown lines are back, his scowl set where it normally was.

”Goodnight, my queen,” Harry smirks as the insult rolls off his tongue.

”Get the fuck out,” YN’s voice is quivering but not from fear or upset, from rage.

”My pleasure,” He agrees easily, stepping away from the doorframe and disappearing down the hall.

YN’s too tired to have anymore thoughts after she hears the front door click closed.

What. The. Fuck

The next morning, she’s awoken to an obnxious pounding on her front door.

There’s no way that it would be her stranger, right?

He would have let himself in if it was anything like last night.

She had never even questioned where he got the injury from.

When she makes it to the front door, there’s no one in front of her peephole which confuses her, and makes her unlock it to open it up.

There’s a massive cardboard box on her front mat, with small holes poked into the sides, and her name scrawled on the top of it in what looked to be boyish handwriting in marker.

YN hears rustling of all things.

Which makes her kneel down to open the loosely shut box.

When she hears the most feisty mewl of her life.

After opening the flaps, there’s two black kittens inside with a blanket surrounding them.

They were jet black with sleek, shiny coats and bright green eyes- looking up at her expectantly.

Two kittens on her doorstep.

YN is confused but she brings them inside.

When she looks in the box for any explanation, there’s a small note that is in the same handwriting as the scribbles on the cardboard.

#harry styles writing #update #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #fluff

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thecuriousbeauty · 3 days ago

Text

Calm after the Storm- Harry Styles x reader blurb (Fluff!)

Word count: 1.7K

Synopsis: When a late night thunderstorm brings up memories of a past accident, Y/N finds herself spiraling, until Harry races home to be her calm in the chaos.

________________________________________

You’d thought maybe, just maybe, you’d grown out of it.

The fear.

You are older now. Stronger. You could parallel park and file taxes and take your vitamins regularly. But then the storm rolled in, as sudden and uninvited as always, and the fear was back before the first rumble even fully settled into the sky.

The memories hit harder than the thunder.

You remembered the way the car had spun. The rain is like a waterfall on the windshield. The truck’s headlights. The scream you hadn’t even known was yours until someone pulled you from the wreckage, shaking and glass-dusted. That was two years ago now. No broken bones, but plenty of scars where no one could see.

You’d never really told Harry the full story. Just that you weren’t a fan of storms. That they made you feel small. On edge.

And tonight, they were worse than ever.

The wind howled. The rain slapped the windows in sideways bursts. Your power flickered twice. You sat curled on the couch in one of Harry’s hoodies, clinging to a throw blanket like it was a life raft, phone clenched in both hands. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it caught in your throat when the thunder cracked again, so loud it made the house creak.

He should’ve been home by now.

Your fingers shook slightly as you tapped on his name in your favorites. The phone rang once. Twice—

“Hi, love.”

His voice, so familiar, warm and raspy, it crackled softly through the speaker. You exhaled, like your lungs had finally remembered how to work.

“Where are you?”

“‘Bout five minutes away. Got caught behind some flooding, had to go around.”

You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead. “You should’ve waited it out, Harry. It’s, it’s getting worse.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you sounded scared when you texted. I didn’t wanna leave you alone in this.”

You swallow thickly. “I’m fine, I just… I hate this. And I hate that you’re out in it. What if-” You stop yourself. The words feel too close to that memory.

Harry’s quiet for a beat, then says gently, “I’m being careful. Promise. Not speeding. Driving like an old man. Even played that weird rainy day playlist you made to keep me calm.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, watery but real. “You mean the one with Norah Jones, Phoebe Bridgers, and SZA?”

“Yeah. Had me in my feelings and everything.”

You sniffle, pulling the blanket tighter. “You’re really only five minutes away?”

“Closer now. Turning onto our street.”

The relief is instant. Your body, tense as a violin string, begins to slowly unclench.

“Keep talking to me?” you ask softly.

“Of course, baby. Always.”

He tells you about the old man with the bright yellow poncho walking his dog in the storm, and how he saw a kid trying to catch raindrops with his mouth. Just small things. But his voice is like a tether keeping you grounded.

Then headlights spill through the rain-soaked windows, and you scramble off the couch, bare feet cold on the hardwood as you rush to the door.

By the time you open it, he’s already halfway up the path, soaked to the bone. His curls are dripping into his eyes, hoodie clinging to him like a second skin. But he’s smiling. That Harry kind of smile. Soft and full of light, like you’re his favorite thing to see.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand like a peace offering. “Told you I’d make it.”

You don’t answer. Just throw your arms around him, not caring that his clothes are wet and freezing. He drops his keys, wrapping you up like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the warm trail of a tear slide down your cheek, and Harry pulls back just enough to cradle your face in both hands.

“Love,” he murmurs, brows furrowed. “Talk to me.”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I just… storms make me feel like I’m there again. In the accident. I didn’t tell you everything before.”

He doesn’t press. Just thumbs the tear from your cheek, waiting.

“It was raining. Really bad. I lost control on the freeway. I didn’t hit anyone, but the car was totaled, and I remember the lights, the noise, how fast everything happened. And then just... silence.”

You breathe out shakily.

“And now every time it storms, it feels like it could happen again.”

Harry pulls you close again, tighter this time, hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he says softly. “That must’ve been terrifying.”

You nod against his chest, soaked fabric cold against your skin, but the warmth of his arms is enough to steady you.

“I’m here now,” he says, voice firm. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He kisses the top of your head and gently ushers you inside, toeing the door shut behind him. “You must have been really scared waiting for me huh?”, he mumbles, looking at you like he wished he could make your memories go away. You nodded, then pulled away slowly, realizing he needs to change.

“I’ll keep it in mind now. I’ll make sure I’m with you if there’s a storm like this. Or try to get you as soon as possible. Hate the thought of you being alone, baby.”, he delicately traced his thumb on your cheek and you give him a small smile. “You’re sweet. Um, you should change babe, you’ll get sick.”

“Nah, I’m superman. But I’ll be back in one minute, okay?”

He disappears just long enough to change out of his wet clothes, reappearing in fresh sweats and a dry tee that clings to his chest in the best way.

He lights your favorite candle, vanilla and sandalwood and pads back over to you, tugging a thick comforter off the couch. You don’t even have to ask. You both curl up on the floor with pillows and tea, like you’ve done a hundred times before.

“D’you want me to put something on?” he asks, nodding toward the remote. “We can watch one of your comfort movies. Or that bakery show you like. The one where they all cry over soufflés.”

You smile faintly. “No, this is good. Just… stay here.”

He does. Of course he does.

His fingers find yours beneath the blanket, slow and soft, like they’re learning the shape of your hand all over again. He’s humming under his breath. You tilt your head toward him.

“What is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That song you’re humming.”

He grins. “Just something I sing sometimes when I can’t sleep.”

You nudge him. “Sing it.”

He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, his voice low and soothing as he starts to sing, quietly at first:

“Don’t you worry 'bout a thing, my love The storm’ll pass, and the sky’ll clear above I’ll be here, arms wide and open You’re safe now, no more hoping…”

You blink slowly, leaning into him. His voice is rich and smooth, wrapping around you like another blanket. His hand strokes your hair as he continues, voice dropping to a murmur near the end:

“Close your eyes, it’s just the rain Nothing here can cause you pain You’ve got me, and I’ve got you That’s all we need to make it through.”

When he stops, there’s silence. Thick, warm, safe.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Harry turns his head and kisses your temple, then your cheek, then your lips. Slow and deep like he’s pouring everything into it.

“I love you more,” he murmurs.

Outside, the storm begins to soften. The thunder, distant now. The rain, more of a lullaby than a threat.

You must’ve dozed off again at some point, lulled by Harry’s heartbeat and the scent of sandalwood and tea. When you stir next, the windows are streaked with quiet rain, no lightning in sight. The room is golden and calm.

Harry’s still there, of course he is. His hand is resting on your hip, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’s watching you with this look that makes your chest ache a little, like you hung the stars.

You blink up at him, lips twitching into a sleepy smile. “Hey.”

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, voice still all hushed and cozy. “Storm’s passed.”

You glance toward the window, then back at him. “Really?”

He nods, nose brushing yours. “Guess you can stop shaking like a little leaf now.”

You laugh, swat him lightly. “I was not.”

“Oh, you were,” he teases, grinning. “Thought I was gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap and sing lullabies for the next ten hours.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, really smiling, and Harry catches it, tilting his head.

“There it is,” he says softly.

“What?”

“That smile.” He taps your cheek with his finger. “Been lookin’ for that all night.”

You duck your head, cheeks warming, and he tugs you close again, arms around your waist like he never plans to let go.

“Y’know,” he adds, a mischievous glint in his eye, “next time it storms, I might fake some thunder sounds just to get you to cuddle me like that again.”

You gasp. “You would not.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Don’t tempt me. Might even get one of those thunderstorm sleep apps and play it on loop.”

“Harry!”

“I’m just kidding, love.”, he coos, rubbing your nose with his. He didn’t need to say that. He was trying to lighten up the mood about it, and you appreciated it. Jokes were one way to deal with it.

You’re laughing now, really laughing, bright and unfiltered and so full of love.You push his chest playfully. “You’re such a menace.”

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”

And as you lie there with him, wrapped up in candlelight and laughter and the last soft sighs of the rain, you realize that maybe storms aren’t so scary anymore.

Not when he’s the calm that always comes after.

_________________________________________

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher

(Do let me know if you want any changes made to the taglist!)

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harrysgal · 9 hours ago

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (14)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

About yn: although the character does not have a faceclaim, pictures suggest reader is white.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

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PART 13 // MASTERLIST

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 14) — FLORIDA 1&2

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liked by harryfan, ynrryfan and 113 others

harryupdates Harry arriving in Orlando this morning!

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harryfan1 sunshine looks so good on him ynrryfan love the outfit!! the beanie!! harryfan2 so he was in nyc? can’t believe he managed to stay there unseen for two days

Oct 7, 2021 •

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liked by ynrryfan, user3 and 53 others

ynupdates Yn and ＠bestfriend were seen arriving at the Amway Center in Orlando earlier today! (October 7)

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user1 i love love love their friendship user2 she’s alive!!! harryfan1 and no sightseeing post from nyc yet :( harryfan3 i know you’re being respectful by not posting her face and all that, but can you at least say if she was smiling or not? did she look sad? happy? i need to know please

Oct 7, 2021 •

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liked by harryfan5, ynrryfan and 31 others

ynupdates Yn and ＠bestfriend at the airport in Orlando tonight! (October 7)

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harryfan1 that was quick 😳 harryfan3 did they even watch the show? lmao harryfan5 wait did she leave early? harryfan7 sunrise tomorrow and I’ll be there!! can’t wait !!

Oct 7, 2021 •

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— — — — —

PART 15 — (soon)

— — — — —

Tag list: @tchlamqtsgf @theekyliepage @deamus-liv @hotchnersangel @gem1712 @firelordzu @stylessbean @this-is-tiny-mia @inharryshelter — PLEASE READ: I’ll only add to the next tag list those who interact with this post. I hope you understand, thank you for your excitement.

#harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles fake social media #harry styles smau #harry styles social media au #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #smau

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28harryssunflower · 3 days ago

Text

Blood in silk

The night was supposed to be ordinary. You were halfway to your best friend’s house when you realized you’d forgotten your charger - typical, considering how your life tended to unravel in the most inconvenient ways. Grumbling, you made the ten-minute walk back through the quiet suburban streets, unaware of how fate had just taken a dark, irreversible turn.

When you stepped through the front door, the world tilted.

Your mother’s terrified sob echoed off the walls. Your father - proud, stubborn - was pinned to the floor by a man in black, a pistol pressed against the back of his skull. Another man had your mother on her knees, shaking as she whispered prayers into the hardwood floor.

And then there was him.

At the center of it all, like a king surveying his crumbling court, stood a man draped in a tailored black suit, silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at something dangerous. His rings glinted under the dim hallway light, his expression unreadable, calm like still water before a storm.

Harry Styles.

No one said his name. No one had to.

He turned at the sound of the door creaking shut behind you, his eyes - impossibly green and unforgiving - locking onto yours.

You froze. Every fiber in your body screamed to run, but your legs betrayed you.

Harry arched a brow slowly, his gaze flickering from your terrified face to your trembling parents.

“You didn’t tell me you had a child,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey laced with venom.

“Y/N, go! Get out!” your father shouted, his voice cracking under pressure.

But you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Harry stepped closer. The sound of his shoes on your floor was somehow louder than your own heartbeat.

“Interesting,” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied you. “I came here to collect your debt. But now… I see something much more valuable.”

Your mother gasped. “No! She has nothing to do with this!”

Harry didn’t even look at her.

His attention was on you, and it was suffocating.

“You’re what they were hiding. A secret. Something they didn’t want touched by their filth.”

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Too bad.”

You tried to speak, to say anything, but your throat was dry. What could you say when a man like him decided you were his?

“They owe me blood,” he said quietly, stepping close enough that you could smell the spice of his cologne. “But I’ll settle for a life.”

Your life.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Pack a bag, sweetheart,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “You’re coming with me.”

And just like that, your world shattered - in silence, in fear, in the glint of a stranger’s eyes.

But somewhere, in the echoing stillness of your mind, you knew one thing.

This was just the beginning.

And you should’ve screamed.

Should’ve begged. Should’ve fought harder than the pathetic, breathless protest that left your lips.

But instead, you stood there - paralyzed, heart hammering behind your ribs, hands trembling at your sides - as Harry Styles nodded toward one of his men. The man stepped forward, pulled you by the arm gently but firmly, like he wasn’t dragging you into a new life but simply guiding you towards the front door.

Your mother lunged. “No! She’s just a girl! She’s not part of this! Take us! Please, not her!”

Harry didn’t blink. “You made your choices,” he said coldly. “Now I’m making mine.”

“Y/N, fight! Go!” your father bellowed, struggling under the weight of the man holding him down. “RUN!”

But you didn’t.

Your feet moved when Harry nodded again, like you were under some spell, each step mechanical. You barely even registered the protests anymore. They sounded far away, like screams underwater. You turned your head once - saw your parents’ eyes red with terror, guilt, maybe even shame.

That was the funny part. They never looked at you like that before. Not when you came home late. Not when you cried after a failed exam. Not when you sat at the dinner table in silence, craving attention you’d never get.

Only now did you matter.

You scoffed under your breath. Too late.

The door shut behind you with a thud that felt like a coffin sealing.

In the black SUV outside, Harry was already waiting in the backseat. The moment your eyes met again, your stomach flipped. He didn’t look victorious. He didn’t look cruel. Just… focused. On you.

He patted the space beside him.

You sat down, body stiff and confused. His cologne wrapped around you, expensive and intoxicating.

The silence stretched.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, eyes roaming your face like he was still trying to figure you out. “Not exactly what I expected.”

You shrugged.

“I thought you’d scream,” he continued, studying you. “Fight. Cry, maybe. Girls like you usually do.”

“Girls like me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in a little. “Pretty. Soft. Spoiled.”

You looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Harry chuckled. “Not yet.”

And yet, he did.

You didn’t put up the fight you should’ve. Not because you were weak, but because you didn’t really have much to lose. No real future opportunities. Distant family. Parents who kept you around more out of obligation than love.

And now you were here, in a car with one of the most dangerous men alive, and for some twisted reason… it didn’t feel entirely wrong.

Harry was sin wrapped in silk. A walking warning. And yes, you were terrified. Only a fool wouldn’t be. But there was something else, too. Something shameful and hidden, clawing at your chest.

You were nineteen. Alone. And starving for something. Anything.

Even this. Even him.

“Where are we going?” you asked, quietly.

He looked out the window, jaw set in that elegant, powerful way. “Home.”

Your heart beat once. Hard.

Maybe you were insane.

But as his hand brushed your knee - brief, deliberate, and warm - you didn’t pull away.

You should’ve.

But instead, you leaned back into the leather seat and let the night swallow you whole.

Harry’s house was nothing like you expected.

It wasn’t some cold, looming fortress filled with guards and guns - at least not that you could see. No marble statues, no gold chandeliers, no silent maids scurrying around in fear. Instead, it was sleek and modern, with warm wooden floors, low lighting, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the kind of city view you’d only seen on Pinterest boards.

The second the door closed behind you, you braced for it - the power play, the commands, the icy reminder that you were here against your will.

But it never came.

Instead, Harry loosened his tie, shrugged off his jacket, and turned to you with a look you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t pity. Wasn’t dominance either. Just… curiosity.

“You hungry?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’ve got a cook here. She makes good grilled cheese. Unless you want something fancier.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

He smirked. “Alright. Not a talker yet. C’mon.”

He led you to the living room. It was cozy in a way that made your chest ache - a huge black couch, books lining one wall, a fireplace flickering softly. You sank into a corner of the couch, still stiff, still unsure. But when Harry sat across from you, he didn’t look like a man expecting obedience. He just looked like a man.

“I figured we should talk,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “This situation… it’s not exactly normal.”

You let out a small, dry laugh. “You think?”

He grinned. “Fair. But I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.”

Something about the way he said your name settled in your chest like a heavy stone. You crossed your arms, gaze dropping.

“You didn’t even know I existed,” you murmured. “And now I’m here.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah. I didn’t know. But when I saw you… I saw something else. Not just leverage.”

You frowned. “What, then?”

He leaned back, eyes never leaving yours. “I saw someone with fight in her. Even if you didn’t show it the way people expect. You didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. You stood there like you were already gone.”

You looked away.

Harry’s voice dropped, softer. “Why didn’t you fight?”

There it was.

You could’ve lied. Should’ve, maybe. But for some reason, you didn’t want to. Maybe it was how he looked at you - like he actually wanted to hear.

So you told him.

About the loneliness. About the way your parents barely acknowledged your existence unless it benefited them. How your dreams of going to college and studying medicine were laughed at, dismissed like a childish fantasy.

“I wanted to help people,” you said quietly. “I wanted to matter.”

His jaw clenched. Not in annoyance - but in understanding.

“And they told you no?”

“They said it was a waste. That I wasn’t smart enough. That girls like me end up pregnant or dependent or both, so why bother with dreams?”

Harry was quiet for a beat.

“Idiots.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He shook his head. “They’re idiots. You’re smarter than half the people I work with. I can see it. You’re sharp. Observant. And you’ve got that fire in you. Don’t let anyone smother it.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Then he leaned forward again, his eyes softer this time, more intent.

“I’ll give you a better life, Y/N. One you should’ve had. One you deserve. You want school? I’ll pay for it. You want books? Tutors? A fucking lab? Done. But more than that, I’ll give you freedom.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“Why?” you whispered.

He smiled, slow and genuine, and it did something awful to your chest. “Because I see you. Not just a scared girl in the middle of a mess. I see someone worth something. Someone… real.”

Your throat tightened. No one had ever said that to you. Not like that. Not with meaning.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m getting there.”

And in that moment, something dangerous and warm began to unfurl inside you.

Because maybe, just maybe… this wasn’t a cage.

Maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.

You woke up late the next morning, tangled in fresh sheets that smelled nothing like your old life. The room you now called yours was bigger than your parents’ entire downstairs, sunlight spilling across the plush rug and illuminating a closet that was still mostly empty - at least for now.

Harry had disappeared early, leaving a note in handwriting as elegant and sharp as the man himself:

“Be ready by one. I’m taking you out. Wear something pretty. -H”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t dare.

When he showed up downstairs, dressed in all black - tight-fitted trousers, open silk shirt, sunglasses pushing his curls back like a damn movie villain - he didn’t waste time.

“Let’s get you spoiled, sweetheart.”

That’s how you ended up on Rodeo Drive. Or something that felt like it. Every store looked like it required a bank account with more zeroes than you could count, and every staff member looked terrified the second Harry Styles walked through the door.

The first boutique was all soft velvet and champagne. You paused at the entrance, arms crossed nervously.

“I can’t afford anything here,” you mumbled.

Harry chuckled darkly behind you, slipping his hand to the small of your back as he leaned down. “Good thing you’re not paying.”

He started plucking clothes from hangers like it was nothing. A red dress with a slit nearly up to your hip. A silk blouse that would cling in all the right places. Lingerie that made your face go hot the second he held it up.

“You’d look sexy in this,” he said casually, handing it over.

“Harry-“

“Try it on.”

And so it went.

He didn’t let you leave a single store empty-handed. Shoes, bags, heels, dresses. Sunglasses you’d never wear but he insisted looked dangerous on you. Jewelry that sparkled under the lights - rings, earrings, a delicate diamond choker he fastened around your neck himself, fingers brushing your skin as he did.

By the third store, you weren’t even picking things out. Harry was. And he handed them to you with a grin every single time.

“This one’s hot.”

“Gonna drive me mad if you wear that out.”

“This color on you? Fucking lethal.”

It wasn’t flirtatious in the cheesy, performative way. It was soft. Playful. Like he was just enjoying you. Watching you come alive with each fitting room change, each blush when he complimented you too sincerely.

And he carried everything. No assistants. No bodyguards. Just Harry, arms loaded with more bags than you could count, refusing to let you lift a single one.

By the end of the spree, you were overwhelmed and giddy and… weirdly light. Like maybe, for once, you were allowed to enjoy something without guilt gnawing at your edges.

Dinner was at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. The lights below glittered like a galaxy, and Harry ordered for you without asking, like he already knew what you’d like. He poured your wine, asked about your favorite color, your worst school memory, your best. He remembered every detail you’d told him the night before.

You didn’t expect that.

And when you got home, arms full of luxury, you lingered at the bottom of the stairs while Harry slid off his coat.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked up.

“For today,” you added. “For everything.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer. His voice dropped to that low murmur you were starting to crave. “Get used to it, Y/N. I’m not spoiling you for one day.”

Your breath caught.

There was something in the way he looked at you then - fond, patient, like he was playing the long game. Like he didn’t just want you here, but wanted you happy. Seen.

You stepped forward before you could talk yourself out of it, heart thudding in your ears, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Warm. Just barely lingering.

He went still.

You pulled back just as quickly, embarrassed by the boldness.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, clutching your bags to your chest as you backed toward the stairs.

Harry smiled. Slowly. His voice followed you as you disappeared.

“Sweet dreams, angel.”

You barely heard him over your racing pulse.

In your new room, you unpacked everything with shaky hands, carefully hanging up each outfit, lining shoes against the closet walls, placing lipstick tubes and compacts in the vanity drawers like they were treasure.

You’d never had this before.

Not just the things - but the way it all made you feel.

Desired. Worthy. Chosen.

And as you crawled into bed that night, one thought echoed over and over through your mind:

You didn’t want this to end.

It was reckless, maybe. Or maybe it was exactly what you needed.

The dress was black - satin and skin-tight, clinging to every curve you didn’t even know you had. It was short, but not too short, hugging your thighs and dipping just enough at the chest to feel scandalous. The heels were tall and red-bottomed, a statement Harry insisted on, and the lingerie beneath was barely-there lace that made you blush just slipping into it.

The sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose made you feel like someone else - someone confident, untouchable, dangerous. And your hair…

God, your hair.

After hours at the salon Harry insisted you visit - his own private stylist on call - you walked out with glossy, healthy strands that swayed with every step. The layers framed your face like they were born there, and the curtain bangs made your eyes look deeper, more sultry.

You didn’t look nineteen anymore. You looked like the version of yourself you’d always imagined becoming - if life had ever given you a chance.

And tonight, for the first time, you were going out with him.

Harry had called you downstairs with a simple, “Be ready at seven.”

You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t ask.

But when you walked into the room, his reaction made every second of getting dressed worth it.

He was standing near the bar, sipping something dark and expensive-looking, and the moment he turned and saw you - his whole body stilled. Glass halfway to his lips. A sharp breath drawn in, slow and audible.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

Your cheeks heated under the sunglasses, but you didn’t break character. You stood a little taller. Let your hips sway just slightly as you walked toward him.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence. “Too much?”

Harry stepped forward, slow and measured, like a lion approaching prey he had no intention of hurting - only devouring.

“No,” he said, voice low and reverent. “Not even close.”

His eyes raked over you, not with crude hunger, but with pride. Like he’d built you from the ground up. Like he was seeing his masterpiece for the first time, fully realized.

“You look…” He swallowed. “Older. Stronger. Dangerous.”

You smiled behind your sunglasses. “Good.”

He reached out, pulling them gently from your face to rest them in his own front pocket, gaze lingering on your eyes now fully exposed.

“Beautiful,” he added.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. Your smile said enough.

The car ride into the city was quiet, but charged. You sat beside him, one leg crossed over the other, your perfume thick in the small space between you, and every time his eyes flicked over to you, you felt it in your bones.

The place he took you was high-end, glamorous in a way that turned heads the second you both walked in. And heads did turn. People stared. Men watched. Women whispered.

But Harry didn’t even blink. One arm around your waist, one hand resting dangerously low on your hip, he led you through the room like he owned it.

And in a way… maybe he did.

You were seated in a corner booth, tucked away from the crowd but still in full view, and as you sipped champagne from a crystal flute, you felt something shift inside you.

Not fear. Not doubt.

Power.

You weren’t just someone he took from a broken home anymore. You weren’t a charity case or leverage or a debt repaid.

You were his.

His girl.

His choice.

And more than that… for the first time in your entire life…

You felt like someone.

When the night ended and Harry helped you into the car, his hand slid down your back, fingers lingering at the curve of your waist.

“You’re dangerous like this,” he muttered, voice husky against your ear.

You shivered. “You like dangerous, don’t you?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips to the shell of your ear. “I fucking love it.”

And god, so did you.

You weren’t the girl from three nights ago anymore.

You were a new version of her - sharper, silkier, a little wicked.

And you were just getting started.

You were getting used to this life - slowly, carefully.

The clothes, the house, the way Harry always made sure you had everything before you even thought to ask.

But nothing had quite prepared you for this version of him.

It was late. You were curled up on the velvet couch with one of the books he bought you - something about anatomy and medicine, because he remembered. He always remembered. The lights were low, soft music humming in the background, and you thought maybe it’d be a quiet night.

Then the front door slammed.

You jumped.

Footsteps - sharp, heavy - echoed through the hallway, and then Harry appeared in the doorway. Still in his suit, his tie undone, curls a little disheveled, jaw locked so tight it looked carved from stone. You’d never seen his eyes like that before. Cold. Distant. Dangerous.

He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed his coat onto the nearest chair and pulled his phone from his pocket, practically throwing it onto the table.

You stood up, a little unsure. “Hey… rough day?”

He didn’t answer.

You tried again, a bit lighter. “Do I need to go rough someone up for you?”

That usually made him smirk.

Not tonight.

He turned, and his voice came out sharp. “Y/N, shut the fuck up.”

You flinched.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even cruel. But it was the first time he’d snapped at you, and it froze the air between you like glass.

He saw your expression shift immediately - eyes wide, shoulders tensing. And instantly, something in him cracked.

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing hard. “No, no, don’t- I didn’t mean that.”

You shook your head, trying to wave it off. “It’s fine. You’re stressed.”

“No, it’s not.” He crossed to you, softer this time, his hand ghosting your arm like he didn’t want to scare you more. “I had a meeting go sideways. Someone messed up. I had to clean it, and… I shouldn’t bring that here. I shouldn’t bring it to you.”

You looked up at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated. “No. I just want it out of my head.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

So you helped him.

You poured him a glass of his favorite whiskey, the one he always sipped when he was in his office late at night. He took it with a quiet thanks, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing as he leaned back on the couch.

“Take your shirt off,” you said after a few minutes.

He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

You bit back a smile. “I’m giving you a massage, not a lap dance.”

Harry laughed for the first time that night, low and hoarse. “Disappointing.”

But he obliged, tugging his shirt off and letting you straddle the couch behind him, your fingers pressing into the tight knots along his back and shoulders.

His muscles were tense beneath your hands, every knot a leftover piece of the day that had worn him down. You worked them slowly, silently, and every now and then, he let out a soft sigh of relief.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

“Maybe I should’ve studied physical therapy,” you teased gently.

“Wouldn’t’ve met you then.”

The silence that followed was thick in the best way.

Afterward, you drew a bath. He didn’t argue. Just followed you in like a tired, gentle thing, sinking into the steaming water while you sat on the edge, running a cloth over his shoulders, pressing kisses to the damp skin there, soft and patient.

He closed his eyes. “You’re not scared of me anymore?”

You paused, letting your lips linger against his jaw. “I was. But not because I thought you’d hurt me. Just… didn’t know how far your fire went.”

He opened his eyes. “I’ll never burn you, Y/N. Ever.”

You nodded. You believed him.

You ordered his favorite takeout - some overpriced fusion place with those little gold takeout boxes and spicy dumplings you couldn’t pronounce. He ate while you curled up beside him, legs tangled, shoulders pressed together.

And when the food was gone and the whiskey was half-finished and the world had finally quieted around you, he turned his head and looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For knowing what I needed before I even did.”

Your heart thudded once. Twice.

Then you leaned forward - slow, uncertain - but he met you halfway.

And the kiss?

It was everything you hadn’t even realized you were waiting for.

Warm. Slow. Meaningful. His hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like you were something fragile and rare. Your fingers curled around the fabric of his open shirt, holding him close like you weren’t quite ready to let go.

When you finally did, both of you just sat there, breathless and quiet.

Harry rested his forehead against yours. “If you kiss me like that again, I might not stop.”

You smiled. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, but he didn’t push. He didn’t rush.

He just pulled you into his lap, arms around you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

And in that moment, it felt like maybe you were.

The word wasn’t official.

Not yet.

Harry hadn’t asked.

You hadn’t said it.

But everyone knew.

And so did he.

You weren’t just a girl he took in anymore.

You were his girl.

And tonight, he was making that very clear.

The venue was a high-profile charity gala - something Harry attended to keep appearances neat and his enemies guessing. It was the kind of place where the elite flaunted their power with veiled smiles and tailored suits, where secrets were traded behind crystal glasses and fake laughter.

And you?

You were the storm in the middle of it.

You wore a long black gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, hugging your body like it was stitched for you alone. A slit climbed up your leg dangerously high, and the diamond necklace Harry had given you for no reason at all sat proudly around your throat.

Your hand was in his the whole time.

Harry walked in with you like he always had - confident, unreadable, eyes cold and calculating - but this time, there was something different in the way he held you at his side.

Possessive. Protective. Proud.

He didn’t hesitate to rest his hand on your lower back, to whisper things in your ear that made your cheeks flush, to kiss your temple in front of everyone like he wasn’t the most feared man in the room.

It turned heads. All of them.

You could feel their eyes - men trying not to stare too long, women trying not to look too bitter, people whispering behind champagne flutes as if you couldn’t feel the tension rippling behind your heels.

At first, you stiffened under the attention. You weren’t used to being seen. Not like this. Not like you mattered.

But every time the anxiety crept in, Harry anchored you.

“You’re the most stunning woman here,” he murmured once, eyes flicking around the room. “They should be jealous.”

“They probably think I don’t belong.”

He smirked. “That’s because they’ve never seen someone earn their place the way you have.”

And slowly… you started to believe him.

By the time dessert rolled out, you were laughing at a table with him and a few of his closest allies - none of whom dared to be anything less than respectful to you. You touched his hand when you leaned in to talk. You let your knee rest against his. And when he kissed your cheek in front of them, you didn’t flinch or pull away.

You smiled.

Because this wasn’t a performance.

It was real.

Later that night, after the limo doors shut and the driver took off, you finally exhaled.

Harry looked at you, all loosened tie and dark eyes and pride written across his face.

“You liked it?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “More than I thought I would.”

“You handled yourself like a queen.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t mind being seen with me like that?”

He scoffed. “Mind?” He leaned closer, lips brushing your jaw. “I want the whole world to see you with me. To know you’re mine.”

The word mine should’ve sounded possessive. Controlling. But from him… it was different. From him, it felt like protection. Like belonging.

Like finally having a place in the world.

As the city lights blurred past the windows, you rested your head on his shoulder, fingers laced with his, heart full in a way it never had been before.

Maybe this wasn’t the life you planned for.

But it was becoming the life you chose.

And being Harry Styles’ girlfriend?

It didn’t feel so crazy anymore.

It felt like fate.

#harry styles #one direction #short story #headcanon #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #mafia romance

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finelinefae · 7 months ago

Text

bambi [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: y/n tries a dating app and meets the CEO of Pleasing

word count: 8.6k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, dating app, online dating, deer!reader, first date, first kiss, fluff, age gap (9 years)

a/n: this is the first part of a new series. as usual the first part is a lil slow to set things up but I'm excited for what's to come of this one. there's going to be a lot of cuteness and all the things i love writing about in this one so i can't wait to share more !

this is part 1 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Most of the time Y/N didn’t want to be in control of things.

From a young age, she had to be in charge of everything. She had three younger brothers and was born to a single mother who worked hard to keep everything afloat in their tiny, townhouse. So inevitably she became an adult before she could even buy a lottery ticket.

Her life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t easy. With the constant nagging from her much younger siblings and the dampened sleeve of her t-shirt—evidence of the hours she spent comforting her mother through tears—Y/N had just had enough.

Her life had become an abundance of things she was struggling to keep up with. She had no reprieve throughout her daily life, no way of stopping or just letting go.

She worked six-hour shifts at the supermarket, studied marketing at university, did the school run in the mornings, and often in the evenings too, if her mother was too tired to get off the couch. She tutored her youngest brother, who was falling behind in math, and kept the house in order while all three of them stayed glued to the television.

Even worse, her social life was practically nonexistent.. She was twenty-one and spent her Friday nights making dino nuggets and catching up on an incessant amount of laundry from the past week.

Y/N wasn’t sure where her life was heading. The loneliness and stress was so overwhelming she could barely breathe.

One night, the weight of it all brought her to tears as she thought about her future after graduation. Most of the girls she knew were planning gap years, travelling to places like Brazil or Italy. She tried to picture herself boarding a plane, but the only thing she could imagine was her mother calling mid-flight, asking her to pick up one of the boys from school.

She pulled open her phone eyes blotchy and nose stuffy from crying. Her loneliness was hitting her hard and she was desperate to feel some kind of connection, even if it was five minutes of conversation. So, she opened the only dating app she had on her phone, one that she’d installed many moons ago when she wanted to open herself up to meeting new people.

She barely used it after realising she wasn’t the best at small talk and whenever a guy would ask for a date, her introverted self would refuse to step foot out of the house. But on occasion she’d find herself wondering, searching for someone to take her mind off of everything.

Y/N swiped past copious images of men, seemingly unphased by all of them. She swiped through so many, that they almost began to look the same - 5’9, tanned, shirtless or lifting weights trying to show some kind of strength that proved to women they were most definitely ‘manly’.

When she started to believe all hope was lost, she paused when her eyes settled on a man who didn’t look much like the others. He was tall, with brunette curls and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He wore rings on his hands in every single picture and in one of them he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sleeve of tattoos. In most of his pictures he wore comfy sweaters and knitted cardigans with grey or black trousers. In one of them he wore a pair of blue jeans and had a small, battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket.

She read his bio beneath.

‘Harry, 30

Likes: scrabble, food, cats, books, cardigans

Dislikes: loud chewing, music played too low, emails, wearing sunglasses indoors at dinner is absolutely criminal’

She clicked the heart on his profile, eyes widening when the words ‘MATCH’ appeared on the screen in big bubble writing. He hadn’t sent her a message but clearly he had liked her own profile which was surprising considering she had barely anything on it.

As she was mulling over what to say to start the conversation, three bubbles quickly appeared then disappeared, replaced by a message. She held her breath, reading the words.

Harry: Hey, pretty dress

She frowned, wondering what he meant by that but then remembered she had a picture of her on her profile, showcasing one of her favourite dresses. It was a baby pink slip dress she had made out of silk fabric.

Y/N: Thank you, I made it! :)

Harry: You did? Wow! Looks better than most of the ones I’ve seen in my own store.

Y/N: Do you own a clothing store?

Harry: Something along those lines

Harry: Although they don’t sell pretty dresses like yours

Y/N: They’re probably a lot better, I use cheap materials

She cringed at her message, hoping she didn’t sound broke or not put together by saying she used something cheap.

Harry: I’m even more impressed

She smiled, watching him type a new message.

Harry: What brings you here?

She tried to sum up how she was feeling without making herself seem like a weirdo. She didn’t want to sound like a recluse looking for human interaction no matter how much she felt like it.

Y/N: I’m tired of everything, just want someone to keep me company

Harry: I get that. Should I be worried? Are you okay?

Her heart warmed, she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her if she was okay.

Y/N: I’m okay now, thank you for asking !! it’s just everyday life stuff.

Harry: Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’m right here to listen… or read

Y/N: thank you, that truly means a lot!! xx

Harry: No problem, love x

Y/N’s heart flickered at the name he had placed on the end.

They texted for hours, well into the middle of the night. Y/N was giddy, rolling around on her bed, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. They had so much in common—both preferred quiet nights in, were family-oriented, loved literature and art and even fashion. He was funny and sweet, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable and that he wasn’t overstepping with his questions. Despite how much they had in common, they had a lot of differences too.

Y/N: Is it raining where you are? Xx

Harry: Hm, just checked outside and I think the clouds are coming over. I don’t mind though autumn happens to be my favourite season.

Y/N: omg really?

Harry: What? You don’t agree?

Y/N: No omg are you kidding? I’m much more into spring. I like that it’s sunny with a slight breeze so it’s warm but not too warm so you can still wear a sweater

Harry: Ahhh I see, you do give spring I must say

Y/N: You think so?

Harry: Even from looking at your pictures, you look like a tulip or something.

Harry: Or the little deer from that movie

Harry: What was it?

Harry: Bambi!

Harry: Maybe that should be your name - Bambi

Y/N: That’s one of my favourite movies !!

Y/N: I happened to think Bambi is a very pretty name

Harry: Then I’ll call you Bambi

Y/N: Well what should I call you?

Harry: Anything you like, Bambi

. . .

Y/N was working her shift at the supermarket. She was already entering her final hour, her stomach rumbling as she packed frozen pizzas onto the shelves. Although she had been working hard to get things done so she could go home on time, her mind was constantly wandering.

It had been a full week of talking to Harry. They had converted to messaging on WhatsApp after exchanging numbers and every day Y/N would wake up to a morning text message from him telling her to have a good day and that he would be right there in her pocket if she ever needed anything. In the evenings, he would make sure she wasn’t going to sleep with anything heavy on her mind. He’d ask her questions about what she ate and if she had any time to herself in the day. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a little less lonely. She went about her day with a little pep in her step feeling the excitement of texting the man she had only just met. She didn’t know what it was about him but a part of her felt safe with him. Maybe it was the fact he was nine years older than her and knew what it was like to be under stress with so many things but he understood her in a way no one else did.

And Bambi.

Every day, it was Bambi this and Bambi that, and every time, she’d swoon or smile at the nickname he had given her. It was silly, maybe even a little ridiculous, how much it affected her. But she couldn’t help it—every time he said it, a bubble of excitement grew inside her. She liked someone for the first time in a long time, and it brought something new, something light, into her overwhelming life.

After days of just simply texting, Y/N had asked him if he wanted to video call tonight. It would be her first time hearing what he sounded like and part of her was nervous. What if he came across differently from how he was over text? What if he didn’t look the way he did in the numerous pictures he had sent her? What if after calling tonight, he didn’t like her anymore?

Hours later, Y/N was tucked up in bed readying herself to call him. She had showered and blow-dried her hair, wearing her comfiest pink pyjamas with her body wrapped up in her duvet. Her thumb hovered over the call button, gnawing on her bottom lip as thoughts raced through her mind.

She gasped when Harry’s face appeared on her screen just seconds after she pressed call. It was their first time ever talking like this, and her heart raced as she took in the sight of him. He was sitting in a desk chair, a large framed artwork hanging on the wall behind him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around the collar, and his curls fell lazily across his forehead. He looked so effortlessly handsome, it almost didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness of her bedroom. It carried a warmth, soft and steady, like the glow of a campfire, and she felt herself melt under its gentle heat.

“H-Hi,” she squeaked, her cheeks immediately flushing with warmth. Her nerves bubbled up as she realized she was staring at him, trying to comprehend that this was actually happening. Surely she was dreaming, she pinched herself to make sure.

Harry’s eyes softened when he heard her shaky greeting. “You alright?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, amused smile. His tone was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something deeper there—like he was studying her reaction and enjoying every second of it.

She nodded quickly, fumbling with the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m good! Just… surprised you answered so fast.” She giggled nervously, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I thought it’d take a few rings at least.” Her blush deepened as she tucked her knees up to her chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, making her heart flutter. “I was waiting for you to call,” he admitted, a soft smirk tugging at his lips.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shyly glanced up at him through her lashes. “Really?” she asked, her voice soft and a little disbelieving.

He smiled, a slow, adoring smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His voice had that low, confident tone, but his gaze was gentle, like he wanted to make sure she knew he meant it. “The only thing getting me through work.”

“You’re still at work? It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock in disbelief.

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Is it past your bedtime, Bambi?” he teased, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at her through the screen.

Her heart stuttered hearing that nickname come from his own mouth. She felt like if the camera wasn’t on, she’d be floating around her room like a bright pink orb of light, “N-No,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “But shouldn’t you be going home by now? You’ve been working all day.”

He let out a small chuckle, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers scattered across his desk. “Got a lot to catch up on. Too many late nights spent talking to you.” His voice was warm, laced with affection despite his teasing.

Her heart sank for a moment, guilt creeping in. They’d been texting non-stop for weeks, and she hadn’t once thought about how it might be affecting his workload. He’d told her before that he worked for a clothing company, and it suddenly hit her how busy he must be.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Harry’s voice softened. “Y’thinking too much in that little head of yours?” he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You know I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, right? I love talking to you, Y/N. I think... I might even be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, his smirk turning into a softer smile.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “I-I think I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Yeah?” His voice was full of warmth, a hint of disbelief in it, like he hadn’t expected her to say it back. She nodded shyly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest, her heart racing.

Harry huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the wide grin that had taken over. “God, you’re even cuter than I imagined,” he murmured, his words full of adoration.

They talked for hours, diving into everything and anything that crossed their minds. It was the longest conversation they’d had since they started talking, and Y/N found herself more captivated by Harry than she thought was possible. The way he laughed, the way he listened—it all just pulled her in deeper.

In the middle of her sentence, she noticed Harry looking at her with an unusually soft expression, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. He suddenly spoke, cutting her off mid-thought. “Can I take you on a date?” His voice was gentle but firm, catching her completely off guard.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to want to meet her so soon, but her heart leapt at the thought. “I’d like that,” she replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Very much.”

His own smile widened, a mix of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about Saturday evening? I could pick you up.”

“But wouldn’t that be too long of a drive?” she asked, biting her lip. She knew he lived in the city, about forty minutes away without traffic, and she didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “It’s not too far at all. Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said confidently. “I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, the idea of seeing him in person making her pulse race. She nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm, that sounds perfect.”

Harry’s grin grew, his eyes twinkling, “Can you wear the pretty dress you made?”

Y/N blushed, “You don’t want me to wear something a little more sophisticated?”

“Y’ can wear whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t mind but I think I’d like to see that little dress y’ made.”

She nodded, stifling a yawn as it slipped out. It was getting late, and Harry was still at his office, working. “Y’tired, lovie?” His voice softened.

“A little,” she lied, knowing full well she was more than exhausted. But the thought of ending the call made her chest tighten—she wanted to keep him on the line, even just for a few more minutes.

Harry chuckled softly as if he could see right through her. “Why don’t you rest those pretty eyes for me, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the gentle authority in his words making her entire body relax. She practically melted at the sound, her heart skipping a beat.

“M’kay,” she whispered, her eyelids already heavy as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of his voice.

“I’ll be right here, alright?” he reassured her, his tone gentle and full of warmth.

She managed a soft smile, her words barely audible as her exhaustion overtook her. “Promise?”

“Promise Bambi,” he whispered, his voice the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under.

. . .

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry looked up from his computer, peering over the rims of his glasses. His receptionist, Lindsey, stood in the doorway. “The samples for the newest collection have arrived. Would you like me to bring them in?” she asked, her voice polite but efficient, as always.

“Yes, please, Lindsey,” he replied with a sigh, signing off another email before hitting send. The endless stream of tasks had him feeling drained.

Though Harry wasn’t usually the type to show much warmth towards his employees, Lindsey was different. She’d been with him for years—long enough to earn not just his respect, but his trust. She was one of the very few people he relied on within his company.

Harry was the CEO of Pleasing, a major fashion company he had built from the ground up. His first line had been designed in a small studio, crafted with his own hands and the help of a few close friends who still worked by his side. Now, it was a global brand. He was on Forbes 30 under 30 and had features in magazines like GQ. He was even in Time magazine for most influential people.

Despite all the success, his day-to-day life had become an endless loop of emails, business meetings, and deadlines. Time for anything outside of work was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Lately, though, something, or rather someone, had started to make him reconsider how he spent his time.

He checked his phone once more having only picked it up a minute ago for the same reason. He hoped to see a message from Y/N, in fact he was eager to. Ever since he had messaged her on the only dating app he used, he hadn’t thought of anyone else but her.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one born out of the loneliness that weighed heavier than ever that night. Harry sat in his dimly lit office, the silence around him almost suffocating. He hadn’t dated in over a year, not since his last relationship, which had ended on a bitter note. That girl had taken advantage of him, using his desire of the relationship he wanted to manipulate him. She had drained his bank accounts, maxed out his credit cards on shopping sprees and lavish holidays with her friends, leaving him both financially and emotionally exhausted. After that, he’d grown wary of trusting anyone.

When he joined the website, he wasn’t exactly hopeful. The chance of finding someone who truly understood his career and mirrored his desires in a relationship seemed slim.

But then he met his Bambi.

He hadn’t been searching for anything specific that day, just scrolling aimlessly, but something about Y/N’s profile made him pause. There was a warmth to her, a genuine spark that went beyond her pictures. She didn’t seem to realise just how captivating she was, and that drew him in even more. It wasn’t just her beauty—though she was stunning—it was the way she spoke about the things she loved. Her messages were full of passion, filled with rambles about her favourite books, little moments in her day, or random thoughts that popped into her head.

Y/N had ignited something within him. He was excited for this newfound thing they had going on, a spark he hadn’t felt in years. Every message from her left him smiling at his phone, wondering what she’d say next. It was the kind of excitement that made the day feel a little brighter, knowing she was just a text away. He found himself looking forward to the simplest things—her daily updates, the way she’d ramble about something she’d seen or read, and even the photo updates she’d send him of things she was doing.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself imagining what it would be like to share his life with someone, instead of the quiet solitude he’d grown so used to. He couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N being that person—the one to bring warmth into the corners of his once-lonely home. He pictured what it would be like to have someone in his space, their presence adding a new kind of lightness. Someone to be there in the small, everyday moments and to keep him company after a long day at the office.

He couldn’t wait to meet her in real life, hold her in his hands and kiss the lips he spent nights dreaming about.

Harry snapped out of his daze when Lindsey opened the door and the manufacturers entered the room behind her, holding the fabric samples in their hands. They greeted him timidly, laying the samples on the table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows.

He walked over, black polished shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floor. He sighed when he took in the samples, he didn’t need to feel them to know they weren’t good enough. Uncapping the red pen, he drew a cross beside each sample, the men behind him releasing a shaky breath.

“Come back when you have what I want,” He murmured, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

He checked the time on his watch and cursed. Today was his niece’s birthday and he promised his sister he’d visit in time for her birthday party this afternoon. “Lindsey,” He called, hearing her shoes against the floor before she opened the door to his office.

He pulled on his blazer, “I’ve got to leave, did you wrap that gift I gave you the other day?”

Lindsey frowned, “It’s under my desk but what about your meetings this afternoon?”

“Cancel them.” He shrugged.

His Porsche was parked out front by the time he stepped out of the building. He put the gift into the passenger seat and made a mental note to stop somewhere to buy a birthday card.

He glanced at his phone when a text came through.

Bambi: Half way through my shift. It’s been pretty rough, sorry for the late reply xx

His heart leapt when Y/N’s name appeared. He took his phone when he reached a red light and typed in a reply.

Harry: it’s okay lovie, call me when you finish yeah? x

He was desperate to speak to her even if it were just for a mere few seconds.

Making a left turn, he pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket on the highway. It looked run down and old but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go to before he reached his sister's house.

People sat outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of beer cans. He ignored the glances they made towards him and his car.

He stepped inside and walked along the aisles, pausing when he noticed someone stacking things onto a shelf. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing blue jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, her hair was braided and fastened with pink, silk bows. She wore wired earbuds, her pink ballerina flats tapping against the laminate flooring.

She must have felt his gaze because her head lifted, eyes widening as they met his. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly, and in that instant, it was as if the world shifted—everything falling perfectly into place between them, as though they were always meant to find each other naturally.

Harry hadn’t noticed the sugar spilling from the bag she was holding until the store manager stormed over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sharp tone made Y/N jump, her body snapping upright as she stood frozen in front of her manager, fear flashing across her face.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I—” Y/N stammered, her voice trembling.

“How many times do I have to hear the same excuse from you?” her manager snapped. “Stupid, useless girl, costing me the whole damn shop.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I-I know... I promised it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, really,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

Harry’s frown deepened. Again? This had happened before?

From the way Y/N stood there, trying so hard not to cry, it was painfully clear—this wasn’t the first time her boss had spoken to her like this.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange, a surge of protectiveness rising in him. He had only known Y/N recently, but seeing her like this—small, vulnerable, and clearly hurt—stirred something deep within him. He couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

“Excuse me,” Harry spoke up, his voice calm but firm, stepping closer. The store manager turned to him, annoyance flashing across his face.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the manager spat, his glare shifting to Harry.

“Actually, I think it does,” Harry replied, his eyes steady on the man. “You don’t need to speak to her like that.”

The manager scoffed. “And who the hell are you?”

Harry didn’t blink, his voice lowering. “Someone who knows when respect is lacking.”

Y/N looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe he was stepping in. Her heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety bubbling inside her. She wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her like this.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a minute?” Harry said softly, glancing over at her, his voice now gentle and reassuring. The tears in her eyes made his chest physically hurt. He’d be quick with this useless piece of shit so he could give her all his attention.

She hesitated but then nodded, her gaze flicking between Harry and her boss. She quickly turned, slipping away from the confrontation, her hands shaking as she tried to compose herself.

Harry turned back to the manager, his calm exterior masking the frustration brewing underneath. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t hesitate to have this place torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with a building I own. Then you’ll know firsthand what it’s like to deal with a real fucking manager.”

With that, he turned on his heel, already making a mental note to have his team look into this place. It was clearly lacking in more ways than one—enough to warrant being shut down for good he hoped.

Y/N stood behind the building, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she cried into her sleeve. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured softly, stepping forward and gently pulling her into his chest. “Tha’s enough now, Bambi. Don’t waste your tears on him,” he whispered, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Holding her close felt unexpectedly right, as if this was exactly where she belonged, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffled, her voice small. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see me for the first time.”

His eyes softened with affection as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks, his touch tender. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart,” he whispered, “S’alright now, y’ don’t have to go back in there.” He cupped the back of her head, feeling how soft and silky her hair was. He couldn’t seem to fathom that he was actually holding her after days of imagining what she would feel like.

She pulled away and for the first time Harry could get a proper look at her. He didn’t think it possible for her to be even more beautiful than the pictures he had of her on her phone but she was. Her features were soft, cheeks permanently pink like the colour of tulips on a spring day, her lips were the perfect shape, so delicate like two petals pressed together. She was a walking angel.

“Hey stranger,” He grinned, those perfect cheeks turning pink. If Harry had one goal in his life it was to make her all flustery and blushy.

“Hi,” She peeped, hands fiddling in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the tear stains on his shirt, the damp spots revealing the tiniest hint of the tattoos on his torso. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” She cringed.

“Hey no need to apologise, ‘s not even ruined and I’d rather you were okay than some easily replaceable shirt.” He assured her. “Are y’ sure you’re okay? Don’t need to go in there and beat him up or anything,”

She smiled at that and the sight made his heart sing, “No it’s okay. I-I’m okay, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t normally have people doing that very often.”

He frowned. He didn’t like how often she spoke about how little help she got from other people. If anything, it made him want to take care of her even more than he already did.

“I should probably head back in. I still have three more hours of my shift,” she huffed, clearly reluctant. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t have to,” he said, his gaze holding hers, protective and unwavering.

Y/N frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But I need the job, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t just leave.”

His jaw tightened at her words. He hated seeing her stuck in a place that didn’t value her, where she wasn’t respected. “I know you need the job,” he replied, gentler now, trying to ease her worry. “But no job is worth being treated like that. Not by him.”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the store, anxiety clearly weighing on her. “What am I supposed to do, then? I can’t afford to lose it.”

Harry stepped closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not going to lose anything,” he said softly. “Let me take care of it. Of you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “Take care of me?”

“Come work with me,” He offered.

There weren’t many positions available at Pleasing, but Harry didn’t care. He’d make something work—anything to keep her from going back into that place and dealing with the jerk inside.

“In the city? I... I can’t do that, Harry. I still have school, and my brothers...”

“You can work around it,” he said quickly, eager to find a solution. “I’ll pay for your gas to and from the city, or I’ll have someone drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if it makes you feel better. Whatever you need. Just don’t stay here.”

He sighed softly, taking her small hand in his larger one, her warmth a comfort even as doubt flickered between them. “Just... think about it, yeah?” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension.

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his relief palpable. “Thank you Bambi.” He swore he saw her pupils carve into love hearts at his words.

. . .

Y/N hadn’t returned to her job at the store just as she promised Harry. It wasn’t only because Harry was insistent she didn’t go back but her manager had been pretty verbally abusive for quite some time now and she thought better than to go back and work for someone who was just plain mean.

A few days had passed and Saturday rolled around quickly. Y/N was giddy with excitement, preparing everything in time for Harry to pick her up to take her on their very first date this evening. She had arranged a babysitter to look after her brothers since her mother wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t often they splurged cash on hiring a babysitter but Y/N wasn’t going to rearrange her date with Harry for anything.

She’d made a list of everything she needed to do: wash and blow dry her hair, shave every inch of her body, and paint her nails with the glazed pink polish she’d ordered online. Her hair was in curlers as she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening—a pink satin slip dress she’d made herself, paired with white kitten heels that matched perfectly. With the season shifting into autumn, she added a thin white cardigan to keep her warm in case the night turned chilly on the way home.

She wanted to look perfect. Especially after the fiasco the other day when he had rescued her from her mean manager.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the moment she laid eyes on the man from her phone. He was even more perfect than she had imagined—taller too. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was about to go on a date with this man—the one who wore a black suit to work and had saved her from cruel, terrifying managers.

And the way he spoke to her afterwards, comforting her with his big, heavy hands around her. She wanted him to pick her up and take her wherever he went.

Y/N sighed blissfully in front of her vanity. As Y/N finished her makeup, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

Harry: Just outside x

She peeked through the window, catching sight of him standing by a sleek black car, leaning casually against the door. He looked breathtaking in a fitted black suit, hands in his pockets as he scanned the street. Her nerves fluttered, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling up. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and grabbed her cardigan before heading out the door.

The moment she stepped outside, Harry’s gaze snapped to her, dark and intense. He straightened up, eyes travelling over her form, taking in every detail of her appearance. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y’ look stunning, Bambi,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He took a step closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing her soft skin. “All this f’ me?”

Y/N blushed, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I-I wore the dress you wanted,” she mumbled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “Do you like it?”

“‘S perfect,” He murmured lowly.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, her delicate form contrasting with the dark interior of his Porshe. Harry’s eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he shut the door and walked around to his side.

Once inside, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh, the warmth of his touch comforting her immediately. “You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her with a small smile, though the look in his eyes held a trace of dominance.

“A little,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft and shy.

Harry gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Y’ don’t have to be nervous around me, love, promise ‘m not scary. Least of all t’ you.”

Y/N smiled, loving how he made it clear she was different, that he treated her in a way no one else could. It warmed her to feel special, especially when that feeling was rare for her.

As they drove, their conversation flowed easily. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, rambling about anything that came to mind. Harry listened intently, his smile soft as he asked questions, showing genuine interest in everything she said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the car, and each time she answered bashfully, his lips curved.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as they drove deeper into the city. The lights grew brighter, illuminating a part of town she rarely found herself in—where the wealthy lived, with towering apartment complexes and upscale restaurants lining the streets. Harry pulled over in front of a sleek Italian restaurant, where a man stood waiting by the curb.

“Are we allowed to park here?” Y/N asked, her face bathed in the glow of the restaurant’s lights.

Harry suppressed a grin at her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I just assumed we weren’t eating here, which is totally fine! You don’t need to impress me with a fancy restaurant.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to clarify.

Harry’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “What if I told you we are eating here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A-are we?”

Without answering, Harry reached for her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Y’ too cute,” he murmured. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” He stepped out of the car, passing his keys to the valet standing nearby, before adjusting his blazer and moving to open the door for her, his hand stretched out toward her for her to grab onto.

Y/N hesitated, her mind reeling. There was no way they were eating at this restaurant—the kind with a year-long reservation list and three Michelin stars. She’d heard rumours that a single course here could cost more than her entire paycheck for the week. But as she took his hand and stepped out, it felt impossible to believe this was really happening.

Harry intertwined their fingers, offering a brief nod to the waiter who opened the door for them. “Harry… are you sure? They probably don’t have any tables for people just walking in,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, love. I made some arrangements.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Arrangements? How?”

Stopping at the ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’ sign, Harry finally turned to her with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I own the restaurant.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open as a waiter approached, menus tucked neatly under his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Styles. Your table is ready.”

Feeling like she was in a dream, Y/N walked hand-in-hand with Harry to a private table near the large glass windows at the back. The breathtaking view of the city’s skyline stretched out before them, and the table, set for two, was tucked away to offer them some privacy.

As they were seated, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the quiet stares and murmurs from other guests. She knew Harry owned a clothing business, but… just how successful was he?

The waiter laid the menus out in front of them and left them to decide what they wanted to order. Y/N hadn’t even noticed as her wide eyes gazed around the room at the glowing chandeliers.

Harry reached for her hand beneath the table, “Are y’ okay love?” He asked. Y/N’s gaze snapped towards him, “I hope ‘s not too much.”

“H-Harry, I really appreciate you bringing me here, I mean even stepping inside is a dream come true, but… I c-can’t afford this.” She felt awful saying it but it was true and it was better to tell him now than when she’d finished her meal, she wouldn’t want him thinking she was out for his money.

Harry frowned, “Bambi, this is a date. Y’ don’t have to pay for anything.”

“B-but I can’t use your money.” She told him.

She couldn’t hear it but Harry’s heart was singing in his chest. She was exactly what he was looking for someone totally opposite to all the women he had dated in his past.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “Look at me Y/N,” Big, doe eyes gazed into his, “Please stop worrying and let me take care of you. I know y’ haven’t been given that in the past but ‘m here now and I want this. I wanted to bring y’ here and I want y’ to be spoiled and I want to treat you in the way you deserve. So can you pick something from the menu and let me look after you Bambi baby, please? Think you can do that?”

Her lips parted, slowly nodding her head but she quickly said one last thing, “You don’t have to take me to fancy places to make me feel spoiled Harry. I already feel spoiled enough just getting to be with you.”

He smiled, eyes glistening under the low light of the chandelier. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed as a small thank you. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

"Hmmm," Harry grinned, watching Y/N's pouted lips as she studied the menu with intense concentration. "I can't decide between the truffle pasta or the smoked salmon!" she huffed, clearly torn.

"How about this," he offered with a shrug, "I’ll get the smoked salmon, you get the truffle pasta, and we can share? That way you can try both."

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t want something else?”

He had been planning on ordering the steak and potatoes, but seeing how much this small decision seemed to weigh on her, he didn’t mind changing his mind. The smoked salmon was one of his favourite dishes anyway.

When the waiter came over, Harry confidently placed the order for both of them, which made Y/N visibly relax. She hated the pressure of ordering her own food, so the simple act of him taking charge made her feel instantly at ease.

“We’ll make sure to have your order as a priority, Mr. Styles,” the waiter nodded respectfully before walking away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. They must really like you here.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I mention I owned a clothing business?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “But I thought it was just a boutique or something.” She shrugged, clearly unaware of the scale.

Harry laughed a warm, deep sound that made her stomach flip. “Bambi,” he said, pulling her gently into his side until their cheeks were almost touching, “See that guy’s sweater? That woman’s hat? And that lady’s dress over there?” She nodded everytime he pointed towards them, her heart skipping a beat at their closeness. “We made all of those.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-wait, you own Pleasing?”

Harry nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Y/N couldn’t even count how many times she had opened the Pleasing website, scrolling through pages of clothes she desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And now, she was sitting across from its owner—no, she was on a date with him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gauge her reaction. "Which reminds me, have you given any more thought to the job?"

She had, actually. The idea had been rolling around in her mind ever since he’d mentioned it. "What's the role again?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"My assistant," Harry replied smoothly. "You’d help with emails, scheduling meetings, running errands—nothing too complicated. Just being my right hand.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward, though? Since we’re, y’know... dating?”

Harry smirked, catching the implication. "So, there’s going to be a second date?" His teasing tone made her blush. “And if anything, it makes it better. I’d get to see you every day instead of just texting."

“But what about school?” Y/N asked, trying to think practically.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said easily. “Whatever you need. We can make it work.”

“Shouldn’t there be an interview or something?” she quipped, trying to lighten the moment, though her heart was racing.

Harry sighed dramatically, playing along. “Alright. Hello, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome to your official interview for the position of Mr. Styles’ personal assistant.”

Y/N giggled, her nerves easing as she followed his lead. “Well, hello Mr. Styles. Thank you for having me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he played along. “First question,” he said, leaning closer, their faces now just inches apart. “How do you feel about spending every day with me? Answer carefully—it’s a tough one.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, Mr. Styles, I think I could manage that.”

“Good answer,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “Next question: Can you handle a man who’s very particular about his coffee?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Are we talking normal particular, or... like, twelve-steps-to-make-a-single-cup particular?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Maybe somewhere in between. But don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Y/N laughed softly, her nerves easing even more. Being around him was easy, natural—like slipping into something familiar and warm. “I think I could handle that.”

"One last question," Harry murmured, leaning in even closer. His gaze flickered to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. "How do you feel about sneaking around with your boss?"

Her laughter died down, a trace of seriousness replacing it. She knew the risks—things had to stay professional, no hint of their relationship could slip through especially since Harry would not only be her boss but was the Senior Director and had to have the respect of everyone. But still, she couldn’t resist.

“I think it could be fun,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good,” He murmured, “I think you’ve passed the test, Bambi,” Y/N noticed how close his lips were to hers, if she moved her face forward they’d be touching, “Any questions?”

. . .

Harry pulled the car up to the curb just outside Y/N’s house, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he switched it off. The street was quiet, the only light coming from the street lamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Inside her house, the windows were dark, and she silently hoped her brothers were already asleep, sparing her the awkwardness of explaining why she wasn’t rushing inside.

The silence between them felt comfortable yet charged, neither making a move to leave. It was as if both of them knew the night shouldn’t end yet, even though it had to at some point. Y/N looked down at her hands, nervously tracing the edge of her coat, stealing glances at Harry every few moments. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, but the same hesitation hung in the air between them.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his expression soft but intent, as if weighing every word. “Don’t need t’ thank me Bambi,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” She huffed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, turning his body slightly toward her. “Y’ want to go back to mine?”

She wanted nothing more, the pain of saying no physically paining her, “M-my brothers... they have school,” she murmured.

“S okay,” He smiled.

The air between them felt thick with unspoken feelings, and she could feel her heart race as the weight of his gaze settled on her. He reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft.

“Bambi,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly more intimate, like he was laying something important on the table.

She turned to face him fully, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. The space between them seemed to vanish, and suddenly, all she could think about was the way his lips would feel against hers.

Neither of them spoke. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, and in that quiet moment under the dim streetlights, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But as soon as their lips touched, a wave of emotion flooded over her, and she couldn’t help but respond. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and lingering. It wasn’t rushed or hurried—just soft, warm, and full of everything Y/N had been dreaming about for longer than she cared to admit.

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand lingered on her cheek, as though neither of them was ready to let the moment slip away just yet.

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, maybe to break the silence or make a joke about how long they’d waited for this. But before she could speak, a loud thud startled her. She turned her head, eyes widening as the lights in her house flickered on. And there they were—her brothers, pressed against the living room window, grinning like fools and making exaggerated kissy faces at them.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, mortified. Her face flushed a deep shade of red as she fumbled with her seatbelt. "This is so embarrassing."

She pushed the door open and scrambled out of her seat, grabbing her purse in a flurry of panic. “I am so sorry, Harry. I-I have to go,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush as she awkwardly tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for dinner, a-and the kiss! Oh, and the job too!”

In her haste, her heel caught on a paving stone, and she stumbled slightly, her purse nearly slipping from her hand as she made her way toward the front door.

Harry watched her, his mouth half open, caught between amusement and disbelief. She was flustered, rambling, and absolutely adorable. He couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Bambi!" he called out the car window, grinning. “I'll take that as a yes on the job?”

Y/N turned back briefly, her face flushed but her smile shy and genuine. “Yes! Definitely yes!” she called over her shoulder, before hurrying inside, her brothers still laughing from the window.

As she disappeared through the door, Harry chuckled to himself, the warmth from their kiss still lingering. He turned the ignition on, shaking his head in disbelief at how the night had unfolded. It was far from the graceful goodbye he had imagined, but somehow, it felt perfect. He couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away from the curb.

Yeah, he thought to himself, that definitely meant she was taking the job.

4K notes · View notes

pinkboaclub · 2 days ago

Text

Coachella

Summary: You and your friend group go to Coachella, when your very flirtatious friend, Harry, gets a little too touchy, and you get a little too horny, you decide to stop by your tent to blow off some steam.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, exhibition, casual sex, Harry is kind of a sleaze, not proofread

You and your friend group trudged through the sweltering desert heat, the Coachella crowd was vibrant with life, a sea of colorful clothes dancing to the rhythm of the musicians that had just started to play. The air had an intense scent of sunscreen and weed.

You had chosen an outfit carefully, a very short pink skirt that barely covered your ass with every step. Above it, you wore a crop top that hugged your body tightly, with a glitter scattered across your chest and hair.

Your friend, Harry, couldn't help but stare at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your body as it swayed in the crowd. You had noticed his flirty behavior before, the way a smirk would immediately land on his face when you walked into a room, and lingering glances that followed your every move.

But, he had done that with everyone. You had seen that smirk on his face when other women walked by, the way he would look other girls up and down like he would you. So you never gave him the time of day. You brushed off all of his advances as just another cheeky remark.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry's flirty comments grew more frequent, his eyes locked on the bare skin of your legs that your skirt exposed. He leaned in closer, shouting over the music, "You look amazing in that skirt, you know that, right?" His breath was warm against your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him. "It's just a skirt, Harry," you yelled back, though you couldn't deny the thrill that shot through you when his eyes lingered on your thighs. "There's plenty of other girls wearing them here, why don't you go compliment them?"

But Harry wasn't easily deterred. He stepped closer, his hand grazing your bare skin as he leaned in to be heard over the pounding bass. "Just thought I’d let you know." he said, his voice low and filled with a hunger you hadn't noticed before.

You turned to face him, your arms folded across your chest as the crowd surged around you. "How many girls have you said that to tonight?" you shot back, your voice tinged with skepticism. Harry chuckled, you couldn't tell whether that was a conformation or a denial.

Truth was, it had been a while since you'd slept with anyone. You had been busy with work, and the last guy you had been with was...less than satisfactory. Though you normally wouldn't give it a second thought, tonight, the thought of Harry's hands on you, his mouth, sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked back at him as you swayed to the music performance you were watching. He looked down at you and gave you a slight smile and an eyebrow raise. You kept shifting, almost uncomfortable in your skin as the thought overtook your brain. His hands going up your skirt, then up your shirt, fucking you relentlessly. Maybe just one night with him wouldn't hurt.

Turning around, you leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, "You're not so bad yourself, you know." It was cheeky and flirty, a playful smile playing on your lips. You felt his body stiffen in surprise before his hand found your lower back, pulling you closer, your hips now swaying in sync with his. The tension between you grew palpable, the music seeming to pulse with every beat of your racing heart.

Your mind wandered to your hotel room…though you wouldn’t be seeing it for another three days. Your friend group had splurged on Coachella camping passes, instead of long drives back to a hotel you’d be camping out in the desert. But...you can still have sex in a tent...and surely there wouldn't be that many at the campsite while there were performances...

Turning back to Harry, you leaned in and whispered in his ear again, "I'm not really into the next few performers. Are you willing to miss some?...Go back to the tents for a bit?" You knew exactly what you were implying, and from the way Harry's eyes darkened, he knew too. He nodded eagerly and took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

"I'm going to my tent for a bit, to drink some water and cool off." You whispered in one of your girlfriends ears before walking through the crowd of people with Harry, still hand in hand.

The journey through the festival grounds to the camping area felt like forever, people would look at you two, you wondered if they knew what you were doing. Harry walked closely behind you, one hand in yours, his other hand on your lower back as you led him through the maze of tents. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine.

As the music faded, you felt your excitement grow, as did Harry's, his touches and kisses to your neck. You decided to get him a little more excited...lifting the hem of your skirt just enough to show a hint of your lacy underwear, and let it drop before he could get a good look. Harry's eyes went wide, and his grip on your hand tightened.

You turned around and looked at him with a mischievous smile, "What?" you asked, playing coy. Harry laughed and shook his head, his walking pace now becoming quicker.

Once you reached the tent, you didn't bother with the zipper, you practically ripped it open and pulled Harry inside. Harry's hands were everywhere, on your thighs, your waist, your breasts, as you kissed him deeply, your sloppily tongues dancing together.

The tent was hot, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside. Harry's jeans were tight, his erection pressing against you. You could feel him growing harder with each passing second as you were grinding yourself against him.

Your kisses grew more desperate, your hands reaching down to stroke him through his pants. He groaned into your mouth, his hands cupping your ass, pushing you closer. "What made you change your mind? Couldn't resist me any longer?" Harry asked as he pulled away from your lips.

You chuckled at the clear display of his massive ego. "Oh yeah...definitely" you replied sarcastically, your breath hot against his cheek. Harry didn't need to hear another word. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for another deep kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

Breaking away from the kiss, you playfully pushed him down to the makeshift bed in the tent. The air was thick with desire as you straddled him, your skirt riding up even further, giving him a clear view of your barely-there underwear. You started to sway your hips to the rhythm of a distant stage, giving him a mini lap dance, your hands moving seductively over your own body, teasing him.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Harry's breath hitched as you began to palm him through his pants, feeling the heat and hardness growing beneath your touch. His eyes were glued to your movements, watching as your hands danced closer to the bulge in his jeans.

The tent was dimly lit by the distant festival lights, casting a soft glow over your bodies as you began to rock your hips against his, teasing him with every grind. Harry's eyes were hooded with lust, his hands reaching up to grip your waist as he watched you move. You could feel his cock pulsing with every beat of the music that echoed through the fabric walls.

With a seductive smirk, you slithered down his body, your hands working at the button of his jeans as you went. You slid the zipper down with a slow, deliberate motion, revealing the prize you'd been eyeing. Harry's cock sprang free, thick and eager, straining towards you. You took him in your hand, feeling the weight and heat of him, and brought your mouth closer, letting out a soft moan that sent a tremor through his body.

Your eyes locked with his as you took him in your mouth, your tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness of his skin. He was so hard, and the feel of him filling your mouth was intoxicating. You took him deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag just a little. Harry's eyes filled with surprise and pleasure, his hands gripping the sheets as you began to bob your head up and down, taking him in deeper each time.

You felt the warmth spread through your cheeks, the stretch in your jaw, as you deepthroated him, the sound of your gagging mixing with the festival's music.

Harry's grip on your hair tightened, his hips bucking up slightly as you worked him over. His moans grew louder, and you felt a thrill knowing that you were the one giving him this pleasure. You could feel his muscles tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you bobbed your head up and down, taking him to the edge.

But you weren't done teasing him yet. You pulled back, letting him slip almost entirely out of your mouth before diving back in, taking him deep again. Each time you hit the back of your throat, you'd pull back just a bit, letting him feel the tightness of your throat before plunging back down. Harry's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making you wetter than ever.

The sound of your gagging grew louder, mingling with the distant music, as you worked his cock with vigor. You felt powerful, like you were the one in control here, despite being the one on your knees. His hips began to thrust upward, meeting your mouth, urging you to take more of him. You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through his body.

"Fuck, I need you to fuck me," you breathed out, your voice hoarse from the effort. Harry's eyes blazed with desire as he reached into the back pocket of his tight-fitting jeans, pulling out his wallet. "Of course you carry one around," you murmured, a hint of amusement in your voice. He chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. You took the condom from his hand.

With a seductive smile, you held the foil packet between your teeth and ripped it, sending a jolt of excitement through Harry's body. You took the condom from the packet and held it up, watching his eyes follow your every move. He swallowed hard as you reached for his cock, now glistening with your saliva.

Slowly, you rolled the condom down his length, savoring the feel of his skin under your fingertips. Harry's eyes never left yours, the anticipation building.

"Turn around," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. You complied eagerly, turning away from him to present your ass, your skirt hiked up to expose the lacy underwear that matched the bra you had been teasing him with all night. He took a moment to appreciate the view, his hand coming up to trace the curve of your cheek before smacking it lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

With a swift movement, Harry yanked your underwear down, the fabric catching on your thighs before dropping to the floor. "M'not going to let this pretty skirt go to waste." He said, letting you keep the garment on.

He positioned himself behind you, his cock nudging against your wet entrance as you balanced on your hands and knees. The anticipation was unbearable, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest as you waited for him to fill you up.

With one swift movement, Harry entered you, his cock sliding in deep, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. The feeling of his skin against yours was electric, and you couldn't help but push back into him, urging him deeper.

He took the hint, gripping your hips as he began to pound into you, the sound of your bodies slapping together mixed with your breath panting was the only thing you could hear.

Each thrust was deep and hard, his cock filling you up completely. You bit your lip to keep from screaming out his name, the sensation was overwhelming, like nothing you've ever felt before. The tent was bouncing slightly with each slam.

Looking back at Harry with a seductive gaze, you reached back with one hand to palm your own ass, giving him the full view of your body. His eyes widened at the sight, and he groaned, his strokes becoming more erratic. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure.

You felt your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around his cock as he hit just the right spot. The friction was unbearable, and you could feel your body shaking with the effort to hold off. "I'm going to cum," you warned him, your voice a breathless whisper.

"Then do it," Harry urged, his own voice strained with pleasure. "Let me hear you scream."

With a fiery determination, you threw your head back and let go. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping for breath. "Harry!" you screamed, your voice hoarse from the effort as your body convulsed around his cock. He didn't slow down, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you, pushing you through your climax.

Once the peak had passed, and your energy came back up, you turned back to him again, still on your hands and knees, your skirt now hiked up around your waist. Harry's eyes were dark with lust, his movements more urgent as he just watched you come down from your high. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured, his own orgasm clearly on the horizon.

"I want to feel you cum on me," you whispered, turning around to face him, your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of the tent floor. Another smirk pulled at Harry's lips, the biggest one he had ever given you. "I want to be a mess, Harry. I want to wear your cum on my back."

The words sent a shockwave through Harry's body, his grip on your hips tightening. He thrust into you with renewed vigor, his eyes locked onto your face, watching as the pleasure built in your eyes. Each movement grew more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Fuck, yes," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "You're going to be so dirty for me."

With one hand still gripping the bed, you reached back with the other, running your fingers up his abs. The feel of his firm, sweaty skin beneath your fingertips was intoxicating. You traced the lines of his six-pack, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each of his thrusts. "You like that, don't you?" you whispered, your voice filled with a seductive edge. "I want your cum so bad, baby. Want you to paint my back."

He didn't reply, your words leaving him speechless. The only sound was the music outside, the occasional shout of a distant festival-goer, and the slap of your bodies coming together. His eyes were focused on yours, watching the lust and desire build in their depths.

With a final, powerful thrust, Harry pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal. You felt the loss of his warmth and the sudden coolness of the desert air, making you shiver slightly. "Move your hair," he ordered, his voice thick with need. You complied, arching your back and pushing your hair to one side, exposing your bare skin to him.

You watched as he stroked himself, his hand moving rapidly up and down his length. The sight was mesmerizing, the way his hand moved with such precision, the way his forearm muscles flexed with each stroke. You bit your lip, unable to look away.

Without warning, Harry spurted, ropes of white-hot cum that landed on your bare back. You gasped as the warm liquid painted your skin, a thrill shooting through you that was almost as intense as your orgasm. He continued to cum, both of you watching, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as he watched you become a canvas for his pleasure.

You felt a sense of satisfaction as he finished, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching the last droplets land on your skin. "Looks like your hard work of constant flirting paid off." You couldn't help but smirk, feeling a sense of power as you saw the desire still in his eyes.

Without missing a beat, you reached back with one hand, gathering a glob of his cum on your finger. You brought it to your mouth, the tangy taste of him hitting your taste buds. Harry's breath hitching as you licked your finger clean with a deliberate, almost theatrical flick of your tongue. "It's a good thing we're in a tent," you said with a smirk, "Otherwise, everyone would know what a slut I just was." You joked, referring to your loud screams (that everyone in a close radius definitely heard) before giving him a shirt to wipe the rest off your back.

You both lay there for a moment, panting, the sticky mess between your legs the only evidence of what had just occurred.

"Same time tomorrow?" Harry murmured against your neck, his voice low and teasing. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"If my legs can handle it," you replied, your voice thick with sarcasm. Harry chuckled, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed your neck. You both lay there in the tired, sticky mess.

You both knew that you couldn't stay in the tent forever, everyone would wonder where you were, though you definitely could.

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lukesaprince · 8 months ago

Text

The Other Man H.S

Summary: Where y/n's husband opens up her marriage and she meets Harry on Tinder...

Warning: Smut, oral (f & m recieving), penetration, dirty talk (degradation & praise), spanking, squirting, I think that's it?

Word count: 13.5k+

Author's note: Hellooo long time no see! It feels like forever since I posted anything and I do apologise for that my brain was taking a hiatus apparently but hopefully I can get back into the groove! This probably needs editing but I hope you like it anywayy.

- Find my General Masterlist here -

“So… do you do this a lot?”

“What do you mean?” You took a sip of your wine, trying to sate the erratic nerves jumping within the walls of your body. Not even a few drinks before you arrived to your date could save you.

“Go on Tinder dates.”

Harry, the man who effortlessly charmed you when your friends encouraged you to swipe right on him seemed as relaxed as ever. He had this calm and sensual aura about him that existed through every little thing he did. His smile, the way he thanked the waitress, the way he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and guided you to the table with a hand on the small of your back. Everything.

It was all a little too charming for your first date back in the game. Part of you even wished it would be a disaster. Then you reminded yourself that there had to be a first date. That you had to reclaim your desirability and get back into the dating scene to find yourself again. It had been three months after all, nearly four since your marriage blew up in your face and everything about your life changed.

You felt like you were ready. Or at least willing to give it a crack.

“You seem a little nervous, that’s why I ask. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Harry spoke up again when you didn’t answer right away.

“You didn’t offend me,” you assured, blushing at the way you got so caught up in the attraction of him, “but is it really that obvious?” You shook your head, laughing softly like the idea of actually being on a date was unfathomable. It was. To you anyway; especially given the fact that the man sitting in front of you wasn’t your husband. “This is my first date in… a while.”

“It’s not obvious.” Harry laughed softly, running his hand through his hair. “But it’s okay to be nervous. I’m nervous too.”

“You are?” Your eyes widened, “it’s not because I’m married, is it? Because I put it in my profile and-”

“It’s not because you’re married,” He assured, interrupting your clear panic. He found it quite adorable actually. “It’s because I like you and I think you’re beautiful. I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

Oh.

Harry didn’t want to overstep. He had only been chatting with you for a week before meeting in person, but he already liked you, at least from the few bits of information he learnt about you. And you were quite pretty, insanely pretty actually. Harry thought you were attractive from your profile, but seeing you in person only solidified that. It would take some serious differences between you two for him to not want to pursue things.

But this was a first date afterall and he wasn’t going to put pressure on something so fresh. You were clear before even meeting him that you weren’t looking for anything serious and Harry was happy with that. Whatever the outcome of this date, he at least wanted to make sure you had a good time. Even if it meant you two never saw each other again.

“Oh.” You felt your heart hammering in your chest at the compliment. Even his eye contact was making you a jittery mess. Harry made you nervous. Giddy even and you had barely known the man a week. “Thank you.”

Carson still complimented you, even still said he loved you, but nothing really felt the same after he wanted to open your marriage. It was like a wrecking ball to your life. Your heart broke instantly and your self esteem took the biggest hit you had ever experienced. Your own fucking husband asking to open your marriage after nearly three years of being married, six of being in a relationship. How were you supposed to take it?

He gave you those same reasons many guys give when they want to open a relationship; that you just didn’t fulfill his needs sexually anymore and that he needed more to be satisfied. You tried to explain that you’d be willing to explore his fantasies if he just communicated them, especially since he had been the one leading a very vanilla (but good) sex life since you two got married, but he didn’t like that idea.

You came to the conclusion there was someone else. Carson denied it and told you he still loved you, but you couldn’t ignore the gut feeling that this was all some fucked up coverup to excuse cheating. So you said no. Safe to say that didn’t work out because a divorce ultimatum and three months later and you were here, trying to reap the benefits from an open relationship you were too reluctant to explore.

Carson of course was happy to follow the rules you two set and be out nearly every damn night with someone, but you could never bring yourself to do it. You were still hung up on the hurt and pure embarassment you felt being forced to open a marriage you thought was happy. In the end you realised that you deserved the pleasure Carson was getting from someone else. You deserve to be desired and taken out on dates. It didn’t seem fair that only one person was benefitting.

“You’re welcome, love.” Harry smiled, “let’s just not put any pressure on it, okay? No expectations or anything. We’ll just get to know each other and see where the night takes us.”

You liked the sound of that. You liked the sound of him calling you ‘love’ even more.

“Okay,” you nodded, “I like the idea of that.”

“Good.” Harry raised his wine glass in a toast and you couldn’t help but feel a little mesmerised by the sight of his ringed fingers wrapped around the glass. Shaking yourself out of it, you raised yours as well. “To us.” He offered.

“To us.”

The date with Harry went far better than you ever could’ve expected. He was sweet and charming and all the things that drew you to him via text were even better in person. You two had far more in common than you realised and even the things you didn’t only added so much interest to the conversation. He made you laugh harder than you had for months and was the perfect gentleman all night.

You two didn’t sleep together, not that you went into this date wanting to sleep with him anyway because you weren’t really sure what to expect, but you came out of it hoping he’d offer to walk you up to your hotel door and maybe continue walking you right to your bed. Harry didn’t do that of course and instead offered you a kiss on your cheek and an invitation for dinner again next week, but that only made you want him more.

Leading up to the date was so overstimulating and so much all at once that you decided to book a room at the hotel in the same complex as your dinner (which he so kindly paid for), just so you’d have time in a clean environment to process your thoughts afterwards.

Carson was out with his girlfriend April tonight, as that’s what she was to him now, so he wouldn’t be home anyway. But you didn’t want to be getting ready in your own room near the bed you and your husband shared, only to return to it after a date that could’ve been terrible. You wanted something just for you so no matter the outcome and no matter how you felt about it, you had somewhere free from any memories relating to your marriage.

When Harry offered the second date, you told him you’d think about it. He understood, took it like a great guy (the bare minimum, yes, but you were also expecting him to be too good to be true) then waited until you were in the closing doors of the elevator to say goodnight. It didn’t take long after you were clean and in the comfort of a fresh Carson-free bed that you texted Harry to let him know how much you enjoyed the date and that you would like to join him for dinner next week.

He was nice and handsome and you had a really good time with him. The thought of seeing him again made you giddy and you wanted to hang onto that feeling.

Harry: I’m glad it didn’t take you too long to think about it. I had a wonderful night. X

You were practically giggling as you read the text, feeling like a little girl dating a cute guy she liked for the very first time. It was exhilarating. Only one date in and you already understood the appeal Carson was talking about, as much as you wanted to disagree with him.

You: I’m glad. Goodnight Harry x

Harry: Goodnight, love. Sleep well x

“So what did you get up to last night?” Carson asked, “you have a nice night away?”

“I went on a date, actually.” Your back was facing towards him as you unpacked your overnight bag. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the surprise radiating off him.

“Oh, really? With who?” Carson walked around until he was in your eyeline. He was trying not to act surprised, but you could see it even better with him in front of you that he was. His tone didn’t come off judgemental though and if it did you’d have a few things you could throw back at him. He couldn’t really say anything when you had remained silent on all his flings and relationships.

“His name’s Harry. I met him on tinder.” You shrugged, being honest but trying not to appear too excited about the whole thing. Carson didn’t need to know you thought about Harry before you went to sleep, or that you spent a good half an hour on the phone with your friends squealing about your date with him.

“That’s great.” Carson’s reply seemed genuine and he held that kind smile that you fell in love with. “How was it? Did he treat you right?”

“It was really good, actually,” you paused your unpacking and looked at your husband, seeing the kindness in his eyes as he listened attentively to what you were saying. You wished he’d look like that all the time. “He was the perfect gentleman and we’re going on another date next week.”

“He must’ve really liked you then,” he teased.

Carson was just joking and being quite civil about the entire thing, but you still felt that churning in your stomach. It would never feel normal talking about a date with someone else, even if it was your date instead of his now.

“I guess so. It was only one date though.”

“Did you sleep together?” Then came the dreaded question.

You both agreed that you had to disclose when you slept with another person and a condom always had to be used. No details had to be shared and it was preferred that there weren’t any, but for your own health and safety, you had to share it with each other. It only really mattered when you two were having sex with each other, which, with work and Carson’s busy schedule with other people, only happened once a month if that on your scheduled weekend together.

Opening the marriage seemed to completely eradicate that part of your relationship and while you were unsatisfied, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to try and change that. Not with Carson at least.

“No. You know I’d tell you if we did.” You didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, not when this conversation was ruining your once-happy mood.

“I know,” Carson replied softly, moving forward to place his hands on your hips. “I love you, you know that. I hope you find some joy in Harry, or whoever. Whatever makes you happy, y/n. That’s all I want for you.”

That felt like the biggest load of shit ever but you chose not to say that.

So you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to remember when you used to do it and not feel a sense of dread. “I love you too.”

You went on a few dates with Harry. You tried to plan things around when Carson was busy so you wouldn’t be stuck at home thinking about what he was doing and that seemed to do the trick because you hadn’t thought about him once on any of the dates you had with Harry.

Things had progressed to a goodbye kiss then a hello kiss when you decided to be a little brave and greet him with one when he picked you up one Saturday morning. And God Harry just knew how to kiss. Even a peck was delicious. His mouth was so soft and sweet and the way he held your face or your waist while kissing you made your entire body light on fire. The more time you spent with him, the more desperate you were becoming to sleep with him.

But Harry was such a gentleman. You didn’t want anything serious and he knew that and yet he hadn’t made the first move. Kissing you was as far as he got and when things started to get a little heated when you two said goodbye, it would always end far too prematurely for your liking.

In your head, a lot of men just wanted to have sex and most of the time did anything and everything to get there before moving on once their post-nut clarity hit. That’s kind of what you expected from Harry. Someone so good-looking and out of your league could find sex easily so you assumed he’d be eager to sleep with you. That was part of the allure, wasn’t it? To sleep with a married woman? The nasty, scandalous thrill of being with someone that belonged to someone else.

Yet Harry never treated you like that, in fact, he didn’t even bring up your marriage unless you started the conversation. Harry just treated you like someone genuinely interested in getting to know you.

“Can I ask you something?”

It was only your third date. This conversation should’ve come up earlier, maybe even on one of the many text conversations or calls you had, but you were a little caught up in his charm and romance to think about it then and you wanted to see his reaction in person. In the very beginning you weren’t even sure if you’d be seeing him again but now that you were up to date three and he just never brought up the fact that you were married… well you wanted to know why. He knew your marriage was open but you didn’t quite understand why was he okay with it? There had to be a reason, right?

“Of course you can.” He leaned back against the chair and tucked his elbow on the edge of the balcony you two were sitting at. It was a picturesque little cafe overlooking a river and it truly felt like you two were on some romantic holiday. The sun was gorgeous even despite the cold breeze and Harry looked effortlessly handsome.

“Why do you… I don’t know how to put it.” You sat a bit straighter in your chair, fiddling with the rings on your fingers. Your wedding ring. You weren’t sure why you still wore it on your dates with Harry, but it was a habit and you were married. “You never bring up Carson or the fact that I’m married and I want to know why…”

“Why I don’t care?” He asked, finishing off your sentence.

“Yeah…” You nodded, “I guess I just don’t get it. You’re a lot younger than me-”

“I’m 27 and it’s only five years.” He corrected, looking quite amused by your comment. Five years was a big gap when he was younger than you, at least you thought so.

“Still.” You pressed, “You’re young and I’m married. I just don’t understand why you’re choosing to go out with me and not someone else. And the fact that you’re okay with my marriage it just… I don’t know.” You looked away for a moment, needing to break free from his eye contact so you weren’t completely swept up in it. “I’m not sure if I’d be the same. I’m not the same and I’m the one who’s married.”

“I’ve been married before…”

Well, you certainly didn’t expect that.

“What?” Your eyes widened and Harry nearly laughed at how shocked you were.

“I was only 20 at the time and it was stupid to say the least but we were happy and in love and marriage seemed like the answer to all our problems.” He smiled at the memory, tracing his finger around the rim of his water glass as he thought back to that time in his life.

“And it wasn’t?”

“No.” He chuckled, sighing while running a hand through his hair. “Marriage caused more problems than it was worth. Steph and I were broke and both in school. We could barely afford our degrees let alone rent and it just caused so many arguments. Too many arguments. We still loved each other and we made it work but over time… the love faded.” Harry shrugged. This felt like too intense of a conversation for breakfast, but you weren’t really expecting to find out about a marriage.

“Wow…” You breathed. “I’m sorry. Um, how long were you two married?”

“Three years. We were just too young and going through too many changes. In the end, we were more like roommates than husband and wife. Didn’t have sex for the last six months because we were too busy working and emotionally disconnecting from each other.” He looked out to the water, turning back to finish off his point. “Anyway. What I’m trying to say is that shit happens. Relationships aren’t clear-cut. I can tell you’re not just trying to get some exciting thrill by cheating on your husband so as far as I’m concerned it’s just you and me.” Harry bumped his foot against yours under the table, smirking ever so slightly. “If that changes I’m sure you’ll let me know.”

Harry spoke about it in such a respectful way. You imagined it was far messier than he made it out to be, but he didn’t blame Steph or attack her character to make himself the good guy in all of it. It was refreshing and mature. Was it bad that him being married before only made him more attractive?

Maybe it was because you now knew that he understood you.

“That’s a very… refreshing outlook, Harry.”

“Refreshing?” He chuckled, “No. Realistic.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table, nudging your foot again. “And to answer your other question, the reason I’m out with you and not ‘somebody else’ is because I like you. I told you that on our very first date and I’ll say it again. I like you. Simple.”

“You act like things are so easy.” You laughed, blushing at his honesty.

“They can be.” He reached for your hand, threading your fingers together before squeezing. “It feels easy with you.”

Yeah… it did.

To make things worse… or better? his admission only made you more insatiable for him. Nothing he said was remotely casual, but it had also been a long time since you were dating. Aside from Carson, only one other man had touched you, so you didn’t really have a good gauge on navigating new beginnings or sex with a new person. You knew how to please a man but all your skills were honed in on one man.

So when Harry offered to host dinner at his house for your next date, your stomach was a mixture of nerves and pure excitement. You hadn’t been there before, but with his invitation to stay the night, you didn’t really care what his place looked like, just that he had a nice clean bed to fuck you on.

You never thought you’d be in this position, but you also never thought you’d be in an open marriage with a man you imagined building a family with. You didn’t see that happening now, but what you did see was you enjoying yourself and getting to explore another man for the first time in years.

Harry wouldn’t have just invited you to spend the night if he wasn’t interested in sleeping with you. He didn’t fit into the dump-and-run stereotype you created in your head, but he sure as hell wasn’t uninterested in sex. He practically oozed it from his fucking pores.

“Y/n!” Harry beamed, opening the door with a big charming grin. He looked gorgeous and you were taken aback at just how good-looking he was. He told you to dress casually and while he matched the criteria with a pair of jeans and a loose white button-up, he looked anything but casual.

“Hi,” you smiled, stepping inside. You barely made it into the doorway before he grabbed your overnight back from your shoulder, slung it on his and then cupped your face to bring you in for a kiss. You gasped a little into his mouth, humming when you relaxed into it and grabbed onto the sides of his mouth to reciprocate.

It felt so young kissing like this; languid and passionately right in the open doorway of his house where anyone who drove or walked past could see. But you didn’t really care who saw when he was nudging you against the doorway and crowding you with his body. It wasn’t an innocent kiss that’s for sure.

His mouth moved expertly against yours, tongue sliding against the seam of your mouth until it was brushing against yours. He grabbed onto your waist, pulling you flush against him until he was consuming every part of you. It was delirious the way he sucked on your tongue and groaned at the taste of your mouth.

If this was setting the tone for the evening, you could barely wait.

“Did you miss me or something?” You joked, breathing heavily as the kiss broke.

He smiled, nodding while running his thumb over your mouth. He dragged his eyes over your body, taking in your nice fitting jeans and top with the most perfect amount of cleavage he could die. You were radiant. “Very much so.”

God.

“Come in, love. It’s cold out.” Harry stepped out of the way properly this time, closing the door behind you while you looked around his entranceway.

“Shoes off?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Harry walked you straight through to his living area. It was a warm, inviting home with soft lighting and lots of texture. He had a musical influence throughout but in the most tasteful way ever. Posters, vinyls and a gorgeous record player front and centre in his living room. His style was envying and you wished Carson would let you do even half the things Harry had done to his house.

You could see yourself being very comfortable here.

“Your house is gorgeous, Harry.” You complimented, looking around the space in awe.

“Thank you.” He gushed, setting your bag down on one of his armchairs before walking into the kitchen. “I originally hired an interior designer then ended up picking all her opposite choices. I think I did an okay job.”

“I think so.” You agreed, following him to the island bench. The entire house was fragrant. It was a mixture of some citrusy candle, whatever delicious dish was in the oven and his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Ugh and it smells so good in here. What is that?” you practically moaned.

“Alfredo chicken pasta.” Harry mused, grabbing a bottle of red from his wine fridge. “I know you like it. Thought I should try and impress you for our first at home date.”

“So far it’s working. Just need to wait until it’s in my mouth for the final verdict.” You replied, pressing your hip to the bench while looking at him. “Can’t give you a raving review before I’ve tried it, can I?”

If Harry set the tone with the kiss, you set the tone with your words and those flirty eyes of yours. He pressed his tongue into his cheek, nearly audibly moaning at the double entendre. Harry had been holding back on how badly he wanted you since the first date.

There was an instant fire between you. Chemistry he had been wanting to act upon for weeks. But he knew this was the first relationship for you since your husband suggested opening your marriage and he didn’t want to push things. You two spoke about it extensively after the third date when you wanted to clear the air to figure out what Harry got from this.

Harry got pure pleasure. To him it was simple. He enjoyed your company and you seemed genuine in what you told him about your situation, so why wouldn’t he pursue things with you?

“You’re a smart woman.” Harry smirked, pouring the red wine into both wine glasses he had set on the bench before your arrival. “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they?” The way he looked at you nearly had you sweating.

“It’s an age-old saying, after all.” You mused, thanking him once he passed you a glass. “To us?”

“To our first night together.” He clinked his glass against yours, eliciting a smile that had you trying to hide how nervous he truly made you feel. It had been a while since you got butterflies in the presence of a man.

“Now, tell me all about your day. Must’ve been pretty relaxing if you had so much time to get all pretty for me.” He teased, reaching out to pluck at the hem of your shirt.

“Yeah right.” You snorted, jumping straight into all the problems you encountered during your work day.

Dinner went perfect as it usually did. You both laughed and drank and shared a delicious meal. By the time dessert came, Harry had moved from his chair opposite you to sit right beside you, deciding to play a game with the few mini dishes he made. He didn’t really explain why he chose to make multiple options, only that you had to guess what each one is.

You weren’t really going to stop him from feeding you, were you?

“Okay keep your eyes closed.” He prompted, walking over to the table with the long plate housing the mini desserts.

“Okay! Okay they’re closed.” You shuffled in your chair, trying not to sneak a peek even if you wanted to.

“Keep them closed.” He warned again, his arm brushing yours as he set the plate onto the table.

“They are.” You defended.

“How many fingers?” Harry sat right next to you, waving two fingers in front of your face.

“Harry!”

“Okay.” He laughed. Harry grabbed one of the dessert spoons and took a small chunk from the first dessert before bringing it close to your face. “Any guesses?”

“Smells warm.” You guessed, breathing in the delicious cinnamon-or was it caramel? “Caramel?”

“Very good, Angel.” He praised, unintentionally making your breath hitch. That little bit of praise hit you right in the belly, making a swarm of butterflies flutter all over. “Open your mouth.”

Shit. If only he was asking you to open your mouth for something else.

You did as instructed and widened your mouth, rubbing your palms up and down your thighs. He brought the spoon to your mouth, letting you suck it clean before removing it. “Do you have a guess?”

“Mmh.” You hummed softly, savoring the taste of the dessert you had on your first date. “Sticky date pudding?”

“Atta girl!” He cheered. “Well done.”

If he praised you one more time… god you almost felt pathetic at how turned on you were getting. And over food.

“Can I open my eyes now?” You whispered, wanting to look at him.

“Nope. Next one.” He took a spoon from the next dessert and repeated the same movements, holding it in front of your nose so you could smell it first. “What can you smell?”

“Custard maybe? Vanilla?”

“Yeah… on the right track.” He mused, “open up.” Then once again he fed you the spoon.

“Oh that’s so good.” You practically moaned, feeling his thumb brush against your mouth to wipe away a bit of custard. He sucked his thumb clean of it, watching you enjoy the dessert. Your moans of appreciation were hitting him harder than he thought they would but he just couldn’t help himself. You were moaning over something he made. He could only imagine what you’d sound like moaning over his cock or his mouth. “Is it… like a custard croissant cake or pudding? Whatever you call it.”

“You know your desserts. I’m impressed.”

“We had it on our second date, Harry.” And that’s when it clicked. “Are these desserts we’ve had on our dates?”

“Maybe. Depends if you can guess the last one. Now open up pretty girl.” At his last instruction you opened your mouth and your eyes at the same time, looking right at him. “Heyy. That’s cheating.” He complained, feeding it to you.

There was something erotic about the way you sucked that spoon clean, even going as far as plucking it from Harry’s fingers so you could get all the chocolate from it. “I knew it was chocolate pudding before you even fed it to me.” You whispered, looking down at the nicely plated dish. “Did you really make dishes we’ve had on our dates?”

“Maybe.” He repeated, scanning his eyes along your side profile. “Too much?”

No. Fuck, you were about ready to jump his bones.

“No.” You shook your head and set the spoon down. “This is… this is really thoughtful. Thank you.”

It was romantic. Everything about this date was romantic.

“You’re welcome.” Harry murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth. A playful smile emerged on his mouth and you could just tell something was up.

“What?” You chuckled.

“You’ve got something here.” He reached out to cup your face, swiping your mouth clean like he did before. “See? Must’ve liked the chocolate pudding.”

Before he had a chance to lick it clean himself, you grabbed his hand and brought his thumb to your mouth. His lips parted and his eyes darkened as he watched you wrap your lips around it, sucking on it gently.

“It’s good…” you whispered, eyes fluttering when he cupped your jaw. The heat rising in the room was almost unbearable. Every second felt like an hour, every flick of his eyes between your own and your mouth like a century. The touch of his pinky grazing your neck had you shivering and all you wanted-no, craved was his mouth on yours. You bit your lip, releasing it with a pop before breathing out a soft laugh. “So are you going to kiss me or-”

You couldn’t say another word because Harry had already slid his hand back to thread through your hair and pulled you right in for a kiss. You whimpered as your lips met in a soft kiss. It started gently, but as the seconds went by and your hands ended up in his hair, it was getting hot and heavy.

“Harry…” you sighed, breaking when you needed to breathe.

“God I love kissing you.” He murmured, tipping your head back so he could kiss along your jaw towards your neck.

“I…” you swallowed thickly while rubbing your hands down his neck towards his shirt buttons. You were desperate to see more of his skin. To feel more of it. “I want you.”

Harry paused, breathing heavily while pulling back to look at you. His lips were already swollen; all pink and yummy looking and his eyes had this dark look in them. It was a look you were sure you had given him countless times. When your heavy kisses got cut short or when you were forced to say goodnight when you really wanted to invite him in. You were sure you were giving it to him now.

“I want you. Really fucking bad.” He admitted, reaching to push your hair back from your face. “I just don’t want to rush you, baby. I didn’t invite you over expecting anything and-shit.” Harry’s eyes widened as you bit the bullet and ripped your shirt off before putting it down on your lap.

You were everything he imagined you’d be. No. You were better. Gorgeous in every way and in one of the prettiest bras he had ever seen. You could’ve worn anything though and he still would’ve thought that. But Jesus.

“You’re not rushing me.” You whispered, “but I am wearing matching underwear so you can rush that if you want to…”

Harry swooped in again, holding your face in both hands to kiss you. “I want to.” He practically moaned, “but I’m not rushing anything with you. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Good.” You smiled softly, sliding your palms over his chest before undoing the top button. “Good.” You barely whispered the word before kissing him again.

Harry pulled you closer by your hips, nudging your shirt to the ground so your legs thread into each other. He ran his hands over your torso, your waist and your arms while you worked on unbuttoning his shirt. His skin was warm and soft and you were addicted to the feeling of his chest hairs against your hands.

He undid your pants, draping the zipper down before making the executive decision to stand up and force you up as well with his hands on your hips. Your pants and top fell to the floor with ease and he was quick to push the dessert plate and cutlery out of the way so he could pick you up and set you on the edge of the table.

He was obsessed with how your body felt in his hands and under his lips and he wanted to explore every inch of you. He let his mouth trail along your collarbones and neck, down to the clevage spilling from your bra. You were so soft and sweet, so plush in his hands. Harry never wanted this to end and it had barely started. He hadn’t even tasted you yet…

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, y/n.” Harry breathed, taking a moment to just look at you. He reached in to kiss you gently while massaging your thighs, sliding his fingers so close to the edge of your underwear without brushing them at all. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes.” You nodded eagerly, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. That was when you caught sight of the twinking diamond on your ring finger. The reminder that despite all verbal permission given by your husband as per your arrangement, you were still going to sleep with another man while married. “Can I ask a favour, though. Before we… do anything?”

“Of course.” He urged, eyes softening. “Anything. What is it?”

His gaze was so soft… so endearing. Harry showed more care for what you were saying than your husband did in the months he was off dating other people. Probably for months before that too.

You breathed out heavily, heart thumping in your ears as you pulled your ring finger off and played with it in your hands. “Will you put this in your pocket? I don’t want it on for this. I just want it to be you and me.”

“I’ll keep it safe.” Harry promised, holding his palm flat for you to put the ring on. “Even if you wore it, it would still be you and me, y/n.” He assured, sliding the ring into the tiny pocket at the front of his jeans.

“It wouldn’t.” You whispered, smiling softly while reaching forward to kiss him again. “It is now, though.”

Harry moaned into the kiss, pulling you closer to him so he had better access to you. Then he went back to just touching you. Caressing you. He palmed at your breasts and your thighs and your belly… everywhere he could.

Carson knew how to make you cum, but Harry didn’t and that was almost better. He didn’t skip through to the end, to what he knew would work. No, Harry took his sweet time running his hands and his mouth over your body, trying to figure out what you liked best. He wanted to memorise the little jerks or squeezes of your thighs the prettiest soft whimpers if he touched you just so.

Harry loved the first time he slept with someone knew. It was a new experience and an entirely new set of likes and dislikes for him to explore. And after you dressed up so nice for him and wore what would’ve had to be the sexiest lingerie he had ever seen, Harry couldn’t have been more excited. He had been waiting for this since the moment he met you face to face.

“What do you like?” Harry breathed, smoothing his hands over your stomach up towards your breasts. They slipped under the cups of your bra to push it above your nipples so he could pinch them in both hands. “Tell me. Please.” He was almost desperate, needing to know how he could please you.

“I like what you’re doing now. I like…” You swallowed, whimpering ever so slightly when he pinched your right nipple a little harder, “I like when you look at me…”

“What else?” Harry murmured, keeping his eyes laced with yours as he dipped down to tug at your nipple with his teeth instead. He soothed the ache with his tongue; all hot and slick. All you could think about was his tongue being somewhere else. Getting head was a rare commodity in your house. Carson was quite decent at it, actually, but it was one of those things where it took forever for you to cum. You both worked demanding jobs so when you got time or needed release, it was usually something quick to get the job done.

But god, you’d kill to be eaten out.

“Fuck…” you gasped, running a hand through his soft hair. While you were nervous about sleeping with a new man, there was one thing marriage life did prepare you for; saying what you wanted. You had no problems telling Harry exactly what you liked. “I like dirty talk too. I like to be praised…” you had to pause when he sucked on your nipple again, releasing it with a pop that had you shivering when the air hit the wetness left behind by his tongue. “Degraded too…”

“Yeah?” Harry cocked his head, smirking like you just unlocked something evil in him. “Anything you don’t like to be called?”

“Stupid. I don’t like being called a bitch, either.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl,” Harry assured, tucking his fingers into the waistband of your pretty underwear and sliding them side to side against your skin. Harry would’ve loved to get you completely bare for him, but there was something so sexy about fucking you while you were wearing the lingerie. You wore it for a reason, it would be a shame to let it lay on the floor for the entire night, especially when you looked so fucking good at it. “Tell me more. I want to know what I can do to you.”

“It’s too easy if I give you all the answers, Harry. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” You teased, sitting up from the table so you could run your palms all over his chest and up to around his neck.

He was just glorious. All tanned and muscular with littered hairs that made him look so much more manly. You could only imagine what his pecs would look like all sweaty while he fucked you. You hoped he’d hover over your head so you could lick at his chest and tug at that sinful cross necklace between your teeth.

“Can I tell you what I want to do?” He proposed, hooking one finger on the underside of your underwear this time, moving it towards your mound but not down enough to feel how wet you had grown for him. He was so close to dipping his fingers into your crease. So close to being able to please you.

“Please…” You breathed, eager and so damn desperate for anything.

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing this,” he snapped at the fabric, maintaining direct eye contact with you. Oh, Jesus. Between his eye contact and his sultry tone, you were going dizzy at how direct he was being. You loved it. “Then I want to strip you naked and watch you bounce on my cock. Forwards… backwards.” He groaned at the thought and grabbed onto your ass, firmly pulling you closer to the edge of the dining table until his lips brushed with yours. You could feel the hard length of his cock press against your pussy, promising you that it would be deep inside you by the end of the night.

“I want to make your ass red so when you go home to your husband, he’ll know I fucked you better than he ever could.”

It was another promise, that Harry would indeed fuck you better than Carson ever could.

“But first…” Harry bucked his hips against yours, keeping his grip on your hips tight so you couldn’t wiggle away at his directed grinds over your clit. He kissed you gingerly, watching your eyes haze over as you whimpered softly. Between his cock and his words, your head was spinning. “I need to taste you. I’ve thought about nothing else but having my face between your thighs for weeks now.”

Harry grabbed your hands from behind his neck and pressed them down to the table on either side of your hips, bumping his nose with yours. “Do you like the idea of any of that, darling?”

You nodded eagerly, loving the sound of all of it. “Uhuh. All of it…” you inhaled a sharp breath, loving the feeling of his hands moving to knead at your inner thighs, “There is one thing though. Something I want.”

“Tell me.” He murmured, eyes wide and eager. He just couldn’t keep his hands off you. He was grabbing your thighs and your hips, craving the warmth of your body.

“I want your cock in my mouth. I’ve been thinking about that since our first date.”

Harry smirked and you could feel the way his cock jerked right against you. It was big. You wanted to choke on it.

“That can be arranged.”

He reached in to kiss you again, groaning like a starved man while wrapping his palm around the back of your neck to guide you back down against the table. When you were flat he stood back up and stripped his shirt off fully, leaving him completely shirtless.

Then he did something unexpected. With a shit-eating grin on his face he pulled up the chair he kicked away earlier and sat on it, shuffling close to the table like he was getting ready to eat a three-course meal. You were going to make fun of him for it, but you didn’t really get a chance when he slung your legs over his shoulder and nuzzled his nose right into the crotch of your underwear.

“Jesus.” He moaned, eyes fluttering closed. Your jaw went completely slack at what you were witnessing. Never had a man looked so fucking hungry to eat you out. He was practically delirious and all he had done was inhale how sweet you were. Harry was looking forward to having your scent all over him. “You smell so fucking good, y/n.” He looked up at you again, hooking the very tip of his finger into the crotch of your underwear and sliding it up and down along your crease. “But do you taste as good as you smell?”

You nearly whined like some pathetic puppy, but you had to keep that inside as you didn’t want to appear too eager. Too easy. Truthfully, you were easy though. Harry was able to turn you on easier and quicker than you ever thought. And all over a little dirty talk and a slight obsession with eating you out.

“Why don’t you find out?” You hiked yourself up on your elbows, bringing your feet off his shoulders and onto the edge of the table so you were spread wider for him.

“Oh I will,” he pulled your underwear to the side, breath hitching at the first sight of your bare pussy. “You’re so gorgeous, y/n. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long… long time.”

When his mouth finally grazed your clit, you fell back against the table. You couldn’t hold yourself up even if you wanted to, not when he started eating you out like a damn starved animal. Harry moaned like you were the best thing he ever tasted and touched everywhere. He wasn’t clit happy or labia happy and he certainly didn’t miss-interpret one part of your anatomy for another.

“Fuck Harry… oh God.” You whined, pulling at his hair with both hands before suddenly letting go because you hadn’t asked if you could. You didn’t even know if he liked it. “Do you-” You could barely breathe let alone talk. “Can I pull your hair? Is it okay?”

“God, yes. As hard as you want,” Harry moaned like the idea of his hair being pulled was orgasmic. “Don’t stop, y/n. I promise.” He grabbed your hand and guided it back to his hair, giving you a reassuring nod before going back to your clit.

Harry knew exactly what he was doing. How to tease, how to take advantage of your entire body to make you feel good. He kissed and nipped over your thighs and used his hands to squeeze your breasts and play with your nipples. It was all so wet and sloppy and you felt like your entire body was on fire.

“God you taste… shit-” Harry broke for air, spitting directly over your pussy then spreading it around with two fingers, “you taste so fucking good, y/n.” He used one of those wet fingers and slid it inside you, pumping it a few times while slurping against your clit again. “Never thought a pussy could be so sweet… ‘m addicted.”

He slid his second finger in easily, fucking you with both digits so good your arousal was echoing around the room. His high ceilings did wonders of making sound travel. Even with all the rugs and soft furnishing, the softest moan sounded so much louder. And you were anything but soft. Your noises were loud and unforgiving and every single one of them was going straight to his cock.

It also meant you heard every groan Harry made. Every single sound of pleasure he was feeling just eating you out. It was possibly one of the sexiest things you had ever experienced. A man with his head buried between your thighs moaning and being so fucking enthusiastic because he gained genuine pleasure out of it. He liked it. Harry ate you out like it was his favourite thing on planet earth.

“You okay? You good?” He checked in on you, looking up at your gaped mouth and thrown-back head. You only moaned in response so Harry reached for your hand and threaded your fingers, squeezing them to get your attention. “Hey. Look at me.” He nudged, not happy with your lack of response.

You forced yourself to look down at him, nearly shaking at how intense his eye contact was. His (now) three fingers were still steadily fucking into you, but he had taken a much-needed break from using his mouth to check on you. “Good?”

“Yes. So so good. So good.” You nodded eagerly, trying to guide his face back to you with the hand still in his hair. “Just-please. I need it.”

“You need it?” He grinned, cocking his head ever so slightly. “Is it that good, baby? Do I suck your pretty clit so good that you need it?”

“Yes... Oh yes...”

“I need it too.” He admitted, dipping back in to swirl his tongue around his fingers, right where your poor needy hole was dripping with arousal. “You just taste so fucking good, y/n. I’d have you on my face every night if I could.”

You seemed to like that idea because he could feel you clench around his fingers, knees bumping into each other so his face was wedged between your thighs. Your underwear were a complete mess too; all soaked and creamy. Harry wanted to wring them with his teeth and suck them dry, but with the real thing pressed right against his nose, he didn’t have to.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Letting me eat your cunt every night? Every morning, even? Would you let me wake you up with my head between your thighs? Let me eat you for a midnight snack. Because I would.” Harry moaned as he wedged his mouth over your clit again, kissing and licking at it, spitting at it so it was even wetter. You were practically a sobbing mess above him too and that only encouraged him to say whatever he wanted.

“Y/n, I’d worship you and this pretty pussy.”

He slid his fingers out just long enough to smack them against your clit. It was gentle at first and he quickly soothed the sharp sting with his tongue. But he felt the way you jerked around his head, how your hips lifted off the table to get more.

“Is it okay?” He breathed, looking up for an answer. This time, you were already looking right at him. You had been from the moment he left your aching cunt empty and needy because you wanted to see what he’d do. And what a sight. You were sure you’d never forget the image of him smacking your clit then making out with it like a starved man. It was ridiculous.

Harry Styles’ mouth would kill you one day. You knew it would.

“More than okay.” You nodded, bringing your intertwined fingers up to your breast so his large hand would squeeze against your nipple. “Do it again.”

He followed your request quickly and spanked over your pussy again, this time a little harder and with more surface area of his fingers. You gasped out a moan, back lurching off the table as they hit your swollen clit. He quickly soothed the burn with his tongue, this time blowing on your sensitive skin for a moment before languidly tracing swirls over your clit.

“Again. Harder.” You gurgled out, clenching your fist into his hair when he smacked your clit again. Harder. He slid those three fingers right back into you again, curling and fucking them roughly right against your g-spot. “Oh God… Harry!”

“Oh, you’re such a good little slut letting me spank you like this. Right over your little clit too, hm? Who knew such a pretty girl would like such dirty things.”

The dirty talk… you were going to pass out.

“You’re taking it so well, y/n” He cooed, pulling his fingers out to spank you again before they returned deep into your pussy. It was dizzying. The way he spanked you then fucked you then spanked you again like some quick endless loop. He was careful not to hit you too many times, but whatever he was doing was making you reach your orgasm faster than any other oral you had received.

“‘M gonna cum, Harry. Please just…” You pulled his face back to your clit, urging him closer with your hand.

Harry didn’t argue and did what you seemed to like the most; those three fingers stroking right against your g-spot, one hand on your breast and his mouth sucking right over your clit. It seemed to do the trick too because not even ten seconds later, you were practically lurching off the table while crying out his name through a squirting orgasm. Your hand cemented him to your pussy so he could happily collect as much of your release right in his mouth.

When you started to calm down, Harry softened his movements and pulled his fingers out of you. He licked them clean then pressed soft kisses all over your thighs and mound, even right on either side of your clit.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Did so well for me.” Harry praised, squeezing your hand and keeping his eyes on your face as you panted and looked up at the ceiling.

“God that was…” You swallowed thickly, pushing your sweaty hair from your forehead so you could look down at him.

“What?” He nudged, smirking while kissing your inner thigh. “Good? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Your ego’s too big for your own good.” You laughed softly, sitting up so you could guide his mouth to yours. Harry was still smiling into the kiss until he relaxed into it. That’s when it turned heated again. The taste of your pussy and his mouth; your mouth too… it was all too much. “But yeah…” you sighed, “it was good.”

He stood up from his chair so you weren’t hunched down to kiss him and the moment you had access to his jeans, you started working on undoing them. Harry hissed into the kiss when you applied pressure to his hard bulge and he had to break free just to breathe at how sensitive he was. His cock felt harder than ever before. He didn’t think he had ever been this turned on and sore in his entire life.

This chemistry with you… it was otherworldly. Supernatural almost. A compelling pull like his cells were trying to fuse with yours.

And you were married. He had to push that thought out of his head because only a few weeks into this and he was already considering asking you to leave your husband.

“I need you, baby.” He panted, grabbing your hips tightly as you pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs to free his cock. “Shit-”

You wrapped your hand around his cock while he helped you get them off the rest of the way. You couldn’t help but look down between you, needing to see how pretty he was. And pretty he was. Long and decently thick, so heavy in your hand. You knew he’d fill you up so good he’d have you seeing stars. Two fingers were usually enough to prep you for sex, sometimes even one depending on how turned on you were.

You were glad he chose three.

“Your cock is so pretty, Harry.” You complimented, squeezing your palm around him. Your eyes filtered between your working hand and his face, obsessed with how hooded his eyes became just from your hand. “So big too… I need you inside me. ‘M so empty.”

Harry didn’t quite realise when you said you liked dirty talk that you liked it both ways, but he rather enjoyed the filth spilling from your mouth. He found it cute that you could barely string words together when he was pleasuring you, but like this? It was the biggest fucking turn-on.

“Bend me over the table…” You begged softly, nipping at his jaw until you reached the shell of his ear. His cock was oozing precum down over your hand. He liked what you were saying. “Please. Make me squirt again…”

“Come here.”

Harry pulled you off the table and with a rough hand, spun you around to bend you over the table. You squealed as he spanked your ass without thought, spreading your cheeks wide to spit down over you. He planned to fulfil his promise of fucking you with this lingerie on and now that he was looking at your pretty holes bent over with the tiny string of lace tucked to the side… he couldn’t have been more excited.

“You’re just so hot, y/n.” Harry groaned, spanking your other cheek just to watch your ass jiggle. “So goddamn hot.”

“I’m hotter with a cock in me.”

Your mouth earned you another spank, this time directly over your sensitive cunt. You squealed and jumped in place, but Harry easily soothed the ache with a friendly grind of his cock against your clit. Your knees buckled at the direct stimulation but Harry made sure you kept still by pressing his hand to your lower back.

“I need to get a condom,” he murmured to himself, suddenly remembering the dreaded protection right when his cock was so close to being inside you.

“Hurry.” You gasped, forehead pressed to the table.

“I will. I will.”

Harry fished the condom from his jeans pocket, placed there earlier in the evening in hopes of sleeping with you tonight. It was a just-in-case for something spur of the moment, though he didn’t start the night plotting a way to get you in his bed. He was glad now that he put that condom in there just in case, especially when you were waiting for him.

Once the condom was on, he was right back in position. A hand on the small of your back and the other guiding the head of his cock to your entrance. Harry didn’t wait or tease, he just pressed right into you slowly and deliberately.

“Shit-”

“Oh goddd…”

Your curses echoed at the same time, both as desperate as each other. Harry just stretched you so perfectly, on the cusp of too much and the best type of full possible. It helped that you were so damn wet, so turned on that he was easily able to push inside you.

“God, baby. You're so tight.” Harry hissed, reaching forward to press a kiss to the middle of your back. You couldn’t even respond to his compliment when your body was still getting accustomed to a new man. A new cock. All you could do was moan and claw at the table, clenching around him. “Hey. You okay?” Harry checked, sweeping your hair back so he could see your face.

“Uhuh. Just… shit.” You whimpered, squeezing around him again. He cursed at how tight you were and collected your hair in a loose hold around his fist.

“Y’sure?” He mused, pressing a kiss right in between your shoulder blades. “You’re trembling beneath me, darling.”

“Fuck me.” You begged. He was so deep in your belly and it was torturous having him so far inside you and not moving at all. “Please Harry just-”

He didn’t need to be convinced any further. Not with how sweet you sounded and how wet you were around him. You were a fucking dream and that only became more apparent as Harry started thrusting into you. He started with a slow but steady grind, fucking you with hard pressure like he was trying to memorise every inch of your pussy.

“God baby. You feel so good.” Harry moaned, building up the speed with a good grip on your hips. He hooked his thumb into the small lace string of your underwear, pulling it to the side so he could watch his cock disappear into your wet cunt. And you were so wet. Your arousal coating his length and turning creamy the longer he fucked you. It was obscene.

Mostly though, he was watching your face. Your cheek pressed to the table, mouth gaped open and eyes screwed shut as you moaned the-fuck the prettiest noises he had ever heard. He had barely shown you his best tricks and you were a mess beneath him. Had your husband really been lacking this entire time? Been leaving you so unsatisfied that a bit of doggy had you unravelling?

He couldn’t bear the thought of you having to take care of yourself because your husband couldn’t do it for you. But maybe that was a good thing. Because then Harry would be there for you. He’d give you pleasure you had never experienced in your life. Over and over again.

Starting with tonight.

“Feel good baby?” Harry cooed, spanking your ass with a rough touch.

“Yeah”

“Yeah?” He repeated, spanking you again on the opposite side. Your whine echoed around the room, as did the sound of the dining table squeaking forward against Harry’s nice floorboards. “Say it, baby. Tell me how I’m doing, hm?”

“So good. God, you fuck me so good.” You moaned, “please- go… go harder. Harder.”

Harry picked up the pace, reaching to wrap your hair around his fist so he could pull your head back. “Moan for me, y/n. Moan my name.” He demanded right in your ear, spanking you twice on the same cheek.

“Harry.” You cried out, feeling him smile in satisfaction at how pretty you took the pain. So he spanked you again and again as you moaned loudly into the air.

“That’s it… Good girl. You’re taking it so well…” Harry gritted out, spanking your ass roughly while tightening his hand in your hair. You whined at the sting of your scalp, nearly sobbing at how fast and hard he was fucking into you. “S’like you were made for me, y/n. Just made for my fucking cock.”

He was fucking you so hard, so fucking good that the table kept etching forward and forward. Harry had to keep readjusting his footing and his grip on your hair. He combed his fingers through your hair and wrapped it around his fist, tugging hard when the table slipped forward again.

But he was persistent and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from giving you the fucking you deserved.

“Y’sounds so damn pretty moaning my name, baby. Fucking love how sweet you sound.”

His words elicited a moan; a filthy pretty moan only exaggerated when he tugged your hair harder. “You’re so big. So good.” You cried, “loveyourcock.”

You were addicted to the way he fucked you, even just the way he felt stretching you out but keeping completely still. It felt like you could almost reach an orgasm just like this with no clit stimulation at all which never happened. Nowadays it was your vibrator or nothing and now here you were one orgasm down and another so damn close.

Still, you needed your clit touched and you couldn’t really reach it this way.

The table etched forward once more and right as he pulled back to thrust into you again, the table slid forward making him slip out completely. He effortlessly slid himself back into you to continue, but when it happened a second then a third time you couldn’t help but giggle. Even through the deep pleasure and hazy mind, it was funny.

“Fuck.” He cursed when his cock bumped against your ass cheek instead of where he actually wanted to be. He tapped it against your clit before grinding there, watching you squirm and let out a choked gasp through your light laugh.

“I think we may need to switch rooms.” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at him while panting as you desperately tried to catch your breath. He had let go of your hair for a moment, planning on trying to continue until you suggested moving things elsewhere.

Truth be told, Harry jerked one out before you came. He didn’t plan the evening around having sex with you and would’ve been okay if nothing happened at all, but his cock couldn’t control itself around you. Just your presence and your scent could get him hard in no time so he tried to fuck the frustration out before you even got there.

He was glad he did so too because now that he was in the middle of feeling your sweet sweet cunt, he had a lot more stamina going onto his second orgasm. He could have you riding him through two more orgasms before needing to cum himself and fuck did he want to experience you squirting right on his dick.

“I think so.” He breathed through a laugh and ran his hand through his hair, “c’mere.”

“Mh.” You agreed, standing up on shaky legs and sore hips. Harry grabbed you straight away and helped you turn around to face him. He cupped your face with one hand to guide your mouth to his, deepening it effortlessly while tucking his hands under your thighs so you could jump up and wrap your legs around him.

You were slightly shaky in his arms, sensitive as he placed you gently on the floor in front of his bed. He broke the kiss to look at you for a moment, panting heavily while brushing his nose against yours. There was something about the look in his eyes that had you crumbling inside. They were soft and almost loving; so full of yearning and desire that you were almost scared to look back. It was overwhelming.

Harry danced his fingers down your neck and shoulder to your arm where the strap of your bra had fallen. Every touch was making you shiver and only causing that ache between your thighs to grow. You felt empty. Cold without his cock inside you.

“Take this off. I want to see you.” Harry murmured, searching your eyes while waiting for you to nod before he kissed you once more and climbed onto his bed. He shuffled backwards until he was against his headboard, legs wide and cock hard and waiting for you to climb back onto him.

He never stopped looking at you. Never stopped watching even as he wrapped his own hand around his cock and gave himself a few tugs to the sight of your body becoming bare for him. The prettiest of prettiest lingerie on planet Earth couldn’t compare to the sight of a womans naked body. Your bare, naked body. The soft peaks of your breasts and the way they fell naturally without a bra. The dip of your hips and tummy without the confides of lace. It was glorious.

Harry could barely contain himself.

“You’re a vision.” Harry awed, jaw clenching like he was trying to control himself from dragging you onto the bed and pinning you down.

“So are you.” You whispered while crawling towards him on the bed. You let your hands glide up his thighs once you were situated between them, taking the time to look over every inch of his naked body. You were in awe to put it simply and so goddamn attracted to him you were worried sex would never be the same afterwards.

Because it wasn’t just the pleasure. It was the chemistry. The eye contact. The fact you two had a laugh about him thrusting against your ass cheek instead of inside of you because his table couldn’t handle the pressure. The way you could have that laugh just minutes ago and be back to this. The firey eye contact and his trembling thighs underneath your palms.

“Can I have a taste…” You breathed, licking your lips at the sight of his cock up against his stomach. From this angle he looked even bigger than before and knowing he was just inside you… fuck. You could barely breathe. “Please?”

Harry groaned and wrapped his hand loosely around your neck, only applying light pressure right beneath your jaw. “Just a little, y/n. For now the only place I want to come is with you coming around me.”

If only he was bare inside you…

“Okay… just a taste, H.” You nodded, pressing harder against his palm. You wrapped your palm around his cock, loving the sight of his jaw clenching at the touch. “Can I take this off?” You asked, rubbing over his head at the condom.

“Yeah, baby. Take it off.”

Harry was going to lose his fucking mind.

You were quick to pull off the condom then wasted no time in dipping down and licking a fat stripe from balls to tip on the underside of him. Harry groaned and collected your hair in his hand so he could see your face. Your eyes fluttered closed at the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue.

He was warm and heavy and you could taste yourself right at the base of his cock where your arousal dripped down. You made sure to clean it all up with your tongue, lapping at it while looking at Harry to watch his reaction. He could barely contain himself and with every lick his hand flexed in your hair like he was trying to control himself.

“You can guide me. I like it when I choke.” You murmured, spitting directly onto his tip before sliding it into your mouth to spread it with your tongue.

“God, you’re going to be the end of me.” He groaned, hand tightening in your hair with purpose. Harry reached for your spare hand, intertwining your fingers while pulling your mouth off him for a moment. You were like jelly in his hands, compliant as he instructed you to squeeze his hand once if you were okay and twice if he was too rough or you needed a break. More than happy with that arrangement, you agreed and squeezed his hand in preparation for him to guide your mouth down.

He started to gently maneuver your mouth up and down his length, starting shallow at first before going deeper until he felt the tightness of your throat around him. You choked ever so slightly but squeezed his hand once and enjoyed the feeling of his cock twitch down your throat.

“Look at me…” Harry breathed, forcing your eyes on his. “That’s it… fuck.”

The sight had him gasping and moving your mouth over his cock faster. Your pretty little eyes all glistened with tears… God the sight was one of the hottest things he had ever seen. And the way you just took his cock without complaint and even moaned when you gagged around him… it was like you were made for him.

The feeling of his cock filling your throat was like nothing else. There was just something about choking on a man’s dick that got you all squirmy inside. You had always been a relationship girl and a bit of a ‘late bloomer’ according to those who thought losing your virginity in your early 20s was the biggest sin of the century, but that didn’t mean you were inexperienced.

Your first serious relationship exposed you to things you had always wanted to try. A world of kinks and things you weren’t sure you’d like until you tried them, others you were certain you’d hate until you found out you didn’t. You always considered yourself lucky to have a guy introduce you to sex and provide an environment where you could not only lose your virginity, but experiment without any shame or constraints.

Funny how you ended up married to your next serious relationship after him to a guy who had no interest in anything remotely more exciting than a spank and a sporadic hair pull. You loved Carson enough to be happy with vanilla but fulfilling sex. It wasn’t like it didn’t have any passion, because it did, it just didn’t have this.

What Harry managed to provide you on your first night together (a night far from over as well) Carson couldn’t give you in six years of being together. You weren’t sure you could go back to your old sex life. Not now.

“You look so hot like this.” You gasped, pulling off to breathe while jacking him off with your spare hand. Your other was still intertwined with one his and you had no plans of changing that. “I love having your cock in my mouth, Harry…” you moaned, reaching in to lick his length once more. “Feels so good.”

“Jesus.” Harry groaned, tensing his hand in your hair. “You’re doing so well, y/n. Such a good little cock sucker, aren’t you?”

You moaned filthily at his degrade, letting him slide you back down over his cock. Your whole body was on fire. Even with only a little hand holding and hair tugging, you were beyond turned on and empty between your legs. The sight of him was just so beyond sexy, almost too sexy for you to handle.

His chest was heaving and glistening with sweat. With every pant or moan his abs would contract and his thighs would tremble on either side of your shoulders. You wanted to see him cum so bad. You wanted to watch his jaw contract and his mouth part as he moaned your name.

“You’re gonna make me cum, y/n.” He warned in this almost whine of a tone. “Need to cum inside you.”

“I want it in my mouth. Wanna taste you.” You practically pleaded, tapping his tip against your tongue.

“You’re incredible…” Harry groaned, using his hand on your hair to pull you up towards his mouth. He kissed you hungrily, angling your head in the direction he wanted so he could deepen it. “But…” he panted, breaking just to say that one word before kissing you once more, “I need to…” he nibbled on your lip and grabbed onto the back of your thighs, "… feel you around me when I come.”

You whimpered as he dragged you in a straddle and pressed your wet cunt directly over his cock in a slow deliberate grind. Fucking hell. You just wanted to slip him in, to feel him bare inside you until you were full of his cum.

But you couldn’t. And the fact you were half considering letting it happen on your very first sexual experience out of your marriage was insane. It scared you.

“Condom.” You uttered against his mouth, tugging on his hair ever so slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah.” He breathed, barely able to concentrate when you dragged your mouth along his jaw and neck. Harry reached for his bedside table and grabbed another condom from the top drawer, returning quickly to kiss you again while blindly unwrapping it.

But it was like Harry was stuttering. Fumbling to do something as simple as putting a condom on his own cock. He couldn’t help it really. Not when your mouth was so sweet and erotic, nibbling at his bottom lip until all he could think about was how to hold his breath indefinitely so he could kiss you forever.

And you were growing impatient. The few seconds delay in his movements had you so desperate you leaned back to breathe, took the condom from his hand and rolled it down on his cock in one swift motion.

“Fuck me, baby.” This time it was Harry’s time to plead. He wound his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and kissed you again, panting into your open mouth as you guided him to your entrance and dropped down on him once more.

His cock felt so much bigger from this angle and he felt deeper too even though he was just fucking you so hard his dining room table couldn’t handle the force. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t control the loud whine flooding into his mouth when your clit hit his pubic bone. Or maybe it was because this position was far more intimate than being bent over.

“You’re so big… feels bigger like this.” You gasped, lulling your head back while grabbing his shoulders for balance so you could start bouncing on him and getting a good rhythm going.

“I know…” he cooed, squeezing your hips before spanking you quickly. “Show me how much you need it, huh?” Leaning in, Harry ran his mouth along your exposed neck, panting between little bites and licks on your skin, “show me how good m’cock makes you feel.”

"Love your cock," You whined, already feeling the ache in your thighs as you picked up the speed.

Harry wrapped one arm around you and hugged you tighter while pressing the fingers of his spare hand directly to your clit. And with every bounce, every grind, his fingers stimulated right where you needed it the most. You were already so full with him and now he was giving you the cherry on top so you could finish.

"More... more, please. Need it harder."

"Need it harder?" Harry taunted, hiking his legs up on his feet in a wide position on the bed so he had enough stability to thrust up into you. "Like that?" He chuckled at your cry, squeezing your body in his arm so you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

"Yeah... yeah. Fuck!" you practically sobbed, unable to do anything but grab his hair or shoulders and just take how hard he was fucking into you. His legs were strong and while you were a sobbing, breathless mess above him, Harry wasn't losing momentum at all.

He was sweaty and panting but he never stopped thrusting up into you. At least that's what it felt like. While you gave up and begged for more, Harry was more than happy to take over and give you a fucking you'd never forget.

He thrived being in control. You could tell.

"That's it, y/n. You're taking it so fucking well, y'know that. Just sitting there and taking it like the good little slut you are. My fucking slut..." Harry cooed, dipping down to tug at your nipple. "Got me so fucking close, pretty girl. Just need you to come f'me."

Between his words and lips on your breast... his fingers pressed to your clit and the way his cock was bruising your insides, you couldn't hold on any longer.

“God, Harry. ‘M gonna cum” You cried, trying to warn him of the deep churning in your belly and the trembling in your toes.

"Look at me." He demanded, sliding his hand up into your hair to force your head in his direction. Your eyes fluttered open but despite your vision already hazy, you could clearly see the way his eyes were hooded, pupils wide and hungry. "That's it. Look at me while you cum, baby. Let me see how pretty you look."

Harry pressed his forehead to yours, opened mouths panting and brushed against one another. He watched closely when your mouth gaped wide and your eyes struggled to keep open as your orgasm hit. The way your brows furrowed and your entire body trembled on top of him and he could feel his lap and lower belly become soaked in your release.

It was glorious.

"Good girl." He praised, "Fuck. Fuck!" His words turned to mush when he reached his own orgasm and somehow even pulled you tighter against him so he could feel every inch of your soft skin.

Coming down was all open-mouthed kisses and laboured breaths and this distinct feeling that everything had changed. You two could never go back to casual and you most certainly couldn't look at yourself or your husband the same way ever again.

"I feel bad you only came once." You practically pouted, grabbing another spoonful of pudding to feed it to Harry. "It doesn't really seem fair."

What did seem fair, though, was finishing off the dessert neither of you ate after your intense workout. You were quite enjoying feeding a naked Harry delicious sugary puddings and it just felt morally wrong to leave the dessert sitting there when it was the perfect bridge between round one and two.

"Trust me. I'm more than satisfied." Harry chuckled once swallowing the delicious dessert. He dragged his fingers over your hip, loving how his t-shirt fit your frame. It was so casual and sexy. His clothes had never looked better.

"Well, I hope you're not tired because I'm not and I think I'd like to test your 27-year-old stamina." you shrugged casually, eating the last bite of the sticky date pudding.

"Oh really?" Harry raised his brow and gently took the spoon from your fingers to set them down on the plate. "Two orgasms wasn't enough for you?" He teased, moving the plate out of the way so he could cup your face and gently guide you down onto the bed.

"Mh mh." You shook your head with a smile and clasped your hands around the back of his neck while he adjusted your body to hover over you. "I think at least four..." you curled your leg around his hip and dug your heel right into the pudginess of his bum, "and I wouldn't mind a bit more effort put into making my ass red. You did promise that, didn't you?"

"More effort, huh?" He smirked and grabbed onto the underside of your jaw with a firm grip to pin you to the bed. "You've got no idea what you just started, little girl."

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