Rivals - A Jessie Fleming Imagine
Request: Jessie and R both play at UCLA but R plays for the US national team and the media invents a rivalry between them, both Jessie and R get annoyed at being constantly asked about their 'rivalry', they both talk to each other about it and confess their feelings
A/N: I will probably even less active than I am now (if that's possible) I just started school again and I'm very stressed and booked n busy
“So Jessie,” The reporter began. Jessie looked over to where she heard him speak. “You’re about to start at UCLA after these Olympics, and I’m sure you know, but American player Y/N Y/L/N committed to UCLA as well. Do you think your rivalry with her will effect team dynamics at UCLA?”
Jessie really hated media. She was an introvert at heart and if she had it her way, the media wouldn’t be allowed with 500 feet of the team after a game. They weren’t even scheduled to play the US this tournament unless they both made the finals. Still, all they want to ask is about Jessie’s ‘rivalry’ with Y/N. Jessie doesn’t have a rivalry with anyone, and she hasn’t met Y/N off the field even once. They don’t even really interact on the field when they do play, so Jessie has no idea where the ‘rivalry’ theory came from. Except that they’re both the youngest members of their teams, the same age, both midfielders.
“I don’t think that’s going to effect the team at all,” Jessie says, “I have nothing but respect for her as a player and I think she’s a really strong midfielder and she’s very skilled, so I’m confident that we’re both going to play important roles at UCLA and I’m just excited to get started.”
“You might end up facing the US in the finals, the US obviously are the reigning gold medalists, is that something you and the team are thinking about?”
“Not really,” Jessie said honestly, “That’s not our focus right now because nothing is guaranteed, so our focus right now is on our next game. We put ourselves in a good spot coming out of the group stage, uh, in first place, so we’re just focused on the quarterfinal games.”
***
“Y/N, your focus is obviously on winning gold, but can I ask how you’re feeling about joining UCLA this fall?”
“Yeah,” Y/N says, “I’m thrilled to be joining UCLA and I’m excited to further my development as a player and hopefully help the team win a championship.”
Y/N doesn’t really understand why they always ask her to do media. She doesn’t believe anyone really wants to hear from her over some of the vets. But still, here she is, trying not to pull her hair out at these stupid questions.
“Jessie Fleming is also joining UCLA this year, have you spoken to her at all? We know you two have a sort of on field rivalry, have you spoken to her about the both of you joining UCLA?”
“No, we’ve never really crossed paths outside the field, so I haven’t spoken to her. She’s a great player, though, and I think she’ll be an important part of the team at UCLA.”
***
A lot of the players at UCLA are roommates. Even the freshman in their dorms tend to get paired up with someone from the team. Jessie ends up rooming with Teagan Micah, a keeper from Australia. Jessie likes her, she’s funny, and she’s pretty outgoing, so she drags Jessie along to frosh week activities and Jessie knows if she was left alone she would’ve spent the entirety of her first weeks at school either in class, at practice, or at home.
They have their first practice pretty soon after they move in, since the season starts up right away. The first practice is mostly getting to know each other and the coaches and the style of play they want. It’s different than how Canada plays, so it takes Jessie a second to adjust.
After practice, one of the senior girls calls the team over. She invites everyone to a team bonding night at her place that night.
Jessie gets ready in her dorm with Teagan. Jessie wants to leave so they’ll arrive a bit early, but Teagan just laughs at her, and tells her if a party starts at 8pm, people won’t arrive until 9pm. Jessie wants to say it’s not a party, it’s just for the team to get to know each other, but she doesn’t.
Turns out, it’s a party.
Not only is the soccer team there, but so is the basketball team, the football team, teams that Jessie can’t recognize. She stays near Teagan most of the night, not feeling the most comfortable with the loud music, the drinking, the number of people crammed in a tiny living room. Jessie loses track of Teagan after someone bumps into her, then someone steps in between her and Teagan. Instead of continuing to struggle through people to find Teagan, Jessie goes into the kitchen which is mercifully less full.
Jessie grabs a clean cup and fills it with water from the sink. She hears a commotion and turns, seeing Y/N with a small group enter the kitchen. They make eye contact, and Jessie waves. Y/N nods in acknowledgement. The group begins yelling about shots, and Jessie takes that as her cue to leave. She tries to find Teagan, but it’s impossible, and instead she finds Hallie Mace.
“Hallie!” Jessie yells over the music, “Can you tell Teagan I left? In case she wonders where I went?”
“Yeah, sure Jessie,” Hallie says, “Are you having fun?”
Jessie smiles and nods, and she knows it looks forced, but it satisfies Hallie, who Jessie figures is a little tipsy.
Jessie makes her way outside and walks home, the cool air a relief after how hot it was inside.
Jessie is asleep by the time Teagan comes home, and either Teagan was really quiet, or Jessie was really asleep, because Jessie didn’t hear her come in. The only sign that Teagan did come home is Teagan sleeping in her bed in the clothes she wore last night, hair sticking up in all directions. Jessie sets some Gatorade and Advil on the nightstand for her before she leaves for class.
***
It’s not that Y/N is intentionally avoiding Jessie.
There is truly no bad blood or actual rivalry or whatever people want to believe. It’s just that there’s not much overlap between them except on the field. They’re not in the same program, so they don’t share classes together, they don’t really share the same friends, outside the team. Y/N is friends with the people in her class, other student athletes, and Jessie is friends with people from her classes, and the soccer team. Y/N doesn’t even really notice it, until the online comments start.
It starts with a clip from one of their games. Jessie and Y/N were both on the bench, after being subbed out, and Jessie sat after grabbing water and her pinny, and Y/N stayed standing.
omg they haaate each other
they won’t even sit together its so over
LMAO Y/N really can’t stand Canadians there’s miles of space on that bench to sit and she STANDS???
Y/N frowns when she sees it. It wasn’t intentional, she wasn’t not sitting because she didn’t want to sit with Jessie. She prefers standing for a bit after she’s subbed out. It’s a mini cool down, and she likes bringing her heartrate down before she sits and fully relaxes.
Then it’s the clip from the Olympics, when Y/N said she doesn’t talk to Jessie. All Y/N meant by that is that they hadn’t crossed paths, through no fault of theirs, it’s just how things happened. Of course, everyone decided she meant that she refuses to talk to Jessie.
There’s rumours on campus about a bad fight the two had, about how they played against each other with their national teams and after they got into it off the field. Another lie, because they’ve truly never encountered each other after a game. Still, some of Y/N’s new friends ask her about it, ask her what Jessie did, what really went down. Y/N tells them the same thing each time, nothing happened, there’s no hatred or rivalry, they’re simply two people whose lives don’t really overlap and that’s all there is.
***
USA and Canada don’t even play each other at the next FIFA window. The US plays in the SheBelieves Cup and Canada plays in the Algarve Cup. All Jessie wants to do is focus on the games. She can’t, however, because the first media appearance she does, the first question is about Y/N.
“She’s a great player,” Jessie says, “She brings a lot to the team and I’m happy that for most of the time she’s on my team and not playing against me.”
It doesn’t help that her teammates bother her about it too.
“How is it really?” Janine asks, “Does the team have to build a barrier between you guys?”
“Janine,” Jessie sighs, “We don’t hate each other. We’re literally normal teammates.”
“Oh, come on, you won’t even tell me the juicy details?” Janine whines, “I’m your best friend!”
“Beckie, leave her alone,” Sophie Schmidt says. Jessie almost thanks Sophie, then Sophie keeps talking. “Jessie doesn’t want to spend her rare time away from her enemy thinking about her.”
“She’s not my enemy!” Jessie snaps, “You guys suck.”
***
“Sooooo…” Kelley slides in next to Y/N at the lunch table. “How are things at school?”
“Good?” Y/N says, “Why?”
“I’m just wondering!” Kelley says, “I want to make sure you’re handling things, you know, balancing school with soccer, all those things.”
“Yeah, it’s good. I’m good.”
“Aaand the team is good?”
“Why are you being so weird?” Y/N says.
“I’m not! Alex, am I being weird?” Kelley yells over at Alex across the room.
“You usually are,” Alex comes over and joins them at the table, “What are you being weird about now Kel?”
“I’m just asking her how school is!” Kelley insists. Alex rolls her eyes.
“Kelley wants to ask how Jessie Fleming is, but she’s trying to be subtle about it.”
“Alex!”
“Jessie is fine,” Y/N interrupts before the two can start bickering.
“Do you guys get along?” Kelley asks.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Y/N sighs, “Are you seriously talking about that stupid rivalry thing? That’s just a bunch of BS.”
“Do you guys hang out? Are you friends?”
“Oh my god,” Y/N groans, “Can’t I eat without everyone bringing up Jessie? They’re not even in the same tournament as us, can I not get a fucking break?”
Kelley and Alex share a look.
***
It only gets worse from there. As Canada and the US start playing each other more, and the longer Jessie and Y/N play together at UCLA, and seemingly don’t get along, the more they get asked about it, the more comments are made online, the more frustrated Y/N gets.
Y/N sludges through the mud on her way to practice. It’s been unexpectedly rainy the past few days. Y/N thought LA was supposed to be hot and sunny all year round, and she thought she would spend her days basking in the sun, wearing suntan lotion and getting tan, not stepping in mud and puddles. When she gets to the field, she’s surprised the only other person there is Jessie.
“Am I really late or really early?” Y/N asks.
“I was asking myself the same thing,” Jessie says, “I’m always early but usually the coaches are already here.”
Y/N sets her bag down on the least muddy spot, and shakes her head.
“I thought LA was supposed to be sunny,” Y/N says. Jessie laughs.
“The rain is actually a relief for me,” Jessie says, “There’s not this much sun in Canada, I’m not used to it.”
Y/N laughs. Of course the Canadian likes the rain.
“I’m not surprised no one else showed up,” Y/N says, “The field is a bit waterlogged.” Y/N points down at her feet, her cleats sunk an inch into the mud.
“You can leave if you want,” Jessie says, “I’m gonna stay and run around for a bit, but you don’t have to stay if you’d rather get out of the mud.”
Y/N considers it. She would really like to go back to her dorm and take a hot shower. But she thinks of Jessie, here all alone, and she can’t leave.
“No, I’ll stay, might as well get some work in for the game this weekend.”
Y/N thinks Jessie means she’s going to stay and run drills, so Y/N waits for her to be ready to warm up. She’s too focused on the way her cleats are getting caked in mud to notice the mischievous smile on Jessie’s face. Y/N gasps and jumps back as a wad of mud hits her chest. She looks at Jessie who’s laughing.
“Oh, it’s on.”
Y/N pounces before Jessie can run, tackling her into the mud. They roll around until they’re both covered in mud and laughing so hard their sides hurt. They run around, trying to push each other into puddles. After a bit, Y/N suggests they play 1 on 1 against each other to ‘see who’s really the better midfielder’. They go back and forth a bit, and the score remains even, both equally matched. It goes until Jessie’s up by one, having stripped the ball from Y/N on defense. Jessie dribbles up to Y/N and Y/N knows immediately that she made a mistake, committing too far one way and Jessie easily goes the other. She does it without thinking, one second watching Jessie cut the other way and the next she has her arms around Jessie’s waist, pulling her back until the two of them are tripping backwards into the mud.
Jessie sputters, mouth gaping open.
“That’s a foul! That’s a red!”
“There’s no refs!” Y/N says, “No refs, no rules! We’re tied again, you didn’t get past me.”
“We are not tied! That doesn’t count!” Jessie says, “I had you beat! I fooled you so bad you had to foul me to stop me!”
“What foul? I didn’t hear a foul call,” Y/N knows she’s being annoying, but she refuses to concede the point. “The rules were you had to get past me, and you didn’t get past me. You lost the ball, therefore, my point.”
“You little…”
Before Y/N can react, Jessie is up and running to the ball. She starts dribbling it away from Y/N.
“There! I recovered the ball and got past you! My point!”
“Get back here!” Y/N chases after her.
Y/N runs after Jessie, yelling the whole time, with Jessie yelling back at her. Y/N almost has her, has her fingers in Jessie’s jersey, ready to give it a tug back, and she startles to a stop when a voice rings out.
“You know practice was canceled today, right?” Teagan stands on the edge of the field.
“We sort of figured that,” Y/N says, out of breath.
“Are the two of you going to clean up before team dinner, or is being covered in the mud the new style?”
“I forgot about dinner,” Jessie says, “We should go shower. It’s going to take a while to get all this mud off.”
“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N yells after them as they walk away.
***
They don’t necessarily start hanging out after that. They still exist in different circles, but it’s more like they partner up in practice, or sit together at team meals, or Y/N plops into the seat behind Jessie on the bus.
Comments start to swirl again after one of their games against USC. USC is one of their biggest rivals and the stands are always packed, each team fighting for a win. UCLA pulled out the win, thanks to a goal from Jessie. Jessie gets pulled into an on field interview after the game and Y/N sneaks up behind her and dumps her almost full Gatorade on Jessie’s head.
“I’ll get you back for that!” Jessie yells, before clearly remembering she’s in the middle of an interview. “Sorry,” Jessie says, “What was the question?”
The clip circulates, people asking if they’ve squashed their beef, if it’s all for show, or if they’re really friends. Y/N rolls her eyes at all the comments.
They end up playing against each other with their national teams in a friendly. While in the tunnel waiting to head out on the field, Y/N finds where Jessie’s standing in line.
“Psst, Fleming,” Y/N gets her attention, “Can I get your jersey after the game?”
“Sure,” Jessie says, “But I don’t want yours. I’d rather die than wear American colours.”
Y/N sticks her tongue out at Jessie, but smiles when Jessie has to turn away to keep from laughing. She catches Kelley staring at her, raising her eyebrows. What? Y/N mouths at her. Kelley raises her arms in surrender and focuses back at the front.
After the game Y/N and Jessie meet in the middle of the field. Y/N already has her jersey off. She holds it out to Jessie.
“The whole point of a jersey swap is the swapping of jerseys, now give.”
Jessie rolls her eyes and pulls off her jersey, handing it to Y/N. They put on the others jersey and Jessie makes a face.
“This feels illegal.”
“Let’s take a photo,” Y/N drags Jessie over to the nearest photographer. She’s more than happy to get one of the two of them in each other’s jerseys and promises to send it to both of them.
***
After the game, a lot of the teams plan to meet up since a lot of them are friends and teammates on their club teams. Jessie isn’t 21 yet, and she really doesn’t know anyone on the US team very well, so she stays behind. She should probably do some homework anyway.
Jessie’s finished showering and doing her post game routine and about to pull out her textbooks, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Hey,” Y/N says when Jessie opens the door, “Everyone’s out drinking, except us it seems. Wanna hang?”
Y/N doesn’t wait for an answer before she pushes into the room and flops on the closest bed.
“That’s Janine’s bed,” Jessie says as she closes the door. Y/N groans and moves to the other bed.
“It’s so lame being under 21,” Y/N says, “Everyone ditches us to go to bars and stuff.”
“I don’t like bars anyway,” Jessie says, “I’d rather stay in.”
“I don’t mind staying in, I guess, I like hanging out with you, I’ll skip the bar if you’re here.”
Jessie doesn’t answer, looking away before Y/N can see how her cheeks grow red.
“Did you see this?” Y/N turns her phone to Jessie, “People are going crazy over the picture of us from the game. They’re trying to prove it’s a PR stunt since we tooootally hate each other.”
“All that rivalry stuff is pretty stupid. There was never anything to it.”
“You know everyone wants to create drama when there isn’t any.”
“I never…” Jessie turns to look at the wall, talking quietly, “I never had any problem with you, even before we became friends. I hated the rivalry crap. I always thought… I thought you were cool and I wanted to talk to you, but I thought you might’ve really hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” Y/N says, “Jess.” Jessie hears Y/N shifting on the bed and Y/N gently grabs Jessie’s shoulder and turns Jessie to face her. “I didn’t hate you, I thought you were cool too. You’re such a good player and everyone liked you so much. I didn’t know what to say to you.”
“I don’t think I’m that cool,” Jessie mutters.
“You’re way cool!” Y/N says, “You’re one of the best midfielders in the world and you’re still in college! And your photography stuff is really good, and everyone likes you, and, I think you’re really awesome Jess.”
Jessie feels like she might cry, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want Y/N to see her cry, she doesn’t want to try to explain why a few nice words from Y/N are making her cry. She panics, because she can feel the tears coming and she doesn’t know how to stop it. Y/N is looking at her intently, and Jessie stops thinking. Before she knows it, her lips are on Y/N’s. She pulls back almost as quickly as she leaned in.
“I’m so sorry,” Jessie says. She feels like she might cry even more now.
“Oh,” Y/N breathes, “Oh. I didn’t realize…”
“I’m so sorry. I get it if you don’t want hang out with me anymore. I’m so sorry.”
Jessie keeps apologizing, not able to do anything else. She’s expecting Y/N to slap her, or to just walk out of the room and never talk to her again. She wonders how easy it is to transfer schools, she doesn’t want to leave UCLA, but she doesn’t know if she can face Y/N again. Lost in her thoughts, she freezes when Y/N kisses her again.
“Sorry,” Y/N says, “But I didn’t know how else to get to you to stop apologizing. I’m not mad, I like you too. I didn’t think you liked me back, so I didn’t say anything. I like you, Jess.”
“Really?” Jessie asks, “You… you like me?” Y/N nods. “I-I like you too,” Jessie says shyly.
Jessie covers her face and falls back on the bed. Y/N laughs and follows her. When Jessie uncovers her face, Y/N is facing her, looking at her with a soft smile on her face. Jessie takes a deep breath and works up her nerve. She reaches a hand out and slides her hand over Y/N’s. Y/N grins and laces their fingers together. Hours later, they fall asleep like that, hands clasped between them, and Jessie wakes up to the sound of a camera shutter.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Janine whispers, “I felt like we needed photo evidence of this moment.”
“Please don’t post that anywhere,” Jessie says, and she rolls over and falls back asleep.
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You Again*
Summary: The one where Harry is your sister's ex-boyfriend and you finally get to see him again after 5 years.
Word Count: 11.4k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, age gap (6 years), sir kink, choking, use of a toy, exhibitionism if you squint!
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
Your eyes widen as you look up toward the man making his way into the diner. You'd recognize him anywhere. The dark curly hair. The tattoos that bleed through the fabric of his light shirt. The rings on his fingers.
Just like that, years' worth of memories come flooding back to you all at once.
"Harry," you shriek, sliding off the stool before practically flinging yourself into his arms.
He smells exactly the same. Like teakwood and spearmint. A rather odd mix, yet subtle enough to remind you of home.
Of him.
His chest vibrates with a deep laugh as his arms wrap around your frame to keep you against him, prolonging the hug a minute or two longer than socially acceptable.
And when you finally lean back to see him, your cheeks begin to warm.
It's been...four years? Five? Since you last saw him? Just days before he and your sister broke up, effectively removing him from your life for good.
It had been a hard time. You wanted to be there for your sister. To comfort her through the grief of losing such a long and meaningful relationship.
But you wanted to be there for him, too. After all, he was one of your best friends, age difference or not. He had always been the comforting, influential figure in your life that you relied on. That you counted on to get through different hardships in your life.
He had picked you up after your first day at your new job. Had held you in his arms as you cried over your first break-up. He had even listened to you talk about the boy you had fallen in love with.
Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself.
And now, five years later...that part of you has come home.
"Hi, Dot," he beams, reaching out to take hold of your chin and squeeze. "Shit, look at you. When did this happen?"
His eyes rake over your figure and you feel your skin grown hot under his appreciative gaze. "Stop, it hasn't been that long."
"The last time I saw you, I was helping you move into your new apartment across town,” he recalls, arms crossing in thought. "And now...now what? You’re still at your job, I assume?"
"I am. I just got a promotion, actually. I’m an assistant editor now.”
His eyes seem to light up, that soft green sending chills up the back of your neck as you glance down at your feet. "Dot...that's amazing. I'm so proud of you."
You wave the compliment away. "Thanks."
"Really," he insists before following you back to the counter where you'd previously been sitting. "I know how badly you wanted to pursue a career in publishing, and this...this is really amazing. Do you like it?"
"I do," you tell him as you settle back onto your stool. "Yeah, it's really nice. The people are great, the work is fun. Plus, the promotion came with a raise."
"That's amazing," he sighs, head shaking like he can't believe it. "Really, that's so...I honestly can't believe it. I can't believe it’s been so long. You’re so…adult now.”
You snort to yourself as you twirl your straw around your milkshake. "Yeah, I know. Though I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”
"You should." He smiles, and it's big and beautiful. "You’ve always been grown up. Even before, you were mature for your age.”
“Well…yeah. I was twenty-three. That does make me an adult.”
“And now you’re twenty-eight.” He shakes his head again. “I can’t fucking believe it.”
You glance down at the rim of your glass. He’s right, it almost doesn’t seem possible. It feels like only last week that you were following him and your sister around town, begging to be included. Traipsing after them to bars, the mini golf course, and to any and all dates. Even though you knew your sister couldn’t stand it.
But Harry was nice and always inclusive. After all, he was your friend before he was your sister’s boyfriend. And he was determined to make sure that didn’t change, no matter how many times Atta rolled her eyes.
"I don't know how you put up with me," you finally admit. "God, I was so annoying. Atta used to get so mad at me for never leaving you alone."
He shrugs one shoulder up. "You weren't annoying to me. I liked it. I mean, I liked that you still felt so...safe? Around me? I guess?"
"Yeah, I did.” You smile. “Honestly, I think you were my best friend.”
He laughs as he looks back over. "I better have been.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Cause you were mine.”
"Good."
He smirks. "Remember how you used to fall asleep on my shoulder every time we watched a movie?”
"That's right," you groan, burying your face into the palm of your hand. "See? Annoying."
"Not annoying. Cute."
"It was not cute, it was annoying. And you know she hated it.”
“I don’t care. She fell asleep on my shoulder, too. It was nice.”
You snort. “It was weird, let’s face it. But I swear I've outgrown such habits."
He seems to hesitate for only a moment, eyes flicking between yours. "Too bad."
A beat.
You feel your stomach flip as you look away, breaking you both free of the tension. "So...what, um...what brings you to town? I was a little surprised to hear from you."
He takes the cup of coffee the waitress had poured him and slides it closer. "Oh, yeah, I'm...I'm here on business. And I remembered you lived here, so...I thought I’d reach out.”
"I see."
"Yeah.” He hesitates again. "And...I missed you."
You can’t fight the flutter in your chest. "I missed you, too, Har."
The conversation lulls as the busy diner continues to bustle around you. And despite how glad you are to see him, something feels...off. Different.
You aren't sure what. Can't quite put your finger on it. It almost feels like it used to, but something has changed. He looks like your Harry. He sounds like your Harry. He feels like your Harry. And yet, he feels like a stranger.
Maybe it's because it's been so long since you've seen him. Maybe it's because you aren't twenty-three anymore. Or maybe it’s because now he’s no longer Harry, your sister’s boyfriend.
Now he’s just…Harry. Your old friend.
When you notice the way he’s staring, your eyes narrow. “What?”
"Nothing." He shrugs again before chuckling under his breath. "No, nothing. Sorry, I just...I don't know. It's just...so strange to see you again. Like this."
"Like...this?"
"Yeah. Just us. Alone. No Atta.”
“Ah.” You swallow. “Right.”
“It’s not…weird, is it? I mean, it is weird but it’s not…uncomfortable, right?”
“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I wanted to meet you. What happened with you two has nothing to do with me.”
He glances down at his lap. “Right.”
There’s an edge to the memory that wasn’t there before, yet despite your curiosity, you bite your tongue.
“What about you?” you say instead. “What have you been up to in the last five years?”
He smirks. “Oh, not much.”
“Uh-huh. You think I’ve grown up, you’re basically an old man now.”
“Yeah, yeah, all right. I’m only 34.”
“That’s still six years older than me, which makes you old.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious. You're not that idiot on a motorcycle anymore. Now you say things like, 'I'm in town on business,” and you wear expensive suits, and ridiculous watches."
He glances down at the aforementioned object on his wrist. "In my defense, this was a gift.”
“Sure.”
“It was,” he insists. His eyes flick over your face. “Look, I would have reached out sooner, but…after we broke up, I figured you wouldn’t want me to. I mean, you had just started your new job, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be a side, so…”
“There were no sides,” you argue softly. “You both just…grew apart. You wanted different things.”
“Yeah,” he agrees with a sigh. “But I know it hurt her. It hurt me, too. And it was weird having to say goodbye to all of you. And leave all those memories behind. You were both such a huge part of my life."
"Yeah," you whisper. "You were a huge part of mine, too."
"Does Atta know you're meeting me?"
"No. Didn't really think it was any of her business. This is about us, not her."
His brow raises. "Would she be mad if she did?"
"I don't know,” you admit. “Probably not, but...would it really matter?"
"Of course it would. I'd never want to get in the way of your relationship."
"You aren't," you insist. "Look, she's dating somebody anyway. And I'm sure you are, too. You've both moved on. We're just...old friends catching up, and she'd have to understand that."
He seems to consider this before saying, "Yeah. I'm not, though."
"You're not...what?"
"Seeing anybody," he clarifies, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip. "Haven't really dated anybody since she and I broke up."
"Oh, Harry," you murmur. "I'm...I'm sorry—"
"No. No, don't be," he insists. "It wasn't...I've just been busy. Working at the firm and renovating my house. I've gone on some dates but nothing serious. I just...haven't met the right person, I guess."
"The right person, huh?" you muse teasingly as you take a sip of your drink. "Okay, and what does Harry Styles' right person look like?"
He exhales an amused chuckle. "God, I don't know. I don't really think I'm that picky. Just...anybody I can get along with, I suppose."
"That's it? No, 'They need a fat ass and the ability to make me a sandwich?'"
He grins so big, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "For fuck's sake. No, nothing like that. Look, I don't know. Call me old fashioned, but...I think sometimes you meet somebody, and you can just...tell. You know? There's this energy, this shift. You look at them...and it all just makes sense.”
And as he looks you, waiting for you to consider this…the air shifts.
"Yeah," you agree quietly, allowing your attention to fall down his features and land on his lips. "Yeah, that's...you're right."
He seems to notice the way your focus has wandered because he quickly clears his throat and looks back down at his mug. "What, um...what about you? I'm assuming you're seeing somebody."
You look away as well, willing yourself to calm. "Oh? And why do you assume that?"
"Come on," he nearly snorts, eyebrow cocking. "Look at you. You're beautiful and you're smart and you have this effortless ability to make anyone around you feel good. Who wouldn't want to date you?"
"Well...pretty much every male in the city," you retort. "I don't know. I've tried dating but...there's always something missing. It never really feels quite right."
"Yeah. I know what you mean," he hums. "There's this...disconnect. Like you're forcing something that you know isn't right."
"Exactly! It's not that I don't want to find somebody, I just...haven't. It's not as easy as it is with you."
His head tilts. "With me?"
"Yeah, you know," you sigh, hands waving about the air as you try to explain your point. "I haven't seen you in five years but we still, just...picked right back up, you know? As if no time had passed. We're still just us. We can talk, and we can laugh, and we don't have to force anything."
He nods. "Right."
"I mean, honestly? Sometimes I think it would be easier to date somebody I already know. The problem is that all the guys I know are assholes. And too immature, I guess. They've got no sense of purpose, no drive. And it’s not like I need to be taken care of, but…it’d be nice to know they could. You know?”
"Yeah. You need someone with a good head on their shoulders."
"Exactly. I need someone who feels more like an equal than this thing I need to take care. I want to date a man, not a Tamagotchi."
He laughs again and the sound brings the butterflies back to your stomach. You feel proud to have amused him. And even more proud of the way he casually places a hand on your arm as he takes a deep breath.
When he lets go, you look down at the spot on your skin as if you can still see outline of his fingers.
"You'll find somebody," he tells you, and you do your best to ignore the sparks dancing up the back of your neck. "You will. And they'll be perfect for you. Old enough to know better and wise enough to do it right."
You place your palm over the spot he once touched, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Hey, and you, too. Anybody would be lucky to have you."
His eyes linger on yours. "Yeah?"
You smile. "Yeah."
The next few minutes are devoted to sharing stories about your families. He asks how your parents are, you ask about his. He tells you about his job and you tell him about your roommate. You recall every detail of the past five years, and once you've finally caught up to today, he pays for your drinks, and offers to walk you home.
You make your way along the busy streets of the city as Harry tells you that he's thinking about getting a cat. You laugh and tell him that he'd make a wonderful cat dad, and he seems to flush.
You wonder why.
Fifteen minutes later, you're walking up the steps to your building, already apologizing for the messy state of your apartment before he's even stepped foot inside.
He snorts the implication away, assuring you that no matter what, it can't be worse than how Atta used to keep her place.
And the mention of your sister breeds an odd feeling in your chest. Unease, and this strange tinge of jealousy. Like you're almost peeved at him for bringing her up. For reminding you that he's seen the inside of her room before.
But you shake it away as you push the door open, refusing to linger on the thought.
"Well...this is it," you declare, stepping aside to let him enter. "Probably looks smaller than you remember, but…it does the trick.”
He takes a moment to glance over your knickknacks and decor before he grins. “I love it.”
"Really?"
"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his expensive coat pockets and nods. "Yeah, really. It feels...fitting."
"What do you mean?"
"I don’t know. It just feels like you.”
Your teeth gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you walk to the kitchen. "Well...thanks. I think."
You offer him a glass of water, to which he declines, before you join him back by the door. You're not sure that you’re quite ready to say goodbye, but you know he can't stay forever.
You wonder if you actually want him to.
You wonder if it would be so bad if you did.
"This was…really nice," he says as he takes a half-step through the doorframe. "Really, Dot. I'm proud of you. And everything you’ve done. And I'm really glad that I can still call you my friend after everything."
Your heart starts to pound a little harder inside your chest. "Yeah, me too. I really missed you, Har. I hope we can catch up again soon."
The side of his mouth curls up as his eyes soften. "I'd like that."
With that, he moves into the hall, and you close the door behind him.
The feeling that follows is...strange. Overwhelming. Like something is wrong. Like something has just been ripped away from you.
Like something is missing.
You feel on edge. Off-balance. Confused and unsure and you have no idea why. There’s a pain in your stomach that wasn’t there before and a hollowness in your heart that didn’t exist before you saw him.
Suddenly, there's a sharp knock on your door. "Dot?"
He's back.
Confused and slightly excited, you swing it back open to find him braced against your frame. He’s quiet as he studies you, brows woven together in what appears to be deep thought before he strides back inside your apartment and begins to pace your floor.
"Okay," he begins. Strained. "Okay, tell me...tell me this isn't just me. Tell me this isn't just in my head."
You shut the door. "What do you mean?”
He looks at you before frantically gesturing between your two bodies. "This. This thing we’ve been doing all afternoon. Tell me it's not just me. Tell me you feel it.”
And you're almost certain you know what he means, but the implication of it scares the shit out of you.
So, you simply tilt your head. "Har...feel what? I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Us.” He stares at you. “Us, there's something...there's something different here. Something that wasn't here before."
"Like...?"
"Like...like the way you look at me," he says, eyes on yours as you feel your heart begin to race. "You never used to look at me that way."
Your lashes flutter, and suddenly, you feel acutely aware of the way you've begun to gawk at him. Have you been looking at him differently?
"And the way you speak to me," he continues. "Talking about needing someone to take care of you. Someone older. Someone...more mature."
You swallow.
He takes a step closer. "And all day, you've just...you’ve found a way to brush your hand against mine. Or your arm. And you laugh at everything I say, even when it isn't funny. And I know you. I know this can't be what I think it is, but...you gotta tell me I'm not going crazy. You have to tell me it's not just...me."
And you realize now that you have an easy way out. You could brush off the accusation and tell him that it is just in his head. That he's your sister's ex-boyfriend, and he's your friend, and that you would never make a pass at him.
But then you say, "…what if it wasn't just you?"
He goes still, lips parting as he leans back. Almost as if struggling to understand what you've just said.
Truth be told, you're struggling to understand it yourself. You hadn't realized just how differently you'd been acting toward him. Or that you’d begun to wonder what would happen if he was your Harry instead of hers.
Because he’s not hers anymore. He’s just a man. A very attractive man. With a job, and a house, and enough emotional maturity not to make a fart joke every three minutes.
And it's not your fault that you're starting to see him in a different light. It's been years. Five whole years since you've spoken to him and you're both adults now. Completely different people, and would it really be the worst thing if you wondered what could have been?
"Dot…" he begins slowly, clearly wrestling with what he wants to say, "…you don't…I don't think you really know what you're doing."
You take a step as well, challenging him. "What am I doing?"
"You're...you're—" His fingers find the bridge of his nose as he squeezes. Hard. "Fuck, Dot. Don't…don't do this—"
"Do what? Flirt with you?"
His palms fly to his ears with a wince. "Stop. No, you didn't...you didn't say that. You're not flirting with me. You're not flirting with me—"
"What if I am?" you retort, following after him with a surge of confidence you didn’t realize you had. "Why would that be so wrong?"
"Because,” he scoffs, shooting a stern look your way. "You’re Atta’s little sister. And we’re friends. And you’re basically a child—"
"I'm not a child," you remind him. "I'm twenty-eight. I've been making capable decisions for quite some time now—"
"But not this," he hisses, the muscles in his neck straining. "Not…shit. You can't do this. You can't—”
"Why not? You said it yourself, there's something different here—"
"But not this—"
"Why not?"
"Because…you're you," he huffs. "You're...you're my best friend, and my ex’s little sister, and I’m…I’m just this big, bad man come to ruin you.”
And somehow, the idea goes straight to your cunt.
"You're not ruining me, Harry," you say, even though you wish he would. "We’re adults. Old friends catching up and realizing that maybe things can be different now."
He takes in a breath. "But they can't be. They can't be different—"
"Why—"
"Because it's not right—"
"What's not right? What?" you argue. "Is it just the age difference? Is it Atta? Is it that you aren't attracted to me, because I know you were flirting with me, too—"
His entire face twists into a grimace as he inhales sharply and presses his hands back over his ears. "God. Don't say that—"
"You were," you insist. "Like it or not, I'm not the little girl you used to know. All right, and there's...there's nothing wrong with us testing the waters—"
He steels himself, arms dropping back to his sides. "We can't."
"Why?" you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. "Why can't we? Huh? We're not breaking any rules. We're not doing anything illegal. I don't see what's so wrong with just trying—"
"I'd ruin you," he says again, with so much conviction that it makes your stomach drop. "I would ruin any chance you had at a normal relationship—a normal life. All right, being with me...it would complicate everything. And I'd never do that to you—"
"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to try—"
"Try what?"
"Try seeing." You take another step, making sure you have his full attention. "Just…try seeing if what we think is here is actually here. If maybe we were meant to find each other again after all this time. If this is where it all finally makes sense."
He considers this for a moment. Considers you. And you aren't sure when you suddenly became so enamored by the thought of Harry, but you’re here now. And he’s here. And there’s a shift.
And it feels right.
Then, his head begins to shake. "No. No, I know better. I have to know better. I have to do better than this. I can't...God, I can't believe I'm even...no. No, you mean too much to me for me to ruin this."
You feel your chest deflate as your lips press into a thin line. And you stare at him. You stare and you see the indecision and anguish on his face. You see the way he wrestles with the idea you've given him. The way he wrestles with himself.
The way he wrestles with you.
You don't want to push him. Because you know this is something you can never take back. And maybe there's just too much adrenaline in your veins right now. Maybe you aren't thinking straight, and once he leaves and the moment passes, you’ll wonder what you were so worked up about anyway.
But right now, all you feel is disappointment.
"Fine," you whisper, and his eyes soften. "No, fine. You're right. You're right, this is...I never should have said anything. I was…confused. I was just happy to see you again and I thought it was something else, but…you're right. It's nothing. And I don't wanna be your mid-life crisis. I just want us to be friends again.”
Your tiny apartment falls silent as you both settle onto this conclusion. As you let your heartbreak dangle in the air.
Then, his fingers between to flex and his teeth begin to grit, and watch in real time as he starts to change his mind.
Then, he murmurs, “Oh, fuck it.”
Next thing you know, he's closing the gap between you, taking hold of your face and kissing you hard.
You don’t have time to process it. Don’t even care to process it. But you don’t care. Because everything makes sense now.
So, you feel him. Surrender to him. Indulge in the dominate pull of his hands on your jaw as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. As he presses his hips so hard into yours that you feel your knees go weak.
You make a noise in your throat as he goes deeper, and he growls. Like he's fighting himself. Fighting the urge to take as he begins roughly walking you back until you’re slammed against the wall.
He knows exactly what he's doing in a way that younger men never have. He makes you feel both taken care of and somehow, still completely helpless. You don't have to think about anything with him because he does everything.
He presses his strong, tall frame into yours until he practically disappears into you. His large hand grips onto the back of your neck as you whimper, taking control of the moment—of you—until the only thought left in your head is just more.
And you don't doubt that he'd give you more if you asked, but before you can, he pulls back, and puts the moment on pause.
You feel breathless. Dejected. Wilting in his hold as he meets your eye and looks for your reaction.
But he won’t find it. And you bite back a whine as you wait for him to come back.
He sweeps his thumbs along your cheek before sighing to himself. "Dot..."
You feel your stomach turn at the nickname. At the way it comes out raspy and desperate. "Don’t say it."
But he does, anyway. "We shouldn't do this."
"I know," you murmur, fingers disappearing into his hair while he seems to nestle into your touch. "I know, but I want to. I want to, Har. So…please don’t make me lose you again.”
Another beat passes before he groans and presses his forehead to yours. “God,” he nearly growls, and the sound makes your thighs squeeze together. “Dot—”
"I won't tell," you promise while his jaw clenches. "I won't, I swear. I'll be your secret."
Just like that, the hand he placed on your thigh tightens. Squeezing until you're squirming beneath him. He’s losing his conviction and you’re losing your patience.
"This is wrong," he mumbles. "S'wrong, Dot. I can't do this to you. Can't do this with you...I can't...I know better. I have to do better.”
You tug on his hair as you straighten up, whining beneath a strained breath. "I don’t want you to do better. I want you to do me.”
He exhales deeply with this, nose running down the side of your face as his lips travel to your neck. He seems to take refuge there, subtly pressing kisses to your throat as he thinks. "I want to," he tells you softly. "You have no idea how badly I want to. How badly I want to do everything for you. Show you how a real man fucks. Until you see stars.”
"Har," you just about gasp, anxious to have him do just that. "Please...please—"
"Fuck." His thigh slots between the both of yours and you writhe against him, searching for anything you might find. "Be so easy to take you. Be so easy to show you what you're missing. To wreck you until you’re begging for more—"
"So do it," you plead, pulling on him until his mouth meets yours. "Do it, Har. Please. Just once. Just once, and I promise I'll be so good. Be so good for you. Won't ever ask you again—"
His hold on you grows more determined before he's ripping you away from the wall and slinging you toward your bed a few feet away.
He’s on you in seconds, hovering about where you lie as you greedily grab for him. "Promise me," he hisses as his palm slips beneath your shirt, and a needy whimper bleeds from your throat. "Promise me that this is what you want."
"I promise," you repeat quickly, arching into his touch. "Promise—"
"Promise me...that you'll be good," he says next, fingers brushing over the material of your bra. "That you'll behave. That you'll do exactly what I tell you."
"Yes," you breathe, eyes falling shut.
"Fucking promise me..." he continues as he scratches down your chest, "...that you won't tell. That you'll be my dirty little secret. That you'll be mine. That you'll let me ruin you and that you'll fucking thank me for doing it—"
The last domino falls. Crashes to the ground as you tug him down to you so you can kiss him. So, you can prove your loyalty. Prove that this is everything you’ve ever wanted.
You feel him smile.
"You little fucking minx,” he purrs.
Your skin warms as Harry's stunned but unceasingly enthralled gaze lingers on the red lace of your underwear. However, his fingers move instead for your hips. His hauntingly empty touch ghosting across the fabric of your underwear as you anxiously await contact.
But he doesn't give it to you. Not quite, not yet. He just wants to look at you. Wants to drink you in. Allow himself the privilege of seeing what he never has before.
"Did you wear these just for me, little one?" he asks in a gravely drawl, eyes flicking up to yours from where he lays between your thighs.
You swallow as you look across your stomach at him. You're not sure why you picked out this particular set today. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice or perhaps destiny was simply on your side.
"Maybe," you murmur, nails curling into your palm as you work in shallow breaths. God, you need him to touch you. Need him to do something about the mess that's sitting two inches in front of his face.
The very same mess he's pretending he doesn't notice.
Your response encourages a smirk as he hums and glances back down at the little white bow placed delicately in the center. "S'cute, Dot," he says softly, pinching the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. "Fucking precious, actually. Knowing you got yourself all dolled up. Just to see me."
He pulls his lip between his teeth and glances back over your face. He's amused by the weary and desperate expression you wear and you're two seconds away from groaning.
His touch moves down. Down, down, down until the pad of his finger brushes over your clit.
You tense before releasing a shaky exhale.
Satisfied with this reaction, he moves even lower. Until he finds that growing wet patch that's beginning to hurt.
"What's this?" he coos, looking down toward the darkened red fabric. "Oh, darling...s'this for me, too?"
You're not sure where your quippy attitude from before has gone because now you can do nothing but nod mutely as you shift beneath his hand.
"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he grins at you. "Is this what has you so anxious?"
You give him another nod.
He hums. "Think I need to see for myself, hm?" He smirks and pats his palms against your hips. "Take these off for me."
You quickly reach down to hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and drag them down your thighs. Once they've been pulled from your body, you get ready to toss them onto the other side of the bed. But before they can be flicked from the tips of your fingers, Harry snatches them with his fist.
"Uh-uh," he tuts as he tucks them into his suit's breast pocket. "These are mine now."
You suck in a sharp, eager pant. "Har—"
"Shh." He settles back onto his stomach, hands curling around your thighs to guide them apart and allow him a better visual. "M'busy, little one."
But it’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as his warm breath fans across your pussy, making the mess that much more obvious to you both. In fact, you can practically see the glistening reflection in his eye as he studies your cunt in the most intimate of ways.
You're not sure what he wants. What he's doing or planning or thinking. And you don't know why, but the way he stares at you does more for the apprehensive coil in your gut than him actually touching you has.
Finally, he makes another satisfied noise deep within the back of his throat before he brings his fingers back to you.
Two are placed just above your clit before he teasingly drags them down. However, when your hips buck up, he merely shoves them back down with a tsk.
Once you’re still, he starts again. Easing himself through your folds as he spreads you with the utmost glee. Fascinated by the way your body feels, the way it reacts to him.
His tongue sits between his lips as he ventures down, and the moment he finds the pooling of arousal waiting for him...you see the muscles in his neck contract.
"Darling…" The nickname is whispered across your body as he scoots closer. "Bet this hurts, doesn't it?"
"Yes," you reply instantaneously, straining around the singular word as you resist the urge to whimper.
He circles the tip of his finger around your aching hole, almost as if to test you. "Oh, precious girl...how long, hm? How long have you been in so much pain?"
Truthfully, since you hugged him at the diner.
"All day," you say aloud, hands gripping onto the duvet beneath you. "All day, Har. Been thinking about you all day."
And that is the honest answer. You'd been anxiously awaiting your meeting from the moment you woke up.
But he smiles as if he knows better, despite the way he seems to bask in your response. "All day, hm? And what were you gonna do if I never came back? Were you just gonna sit here and rub your pretty thighs together?"
Your heart skips while your hands gather atop of your stomach.
His brow raises. "No? Well then how were you gonna take care of it, hm?"
For a moment, you think this is simply rhetorical, but the longer the silence stretches, the more obvious it becomes that he expects an answer.
You swallow the odd lump in your throat. "How do you think?"
"Uh-uh," he chastises again. "I wanna hear you say it. Want you to tell me exactly how you were gonna fix this little problem of yours had I not been here."
Your head flops back against the pillows as you glare at the ceiling. He's always been rather infuriating but now he's a menace.
"Dot..." He's warning you. Calling you back. Urging you not to be so bratty.
With a tentative sigh, you look back at him. "My...vibrator."
He perks up. "Yeah?"
You nod faintly.
"Tell me how," he instructs next, jutting his chin toward you. "Better yet...show me. Show me how you've been taking care of yourself all these years."
Feeling rather embarrassed under the spotlight of such an intimate request, you shyly look over toward your nightstand and outstretch a hand. After pulling the drawer open, you slip inside and find the purple wand that's just small enough to fit snugly inside your palm.
And Harry watches with a certain wonder in his eye as you bring the dainty toy closer. Yet, he says nothing while you slowly guide it toward your stomach and down to your thighs.
But he does, however, shift in order to make room, scooting back by a hair to allow you the space you need to place the head right above your aching clit.
For some reason, doing something so private in front of him feels...odd. Strange and almost unsettling. And perhaps that's just nerves, but you can't deny the heat that rushes to your face as he looks between you and the vibrator.
"S'this it, then?" he murmurs, a hint of teasing laced within the remark. "Don't even have to turn it on?"
Your thumb taps against the power button, a nervous tic, although you refrain from switching the toy on just yet. "No..."
His smirk is borderline haughty. "Then what do you do, little one? How do you use it?"
You say nothing. You hold his stare, and you hold a deep breath, and you hold the wand to your glistening cunt.
Then...you flip the switch.
The soft, dainty vibrations echo across the room, across your bodies, and across your clit as it's met with the instant stimulation of the pulsating wand.
You choke on a gasp as you return your eyes to the ceiling, allowing for the feeling to take control of each remaining sense.
And as you do, Harry's hands make themselves known to you as they begin to smooth up your legs, helping guide your thighs further apart once again.
There's an ever-so-slight stretch that follows as your muscles are pulled, and the distinctive burn makes your lashes flutter shut.
"There you go," he whispers. "So pretty, darling. God, could watch you do this all day."
Truthfully, you imagine you’re quite a sight. After all, you’ve watched yourself before. You know how it looks. Know exactly the kind of visual fantasy Harry is witness to right now.
So, you play it up, give him a show. After all...he's got a front row seat.
You rotate the head slowly, circling down and around your hole before retreating and dragging the object back up and through.
And you shiver every time it brushes against that particular sweet spot. Every time the pulses slow just to speed up once more. It's almost torturous the way your body is being bent to such salacious desires. And cruel the way you're forced to do this while he only watches.
A whimper slips free, and you arch off the bed, pressing the toy as tight against your body as you can stand.
You hear Harry chuckle.
"Easy," he warns before you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, encouraging your grip to relax. "Take it slow, Dot. Not in a hurry, are you?"
"No," you breathe, head shaking zealously. "No, m'just...feels good."
"Does it?" He almost sounds surprised. "Hm. Interesting. Seeing as you're doing it wrong."
Your head lifts.
He glances toward the vibrator. "May I?"
You nod.
Pleased, he slips the toy free from between your fingers and clears his throat. Focused eyes landing on your body as he readies the bullet.
Then...he begins.
It meets your clit—an innocent, familiar touch—before it's instantly being dragged down. He's slow with it. Giving you enough time to feel each particular flutter and twitch.
Your soft gasps and grateful sighs carry him further, until the tiny head of the toy is swimming through your arousal. You fall still, attention locked on the man by your knees.
But he’s still focused. Soft, green eyebrows weaving together as his pretty cherry lips stretch into a smile.
Something changes—everything changes—when he slips the head inside. Your entire body ripples from the vibrations as you stumble over his name and squirm across the mattress.
He only laughs before placing his arm overtop your stomach to keep you cemented to the bed. "None of that. Stay still for me."
"Har," you whisper, depleted of any strength. "Please..."
"What, little one? What do you want?"
"I need...please, I'm..."
"What? Does it feel good?"
"Yes. Yes...yes, feels so good. Please..."
"Please what? What do you want, sugar?"
More. Everything. Anything. "Fuck, I'm—don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Oh, darling," he breathes. "I'd never dream of it."
He takes the toy out and moves it back to your clit, circling gently a few times before pressing down hard.
And you almost miss the full feeling it provided as it was eased into you, but before you can dwell for too long...Harry's extending his fingers and slipping them into your cunt.
Not one, but two of those beautiful digits push past your walls and begin to stretch you, ripping a gasp from your throat at the simultaneous stimulation.
"Attagirl," he murmurs from below, and you can hear the smug undertone. "That's what you wanted, hm? Needed something to fill you."
Your chest heaves, the red lace of your bra lifting and falling as you roll your head back. "God, Har—"
"Tell me, darling," he continues, easing himself out just to push back in. "Were you gonna use your own fingers? If I wasn't here? Gonna ride your pretty little hand?"
You can't tell if he already knows the answer or if he just wants to picture your hand between your thighs.
Either way, you pant out, "Mhm."
"Yeah? How many, honey? How many were you gonna use?"
"...two."
He tsks, seemingly disappointed with this answer. "Just two? Hm. And would it have felt like this, darling? Would they be able to do it for you the way mine can?"
To accompany this ask, he curls upward, nearly yanking the pleasure out of you as you choke on a cry and writhe away from him.
"Fuck—" Your teeth tug on your bottom lip. "Shit, Har—"
"Is that a no, then?" He thrusts his fingers out and back in again. "Would you have gotten yourself this wet...with just your own hand?"
The sound of him slipping through your arousal meets your ear as you groan and look down.
"No?" He adds a third finger while making sure to keep the wand of the vibrator exactly where it needs to be. "What about when you thought of me? Would that have done it for you, sugar? Thinking of me while you soaked your sheets? While you dripped down your knuckles as you fucked yourself?"
You've never heard a man talk to you this way. You already knew his experience superseded that of any man you'd been with before but this. None of those other boys ever knew how. But Harry...God. He knows just what to say. Knows exactly what you need to hear, and it overwhelms you.
"Har...Har—"
"Need an answer," he reminds you, but when you refuse to offer him one, he takes himself away. His fingers, the toy, his body. Leaning away completely as your pussy goes completely quiet.
"Harry," you just about moan, pushing up onto your elbows to leverage the playing field. "You...I'm...I was just—"
"Disobeying," he answers for you. "That's what you were doing. And I don't think that's fair, do you?"
You frown. You know this tone he's taking with you. Authoritative and condescending. It makes you huff. "Fine. I'll try again."
"Good girl," he murmurs, nodding at you as if to encourage confidence.
"I...wait, what was the question again?"
He smiles at this, releasing an amused chuckle beneath his breath before crawling back to you. His hands find the mattress beside your hips and he settles between your parted thighs, lips dangerously closer now.
And you can smell him. Smell his cologne, and his aftershave, and his shampoo. Can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through the expensive suit. Can see how much he wants to take care of you—ruin you. As promised.
"Do you get yourself this wet...when I'm not around?" he repeats, and the tip of his nose brushes against yours.
Your breath hitches. "No."
The answer was always obvious, but you know he needed to hear you say it.
"Do you touch yourself...the way I touch you?"
"No."
"Can you make yourself come the way I can?"
"God, no—" you gasp before taking hold of his face and smashing his mouth against yours.
His lips are perfect and his kiss is perfect and the two of you are perfect together. A connection so seamless, so effortless...it's as if you were always meant to be.
A ridiculous notion, you think to yourself, but right now...it's quite nice.
He pulls himself back just enough to meet your eye and offer a devious grin. "Then let’s find out, hm?"
Rough fingertips travel up the length of your inner thigh, forming goosebumps in the wake. You shiver, ready to receive his touch once again before he dances right past your cunt, and up your hip.
He moves for the lace on your chest, tugging on the wire between your breasts with a disappointed tsk.
"I want this gone," he decides, plucking it from your skin. "Need to see all of you, Dot."
And before you can even reach back to undo the hook, he's looping an arm underneath your back, lifting you up, and flicking the clasp free.
Once done, he yanks the bra down your arms and body before flinging it somewhere behind him.
Your eyes shut as your naked chest is revealed to him, heart hammering against your ribcage.
But then, you feel those lips again. He wraps his mouth around your left nipple before you can even whisper his name, sucking on you as though he's determined to make you see stars.
Which you do the moment his teeth pull on the sensitive skin. And you can't help but mewl as his tongue flicks cruel and merciless patterns against before moving for your collarbone.
He groans as he goes, situating his knee between your legs and pressing it directly against your cunt. His other hand gropes at your right breast, kneading at the tender flesh until his mouth reaches your neck. He nips at a vein just below your jaw and you arch up into him, chest knocking into his.
He sucks sweet bruises into the curve of your throat before licking apologies over the newly ruined skin. It's slow and painful and beautifully good.
Everything about him is beautiful and good.
His entire body seems to cater to yours as he cages you to the mattress and easily pulls whimpers from your throat. As he touches you, and pleases you, and knows you in a way nobody else ever has.
You grind yourself against his leg before glancing down. And that’s when you notice the way your arousal has begun to soak through his nice pants. The way a dark little patch seeps into the fancy—and expensive—material. A sight both erotic and humiliating.
Your whimper forces his eyes to where yours reside, and he smirks when he sees your mess.
"What's the matter, little one?" he asks, taking his hand from your tit and using it to grab onto your jaw. "Are you embarrassed?"
You nod, despite his hold.
"Oh, my dirty little girl,” he hums. “I don't mind you soaking my trousers. But I'd rather you soak my cock."
You'd rather that, too, and you're more than grateful when he leans back to undo his belt. You don't know where this will lead you. If you’ll fuck him and then lose contact for another five years.
Or if you’ll fuck him and change everything.
But right now, you don't mind. You'll happily exist in this moment with him. In these bad decisions until you're coming so hard, you forget your own name.
He leans back to begin ridding himself of his clothes and you scramble upward to help him along. Your greedy hands grab at his jacket and his shirt, wrestling them down his arms and off his broad chest. Wanting to see him the way he can see you.
You nearly moan when his inked skin is revealed to you. You knew he'd gotten a few tattoos in college, and even some a bit after. But seeing them now, painted across such a tan, toned canvas makes your head spin.
"Easy," he laughs, reaching out to swipe his thumb beside your mouth to collect the pooling drool. "Save some for me, hm?"
But you can't. Instead, you take his finger between your lips and bury it beside your tongue.
Surprised, his lashes flutter. But once you realize he won’t be able to undo his pants without both hands, you regretfully pop his digit free. Allowing him to slip out of his briefs until his cock springs free.
He’s…perfect. Still. Somehow. Red and swollen and leaking just for you. And you clench from the mere thought of having something so beautiful inside you.
You crawl closer, eager for a taste, but Harry simply grabs hold of your chin.
"Yes, little one?" he murmurs, using his other hand to hold his cock. "Did you want something?"
You nod and lean forward another inch.
"All right," he concedes, pumping himself before subtly tugging you down. "Just a taste, honey. Since you've been so good."
He leads your mouth to him and without a moment's hesitation, you outstretch your tongue, and drag it along the underside.
You revel in the way you feel him twitch. In the way he exhales a deep breath through parted lips while moving his fingers to your hair, guiding you closer but not too close. Just enough to get him on your tastebuds.
You hum when you reach the tip, eager to indulge in the pre-cum already beading in pearly drops. And the vibrations from your eager appreciation make the muscles in his stomach quiver as he curses your name.
However, you barely get the chance to wrap your mouth around him before he's yanking on your hair, and straightening you back up.
"What did I say?" he hisses. "Don't be greedy, Dot."
"I'm sorry," you whisper, swallowing the bit of him still lingering in your mouth. "M'sorry, won't do it again."
"No, you won't. Or I'll go back on my promise."
"No," you whine, needy fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him close. "No, won't do it again. I promise."
You know he’s amused with your desperation, and even though you're slipping fast, he can't help but be entertained. "We'll see, little one."
With a fervent motion of your head, you scramble back to the pillows to lay down, legs spreading as if to invite him in.
He smirks as he strokes his cock a time or two more while settling himself between your thighs. You imagine he could have you in a number of ways, a plethora of positions. But he chooses this. He chooses to see your face this first time. To see every ounce of pleasure etched within your features.
And truth be told, you don't mind. You could stare at him forever.
"Do you have any condoms?" he asks next, dipping down to press his lips to yours for only a second. "Or would you prefer to go without?"
You consider this. You're on birth control and you do have a bit of a creampie kink, so you shake your head.
"Without," you answer quickly before lifting an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to?"
"No," he chuckles, placing a kiss to your nose this time. "Just wanted to make sure. Promised to take care of you, and that's what I plan to do."
Your heart flutters.
"Okay, gonna need you to be good, honey," he tells you now, large palm landing on your hip to steady you. "Gonna need you to take me and do as I say, all right? And I'll make it worth it."
"I will," you agree quickly, fingers traveling up the dips in his arms, ghosting over each muscle until you reach his shoulders. "Be so good, Har, promise."
"Uh-uh." His hand smacks against your inner thigh in warning before his thick eyebrow cocks up. "S'not my name, darling. Not right now."
Curious as to what he might mean, you study him for only a moment before you realize.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
Just like that, something in his demeanor switches.
Truth be told, the name doesn't do much for you. But you revel in the way he feeds off it. Find absolute euphoria in the way he lights up at your obedience until you want nothing more than to please him again. To call him anything he wants as long as he keeps looking at you like that.
"Good girl," he growls beneath a deep breath before he's bringing his cock closer.
He starts by dragging it along your clit, making you jolt and buck before his hand splays across your stomach to force you back down.
"No," he says simply, eyes fixated on the torture he's currently implementing.
He does it again, letting your swollen, puffy clit jump from the slight brush of his tip while he drags it through your arousal and shifts forward.
"Breathe," he orders next, stealing a quick glance at your puckered lips and wide eyes. “All right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He slides in slowly, pushing past your tight walls, coaxing the muscles to stretch to his size.
At first, it's nothing more than a soft, easy sensation. Relaxing, in a sense as it aids the ache and fills the void his fingers left behind.
Then...he goes deeper.
And this is what you'd been waiting for. The slight tension and subtle burn as your body is forced to accommodate him. You're thankful he goes slow. Not just because of the pain. But because you both want to watch.
You want to watch the way he pulls your body apart. Wanna watch him disappear into your tight hole that pulls him in. Wanna watch the way you flutter and clench and claim him the way he’s claiming you.
"Oh, that's my fucking girl," he groans to himself. "Fucking hell, Dot. Didn’t think you’d be so tight."
"Yeah, well…never had someone like you before," you tease, gauging your body's reaction by slowly rolling your hips up.
"Yeah?" His hand lands on your throat, smoothing up the sides of your neck until he can squeeze a gasp from your lips. “Never, huh?”
You shake your head and with one quick thrust, he bottoms out, forcing a strangled cry as you arch into him.
“Never had someone stretch this pretty pussy the way it deserves, yeah?” He tsks again. “What a fucking shame.”
He rears back, and the pain and the pleasure that follow him out make your chest cave in.
However, he’s quickly driving himself back in before you can complain, pushing past the fluttering muscles once more as you keen and rake your nails down the blanket.
"Harry," you breathe, his name like a lifeline as you drown in his sin.
But it earns you another firm smack to your outer thigh as he grunts his disapproval into your neck. "No," he warns before nipping just below your jaw. "You know better."
But really…you don’t. "Sir...please," you amend.
"Hm. S'a good girl," he praises. "Knew you'd behave for me, yeah? My perfect little toy—"
A rather debauched moan rips from between your gritted teeth as his hips ram into yours. You can feel him everywhere. In your stomach, in your head, in your heart. His legs against yours, his chest against yours, his entire body against yours until you're almost convinced he's gonna become one with your bloodstream.
Not that you'd mind.
His arm slips beneath you once more in order to lift you up and provide him with a new angle. Then, he thrusts himself into you again as your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp for air.
"There she is, that's what you needed. Yeah, little one?' He does it again, brushing against that one spot that makes your toes curl. "The other boys never did it, did they?"
You whine, knees bending besides his hips as you attempt to follow after him when he pulls back.
But he's quick to tut and knock you back down onto your ass. "No. You don't rush me, darling. We do this my way. On my time. If I wanna stay here and fuck you nice and slow, then you’ll behave, and you’ll fucking take me.”
You’d like to agree, but he’s thrusting himself back in before you can.
"You will thank me for taking my time," he continues in a coarse cadence that seems to reverberate from his chest. "You will thank me...for being so goddamn good to you. And you will thank me…for doing it right."
"Harry, please—" you just about wail, hands finding his arms as you grasp on for dear life.
But the fingers around your throat tighten until the edges of your vision begin to blur.
"There you fucking go again," he growls, stilling his rhythmic attacks as he meets your eye. He seems to enjoy watching your focus go fuzzy. "Starting to think you like to be punished, hm? And here I thought you had a praise kink."
You clutch onto his wrist, nails scratching along the veins in his arm as he pounds into you at a harder pace.
But you don't mind. You enjoy watching him give into the voices inside his head. Enjoy the way his chocolate brown curls sweep across his forehead, the way his eyebrows weave together and the muscles in his jaw constrict.
For a 34-year-old man, he seems to possess quite a bit of stamina. He'd mentioned earlier his enjoyment for running and exercising, detailing his rather excessive and diligent routine.
And you'd smirked because you'd assumed he was showing off or because he was trying to stay ahead of the inevitable "dad-bod" in his future.
But now you understand why he's really so meticulous. He's a long way from looking his age. Apart from some subtle, but soft crinkles near his eyes and a few gray hairs that peek through the auburn waves, he looks rather youthful.
And his body. You swallow another noise as you let your hungry gaze trail over every inch, every muscle, every quiver in his thighs as he braces himself above you.
Sir feels like a more appropriate title to you now. Because he is. He is your superior in this moment A man to be respected and revered. Someone who not only knows better,.but knows you. Knows your body and how to play it like an instrument.
There's something exciting about submitting to him. Something tantalizing about being at his mercy. Most of the other men you've been with have felt more like your equals than anything else. Which you haven't minded in the least bit.
But the way Harry has managed to fit you into the submissive, subservient role so quickly suggests that perhaps...this is where you were always meant to be.
Beneath him.
"Oh, honey," he coos, a mix of condescension and amusement. "Can feel you squeezin' me. Need it so bad, don't you? Need to come, hm?"
"Yes. Yes," you whisper, nuzzling your face into his neck, lips eagerly pressing into the salty skin at your disposal. "Please, Ha—Sir. Please let me come. Can't...can't hold it—"
"You will,” he says before he’s grabbing hold of your wrist and hosting it above your head. Burying into the pillow and preventing you from reaching for your clit. “Forget it, Princess. Told you to take me. So you will. Exactly how I tell you.”
"Sir—"
"I said no. I plan to keep you here for quite some time. Plan to feel you coming around my cock as many times as I see fit. And I expect you to behave for me the way you promised. Can you do that? Or do I need to stop?"
"No," you gasp, tears springing to your eyes at the very thought. "No, no, please—"
"Then what are you going to do?"
You swallow a moan and lift your chin proudly. "Take it."
A pleased smile crawls across his face as he hums and dips down to press his mouth to yours. "There she is," he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. "My good girl. Try to remember that, yeah? Or I'll keep you here all day."
However, that’s something else you wouldn't exactly mind, and you shiver as he pushes your knee into your chest.
"Fucking hell, Dot," he mumbles, eyes falling back down to where you're coating his cock. "Oh, my perfect toy. Look at the way you treat me, honey. Treat me so well, fucking soaking me, aren't you—"
"Yes, Yes, please…"
"I know. I know, little one. Feels so good to be filled, yeah? To be fucked the right way—"
"God, yes. More...please—"
"More, huh? Need more? Need me to make it better? Need me to fucking take—"
Suddenly, your phone rings.
The soft, melodic chime cuts through Harry’s vulgar response, bringing the moment to a close as his thrusts falter and he glances over.
God, you hate that stupid, evil, sadistic machine. Right now, you wish you'd never bought it. You wish you could throw it again the wall until it shatters into a thousand fucking pieces so as long as he just keeps going.
Instead, he searches your nightstand for the small device before he's releasing your leg in order to reach for it.
"No, Har," you plead, attempting to grab onto his hand. "Just let it go to voicemail, it's fine—"
"But that wouldn't be very polite, now, would it?" he tuts, glancing over the screen. "And I think you need to take this, darling."
"Harry, please—"
"Shh," he says sharply. “You're gonna take this phone call and you're gonna use your word. And then, and you're gonna come for me."
His thumb hovers over the green button and he guides the phone to your ear.
"And you're not gonna make a fucking sound," he adds, dropping his voice to a threatening hiss before pressing the receiver to your ear. "Or I fucking stop. Do you understand?"
You do your best to nod, and he smiles before tapping the screen.
Through a slight quiver, you say, "Hello?"
"Hey! Long time no talk, babe. How are you?"
Your eyes just about pop out of your head.
Atta.
Her cheerful tone and eager greeting make the blood drain from your face as you look up at the man hovering above you.
"Speak," he mouths with a wicked grin while nodding his chin at you.
But you can't. You physically cannot get the words to come out of your mouth as Harry keeps the device glued to the side of your head.
"H...hi," you stammer, forcing a more confident cadence. "I'm...good. How...how are you?"
"Oh, I'm good. Good, yeah," your sister replies, and you hear a bit of shuffling. "Been working a lot. Got today off, which is nice. God, you'd never believe how much shit we have to go through since we changed our filing system—"
"Mhm," you reply right as Harry rams his hips into yours.
You gasp and quickly turn your head away from the phone in an attempt to keep the excitable noise from making it into the microphone.
However, he uses his other hand to grasp onto your jaw and force you back. "No," he whispers, shooting you a stern look of warning. "You know better."
"—which is wild because we've been using the same program since '08," Atta is saying, although you can hardly hear her over the imminent pleasure rushing through your veins. "But...whatever. Once we're done, it'll make things so much easier. Which will be nice. I can cut back on my hours—"
"Yeah, mhm," you repeat, and it's outrageously strained as Harry pulls himself out, leaving you depraved and so goddamn empty.
You have to fight the urge to cry out for him, glancing down at the string of arousal that follows his cock. And it's almost too much for you to handle as you greedily reach for him once more.
However, he bats your hands away and brings his free fingers from your chin to your clit, rubbing into the sensitive nerves until you arch up.
"—so, yeah. What about you?"
Your eyes squeeze shut as that tightly wound ball of pleasure in your stomach expands. "I'm...I...good. I'm...good. You know, not...not a lot going on. At the moment."
Harry smirks to himself before sinking all the way back in and thrusting up.
Your lip fights its way between your teeth and you writhe beneath his chest while praying for the strength to stay quiet.
"Well...I guess no news is good news, yeah?" she chuckles. "Oh, hey, speaking of which...I heard that Harry's in town."
That's not the only thing he's in.
"Oh?" you squeak, placing a palm on Harry's chest almost as if in retaliation. "He is?"
"Yeah. Saw it on Facebook," she answers, and you hear her move around. "Figured he might try to reach out. I know you guys are still on good terms, right?"
"Me and Harry?" you repeat pointedly, garnering a curious look from the aforementioned man. "Uh...we're...yeah. I guess. But we’re not…that close."
He grins.
"Well...I just thought I'd let you know in case he does," she says, and your lashes flutter shut as the guilt begins to find you.
"Would it be weird...if he did?" you ask before the patterns being traced against your clit make you whimper.
Terrified, you quickly cough in an attempt at burying the sound, but Atta doesn't seem to hear.
"I mean...maybe? I don't know. He and I are fine, I think. And I know you two were friends. I guess you could at least...check on him. Make sure he's doing okay."
"Yeah," you breathe, sneaking a glance up. "I'm...I'm sure he's doing just fine."
Harry smiles once more before moving his palm to your thigh and pressing it into the bed to spread you at a different angle.
"I hope," Atta sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to call and check in. Just to make sure everything is going okay for you—"
"Mhm, yeah. I'm...I'm glad you did," you blubber while attempting to send Harry a pointed look. You're close. So fucking close, and if he keeps going...
"Are you sure you're all right? You sound a bit flustered—"
"Yes. Yes, yes, I'm..." Your head shakes quickly, nails scratching down Harry's chest in warning. He needs to stop. He needs to stop or you won't make it. "I'm fine. I'm...a little under the weather, but I'm—"
Suddenly, he sheathes himself inside your cunt, face burying in your neck with a groan as your entire body shivers.
"Are you sure? You kind of sound like you're in pain—"
"Listen, Atta, I...I gotta go—" you gasp, so close to your orgasm that you can practically taste it. “I’m sorry—”
"Oh, yeah. Hey, text me, okay? Just let me know that you're all right—"
"Mhm, yeah, I will—fuck—"
It happens before you can stop it. Ripping through every muscle and fiber in your body as you rake your fingers down Harry's back and choke on a moan.
Thankfully for you, Harry has already ended the call and thrown the phone to the other side of the room so he can loop his arm beneath your hips and tug you up into his body.
"Go," he breathes. "Give it to me. Come on, little one. Just like that. Good fucking girl, just like that. Let me feel you—"
Your room fills with the sound of his name, dancing effortlessly between the whimpers that follow.
It feels like you've touched heaven. A sensation so overwhelming and euphoric that you don't even realize his hand has returned to your throat. Don't realize he's squeezing your neck in his tight fist as he comes, filling your cunt with everything he has to give you.
You don't even realize you can't breathe, but you love it. Love the way he presses his teeth into your shoulder and presses his body into your chest. Until you're trapped against the mattress while you live through the high.
Every joint in your body aches. Radiating pain and pleasure all at once as you hook your leg over his hip and snake your arms around his neck.
And you keep him inside of you for what feels like hours. Even after you've regained a bit of consciousness. And a bit of common sense.
Perhaps the moment he pulls out, you'll realize the mistake you've made. You’ll realize that this isn't a secret you can keep. Or a choice that you can ever choose again. And maybe he’ll realize it, too.
But until then…
You’re happy to have your Harry back.
~ Masterlist
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