#harry styles x you angst

[sleepyhollands]

false god

PAIRING harry styles x reader

SUMMARY harry’s having trouble finding enough time to spend with y/n, even after she drops everything and joins him on tour. when they talk, they only seem to argue. when they don’t, they only seem to fuck.

WARNINGS she’s an angsty one— lots of miscommunication, poorly executed arguments, and general couple fighting content. BUT!! there is lots of really cute fluff at the end :> also, beware of smutty content such as soft!dom harry (my favorite), oral (f!receiving, implied m!receiving), unprotected p in v, a brief hesitation to get naked on y/n’s part, an even more brief mention of bondage play, harry leaves like one love bite, and tooth-rotting holding each other while having sex content. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT 5.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE fun fact this was supposed to be done months ago and then literally everything that could have gotten in my way did just that. but she’s here now!! writing this was a challenge but i feel so good about it now that it’s complete and i can’t wait for you all to read it. please lmk you enjoyed by leaving feedback and/or reblogging!! special thanks to @cherryjuiceblues for beta reading for me <3 ily <3

LOVER SELECTION one-shots here.

copyright © sleepyhollands. all rights reserved. || my masterlist.

“harry, it doesn’t matter if—”

“it does to me!”

“hey, there are two people in this relationship, you know.”

“yeah, an‘ one of ’em feels like right shit on what’s meant to be the greatest tour of his life! doesn’t that mean anythin‘ to you?”

“of course it does, i just—”

“really? ’cause y’could’ve fooled me, love.”

“harry, i swear, if you interrupt me one more time, i’m booking the next flight home.” 

… tour had been going really well for harry! he was playing back to back sold out shows in some of the biggest cities in the world, with adoring fans lining up by the thousands, itching to hear him sing live. he’d already had some really sweet interactions on stage, and no crazy mishaps had occurred (he was especially proud of himself for having ensured everyone’s safety so far). just in the last week alone, he’d been nominated for three different awards for his newest album and performances. anyone could see that he was living a dream— the dream, really. the kind that only comes true once in a blue moon. 

and yet… tour had been going really poorly for harry. now, he doesn’t like to complain about much; he knows just how fortunate he is, and actively tries to see the bigger picture when frustrated. but it was really hard to zoom out of his particular situation when he was so zeroed in on a particular aspect that had been bugging him for weeks— y/n. 

don’t get him wrong! y/n herself wasn’t what was bothering him. it was more so her presence, and his… lack thereof. 

if there’s one thing harry prides himself on more than anything, it’s being an attentive lover— even in the most innocent and platonic of ways. he tries his absolute hardest to be a supportive brother, a considerate son, a (hopefully) decent role model to those who look up to him, and especially a present, loving boyfriend. and for the most part, he’s just as successful in those aspects as he is in his career. in fact, y/n regularly speaks of how harry treats her like she hangs the stars in the sky just for him, how he makes her feel like the most special girl in the world. 

but this tour was taking its toll, and harry was taking it out on y/n. he’s never been great at communicating everything in the most positive of ways— that’s where he turns to songwriting— and he’d let his emotions get the better of him after letting them build up for the past couple of weeks. he wasn’t proud of himself, but he needed an outlet. 

harry didn’t mean to start the fight. but when y/n asked him where he’d been after a last minute management meeting following that night’s show kept him an extra half hour later than he said he’d be, it was like all the frustration just erupted. inadequacy is one of his least favorite feelings (next to loneliness), and being a barely-there or only-sometimes-there boyfriend couldn’t be more of a trigger for that particular emotion. 

now here they were, vexation filling the tour bus around them like a fog they could barely see through, inhaling it with every breath and releasing it back into the atmosphere surrounding them. harry huffed out a sigh, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he angrily looked out the window of the tour bus to distract himself for a moment, having to mentally step away from the argument at hand, even if just for a few seconds. watching as the dark streets outside shined with the headlights of other vehicles, he found himself wishing he were in one of them. it would be nice to be in a car alone, nothing but his thoughts and some music to keep him company. 

but he had real company. she was standing not six feet away from him, emulating his defensive position with her arms drawn across her own chest, jaw clenching and relaxing every other moment. when he finally turned to look at her again, he exhaled loudly. 

“we were crazy to think that this could work,” he mumbled, barely audible to y/n, but she was able to make it out. 

even when they fought, the girl seemed to be in sync with him, inhaling deeply, subconsciously countering his previous expulsion of breath. the yin to his yang.

“what are you talking about?”

harry groaned at her words. how didn’t she get this? “y/n, i’m never around! i wake up when you’re still asleep, prepare for the day, go to the venue, help set up the stage, sound check, rehearse a bit, and then ’m off t’go get ready for a show that lasts two hours. almost each night! i come back exhausted and aching to sleep! where d’you see yourself fitting in there?”

when y/n realized it was her turn to speak again, she said, “first off, do you think you could please calm down a little? i can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

his eyes narrowed. “like what?”

“when you’re acting like a child, harry! i mean, for god’s sake, i’m not nine! i can handle hanging out on my own for a few days at a time and just getting to cuddle with you at night until you have a day off. it’s not like i don’t have things to do throughout the day, too.”

while harry tended to say things he didn’t exactly believe in the heat of the moment, y/n meant every word she uttered. she really was content relaxing in the tour bus or a hotel room taking care of work on her laptop, catching up on new episodes of her favorite shows, or even going out to explore whatever new city they were in by herself. harry had breaks between show days once or twice a week, and the thought of having those days to themselves was enough to sate her desire to spend time with him. it annoyed her that he didn’t understand that, as she’d never been the clingy type and was always very self-sufficient. 

“oh, i’m acting like a child, am i? right, i didn’t realize that wanting t’be present in my relationship with my girlfriend was childish, but hey, you learn something new every day, i s’pose.” 

oh, y/n was really starting to seethe now. letting her arms fall to her sides with a frustrated puff, she began again. 

“god, harry, you’re not childish for wanting to spend time together! i’m saying you need to realize that i’m perfectly capable of waiting for your days off to really spend time with you. you’re acting like we can’t function without each other!”

“the whole idea of you comin‘ on tour with me was to have this time together, y/n,” harry fired back. “if we’re barely going to get to see each other anyways, then what’s the bloody point?”

…

harry might have spoken too soon. at least, that’s what he thought as he laid overtop y/n on the tour bus couch, because now the point might very well be getting to just feel her lips on his every now and again. 

it was late; harry had just come back from a show. usually, he’s too tired to do anything but crash onto a cloud-like mattress after all the jumping around he does on that stage, but this time all he wanted was his girl. it’d started innocently enough, with harry pulling y/n into his lap on the worn, red leather of the couch. his hands roamed along her hips and down to her waist beneath her soft hoodie (which wasn’t even technically her’s, but is it really theft if harry just leaves his clothes lying around for her to nab?), exploring the soft expanse of her skin, not straying any lower. her own hands were hidden in his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp in what she hoped were soothing motions. 

harry knew he was done for once he initiated the kiss. tentative at first, he pressed light pecks along the corner of her mouth, quick and feathery, like he didn’t really care if he got to kiss her so much as he got to hold her, or simply be with her. but soon, the eagerness set in, like he wasn’t sure when the next time he’d get to have her was, and suddenly he was capturing her mouth with his own, barely giving her a chance to breathe as he tasted her. while harry never really believed in a higher power, he could have sworn he found religion in her lips. 

things only escalated from there. it wasn’t long before harry was wrapping his muscular arms around y/n, so tight that he accidentally squeezed too hard, earning a squeak from the girl. he muttered a hushed but sincere “’m sorry, darling,” to compensate. one hand supported her head, the other splayed across her back as he laid her against the cushions so that he could keep loving on her on the way down. he relished her little whimpers that she tried so hard to suppress, grinning against her jawbone, her neck, any skin he came across on his journey south to more pressing territory. 

harry didn’t bother removing y/n’s hoodie, opting instead to push it up past her naval in favor of gaining access to the waistband of her fluffy sleep shorts. he felt her hands tighten their grip ever so slightly on his shoulders as he hooked his fingers under it, relaxing again when he rubbed the pad of his thumb delicately along her hipbone, reminding her it was only him. 

it was a thing with y/n. she loved harry, of course she did, and she trusted him more than anyone. and maybe it was the way she was brought up, or perhaps a few poor experiences with sexual partners in the past, but there was always a fleeting moment of anxiety before shedding the clothing barrier before sex. like dipping a toe into a cold lake and hesitating a little, then ultimately deciding that jumping in wouldn’t be so bad. 

harry never pried. the first few times they’d slept together, he noticed her nerves, and asked her if she was sure she wanted to continue. y/n had said yes each time, and after a while, he stopped asking. but still, whenever he noticed that brief nervous shift, harry gave her a chance to change her mind. 

this time, he bided his time by sponging tender kisses right above where his fingers were still half hidden under her shorts. he wanted her to feel safe, and taken care of, and he hoped his gentle touches and even breathing could remedy her anxiety. as he waited, harry’s mind drifted…. he was getting lost in the feel of her soft skin, its dips and curves and blemishes. he thought about her waist, how his hands fit so perfectly against its sides; her tummy, and how the muscles there jolted when he tickled them; and her hips… god, if y/n’s body was a church, her hips could be the altar. harry was ready to say a prayer right then, thanking every higher power for blessing him with this gorgeous girl—

“harry?” his love’s melodic voice interrupted his thoughts, and harry’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, his nose continuing to skim just above her navel. “um… you can keep going. please.” 

the corner of harry’s mouth quirked upward, and y/n could have sworn she caught a glimpse of mischief in the jade of his irises, but it was gone in an instant, as he wasted no time in stripping her of her bottoms.

…

“god, h-harry,” panted y/n, her grip on his curls constricting with every lick to her core, “’s so good, oh—”

“would feel even better if y’stopped trying t’run away from me, wouldn’t it? don’t wanna have to tie you down.”

y/n couldn’t help it! it wasn’t her fault if harry’s tongue was just too good and her body’s natural reaction was to attempt to escape his grip for a little relief. if anything, he should be happy— they’d been at this for so long y/n lost count of the minutes, and after two toe-curling orgasms, one would think harry’s jaw could use a break. 

but that thought flew out the window when y/n remembered who she was metaphorically in bed with. 

“’m sorry…,” she whimpered, gripping the side of the couch cushion as her eyes squeezed shut.

“don‘ have to be sorry, darling,” harry mumbled against her folds, chin glistening with her arousal as he placed a soft kiss to y/n’s clit, making her jolt in his hold. he breathed a short laugh, adjusting his arms so that one held her upper thigh next to his head, while the other pinned her hips to the red leather, restricting her ability to move. “jus’ wanna make you feel as good as possible, is all. will y’let me?”

harry turned his head, nipping at the inside of the girl’s thigh, and she gasped at the brief assault on the softest skin of her body, now adorning the mark of his front teeth that she loved so much. she shuddered a breath as best she could, and harry could tell by the way her knuckles were turning white in their grip on the couch that she was trying her best to be good. feeling a twinge of guilt, he figured maybe he should offer her a second to breathe. y/n opened her eyes when she felt harry’s lips retreat from her aching cunt and the weight of his head rest against the love bite. 

“hey.”

y/n cast her gaze down upon the boy (who looked far too innocent, considering what they were doing) with his cheek laid on her inner thigh, stray hairs tickling her just a tad. playfulness swam in his eyes, but there was an underlying current of concern. 

“doin‘ okay?”

she nodded, gulping. harry noticed. 

“because we can take a break if you want to. just say the word, okay?”

“i will, i-i promise. but… can you please keep going?”

that was all he needed to get right back into it, only with even more fervor than before. when y/n reached her third and final peak of the night, her whole body shook, and harry had the pleasure of getting to watch as he helped her ride out her high. he almost came in his pants, rutting his hips into the sofa, moaning against her core, begging her give it t’me, love, that’s it.

harry pulled back when she started pushing at his head, whining for relief as he gave one final lap at her core. he grinned at her fucked-out figure as he wiped his face on his forearm, then took her hand that had been grasping at the cushion in one of his, bringing the back of it to his lips for a gentle kiss. 

“feel all right, baby?”

“mhm,” she hummed between heaving breaths, glancing at what she assumed could only be a quite painful stiffy between his legs as he sat up, “do you?”

harry followed her line of vision, offering her a chuckle and an i’m fine, using his free hand to smooth his thumb along her brow. before he could even register it, her palm slipped from the grip of his other hand and traveled down to rub against the bulge in his pants, earning a sharp hiss from her boyfriend and a deep groan soon after. 

“why don’t you let me repay the favor?”

…

harry was pretty sure y/n was asleep. if she wasn’t, she was definitely on the verge— her breaths were deep and even as she laid in his hold, her head on his chest, ear pressed overtop his steadily beating heart. and who could blame her? the evening’s activities had worn her out, which meant harry had done his job properly. he was more than happy to be wide awake, running his fingertips up and down her arm, inhaling the sweet scent of her fruity body wash while she dreamt if it meant she was rested and content and happy. 

moments like these made harry think they could get away with it. the long hours spent apart, the hectic schedules, the fighting. sure, it was tough, and yes, they both had a temper that rivaled one another’s for the ‘least amount of patience award’ on any given day. but every missing ounce of patience was compensated by double its weight in love. they loved one another enough to make it work. 

they could make this work. 

right?

…

“jesus, harry, how do you think that makes me feel? you’d honestly rather i not be here? are you actually that insecure?”

“c’mon, y/n, you know tha’s not what i meant.”

y/n felt like they were going around in circles, having the same fight over and over again. only this time, the couple found themselves in a beautiful hotel room, with a beautiful view overlooking a beautiful city. and instead of getting to enjoy it, y/n was glaring at harry though the vanity mirror, his back facing her as he tamed his wild curls for tonight’s show… which he had to leave for in just a few short minutes. 

the balled up fist on y/n’s hip flew up to her face, fingers flexing to pinch at the bridge of her nose as her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. 

“i can’t believe this. i dropped everything to be here with you— to support you on the most incredible tour of your career— and instead of being happy i’m here as opposed to the alternative of thousands of miles away in a different time zone for months, you’re sitting here bitching about being too tired?” 

harry sighed deeply, only infuriating y/n more. “you’re missing the point. ’s not that i don’t want you here, or just that ’m too tired. ’s knowing you’re sitting around by yourself, waiting on me while ’m working, when you could be out with friends and family, or sleeping in the comfort of your own bed—”

“that you’re not in!” the girl loudly interjected— how didn’t he get this? “i put all those things aside for us, har. it’s not like i’m leaving my life behind for years. christ’s sake, the tour is over in two months! but somehow, being away from my home and routine is easier than being in the same room as you right now.”

harry contemplated his next words carefully, turning them over in his head a few times and editing any obvious mistakes, leaving the pair of them to marinate in suffocating silence for a good ten or so seconds before he finally spoke. 

“y/n… i can’t be a good boyfriend and a serious artist simultaneously, okay? not while ’m on tour. i can’t keep losing sleep over how well i’m balancing—”

“okay, you know what, harry? you know what? maybe you should just leave me, then. wouldn’t that be easier? you’d be able to sleep better at night, right?”

they both knew she didn’t mean it, though harry couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt to hear. but she was pissed, and harry knew better than to try to reason with her when she was like this. 

when she realized he wasn’t going to respond, instead electing to stare brokenly into the mirror, she continued. “you know damn well how hard i work for this relationship. i’ve flown across the oceans that have separated us, driven for hours just to get to see you for, like, one— hell, i’ve skipped some of my most important classes so we could go to shitty dive bars in the middle of the day together! yeah, remember that? i love you, okay? people who love each other are supposed to be grateful for any time they have together at all, no matter if it’s every day or once a year.”

y/n took a breath, finally cooling down after her heated rant. she took a moment to take in the sight of her boyfriend, dressed so vibrantly, feeling anything but. 

“they warned us about times like this,” the defeated tone of y/n’s whisper was enough to finally get harry to say something. 

“what was that, love?”

the girl swallowed the little saliva in her mouth before speaking up a mere decibel. “remember what my parents said? ‘the road gets hard, and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith,’” she imitated her father’s deep voice, and if not for the circumstances, harry might’ve laughed. 

they weren’t lost, were they?

…

if there was such a thing as heaven on earth, y/n is pretty sure she’s been there. in fact, she goes there whenever harry so much as touches her. 

when he kisses her shin as they lay watching a movie together on the couch, pulling her leg up off his lap and craning his neck downward to meet it in the middle. when he runs his fingers down the bridge of her nose, making an exaggerated boop! noise once he reaches the tip, gently pressing against it like a doorbell. and especially when he has her like this. 

harry’s arms felt secure wrapped around y/n’s torso, her hips moving back and forth atop his own. the feeling of his cock twitching and shifting inside her while her nipples rub deliciously along his chest made her dizzy, like she had just gotten off a loopy rollercoaster. harry’s back arched just slightly off the plush mattress of their hotel suite’s bed when y/n gave a little bounce, arms constricting around her and forcing a pleased sigh to fall from her lips. 

the girl hid her face in the crook of his neck, and harry could feel each and every hot breath against his skin. lost in pleasure, he let his large hands migrate from her hips down to her bum, where he gave a small pinch to the flesh, eliciting a yelp and a small jolt from y/n. 

“sorry, baby,” he laughed, “couldn’t help m’self.” harry gently flattened his palm against the now tender skin, rubbing there softly in an attempt to soothe the little ache he left. when he felt satisfied, he shifted to rubbing between her shoulder blades instead, his other arm still wrapped around her lower back as she returned to her previous rhythm above him. 

y/n could tell harry was enjoying himself. his groans alone were evidence enough, not to mention the little utterances of “shit, darling,” and “so good t’me,” he frequently let slip. but perhaps he just needed a bit more to reach his high, because without warning his hands were on her thighs, gripping tightly as he began to thrust upwards into her at a much quicker pace than she had originally set— it had her seeing stars in a matter of mere seconds. 

“oh, god— harry,” y/n gasped out, gripping the edge of the plush pillow by harry’s ear. she could feel him hitting that special spot inside her with every snap of his hips, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back into her head, muscles tightening all throughout her body. 

“almost there, angel… just…,” harry’s thrusts began to slow, becoming more deliberate, and now he was moving her hips to grind against his each time they met, sending y/n over the edge. 

y/n’s moans were long and drawn out as she came, body spasms making her hold on more tightly to harry for stability. she didn’t even hear him finish, too busy reveling in the euphoric feeling of cumming in his arms, surrounded by warmth and love and feeling the safest she had in a long while. 

it was moments like these where y/n couldn’t fathom how she’s ever been upset with harry. he was perfect, lying here under her unsteady body, breathing deeply not only to catch his breath, but to take in the smell of her. she wanted this for eternity. and if this was heaven, then surely hell was when they fought with each other. 

…

y/n thought she was dreaming at first, not used to being roused from her slumber by anything other than her well-timed alarm and the occasional bark of a dog on a nearby street. she expected that after blinking the sleep from her eyes a few times, the vague image of her favorite boy would dissipate, and she’d fall back into the comfort of her warm pillow. but when she squeezed them shut once, then twice, and her boyfriend’s face was still a foot away from her’s, brushing his fingertips up her nose and along her brow, she set aside her exhaustion in exchange for confusion.

now, harry knew better than to wake y/n up. in most circumstances, she’d tell him off, or gently kick at him to get him to leave her alone. he found it rather endearing, and it’s one of the reasons he’s so protective of her in her sleep— always holding her close to keep her safe, shielding her eyes from any light intruding on the space she lay, making sure both their phones were set to ‘do not disturb.’ but he had to make an exception, just this once. 

“darling,” she barely registered his whisper, “wake up f’me, please?”

a whine fell from y/n’s lips, her eyes scrunching shut as she turned her body away from him, which harry knew was code for let me sleep, for fuck’s sake! a smile graced his lips at the action, jotting down a mental note to make this up to her later. 

compensating for the newfound distance between them, harry scooted closer to her. he kneeled on the floor next to the bed, close to the pillows she rested upon. he laid one arm against the mattress, perching his chin on the back of his wrist. using his free hand, he continued to brush his fingertips lightly against his love’s cheek, her jaw— all along her face, really. god, her loves her face so much.  

“please, baby?”

harry had just come back from one of his best performances yet— the crowd’s energy was unmatched, the chemistry between him and his band members was palpable, and he’d managed to not get hit with any flying objects all night! but what really did it for him was the fan project he was surprised with at the end of the show. thousands of people in the room wore light-up bracelets that shone pink and blue during one of his favorite songs, ‘love of my life.’ if harry’s heart had been any more full in that moment, it might’ve exploded right there in his chest. 

he had been on cloud nine for a moment. but soon, realization washed over him in a way that squeezed at his lungs, stealing his breath for a second. the love of his life was somewhere miles away, probably sitting in their hotel room watching a comfort film, oblivious to anything he was feeling on that stage. he just wanted to go home to her and gush about what had happened, and how he wished she’d been there, and how it made so much sense that it would happen during ‘love of my life’ because it was the perfect representation of the amount of love he had for his, and how if she’d have been there, he would have looked directly at her and smiled the whole time. 

it made him realize how bloody stupid he was.

in retrospect, the conversation he’d needlessly just woken y/n up for could have waited until morning. but then harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he didn’t tell her he was sorry right away. 

a groan sounded through the room, followed by the ruffling of bedsheets as the girl turned back over to glare annoyedly at harry. he let out a soft laugh at her behavior. 

“’m sorry, baby. know you jus‘ wanna sleep right now, but ’s it okay if we talk for a mo‘?”

“now?” y/n asked in a gravelly voice.

“now, m‘ love.”

with a soft sigh, she relented, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles. harry caught the motion, bringing his hands up to pull hers away from her face. he didn’t like when y/n did that, as she always managed to do it too roughly. instead, he held her smaller hands in his own, getting up to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. 

“what is it?” y/n asked through a yawn. harry looked at her for a moment— really looked at her— before responding.

“i’m sorry.”

it took her a moment to register his words. “for waking me up?”

harry laughed that dreamy laugh she loved so much, and it almost made up for the fact that she was up at twelve thirty in the morning. “no, y’little minx. not for that. well, yes, for that, but that’s not what i meant.”

“what are you sorry for, then?” 

harry looked at her with an expression y/n couldn’t place. it look him a few beats to speak. “i… i’m sorry i was such a prick before. i love that you’re here, an‘ that i get t’see you when i’m off. know you put aside a lot for this, an‘ i ruined it with m’own problems. didn’t mean to.”

y/n’s features softened at the boy’s sincerity, and if it weren’t for the warmth his hands encapsulating hers provided, she’d have reached out and held his face, peppering kisses over every dip and curve. 

“i know you didn’t…. i’m sorry, too.”

“for what?”

“i should’ve listened better. you were trying to tell me how you felt and i just disregarded it. that wasn’t very nice of me, either.”

the right corner of harry’s lips tugged upwards, morphing his mouth into that little half-grin y/n adored so much. “think we can get past it, darling?”

the girl scooted forward the tiniest bit, harry’s magnetic pull too hard to resist. though they were the only two in the room, she whispered, “i’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” harry liked how she made something so simple sound like a secret deal between them.

harry’s half-smile quickly quirked up, completing itself, and y/n swooned over his dimples and adorable bunny teeth. a short and quiet breath of a laugh fell past his lips, and for a moment, he just looked at her. but his gaze caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes, and his grin faltered a bit. 

y/n was always good at hiding her true emotions when she wanted to. not when it really mattered, don’t get her wrong— she wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit. but at dinner with her parents or meetings at work, she was able to pretend she wasn’t exhausted or annoyed. it never worked with harry, though. he could read and understand her like his own lyrics, and tonight was no exception. he saw through the mask of humor at her uncertainty, and a pang of guilt bloomed in his chest. 

he let out a sigh as he beckoned her forward by gently tugging her hands, still in his, toward him. “c’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling his love into his lap. y/n curled into him, knees tucked upward into her chest as his strong arms found purchase around her frame, holding her tenderly but securely. one of harry’s large hands held the back of her head against him, her ear right over his heart, listening to it beat for her. 

“love you like crazy. you’ve no idea.” he peppered light kisses to the top of her head, so softly she might’ve missed one or two. “thank you for comin‘ an‘ s’porting me. means the world, honestly.” 

“i’m happy to be anywhere with you, har,” she replied in a voice honey-thick with sleep. “even if it’s just for a few minutes. always so happy to have you.”

harry closed his eyes, laying back into the pillows, bringing y/n down with him so that she was laying overtop his sturdy body, inhaling his every exhale. 

“you have me,” he said, though he was almost certain she didn’t hear him, likely already pulled into the void of sleep, drawn in by the comfort of harry’s arms, his smell, him. 

“you’ll always have me.”

taglist (final time using the old one, see new link in bio): @fahsey @caswinchester2000 @lmaotshollandd @jackiehollanderr @nervousdadmode @amii-nyc @skitmix @auggie2000 @voguesir @yourgoldengirls @hunnybunimdun @lolooo22 @atoris-fantasy

[freedomfireflies]

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

Taglist: @littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

@hannahdressedasabanana @sykostyles @lukesaprince @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus

@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[enthusiasticharry]

the one where YN gets a job as a bartender in a motorbike club's bar, and Harry runs the club.

author's note: suprise!! i'm back again!! i promised i wouldn't keep you waiting and i'm not. this is the first part in my biker!harry mini-series which i started a while ago and only just got around to finishing! let me know what you think and what you'd like to see in the next instalments!

word count: 11.6k of sexy biker!harry (that's it, that's all).

WARNINGS: strong language, smut, bike riding, a bar fight and talks of a motor accident.

let me know what you think of clover here!! mwah <3

1979

“Look, sweets, I’d hire you on the spot if I thought it would be a good idea,” Mick spoke from across the bar, towel over one shoulder and another in his hand drying a glass, “But it just isn’t, I’m sorry.”

YN sighed, dropping her hands down on the bar. This was the fourth one she’d tried, and so far, she hadn’t had any luck. She wasn’t asking for much – just a job to help pay for her student loans. She had graduated a year ago and bounced from job to job, and yet none of them seemed to fit. It wasn’t necessarily her dream to work in a bar, but she hadn’t a single clue about what her dream was. She had a first-class honours history degree (which she adored getting) and yet not a single idea of what to do with it.

She couldn’t think of the future at this moment, she needed to think about the now and if she wanted to continue to live in her small apartment and eat — she needed a job.

Clovers had been her last hope. It was the last bar in town that YN was yet to try, and despite its less-than-positive reputation – it was always busy, and that meant money coming in. As she turned to look around the bar, which was already quite crowded for it being early on a Friday night, she couldn’t help but imagine the cash that was funnelling through the establishment, and how she wished she could get at least some of it.

“Can I get you a drink, sweets?” Mick spoke again, offering her a soft smile, “It’ll hopefully soften the blow a little bit.”

YN smiled at the man and nodded, “Thank you. Whisky, please.”

Mick got straight to work, placing the glass in front of her, dropping an ice cube into the glass and pouring her a more than generous shot. Just as she fumbled with her purse to pull out some bills to pass to Mick, he shook his head and held his hand out to stop it. She smiled in thanks and watched as he turned and walked away, going to serve the next customer who was standing a few feet away from her.

YN picked up her drink, and just as she was about to take a drink the door beside her opened. Her lips parted, her eyes watching as a group of what seemed to be fifteen or so men, all clad in heavy leather or dark denim walked into the bar.

Of course, YN knew about them. Anyone who lived here knew who they were, but it was the first time that she had seen them this up close. The most she had ever experienced with them was the low rumbling of their engines from a distance, or possibly them riding past her but that was only ever one or two. It was their jackets that often set them apart from the rest of the riders in the town, the very specific Clover’s Riders jacket that every member adorned and what seemed like all times.

The men were loud as they stepped in, most of them heading towards the bar whilst others went to some of the other members who were already seated in the bar. YN’s eyes never left the door until the last one had made his entrance, and she just couldn’t seem to draw them away.

He was younger than many of his counterparts, probably resting at an age near YN’s or possibly a few years or so older. He was clad in the same heavy denim that many of the others wore, but they seemed to sit on his body much easier. The curls of his hair were tousled in every direction it seemed, but YN found herself wondering as to what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

With a shake of her head, she turned back to her glass and lifted it to her lips. She took a large gulp of the liquid, allowing that to slip down her throat before she finished the rest of it. Mick was long gone from being anywhere near her, working at what seemed like double speed to keep up with the orders that the gang of men were giving him, and she felt as though that was probably her cue to leave. She would have to brainstorm other options for work, seeing as though this just hadn’t called through.

Sighing, YN pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and pushed up from the stool she was resting on. Just as she turned around to make a beeline for the door through the bodies that were crowding the room, she was stopped by a body in front of hers.

“Woah, woah, little darling where do you think you’re going?” It was one of the riders, standing in front of her with a grin on his features.

“Home,” she said with a shrug.

“So soon,” The man looked over his shoulder to some of his friends who were standing close by, “Me and my buddies here didn’t even get to say hello.”

“Right, okay, hello,” YN nodded to the man in front of her and those behind him, “Really have to get going.”

The man extended his arms so that she couldn’t carry move from her space in front of him, “Let us buy you a drink little darling, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ve already had one, thank you, and it was very enjoyable,” YN offered them another small smile, “Now please move out of my way so that I can go home.”

“Hey, none of that,” The man shook his head, “Stay with us, I promise we’ll make it worth it.”

YN hummed, tilting her head from side to side lightly, “I’ll pass but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone else to make the night worth it.”

And with that, YN pushed past the man and beelined for the door. She half expected him to grab her, but from the hoots and hollers of his friends, he was too embarrassed to do anything else.

The bar that YN had worked out whilst she was completing her degree had taught her a thing or two about how to deal with rowdy men, and whilst the firm but clear approach worked in most cases, YN wasn’t afraid to resort to other means if necessary. It was all a respect thing, and more often than not if you deal back to them what they deal to you – the situation usually sorts itself.

YN had just rested her palm against the wood of the door when she heard someone call her name. She saw Mick standing there, leaning over the bar to catch her attention.

“Saw you deal with those guys,” He nodded his head over to the men whose attention had been taken by another woman in the bar, who seemed to accept their advances more than YN did, “When can you start?”

YN’s face broke out into a smile and took a delighted step towards Mick, “Whenever.”

“Right now?” He raised his eyebrows at her, motioning to the men who were calling his name for more drinks, “Have a feeling we’re going to be swamped tonight.”

YN nodded and immediately dropped her purse down behind the bar and rolled the sleeves of her cardigan up.

She turned to the men who were now staring at her with their mouths slightly agape, “What can I get you?”

It was a Thursday night and YN had been working at Clover’s for around a week at this point when Mick decided that she could handle a night on her own. After being thrown into what very much was the deep end on her first shift, there had been time the next day for Mick to show her the ropes properly and anything she would specifically need to know.

Mick said that he normally wouldn’t leave such a new person on their own so quickly, but he had an important family issue that he couldn’t get out of and that she had shown enough trust that he wasn’t worried. It was a Thursday, so it wasn’t going to be too busy but even so, those who were going to be there would be Riders, and they would protect their bar from anything.

It was nearing nine, and YN would probably say that they were at a quarter of their capacity, the majority of them being riders who had been there for the last few hours or so. YN was lucky she supposed. They never ordered anything more complicated than a beer, at most a whisky or a bourbon and this was their bar so there were never any arguments about paying for the drinks.

There was a lull in the orders, so YN decided to take it upon herself to dry some of the glasses she had washed in the previous lull. This job was not for the weak she would say that, but YN would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it. She loved people watching and mixed with the hum of the jukebox it was the perfect combination for her.

The door to the bar opened again about twenty minutes, and in walked that same man that caught her attention a week or so ago, on that first day she was here. He looked the same, apart from he was clad in a mixture of denim and leather this time instead of just denim, and a large bruise was sprouting from under his left eye. To YN, it was obvious that the cause was a punch, for there was nothing else that could cause a bruise such as that one. He walked into the room, ignored the hoots and hollers from some of the other men and took a seat right in the middle of the bar.

YN threw the towel she was holding over her shoulder and walked towards him, resting her hands on the edge of the bar, “What can I get ya?”

The man didn’t stray his eyes away from where they were planted firmly on the wood of the bar, “Beer, and a whisky.”

YN nodded, reaching over to pop the lid of the beer, “Do you want ice in the whisky?”

The man just hummed, so YN got straight to work making his drink for him. It was different to that of the other men in the bar — watching him. Whilst they were loud and rowdy and always had something to say to someone – he was silent. He just sat, with the company of his only himself and drank his drink.

Snapping YN out of her gaze (which had been on the man for a few beats too long) was a call of her name from just down the bar. She walked over to where it came from, a man called Taylor who YN had become quite acquainted with in the last few days or so.

Most of the men (not all, obviously) that she had become acquainted with during the last few weeks were lovely. They loved to have a quick natter with her whilst she made their drinks, some of them flirted with her but she didn’t care (it was part of the job) and nobody bothered her. If one or two of the men when they were drunk got a little handsy or started to say things which would be deemed inappropriate, the other lads would circle her and make sure she was okay. She felt safe, which she was quite surprised was the case.

“A piece of advice,” Taylor spoke over the bar as YN started opening the bottles of beer for him and his friends, “Harry over there always orders the same thing, and he’ll drink the whiskey last before he leaves.”

“Thank you,” YN nods with a small smile across her lips, unable to stop her eyes beating over to him for a second – Harry.

“He’s a quiet one,” Taylor continues speaking, grabbing a few bills out of his pocket to pay for the drinks, “But harmless, I promise. To be fair, you’d think the man who founded the club would have more to say.”

YN’s eyes widen, she had no idea that Harry was the one who founded the club. She hadn’t suspected it at all.

“He founded it?” She asked with a slight raise of her eyebrow. She wasn’t trying to pry, but there were things that she wanted to know, and Taylor already had that buzz that made her know that he would be willing to answer any questions she had.

“Yeah, it was him and a few others,” Taylor shrugged, attempting to pick up the three bottles of beer all in one go, “A few years ago now, and it only grew from there.”

YN nodded once more and watched as he walked back to his table. She put the bills that he had given her for the drinks into the register and put the tip she had been given into her apron.

There was something about that man that had caught her attention from that first day, and yet she couldn’t put her finger on it. Now, it made sense. The aura that he had when he walked into the room, as well as the way he sat and held himself – he had a strong presence in the group without even trying.

YN had more questions, but she knew it probably wasn’t the best to pry right now. Instead, she just got on with everything that she had to do. She served drinks and cleaned up after herself right up until close. YN hadn’t realised when Harry had left, but he had slipped out without a single person realising.

She hummed as she swept the floors, tried her hardest to count the cash right the first time and put it in the safe before continuing with her other closing jobs. The chairs were off the floor, as much of the stickiness in the room that YN could remove was gone and the doors were locked and checked.  

Once she had stepped outside, and locked the door to the bar behind her, the late hour catching up with her very quickly – she realised at that point she wasn’t alone.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he was standing there, resting against his motorcycle with a cigarette dangling from between his lips. YN was confused but continued to lock the door and make sure that nobody could get inside. Then she turned, and that was when she saw Harry looking directly at her.

“Can I help you?” She muttered, fidgeting with the keys she was holding in her hand.

He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, holding it for a second or so before he exhaled, “Heard you were asking questions.”

YN’s heart drops slightly, heat pulsating around her body, “Am I not allowed to ask questions?”

He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, placing the cigarette back in his mouth, “Can’t stop you from doing that, but any questions you have about me, you can ask me yourself.”

YN just pursed her lips and nodded, “Okay then… do you always stalk women when they’re leaving work?”

Harry didn’t seem shocked by her words, or react in any way to them at all, which was surprising to her. But, then again, she hadn’t seen much of a reaction out of this man this entire time she had known of him.

“Only the ones that have worked in my bar for a week.”

“Your bar?” YN widened her eyes, “Thought Mick owned it?”

Harry shook his head, “I do. Mick’s my employee, and so are you.”

“Do you not trust me or something? Think I’m walking away with pocketfuls of cash?”

“I would already know if you’d done that, and you wouldn’t be working here anymore,” YN just nodded, “But this side of a town can be sketchy at night, and you never know who could be lurking.”

YN just scoffed, turning to walk away from the man, “Thank you, but I can look after myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry shrugged, climbing onto his bike, and kicking the stand-up. YN could hear the engine turning on, the loud rumble filling the empty street.

YN continued walking, expecting him to speed past her but he didn’t. The low rumble continued down the street, even when she turned – the sound turned too. It was frustrating and annoying. All YN wanted to do was to get home, have something to eat and get in bed. Instead, she was having to deal with what was becoming an annoying rider, who couldn’t seem to leave her alone.

This continued for around ten minutes, and with each second that passed YN was getting more and more annoyed. Just as she turned onto the edge of her street, the apartment she shared with her roommate Ashley coming into view in the distance, she decided that enough was enough.

She stopped and turned around on the pavement, Harry pulling in on his bike to stop just in front of her. YN sighed and placed her hand on her hips.

“Do we have a problem?”

Harry rested his hands on his bike still, but was facing her, “No problem.”

“Then why are you following me home?” A small chuckle escaped her lips, “You know those strange people you were talking about earlier; you do know you’re acting like one of them?”

“You’re one of us now,” He shrugs, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world – it certainly wasn’t for YN at all.

“That means you follow me home?” The confusion grows with every moment in YN, and yet Harry doesn’t seem the slightest bit worried.

“You didn’t want a ride,” He pulls his carton of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one up, “Had to make sure you got home safe.”

“Right,” YN just nods, “Well, I think I can manage on my own from here. And, if I’m all of a sudden one of you should I expect my jacket in the post? Or do you do collection?”

With a final scoff, she turned and walked away from the man. This time, when the engine started, YN didn’t turn to look at Harry and instead carried on to her front door. It was only then that she turned to peer over her shoulder, just in time to see Harry speed past her and into the night.

She had an incline that this job was going to be interesting, but she had no idea just how much.

It wasn’t necessarily a normal working pattern that YN had found herself in.

Sleeping for most of the day and being awake all night wasn’t necessarily the big girl working pattern that she had aspired to when she was younger, but for the time being she was enjoying it. It did mean that when Ashley returned from her nine-to-five working as a receptionist (YN couldn’t think of anything worse to be honest), YN was just getting ready to start her day.

YN was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a half-eaten sandwich clutched tightly in her hand. She wasn’t too hungry, but she knew that if she didn’t eat something before, she left for work she would regret it later on. The second that Ashley stepped through the door and threw her bag down on the floor, she threw YN a quizzical look.

“What?” YN asked, wiping the mayo that rested on the curve of her lip off with her thumb.

“Do you happen to know anything about the smoking-hot rider staring at the apartment from across the street?”

YN’s entire face dropped, “What?”

Ashley walked over and dropped down on the other side of the sofa, reaching out to steal one of YN’s chips from her plate. Ashley seemed slightly unfazed by the newfound stalker YN had acquired, and that stressed the girl out significantly.

“What do you mean?” YN pushed herself up, making her way over to the window where there he was. Resting against his bike, cigarette resting from his lips sat Harry, staring at the front door to the building with an unreadable expression on his face,

“He’s been there since this morning,” Ashley adds to the conversation causally, running a hand through her hair which she had just pulled out of its undo, “At first, I thought he was waiting for Sandy, you know, from 2.B but then I saw the jacket and realised he must be here for you.”

“He’s not here for me,” YN shook her head, slapping the curtains shut and walking back over to her friend, “He’s stalking me, I can’t believe you’re not more stressed about this.”

Ashley just shrugged, “Worse people to be stalked by, I suppose. He’s one of Clover’s, he’ll be harmless.”

“No, Ashley, he’s not just one of Clover’s,” YN sighed, running a hand over her face before scooting around the apartment to grab her belongings, “He is Clover.”

It was Ashley’s face that dropped this time, “What do you mean?”

“That’s Harry,” YN pulled each one of her pumps on her feet, “He founded the gang!”

“You’re kidding,” Ashley all but screams, “Jesus YN, I knew I was concerned about this job, but I think you’ve done pretty alright for yourself.”

YN just shook her head. She grabbed her jacket, and her bag and made her way over to the door.

“If I go missing, you know who’s responsible,” With that, YN turned away from her friend and rushed out of the door.

She took the stairs down from her apartment at double speed, almost tripping over her feet multiple times. She pulled her jacket on just as she got to the front door. Just before she was going to push it open, just stopped and hesitated for a second. One deep breath in and out was all it took to compose herself, and then she pushed the door open.

Harry spotted her immediately, throwing the cigarette he had in his hand a few metres away from his bike, where a collection was beginning to grow. YN made sure to check the left and the right of her before crossing the road, not quite fancying becoming roadkill this early in the day.

“You’re lucky my neighbours didn’t call the cops on you,” Is the first thing that slips from YN’s lips, before she realises how stupid that sounds.

For the first time since she met him, a small smile crosses Harry’s lips. She had amused him, and oh did she want to do it again.

“You know you can’t stay out here all day,” She follows with, “I’m going to the bar now anyway.”

“I got something for you,” Harry pushed himself up off the bike and that’s when she saw it.

A denim jacket, smaller than the others that she had seen but still carrying the ever-so-known Clover’s Riders logo on the back. That four-leaf clover was known all over town, and towns for miles in every direction and now it seemed YN had one of her own. It would open paths for her but also close them as well. She knew that the second she accepted that jacket, things would change all over again.

“I don’t even ride, Harry,” She sighed, shaking her head slightly, “I’ve never been on a bike in my life.”

He just shrugged once more, “There’s always time to change that.”

YN toyed up her options, and it took a lot less time than she had thought it would to swipe the jacket from his hands. She shrugged off the one she was wearing and slipped her arms inside the material. It was the perfect fit, exactly what she would have chosen for herself. Harry beamed another smile at her and swung his leg over his bike once more.

“C’mon,” He tilted his head at her, “I have something I want to show you.”

“I’ll be late for work,” YN shook her head, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from throwing her leg over the side of the bike and using Harry’s shoulder to help steady herself as she got on.

“You’ll be fine,” Harry spoke, and that’s when YN realised that whilst yes, she was probably going to be late for work, she was also on the back of the owner’s bike – so the trouble couldn’t be too grave, “Hold on tight.”

YN did as the man said, wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist. The second that the engine started, and Harry kicked the stand-up they went flying down the road, and she realised in that exact moment why he said tight. YN’s body lurched forward into Harry’s, her cheek resting against the leather of his jacket, and her hands tightening around him.

Once the initial fear had worn off, and YN finally peered over the man’s shoulder – she would be lying if she said that it didn’t feel in a word freeing. The wind through her hair, the chill of the speed at which she was going laced with the feeling of Harry pressed so closely against her. Sure, she had been scared but now she knew that there wasn’t anything to be scared of. It wasn’t a scary thing, instead, it was something to be enjoyed.

YN’s lips curled upwards, a slight giggle leaving them as she noticed they went speeding through a red light. Many, and by many YN meant most, of the riders had a back pocket full of speeding tickets, and lights that they’ve jumped and yet none of them seemed to care. It was as though all of the law-abiding parts of their brains didn’t function when they were on bikes. On second thought, even when they weren’t on the bikes the law-abiding parts of their brain didn’t function.

Harry pulled over just as they joined the road which took them out of the city. They had completely passed Clover’s, and YN hadn’t the faintest clue of how late she was for work at this point, but it didn’t matter. It would take a lot for this smile to leave her face today. Once the bike came to a stop, YN used Harry’s shoulder to push up off of it.

Harry sits on the bike, but his eyes never leave the girl. The way she almost looked like a baby deer as she got her grounding once she was off the bike, the way her hair stuck out in every and all directions, and most importantly the beaming smile that never left her face. For the first time in a long time, there were no thoughts in YN’s head. There were no worries about growing up and getting a proper job, or stress about money – it was completely and utterly freeing. She supposed that was why there were so many of the riders and she supposed they were all chasing that feeling.

“You’ve got to teach me how to ride,” She sighed, the blissful smile never leaving her lips.

Harry just nodded, “Whenever you want.”

“Really?” Her face widened in excitement.

Harry shrugged, “You’ve gotta know how to ride if you’re going to be a rider.”

YN just nodded, and almost jumped back onto the bike. Harry didn’t say anything when she wrapped her arms back around his waist, not a single gap between their bodies but it just felt so comfortable. Harry kicked the stand down once more and sprang straight into action, turning slowly around on the road before speeding up the second they were on the straight back to the town.

All YN knew was that she was going to savour the feeling of the wind in her hair.

It was another Saturday night, and it was packed in the bar.

YN was so thankful that she could stay behind the safety of the actual bar and not venture out into the rest of the room. The men had just come back from a ride, and they were all excited and loud and wanting nothing but drink upon drink upon drink. She had been there from earlier on in the day today, and when Mick showed up later in the evening, she hadn’t managed to utter a single word but hello to him since.

All she could think of was the fact that once the rush had died down, it would be her time to go home and rest. In what felt like a very long few months of working every day (at first YN hadn’t minded, but she was slowly getting more and more burnt out) it was finally time for her to have a day off. Mick had graciously said to her the other day that he could handle Sunday on his own, and those words felt like gold slipping from his lips. She didn’t have a single clue of what she was going to do with her day, all she knew was that it was going to be relaxing.

She just had to get through this night first.

At first, the night seemed fine. Everyone was in good spirits and there was nothing more than a few drunken disagreements that sorted themselves out. YN had taken that as the opportunity to make her way over to where Harry was sitting and replenish his beer while he was there. It was then that the door was thrown open, and the entire atmosphere in the room changed.

What had at first been a lovely evening had changed within the second, and it was all because of a man that she hadn’t recognised. He didn’t have a rider’s jacket on his back, and that should have been YN’s first clue that this man was going to be in trouble. This was a riders’ bar, and those jackets were almost like a rite of passage. Without one, people stuck out like a sore thumb.

It became even more obvious to YN when the man beelined straight over to where Harry was sitting. He didn’t sit and instead leant over Harry, so his focus was on him. YN stayed close, but she didn’t want to make it too obvious that she was listening. She wasn’t the only one either – she could see other riders peering over at them from where they were sitting.

“You said if I did it, I’d get my jacket,” Those were the first words that came out of the man’s mouth – not even a greeting of hello, “I did it. Where’s the fucking jacket?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a second or so. Instead, he lifted his recently replenished beer to his lips and took a swag. He was doing as he always did – taking his sweet darn time.

“I said I’d think about it,” Harry mumbles, shrugging slightly as he did, “I’ve thought about it… and no.”

The man smacks his hand down onto the bar top, the sound echoing throughout the room. It silenced everyone, and all eyes turned to the two men. YN’s eyes looked towards Mick with a panicked expression on them but he shook his head, hoping that would calm the girls down.

“That wasn’t the fucking deal,” The man spits, coming right up into Harry’s face but it didn’t seem to deter the man at all, “The deal was to drop the shipment, I get the fucking jacket.”

Harry finally turned to look at the man, his stern expression never wavering, “Do you think I want someone like you, someone that doesn’t listen wearing one of my jackets?”

The man didn’t like that response, and it seemed as though as quickly as YN could blink her eyes the man was grasping the lapels of Harry’s jacket and pulling him up from the stool. He was then pushed straight into the bar, a slight grunt leaving his lips as he did. There was the initial sound of beer stools scratching on the floor, and other Riders were reading to split the two men up but all it took was Harry lifting one of his hands and they all stopped in their places.

“I don’t want someone who’s that willing to fight one of his men wearing a jacket.”

That was all it took for the other man to make the first punch. His arm pulled backwards, and his fist hit Harry straight across the jaw. The skin immediately went red, but Harry didn’t look like a man who had just been hit straight across the jaw. The bar stayed silent, obviously waiting for whatever Harry’s retaliation was going to be.

What YN, and certainly a lot of others in the bar hadn’t expected was Harry to reach behind him, to where his empty beer bottle was sat and hit the man over the head with it. The man fell to the ground, his grip on Harry letting go instantly. Harry lifted his hand, wincing when he noticed that a shard of glass from the broken bottle had lodged itself in his skin.

He just sighed, rubbing his forehead with his uninjured hand, “Get him out of here.”

Three of the men who were watching closely immediately listened to him, walking over, and picking the man up. They carried him out of the bar and were back to their drinks in what seemed like minutes. It was as though nobody truly seemed to care as to what had just happened and were more excited to get back to their drinks truly as though nothing had happened.

YN watched as Harry threw back the glass of whisky that had sat on the bar waiting for him (courtesy of Mick). That seemed like something that YN would have to take note of. With that, he dropped a few bills on the counter and stormed out of the bar. YN watched this and immediately started to pull her apron off her body.

“Mick,” The older man hummed from the other side of the bar, “I’m going outside for a break. I’ll only be a minute.”

The older man just threw YN a look, obviously having spotted who had left the bar just before she wanted to, “Be careful.”

YN just laughed, throwing the latch open, “I’m always careful.”

The second she stepped outside; she was shocked to see that Harry’s bike was still there, but he wasn’t sitting on it. There was a slight chill in the night air, and YN looked from left to right to try and spot him, but he was still nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t until YN made her way towards the alley that followed the side of the bar that she finally realised where he had gone.

It was dark, but not dark enough to miss the figure leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging from his lips. YN wrapped her arms around herself, wanting to conceal at least some of the warmth from inside. As her shoes crunched on the path, Harry’s eyes turned to look at her. He was ready for it to be someone else, and it was almost as though when he noticed that it was her – his features seemed to relax.

“How’s your hand?” She asked, coming to a stop right in front of him.

He raised his palm towards her, “It’s been better.”

YN winced to herself slightly as she looked at his hand, seeing the shard of glass still sticking out of the skin. Whilst she didn’t have a first aid kit on her body at this exact moment, it was good that she knew where one was.

“Come with me,” She nodded, walking further down the alley to the bar’s back entrance.

YN didn’t even turn to make sure that he was following her, she just knew that he would be. She held the door open for him, and the one that opened to the office of the bar (where Mick spent most of his time during the day, sorting the books out) and pointed at the chair by the desk.

Whilst Harry sat down without a word to her, YN reached up to the shelf above them and brought the first aid kit down. Harry’s eyes watched her as she pulled tweezer, gauze, and some antiseptic to clean and dress his wound. It was all very silent, and still but caring.

“Can I?” She asked, checking sure it was okay to touch his hand.

Harry nodded, placing his hand in hers. To YN, she wasn’t sure if she was truly touch-starved that feeling of his hand in hers felt truly intimate. She got to work straight away, pulling the glass out with the tweezers ever so carefully before wiping the surface of the cut. Even though YN knew that it would have stung, Harry’s face didn’t show anything, only one raised an eyebrow slightly.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” She mumbles, face still full of concentration on making sure the wound is fully clean before she wraps it.

Harry just nodded, “You see wounds like these before?”

YN nodded, “I’ve worked in bars before – of course, I’ve seen wounds like these before.”

Harry just nods, allowing YN to move his hand at her ease to ensure that it is wrapped tightly and securely. He opened his mouth once she had finished, as though he was going to ask her something, but he closed it straight away. She wanted nothing more than to tell him that he could ask her anything that he wanted to, but she didn’t want to scare him away.

“You’re all set,” She offered him a small smile.

“Thank you,” The words sort of felt foreign, but very sincere coming from his lips, “I… you didn’t have to.”

YN just shrugged, “Wasn’t going to let you bleed out – would’ve been bad for business.”

Harry offered her a small smile at her attempt at a joke, “I’m sorry about what happened in there as well… usually we try to keep those sorts of things out of the bar.”

“Harry,” His name came out of her lips softly, hoping that would be the thing to tell him that it was okay. That she wasn’t angry at him, “I know… it doesn’t bother me – I promise.”

He just nods, “I knew that, you know.”

YN furrows her eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“That first day,” He reached out to her, and did the last thing that she would ever expect – grabbed her hand, “The way you dealt with some of the lads… I knew you were different.”

“It was you…” The words slipped out of YN’s mouth before she could truly register them, “You saw me that day.”

It all made sense. YN had noticed Harry that very first day that she’d appeared at Clover, and whilst originally Mick had said no, he had changed his mind and said yes. To YN, it had looked and seemed that Mick was the one who had made that decision, and yet it made sense that it was Harry to be the one who changed Mick’s mind. Harry, if he had been sitting at his barstool would have been a metre or so away from that conversation – and he would have heard every word that had been said.

“I did,” Harry nods, claiming every thought that YN had to be true, “I saw you, the way you spoke to them, the way you stood your ground and god, YN, I was hooked.”

That was the first time that YN had heard Harry speak her name, and she was addicted. She wanted to hear it over, and over and over again. He noticed the slight shift in her and used his legs to roll the chair he was sitting on closer to where she was resting against the desk. Then he slipped his uninjured arm around her body and pulled her down to him. She straddled his knees, relishing the feeling of his body beneath hers.

“I…” Her words came out as a whisper, “I felt the same.”

Relief. That was the look on his face – it was a true relief.

“You did?”

“God, Harry,” YN giggles, shaking her head, “I tried not to, but I would be lying if I said that most of my thoughts haven’t been filled with you. Wanting to know more.”

“You can know anything,” His thumb slipped underneath the thin material of her shirt, a heat spreading across her entire body from that one single touch, “Ask me anything, everything – I’ll answer. Whatever you want to know?”

YN pondered that for a second. She could have asked him anything, and yet there was one thought which was present in her mind more than any of the others. An hour ago, this question would have been risky – she just wouldn’t have asked it. Yet, in the safety of this room – away from peering eyes, or anyone who could make assumptions as to what it meant – she wanted nothing more than to ask it.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Harry exhaled a breath, lifting his hand to rest against her cheek, “More than anything.”

YN nodded.

“Harry…” He hummed at the call of her name, “Kiss me.”

His thumb danced from her cheek, down to her lip. He ran it across the skin of her bottom lip, pushing down slightly so that her lips parted for him. The only sound in the room was YN’s heavy breathing, a response to the teasing that was on display right in front of her.

Then his face inched forward, and his lips were on hers. It didn’t take long for his tongue to slip past her parted lips, dancing with her own. This closeness to someone, the vulnerability – YN had missed it. She pushed her body forward towards Harry’s, slipping her hands in the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands, never mind the bandaged one which would have still caused him pain, rested upon her denim-clad arse. They found their home resting there, and YN wasn’t about to move them.

Harry pulled away from her lips, obviously needing oxygen as much as she did. But he wasted no time in dropping his attack down her neck, his teeth nipping the skin there. YN’s hands still rested in the curls at the nape of his neck, and heavy breaths parted from her lips.

“Harry,” She gasped as he started to suck at the sweet spot where her neck met her collarbone, “I need to get back to work.”

“No, you don’t,” He mumbled, and YN just rolled her eyes.

“I’ve deserted Mick,” She continues, “He might need help.”

“Mick’ll be fine,” He pulled his head up, resting on her chest as he peered up at her, “And anyway, I’m your boss.”

YN shook her head, “I need to go.”

Harry groaned but finally nodded, “Ride home with me?”

“Of course,” YN pecked Harry’s lips one last time pushed herself up from him and walked out of the room.

Harry’s eyes never left her the entire time.  

“Harry, no, I’m going to tip over.”

When Harry had dropped YN at home last night, he had muttered the words that he would see her tomorrow. Before she could clarify that she wasn’t working, he had sped off on his motorcycle into the dark of the night. YN should have known, though, that Harry knew she wasn’t working. It became even more clear when Ashley shouted at her from the kitchen at around midday today, telling her that her Rider was waiting for her.

Instead of the annoyance that YN felt the first time, there was a skip in her step this time. She had taken some time that morning to make herself look that little bit more presentable and waited for him. After their kiss the previous night in the office, and the slight peck that he had given her when she had climbed off his bike yesterday.

When she had bounced over to him earlier, a smile beaming on his face she didn’t have a single care as to what she would be doing that day – all she knew was that she was going to enjoy it. Even when she climbed on the back of his bike and asked where they were going – the smile never left her face. He refused to tell her, though, saying that it was a surprise.

“Harry, I don’t want to,” YN shook her head, hands grasping tightly onto the handles of the bike, “I’m going to fall off, or I’m going to crash your bike.”

What Harry had planned for the girl was to teach her how to ride. Whilst at the start YN had wanted nothing more than to learn how to ride, now that she was sitting on Harry’s bike without him there – she was terrified. Harry was standing close to her, cigarette dangling from his lips and an amused expression on his face.

“You’re not going to fall,” Harry shakes his head, “I’m right here… and I promise I won’t let you crash.”

“You can say that Harry, but you can’t promise,” YN was sitting on the bike, with her feet resting on the ground and absolutely no attempt at all to move.

He threw his cigarette on the floor, moving over so that he could wrap his arms around her waist, his hands coming to rest upon hers on the handle. He turned the engine on, and even though it was YN’s hands on the handle, Harry was controlling it. They went very slow – they had to so that Harry could walk at the side of them.

“I’m going to let go,” Harry spoke after a minute or so, but YN shook her head.

“I’m not ready,” YN pushed her body into his slightly, “I’m going to crash.”

“There’s nothing for you to crash into,” Harry peels one of his hands off of hers, “I trust you… you’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t as though he was lying. Harry had driven them out to a deserted road just out of town. Close enough away that they’d be home at a normal time, but far enough away that there wasn’t any traffic which would interrupt them. There wasn’t anything but stone and grass around them, and whilst if YN came to a haphazard stop, it wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing ever – there wasn’t a lot of damage that she could do to Harry’s bike.

Harry let go of her other hand, and she was doing it. Granted, she didn’t go over 2mph, but she was still riding the bike on her own. She wasn’t comfortable enough to attempt to turn yet, so she just came to a slow stop a few metres further down from where Harry was. She kicked the stand down and climbed off the bike – turning towards Harry with a smile on her face.

“I did it!” She bounced over to Harry and wrapped her arms around his neck, his coming to rest around her waist.

“Never doubted you,” He leaned down to place a kiss on her lips, pulling her body flush against his. Before anything more could happen, the sound of crunching on the road, as well as the sound of a siren interrupted them.

YN’s heart started to beat rapidly at the sight of a police car inching towards them. Whilst YN had dealt with police before working in her previous bars, she hadn’t ever been out in the open with her and only one other person when talking to them. Knowing that Harry also ran a motorcycle gang added another level of worry to it.

Harry just pulled YN with him, going to rest against his bike. He looked completely unfazed, whilst YN truly was shitting in her boots slightly. The police car stopped right in front of them, and as the door swung open to the car, Harry lit up a cigarette and brought it up to his lips – again, making it aware that he was completely unfazed by what was happening.

“Styles,” The officer sighed, slamming his car door behind him shit as he walked towards the two of them, “You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Hmm,” Harry just hums, inhaling from his cigarette, “I had no idea you were even looking for me… I wouldn’t have just stood in the middle of the road if I knew.”

The officer chuckled, placing his hands on his hips, “We had reports last night that you attacked a man.”

Harry shook his head, “Couldn’t have been me.”

“It happened at your bar,” The officer took a step forward towards Harry, “Had reports that you hit him over the head with a beer bottle.”

Harry just chuckles, “Officer Thompson, I don’t have time for this he said she said bullshit. If you’ve got something to say to me, I think you should say it.”

The officer just hummed, “Where were you last night?”

“I was at the bar,” Harry nodded, “All night.”

YN started to panic from beside him, but she tried not to make it obvious. Harry must have complete and utter trust in his riders to not say anything to the police. It made sense now to YN as to why that man hadn’t been given a jacket. He had instigated the fight, and yet he had run straight to the police with it. He was a coward and a rat.

“Can anyone corroborate this?”

“I can,” YN was surprised at how strongly her voice came out, “I was there with him all night, I work there.”

The officer hums once more, his eyes dropping down to focus on Harry once more. YN realises that it’s then that the officer has spotted his bandaged hand. YN’s mind starts to spiral slightly, hoping that one of them will be able to come up with something quickly.

“What, uh,” The officer couldn’t hide the smile on his face, obviously thinking that he had found him out, “What happened to your hand, Styles?”

Harry opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so YN interrupts. She giggles slightly, knowing exactly what type of character was going to be believable for this officer. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I’m so sorry, officer, that was my fault,” YN took a small step towards the officer, but not far enough that she wasn’t in arms reach of Harry, “See, I’m real clumsy. And yesterday, I dropped a whole crate of beer and Harry heard the crash, and he helped me clean up – unfortunately, he cut his hand in the process.”

The officer’s eyes moved between Harry and YN. There was no way at that point for YN to try and guess what he was thinking – or what he was going to say. Then, when the officer’s face broke out into a smile just the same as YN’s, she knew she had convinced him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss, and I hope you have a good rest of your day,” Then the officer turned to Harry, and the smile on his face dropped, “I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Styles.”

“And I’ll be looking forward to it Officer Thompson.”

Harry rested against his bike the entire time, whilst YN had her arms crossed against her chest. They didn’t say another word to each other until they watched the car turn around and drive away from them. It was only then that YN turned to Harry, who was running a hand over his face. Sighing, YN walked over to him, grabbing his hands (but making sure to be careful of his injured hand).

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry shakes his head, pulling her hands up so that he can place a kiss on the back of them.

“I know,” YN nods, “But I wanted to.”

Harry rests his chin upon their connected hands, “I wanna take you somewhere.”

YN would be lying if she said that she hadn’t thought about where Harry lived once or twice because she had. He had been to her apartment a few times to pick her up, and whilst she hadn’t necessarily wanted to be that forward and ask him where he lived, there was a part of her which wondered about it.

It was a strange circumstance. Where does the leader of a gang live? Where does he rest his head at night? Where does make his coffee in the morning? Whilst YN wouldn’t necessarily admit it, she was an inquisitive person.  

When Harry’s bike came to a stop outside of a garage, one that seemingly had an apartment attached to the top of it – it all made sense. Yes, the bar had to be doing well, with how many people were in it daily. But there had to be another way that Harry was making money, and it seemed as though this was it. She wondered if this had anything to do with the shipments that the other man had been speaking about.

He kicked the standout and gave YN the space the climb off before he did. He walked over to the shutter, unlocked the padlock, and threw it open. The apartment didn’t look too big, but the shop itself was huge. She had expected a car, maybe a few bikes – but she hadn’t expected rows upon rows of bikes lining the side of the walls. In the middle, YN could see the different stations where Harry and some of the other members worked.

“Are these all yours?” YN asked, her finger reaching out to run across the glossy black exterior of one of the bikes closest to her.

“Most of them,” Harry shrugged, dropping the shutter closed behind the two of them after pushing his bike inside, “Me and a few others, we buy them and restore them, make them better to sell on.”

“God, Harry,” YN turns to him, an expression of what could only be described as amazement on her features, “This is amazing.”

He just offered her a small smile, taking small steps towards her until he was close enough to wrap his arms around her middle. YN giggled slightly, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder as he pulled her closer to him.

“Pick one.”

The features on YN’s lips dropped again, “What?”

“Pick one,” Harry repeated, “A bike.”

“Yeah, I gathered that, Harry, I’m just confused as to why.”

He just shrugged, leaning back against the workbench near the two of them. YN turned around so that she was facing him, and Harry at once pressed his hands against her waist. It was funny to YN, to see the big, scary, gang member was so soft around her, and they hadn’t necessarily known each other very long.

“You said it yourself,” He shrugged, his hands pulling her between her body between his open legs, “If you’re gonna be a rider, you’ve got to ride. Seems like you need a bike to do that.”

“Yeah, but I’ll buy one,” YN spoke, as though it was the most obvious thing in the word, “When I have the cash for it.”

Harry shook his head, “No need, rather have you on one of these. Tested them myself, they’re all safe.”

YN just shook her head, propelling her body even further forward so that she could wrap her arms around Harry’s neck and press her lips against his. It was a clumsy kiss, with both of their teeth clashing and smiles upon their features but they did not care.

“Thank you,” She mumbled against his lips, pressing a flurry of chaste kisses to them afterwards.

Harry shook his head, “No need – pick one, baby.”

YN pushed her body up and started to walk up and down the rows of bikes until she spotted it. It was about halfway down the row, a bike with dark green glossy accents, looking nothing but sleek with the dark metal of the engine. It was the one that she wanted, and the second she was standing in front of it she knew it was hers. With that beaming smile across her features, YN turned and launched herself at Harry, wrapping her legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. His hands came to rest on the plump skin of her arse over her dark denim jeans. Even though YN suspected that she had caught him off guard, he didn’t show it on his face.

“How can I ever thank you?” She asked between a litter of kisses to his lips, a boyish smile crossing his features afterwards that YN wants nothing more than to bottle up and remember forever.

“That smile of yours is enough,” Harry nods at her, pressing another full kiss to her lips.

YN tilts her head to the side, turning to look at Harry with a slight smirk crossing her features. His eyebrows furrowed as though he already suspected she was coming up with something in her head.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Maybe…” YN starts, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, hesitating, “Maybe there’s another way I can thank you.”

Harry’s eyes widened, as though he was finally catching on to the thoughts swimming around in YN’s head.

“We don’t have to,” Harry shakes his head quickly. “I promise I’m not expecting anything from you.”

YN just shakes her head, leaning forward to place another kiss on his lips. Her hands tugged at the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I know you’re not,” YN offers him a smile, “I want to. I promise.”

Harry shook his head, a groan emitting from his lips as he tugged her even closer to him if that was possible. YN giggles at his obvious joy at her statement.

“God,” He rests his forehead against hers, “I know it’s wrong, but I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Harry turns, as though he’s going to walk out of the garage, but YN stops him. He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she just giggles once more.

“Want it here.”

“What?”

“Want it here, want you on the bench,” Harry groans once more, moving to drop her down upon the workbench that he had been rested upon earlier.

“Are you sure I haven’t dreamt you up?”

“Nope,” YN shakes her head, “I’m real.”

YN threads her fingers back through the curls at the nape of his neck, bringing his face back to hers. It doesn’t take long for their lips to connect once more. It wasn’t sweet or light. It was rough, as though both of them were finally able to do what they had both been thinking about.

Harry’s hands start to move down her body, resting on the hem of her jeans. She can feel his thumbs pressing down into the skin of her waist, and when it registers in her brain what he was trying to do YN pulls away, shaking her head.

“Not yet,” She lightly pushes his body to the side so that she can jump off the bench, “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“You don’t have to,” YN’s hands rest on the lapels of his jacket, waiting for his nod before she pushes it off his shoulders.

“I want to.”

It takes just one swipe for Harry to pull his shirt over his head whilst YN’s hands come to rest upon his belt buckle. YN’s eyes widen at the sight of his exposed chest, as well as the tattoos that litter his sin. YN knew that Harry had tattoos; she had seen the ones on his arms multiple times, but it felt different to see the ones on his chest.

Her fingers work quickly to pull Harry’s belt buckle open, working on the button and zip of his jeans next. YN drops down to her knees, pushing Harry back slightly so that he’s resting against the workbench. Harry peers down at her, his chest heaving up and down in anticipation. Her hand rests upon the grey material of his boxers, palming his already semi-hard cock through the light material.

“You like teasing?”

YN shrugs lightly, “I have no clue what you mean.”

Harry laughs, watching her intently as her fingers loop into the band of his boxers, pulling them down to expose him to her. YN finds herself unable to pull her eyes away from his cock. She knew it had to be big from palming him through his boxers but seeing it before she made her mouth water and pressure to build in the pit of her stomach.

She placed a light kiss on his tip, which was already red and leaking from his obvious arousal. YN smiled, giving it a lick from the base to the tip before she used her hand to give it a few tugs. YN was confident in her moves, even though she had only done it a few times before in her life. She gained more confidence from the moans leaving Harry’s lips; they were deep and quiet, but she could hear them, and they caused her to squeeze her thighs together in hopes that it would give her some relief.

“YN… please,” It almost sounded as though he was pleading with her to do something, and YN almost moaned at the sound.

YN wraps her lips around the tip of Harry’s cock, beginning to bob her head up and down. One of her hands rested upon his thigh, whilst the other wrapped around the base of his cock, helping her with what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Her tongue lightly grazed his tip, earning a louder moan from Harry that egged her on further.

“Fuck… YN.”

Harry’s hands came to rest in her hair, helping her to move her head up and down his cock. It was a light tug that caused YN to moan around his cock, and she could feel Harry resisting from bucking his hips to meet her. Instead, she continued to bob her head, speeding up in hopes that it would help him recover from her teasing.

“YN gotta pull away,” Harry says after a minute or so, his grip on her hair tightening, “I’m gonna cum.”

YN doesn’t stop, however, instead, she keeps going until she hears him moan louder and start to cum down her throat. When she looks up at him, his head is thrown back, and his eyes are closed. She works her head up and down until he’s finished, only pulling away then. When she looks back up at him he has a look in his eyes that makes her assume that they aren’t done.

YN giggles as he puts his hands on her waist and pulls her up so she’s standing, immediately placing a kiss on her lips, seemingly not caring about the fact that his cum was on them. YN’s legs nearly gave out then and there, and she had to place her hands on his biceps to steady herself.

“Did that show my thanks?” She asked, tilting her head to the side innocently.

Harry wraps his arms around her thighs once more, picking her up effortlessly.

“Damn right, it did,” Harry starts to walk over to the door that she suspects goes into the house, “But I’m not done with you yet.”

It was quiet at Clover’s, a lull mid-afternoon on a Friday before everyone picked their spots for the night. YN had spent an hour or so cleaning and drying the glasses that had been used earlier in the day, making sure that they were to have enough for the night ahead.

The repeated motion of washing and drying gave her time to think, and more often than not, she found herself daydreaming about her morning, which she had spent in Harry’s bed, wrapped up in his arms. The two of them had been pretty inseparable before, but after he had gifted her the bike, it had seemingly gotten even worse, if that was possible. It had been weeks since that day, and YN could probably count on one hand the nights she had spent alone since then. Harry waited every night for her after work, and even when he couldn’t she would return to his house and wait for him there.

They hadn’t spoken about what they were necessarily, but that didn’t matter to YN. She didn’t need a label to know how she felt about Harry, and she assumed Harry felt about her also. For the first time in a long time YN was happy, and even though she was only a bartender and that useless history degree of hers wasn’t doing much – she wasn’t yearning for something else, for something better. YN truly felt as though it couldn’t get any better than it currently was.

The door to the bar pushed open, and whilst YN thought it was probably a rider coming in for a drink, she was shocked to see that it was Mick, obviously dropping in to start his shift. Thankfully, since YN had taken the day shift she didn’t have to stay until close tonight, meaning that she could spend more time in bed with Harry to end her week.

“Hey, YN,” She offered Mick a smile, “Just lemme drop my shit in the back and then you can go on break.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

Once he was back out, and she had passed over what she was doing to him, she made her way outside with the sandwich that Harry had made for her earlier. She was going to make her lunch, but Harry insisted that he make it for her. YN smiled at the memory of her sitting upon his kitchen counter, clad only in one of his t-shirts and a pair of pyjama shorts. They had laughed and joked and, at one point, had a break to dance around the kitchen to the song that was playing over the radio.

YN hadn’t had many relationships before, two at most she could think of, but they were never like this. They always felt transactional to YN. But with Harry, it truly felt as though they were two halves. There was a level of domesticity that YN loved more than anything with him, and every little task that they did together meant so much.

Once YN had eaten her sandwich, her thoughts filled with Harry and their morning. YN pulled her legs underneath her and began to read her book, knowing that she could get a chapter or so read before her break was over. It was a book about the Tudors she was reading, something that had been a passion of hers during her degree. It had been a while since she had read anything, but she supposed that the want came from her peace and happiness being restored.

She had just finished a chapter on Henry VIII’s Economic policy when she heard noise from the front of the bar. It was loud, and the voices that were speaking were quick, but it was muffled, so she couldn’t quite decipher what was being said. Putting her bookmark into place and closing the book, she pushed up from the chair and made her way towards the bar.

Mick was standing there, with three or four others in front of him. They looked panicked, and their words reflected that.

“Tell me again,” Mick placed his hands down on the counter, “I can’t tell a word you’re saying when you’re talking that quickly.”

“An accident, Mick,” It was Taylor who spoke, “There was an accident. We were riding along, and this truck came outta nowhere, sent him flying.”

YN moved towards them, her heart immediately starting to thump within her chest.

“Who?” Her words came out quickly, all of the men’s heads turning towards her, “Who went flying?”

“YN… I…” Taylor took a step towards her, his entire face dropping.

That was when she knew.

Her palms started to sweat, and her body felt heavy. There was a dizziness inside her head, and for one second she thought that she was going to fall to ground.

It was Harry.

“Where is he?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, the tears finally starting to collect within her waterline.

“YN…” Mick started.

“No, Mick,” She shook her head, “Where is he? Tell me where he is!”

Taylor took another step closer towards her, “I don’t know. The woman in the store across the street from where it happened phoned an ambulance, I left before they came. If I hazard a guess, they’ll be on their way to the hospital by now.”

YN nodded and before she knew it she was stalking her way outside and towards her bike. Ignoring the tears that were clouding her vision she climbed upon. Just as she was about to start it, a hand touched her elbow. It was Mick. She almost broke down crying there and then.

“Don’t,” Mick shook his head, “You can’t drive like that, darlin’. Let Taylor take you. Please.”

“He has to be okay,” YN shook her head, the sobs starting to wrack through her body.

Mick nodded, helping her off the bike, “He will be. But, if you wanna get there safely, in one piece let the boys take you.”

YN nods, walking over to Taylor’s bike and hopping on behind him. Mick gave her hand one last squeeze.

“Send him my love, okay?” Mick spoke and YN nodded, not trusting herself to be able to reply in that moment.

Taylor started the engine, and before she knew anything, they were hurtling down the street. This time, though, she wasn’t thinking about the wind in her hair.

[harrywavycurly]

Worth the Fight: A Harry Styles Series

Summary: A one night stand turns into more than you bargain for when you find yourself pregnant after drunkenly hooking up with Harry Styles after a few too many rounds at a karaoke bar. You don't really know him and he doesn't know a lot about you minus the fact your cat really just doesn't like him, but the one thing you quickly learn is boy can you two argue. This series is all about how you and Harry navigate going from strangers to soon to be parents all while trying not to kill each other in the process and maybe see what these weird feelings that develop along the way are all about.✨

Pairing: Harry Styles x pregnant!reader

Trope: Enemies to lovers (with a twist because it's like lovers to enemies back to lovers?), slow burn baby so buckle up.

CW: Mentions of a lot pregnancy/baby things, language, Harry's a bit of a dick, possessive behavior, jealous behavior, angst.

Tag List: Open just let me know if you'd like on it.

Story Type: This series is a mixture of texts and one shots, I think it'll be fun to see a a good mix!

Extras: Here

Update Schedule: Once A Week✨

Part 1: Late for What?

Part 2: City of Love

Part 3: Reviews

Part 4: A Little Treat

Part 5: Mr. Popular

Part 6: Places of Peace

Part 7: Swoon Worthy

Part 8: Good Hands

Part 9: Civil extra: Harry’s convo with Niall here

Part 10: Smells Good

Part 11: Bad Energy

Part 12: It’s Just Cake

Part 13: Comes in Waves

Part 14: I’m Just a Librarian

[avatar-anna]

Never Really Over

a little bit of divorced!harry for your consideration

"I just wanna see him."

Y/n gave her ex a long look, not betraying the warring emotions swirling in her belly. Harry rarely showed up this late. He rarely showed up unannounced, for that matter. It made things easier—seeing him when she could prepare herself for the encounter. Now he was here on her doorstep, hair messy and eyes all pleading and sad.

"I just put him to bed, H," Y/n sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to keep Harry from their son, but it was way too late, and it wasn't his week.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Y/n had been feeling particularly lonely lately and seeing her ex husband be all sweet with their son would make her think traitorous thoughts.

"I know, I know, I've just... I've had a long day, and I just want to see him. I won't even wake him up, I swear. I just want to sit with him."

Despite the divorce, Y/n still knew Harry struggled with the demise of their relationship, and she did too, even if she was the one who ultimately filed. They were five months in, but she felt like no time had passed at all. She floated between half expecting Harry to walk through the door like he used to and frustrated by the way their relationship turned so tumultuous by the end. It was all too complicated, which was why she preferred Harry's visits to be planned. It helped her to compartmentalize.

But she saw the look in his eyes and couldn't help but empathize with her ex-husband.

He looked tired and lost and maybe even at his wits end a little. She knew that look well, she recognized it every time she looked in the mirror on the days Harry had their son. She knew what it was like to have a bad day and want nothing more than to hold their little bub and let him wash away every bit of stress and frustration. Y/n did everything she could to not go completely out of her mind when it was Harry's week with their son, and she imagined that her ex felt similarly.

"Twenty minutes," she said, opening the door further and stepping to the side.

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief. He stepped toward Y/n as if he was going to hug her, then seemed to think better of it and went straight inside.

Y/n stayed downstairs while Harry went up, letting him have a private moment with their son. She cleaned up in the meantime, putting away stray toys and books and fluffing couch cushions and refolding blankets. Anything to not think of Harry with her son, or the soft look he always got when he gazed down at their little boy. It had always been her kryptonite, and she wasn't sure she'd gotten over it yet.

A little while later, Harry came back downstairs. Having organized and straightened up everything she possibly could, Y/n settled on the couch with the glass of wine she'd promised herself earlier that day. She'd wanted to have it in her bed with her book, but she settled for scrolling on her phone until her ex eventually left.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice soft, careful not to wake the five year old upstairs. "You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it," Y/n said, trying to appear like seeing him didn't have an effect on her the way it used to.

"Really, Y/n, I owe you."

"Let's not go and make promises you can't keep again," she muttered.

Y/n felt guilty as soon as she said it. They were having a civil moment, a rarity since the whirlwind of their divorce. She hadn't meant to pick at old wounds and make them bleed again. Her response was a reflex more than anything, one that she couldn't keep in check when she was tired.

"I'm not the one who filed for divorce, Y/n," Harry said, a dark cloud of emotion overtaking his face. "If anyone broke promises, it was you."

"Those vows were broken long before we got divorced, and you know it," Y/n said, that old fire that was more of a dull ember these days rising to the surface.

Harry and Y/n fell in love hard and fast, both loving each other fiercely and with everything cell in their body. Their relationship had been full of passion and intensity and so much love it was almost suffocating. But it also meant that they fought just as hard. Their arguments often blazed and burned bright, then fizzled out until they were in each other's arms again as if nothing had happened.

Until the arguments got bigger.

And longer.

And Y/n just couldn't take it anymore.

Y/n could tell that the anger simmering in Harry's eyes was more for show. She could see the sadness, perhaps even loneliness, in those lovely green eyes of his. And maybe her anger was a little more bravado than genuine hurt too. Maybe it was easier to slip into familiar habits and poke at old wounds than admit the truth.

She missed him.

"Don't make me the villain here. You—"

"I don't want to fight with you," she said before Harry could volley anything back. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry. It's been a long day for me, and I'm assuming yours wasn't a walk in the park either."

Harry didn't say anything, or do anything, for a moment. Then, he let his head drop, his shoulders slumping a little. Feeling more than a little bad for kicking him while he was down, Y/n stood up from the couch and fetched another glass before pouring some wine in it for her ex. "Here," she said. "A peace offering. You look like you could use it."

With a laugh that held no humor in it, he took it and raised the glass to his mouth, and Y/n tried hard not to stare at his lips. Or the column of his throat as it bobbed when he took a sip. Or—

"Is this one of mine?"

Y/n willed her cheeks not to flush. "I might've snagged a few bottles from your collection before we sold the house. Most of them went untouched anyways."

"They were aging," Harry said, a little of that humor and charm she fell in love with sparking in his eyes, the lines of his face. "You're supposed to let the bottles rest for a few years until they're at their peak, and then you drink them."

Y/n shrugged. "If you wait too long it goes bad and you miss out on a perfectly good bottle altogether, and then you do all that waiting for nothing."

She didn't mean anything by it, but both of them recognized the subtle truth in regards to their own relationship. Y/n wondered if they would ever be over this part. The stumbling through conversations and trying to avoid dangerous subjects that were littered between them like a minefield.

"Are you saying that's what happened with us?" Harry asked after taking another sip. "That I waited too long to appreciate what was right in front of me? What was perfect in every way the whole time?"

"I was talking about wine, not us."

"You've always been perfect in my eyes, Y/n," Harry said. "You and that perfect angel upstairs. Both of you are my entire world."

"Don't," Y/n said, taking a step back when she realized how close together they were.

"I miss you," Harry said, his voice hitching in his throat. "I miss waking up to our baby snuggled between us. I miss holding your hand while we watch him play at the park. I miss building pillow forts and playing pretend. I miss you, Y/n. I miss being loved by you. I hate that we're divorced. I hate that I signed those stupid papers and let you walk away."

Her throat suddenly felt dry, her heart pumping in her chest so hard she worried he might hear it. Blinking, Y/n tried to maintain the thread of composure holding her together. "You've had a long day. I can tell you need rest—"

"Don't patronize me," he said, stepping closer and closing the small distance between them once more. When Y/n didn't try to widen it again, Harry continued. "If you don't miss me, if you don't still feel what I feel, then say that. But if you do..."

Harry took Y/n's glass and set it down on the coffee table along with his own. He straightened up, one free hand lightly caressing your face, his thumb grazing across her cheek with a touch so delicate she barely felt it. It was agonizing. To have him right there, just the way she used to, and only get a phantom touch. It was maddening.

So maddening, that when he leaned in, Y/n didn't stop him.

She might have whimpered, and her knees might have slightly buckled, and she might have clutched her shirt between her fingers in a desperate, iron grip as Harry slid his mouth against hers, but she would deny it if he said anything about it later.

His kiss was all-consuming, he'd been a ghost in her new life for months, and suddenly he was everywhere—on her tongue, in her hands, against her chest. And she nearly forgot how explosive kissing him was. How it was almost like a dance that they'd mastered but were always learning new and exciting steps to. The softness of her ex's lips were as familiar as ever, but the stubble on his cheeks was new. She didn't recognize the shirt he wore, but she knew the body beneath it almost as well as her own. And his hands—

"We can't—We're not—Harry—"

Over the years, Y/n had grown used to the feeling of Harry's wedding band against her skin. When he held her hand, when he cupped her cheek, when he was spreading her open or landing a firm slap to her ass. It was familiar, a part of him that just seemed intrinsic after they got married.

But now, as she placed her hand over the one that held the side of her face as he kissed along her throat, it wasn't there. The band was gone, they weren't married anymore, and they certainly shouldn't be kissing like they still were.

"Just this once," Harry murmured, pressing the words along the curve of her jaw. "It's been so long, baby. I just want to feel you again. We can still be divorced after. Like last time."

Flames licked Y/n's core as she remembered the night in question. It had been the night the divorce had been finalized. Harry and Y/n signed and initialed every dotted line, the lawyers shook hands and left, then Harry and Y/n went their separate ways

Harry still insisted that her late-night message about a few of his possessions that got mixed in with her things was meant to have some kind of subtext, and Y/n would swear until she was blue in the face that her text was innocent, even if the activities that followed Harry coming over to "pick up" said items were anything but. It was a final goodbye. It was closing a chapter on a book neither of them ever really believed would end.

"Last time was supposed to be the last time," Y/n said, her voice shallow and not at all convincing.

"Tell me you don't want me right now," Harry said, his hand creeping beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. Y/n's mouth opened in a strangled gasp, too aroused and too in love with him still to push him away. "Tell me not to set you down on the kitchen counter and let me love on that pussy the way I used to. Tell me not to haul you upstairs and fuck you hard for breaking us up when we could've had this every. Single. Day."

Harry's last words were punctuated by the thrust of his fingers inside Y/n, each one making her curl around him tight. He lifted her into his arms and set her on the couch, the closest surface in the vicinity that wasn't hardwood flooring. His fingers still moving inside her, pumping slowly, he pressed a bruising kiss to her lips.

"Tell me not to love you anymore," he said, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. "Tell me how to fall out of love with you. Tell me how to not dream of you. Tell me how to not want you anymore."

Y/n, who had succumbed to this moment, this lapse in...whatever it was, could only grip her ex's hair as he worked her over with his fingers, each word he spoke a balm to the loneliness these last months brought. She wasn't ready to start seeing someone else after the divorce, but now she worried no one would ever measure up to Harry. He ruined her for any other man who might try to sweep her off her feet in the future.

"Tell me, Y/n, and I'll let you come."

Y/n was a mess. She could hear it as Harry's fingers slid in and out of her quickly and harshly, then slowing down before she could finish. He used to do it all the time, knowing how worked up it made her, and now he knew nothing had changed.

"I—" she gasped. She was so close she could barely think straight. Harry's desperate words and the way his fingers curled inside her had her seeing stars. But if she knew her ex, he would stay there and edge her until she gave him what he wanted. "I don't know. I don't know how to make it stop. Please let me come."

Having thought she'd given him what he wanted, Y/n prepared herself for an earth-shattering orgasm. She surrendered herself to tonight, to him, even if she regretted it in the morning. Even if secretly she didn't, which would make her feel even worse.

But instead of pushing her over the edge, Harry removed his fingers from her altogether. The whine Y/n let out at the loss was perhaps a little undignified, but she couldn't think straight with the thick cloud of lust looming over her.

"Wh—"

"We're going to do this properly," he said, scooping her up into his arms and heading back upstairs, taking a left toward her bedroom. Their little angel boy was down the hall on the right side, but Y/n knew they still had to be quiet.

Once behind the closed door of her bedroom, they were both quick to shed each other of their clothes. Stitching ripped, a button or two flew, socks tossed carelessly to corners of the room they'd probably forget about later until there wasn't an ounce of fabric between them.

There wasn't time to stand and appreciate. This wasn't a romantic moment. It was desperate, a little angry, and intense in the way it always has been between them. Y/n kissed her ex-husband hard, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip and soothing the ache with her tongue until he eventually flipped her over onto her stomach.

"You can't be here by the time he wakes up tomorrow," Y/n managed to say. "I don't want to confuse him."

"I know," Harry said, lining himself up with her entrance. "But wouldn't it be so nice if I did?"

"Harry—"

"Relax, baby, I'll abide by your rules," he said, his voice a soft caress. "Just let me have you tonight, and then I'll be gone."

Harry slid in with one smooth thrust, Y/n's mouth dropping open in response. She hadn't been stretched this way in months, and the feel of him inside her again as if nothing had changed...

"Fuck, Harry. I'm—I'm so close," she moaned, unable to say much more than that.

His movements were torturously slow, prolonging the climax he'd been teasing out of her on the couch. Then he leaned over her, his body pressing deliciously against hers.

"We may be separated, but you're still mine," he said, his words accented by his own pleasure. "These hips? Mine. Your tits? Mine. This little cunt? Well, she already knows. Absolutely drenching me. And tonight, I'm going to make sure you remember that."

Y/n could only whimper and wait to take whatever her ex-husband was willing to give her.

*.*

Y/n was having the best dream.

Sun streamed through the small crack in her bedroom curtains as she snuggled under the weight of the warmest, coziest blanket. She held onto it, wrapping it tighter around her, hoping to get a couple more minutes of sleep before her son eventually barged in and demanded they start their day.

She had a million things to do, but none of it seemed to matter while she slept. She felt relaxed in a way she hadn't in a long time.

Then the dream seemed to change. The cozy blanket became an arm draped over her, a leg tangled between her own, and a firm body pressed against her back. The unknown form wrapped around her began to kiss along her bare back, the arm tightening its grip around her waist. Her stomach flipped as a hand began to play with her breast.

She hadn't had one of those dreams in a long time, either.

Before the dream could go any further, Y/n regrettably began to feel the pinpricks of consciousness. But as she blinked her eyes open, she still felt that weight of another body next to hers, of someone other than herself occupying her bed.

It was then that last night made an appearance in her mind, recalling every dirty detail of how she'd given into her ex-husband.

"Good morning."

Harry's voice was low and gruff as if he'd only just woken up himself. The puffs of his breaths dusted over Y/n's skin and sent goosebumps all over. She didn't understand how her body, even while it was still waking up, was so responsive to him.

As casually as possible, she said, "You weren't supposed to stay over."

"Honestly, I don't even remember falling asleep," Harry admitted, though he made no move to leave her Y/n's bed.

"You have to go before he wakes up," she insisted, even if her body was completely against that idea. "He can't find you here. If he does, he'll have questions, and—"

Before Y/n could even finish, she heard the soft patter of feet against soft carpet. Then her door creaked open, and the light of her life appeared.

"Daddy!"

Y/n rested her hands over her face, but not before seeing Harry's broad grin out of the corner of her eye, one that was nearly identical to the little boy at the foot of the bed.

"Hey, buddy," Harry said, his voice less husky than it was just moments ago. "What are you doing up so early, huh?"

"Why are you in bed with Mommy?" the boy asked, climbing into bed with his parents and wriggling around until he was snuggled between them.

Wasn't that the question, Y/n thought, though she was in no rush to help Harry.

"Mummy and Daddy decided to have a sleepover," Harry explained.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you invite me?"

"Because..." Y/n felt Harry's gaze on her, but she was not inclined to dig him out of this hole. Their night was over. It was a new day, which meant everything was back to the way it was before Harry came over last night. "Because I wanted to surprise you this morning. We're all going to spend the day together. Just the three of us."

"Yay!"

"What?"

Y/n glared over the top of her son's head as he half-hugged half-tackled Harry from sheer excitement. This was definitely not reverting back to their normal routine of co-parenting and seeing each other only when it was necessary. Harry, who looked thoroughly pleased with himself, slid out of bed with their boy still latched into him.

Thankfully, he was wearing underwear, but that didn't help Y/n much. She couldn't help but stare at his muscles flexing as he stood and stretched while he held their son. At all the tattoos that littered his body and the mess of curls on his head. He had no right to look this good in the morning, especially when Y/n knew for a fact that she always looked haggard no matter what when she first woke up.

Not that her appearance in front of her ex mattered to her.

"Come on, let's start with making your mum some breakfast. I'm thinking...waffles?"

"Do not make a mess of my kitchen, Harry," Y/n warned, not even bothering to protest the idea in its entirety. She wouldn't have been able to tell her son no even if he tried. Not with how excited he looked at the prospect of spending the day with his dad.

"We'll clean up after ourselves, I promise," Harry said with a wink in your direction. "You stay there and rest. I know you had a...long night."

Y/n threw a pillow at Harry's retreating form before flopping back into her bed. She had half a mind to strut right over to him and prove him wrong, but, well, the dull ache between her legs was starting to make itself known, and the damage of her son seeing Harry in her bed was already done. She might as well stay in bed and take the morning off if Harry was offering.

Sighing, Y/n ran a tired hand over her face as one realization after another made themselves known.

Everything about last night and this morning was messy and would no doubt bring about consequences and difficult conversations she wasn't inclined to have. There were questions she didn't want to ask or know the answer to, but one thing was abundantly clear:

She was well and truly fucked.

[harryslittlefreakk]

recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker r @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @triski73 @meetmeintheemeraldpool @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging @wannaliveinparadise e @mrs-anna-styles211994 @mema10 @fangirl509east @devilsqueen722 @harrrrystylesslut @panini @fruity-harry @lorat-o @savannahwendel @carolinaastyles @mads3502

[pinkboaclub]

Sundress For The CEO

Summery: You visit CEO Harry at his office, sad that he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. (Older!Harry, Daddy!Harry, CEO!Harry)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: smut, mention of age gap, daddy kink, extremely slight exhibition, fem!reader, mention of slight choking

The sharp ring of the office phone pulled Harry's attention away from the stacks of paperwork on his desk. He picked up the receiver.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"You've got a visitor, Mr. Styles."

"Who is it?"

Lisa hesitated, a playful tone creeping into her voice. "They asked me not to say."

Harry couldn't suppress a smile. He knew exactly what she meant. He was notoriously strict about his schedule—except when it came to one particular person, who had an open invitation anytime.

"Let her in."

A few moments later, he saw the door to his office creaked open, just a sliver at first. Then, a head peeked through, the rest of you hidden behind the door.

"Hi, pretty girl."

A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped fully into the room, your eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and mischief.

“Hi, handsome.” You entered his office, closing and locking the door behind you.

Harry owned the company, and most people who worked on the floor of his office knew you were dating. You had gotten some looks, maybe some whispers about your age gap—him being 40 and you being 26—but the most supportive person was Harry’s 54 year old receptionist, Lisa. Every time she saw you, she had reminded Harry he better quickly act and “put a ring on it”.

“Surprising me at work and wearing my favorite dress? You spoil me.” He complimented your sundress as you came and sat in his lap.

You immediately leaned in and started kissing him, shifting yourself so you were straddling him. Your eagerness made him chuckle into the kiss, but still fully accepting it, grabbing and squeezing your ass.

“Missed me that much?”

You pulled back from the kiss, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you brushed a stray lock of hair from his face.

“A lot more than that…you didn’t wake me up this morning to say goodbye.” you teased, the playful pout on your lips showing how much you were trying to act upset.

Harry chuckled, his hand lightly squeezing your side as he gave you an exaggerated, guilty look. "I was up early for that meeting, and you looked so peaceful, didn't have the heart to wake you."

You leaned back slightly in his lap, pretending to be cross. "I hate it when you do that. You know I don’t mind you waking me."

"Sorry, Honey," he said, tilting his head to look at you with a soft, apologetic gaze. "How about I make it up to you?"

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your lips curving into a smile. "Yeah?"

He grinned mischievously, his hands sliding up your arms as if to pull you closer. "I thought I could take you to lunch. My treat."

“That’s a start," you said, your voice teasing, inching towards something more. "But I think I deserve something extra."

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Oh, yeah? What’s that?"

Your lips curled into a smile. You leaned into his neck, kissing and sucking everywhere and rubbing your hand up and down his chest.

“You think you’ll be able to be quiet though?” He asked, leaning his head back to let you kiss along his chest and collarbone.

“I will,” You leaned back up to his ear. “I promise, daddy.”

“Mm, I don’t know…I feel we’ve been in this situation before.” He stood up, lifting you up with him and placing you on his desk. ”You say you’ll be quiet and then you’re screaming and whimpering immediately, baby.”

“I’ll be quiet…please Harry.” You quietly cried out as he laid you down on his desk, his hands roaming up your dress, kissing all over your collarbones.

“Don’t get me wrong, Princess,” He lifted your dress up, scrunching it up to your stomach. “I love hearing you screaming, but we're going to have to be quiet today, okay?”

You quickly nodded your head, beginning to feel restless.

He hummed as he opened your legs, as if he was admiring your body. He crouched down to pull your panties off, shoving them in his blazer pocket. The kissing of your inner thighs made you slightly whimper out, you had already forgotten you needed to be quiet.

“What did I say, baby? Do you need me to stop?”

“No, no, please, please daddy.”

"You need to be a good girl for me right now.. stop whimpering." His dominant voice was sending hot breaths onto your already wet pussy, making you want to whine even more than before.

He moved his head forward and licked your pussy, you squeezed your thigh as a replacement to letting out a moan. Before he started, he pulled you to the edge of the counter for better access. He moved his head forward and lightly sucked and licked your pussy, making your eyes squeeze shut and very quietly whimper out again, not loud enough for anyone to hear. He looked up at you and upon seeing you in total ecstasy, only made him grip you tighter and continue eating you out faster.

“Mm, daddy….daddy.” You whispered out with every movement and the feeling that his tongue made on your pussy, which urged him on more until you gripped his hair and pulled him away from you. He knew you were close to your orgasm and he still had a number of unspeakable things he wanted to do to you here.

“Want to suck you.” You urged. He helped you up, and you crouched down to your knees, keeping your doe eyed look onto him.

“Of course, Princess.”

He groaned as you started unbuckling his belt and trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers. You immediately started kissing up his cock, from the base up, earning a throaty growl from Harry, making you giggle.

“Be quiet, daddy.”

He chuckled, rubbing his hands through you hair and slightly gripping.

You pushed your lips around the tip of his cock, before he slowly pushed you further down.Your dynamic was perfect, at least to you. He was dominant, but loved to praise you. He loved pushing you to your limits, but never going past them, and making sure to take good care of you in the process.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good for me.” He exhaled as you kept sucking him off. You looked up at him through batted eyelashes and smiled up at him. God, he knew exactly what you were doing and that it was on purpose. He knew you wanted to make it so hard for him to not fuck you right now.

He tapped your cheek, telling you to pull off before helping you back up to your feet. Without warning, he placed his arms under your bum and hoisted you up and walked you over to the couch on the other side of his office.

He laid you down, lifting your dress up to your arms, bunching it up and holding it over your mouth.

“Need you to bite down on your dress, I know my sweet girl won’t be able to be quiet.” You bashfully opened your mouth and bit down on the fabric. “Are you going to be good for me?”

You hummed and nodded your head, desperate for him to get to fucking you.

He forcefully pushed his cock inside of you, making you grip onto him tighter and cry out into the dress. He made sure he got deeper and deeper into your soaking wet pussy with each thrust.

Your legs were trembling as the rhythmic thrusts went on. He hand lightly wrapped around your neck, making sure not to apply any force, just to hold you in place.

Your dress fell out of your mouth as it began to hurt your teeth for how hard you were biting down.

“Daddy, it’s so good. It f-feels so good.” Your words stuttered out of your mouth as his thrusts got slower but deeper, filling you up completely. He didn't respond to you, he was too busy focusing on your body weakening and trembling at his touch. He could tell you were close as your back was at a constant, slight arch and your mouth was agape.

“Do you want to cum, pretty girl?” He whispered in your ear. You nodded slowly, the feeling of Harry’s thick cock filling you up was still making you weak. He kept thrusting inside you and started whispering in your ear. “I love your cunt, pretty baby, it’s so good for me.”

You tucked your head into his neck as your orgasm got closer and closer. His hand lowered down your abdomen, his thumb finding your clit to edge you closer to your orgasm.

“Cum for me baby,” he kissed the top of your head as your face was still shoved into his clavicle. “Be a good girl for me and cum.”

He started rubbing your clit harder and faster, watching how your body jerked and trembled. Your orgasm erupted throughout your whole body. You lightly bit down on his shoulder while you rode out your orgasm to keep yourself from being too loud, his fingers slowly decreasing in speed as it washed over you.

Your body got tired after you orgasm finished and everything felt heavy. “Did so good for me baby… you were so quiet, like such a good girl.”

“I don’t want to make you more messy, baby. Where do you want me to cum?” He politely asked after he almost reached his finish.

“My mouth?” You asked, figuring it was the least messy option. “Then I’ll swallow….nice and clean.” You joked, giving him a cheeky smile.

You slowly got down on your shaky knees as he sat on the couch, putting your mouth back on his tip, rubbing the rest of his cock with your hand to help him reach his orgasm.

His stomach hitched and he heavily inhaled and exhaled before cumming in your mouth, painting your entire tongue.

“Let me see, Princess.” You stuck out your tongue, showing the cum that covered it. He kissed your nose and pushed up your chin, allowing you to swallow.

He pulled you into his lap and gave you a soft, affectionate squeeze. "How’s that? Better?"

You smiled. "Much better." You leaned in, brushing a final kiss across his lips before sliding off his lap and standing. "But I’m still holding you to that lunch, after I use your bathroom."

"Anything you want, love," he said, standing as well. "Let’s go before people start to wonder what we’re doing in here, if they didn’t already hear you.”

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

i was made for loving you - smau mini series masterlist

summary: your ex lando fumbles you. harry won’t make that same mistake.

pairings: lando norris x ex!reader x harry styles

fc: gracie abrams

vicious speaks: this is my first mini series and my first f1 crossover so pls go easy on me 💗 expect an update every friday and sneak peeks every wednesday!

main masterlist

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

❀ chapter one

❀ chapter two

❀ chapter three

❀ chapter four

❀ chapter five

[gurugirl]

Baby Daddy | friends to lovers (to parents)

Summary: After you have a one-night stand with your good friend Harry and become pregnant he doesn't know for certain that the baby is his, but he has his suspicions.

A/N: Requested! Here & Here. This was originally posted on Patreon.

Word Count: 13,995

Warning, smut, pregnancy trope (there will be talk of y/n going through her pregnancy and all that entails but not in great detail), mention of abortion, alcohol consumption, teeniest bit of angst, lying, fluff

❊❊❊

You stared down at the pink double lines on the stick that indicated you were pregnant. How could it be? It was a one-time thing! He’d only come inside of you once (and you’d also only had sex the once). How was it possible that he knocked you up? You shook your head and frowned as you sat down on the toilet lid and thought back to that night 7 weeks before.

~~

Harry was there for you. To console you after the gut-wrenching breakup with Joe. Which had kind of surprised you. Your roommate had been at work so you called your best friend, Erin, and she was busy already but told you she’d see you the next morning as soon as she could. You called your cousin. Voicemail. And then you called Harry, not thinking he’d even pick up. But he did – I need to go out for a drink. Joe just broke up with me. Come get drunk with me.

Harry showed up at your apartment and wrapped you in his arms and you sobbed into his armpit, which smelled really nice you thought, and when you looked up at his face to tell him as much he laughed and kissed your forehead, “You’re too adorable to cry. Come on angel. Let’s go get us a drink and talk about everything.”

One dirty martini got you yammering on and two had you sitting far too close with Harry grinning dopily. Three had you complimenting his green eyes I always thought you had the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen… and spilling intimate details about you and Joe that no one else knew.

And four? Well… Four martinis had you pressed into the wall next to the bathrooms with Harry’s hot mouth all over yours as he confessed how he’d always wanted you. And then it had Harry calling a taxi to bring you both back to your place.

“Shhh!” You giggled as Harry collapsed on your mattress and pulled you down with him making you nearly knee him in the balls.

“You shhhh!” He pawed at your bum and then ran his lips against yours as he closed his eyes, mouth half-cocked in a smile.

You weren’t being as quiet as you should have been. Your roommate could’ve heard you and Harry and that would just have opened up a whole can of worms you weren’t willing to delve into.

See, not only did she think you were still dating Joe, you and Harry were good friends. Since grammar school. And your roommate was one of your closest friends who was also very good friends with Harry. So, keeping quiet while you were on your bed with him at 2 in the morning as you unbuttoned his jeans was imperative.

He was just trying to distract you from how upset you were about Joe. He bought you drinks and had a few of his own. He kept pulling at your lip when he’d see you start to pout, and he’d make a dumb joke or compliment you so you’d feel better. Then you two were laughing and swaying together on the dance floor to one of those popular radio songs that was kind of sexy with a slow beat, he whispered into your ear that you were cute, and then his hand found your hip and the whole world stopped.

That’s how Harry wound up in your bed pressing kisses to your neck as you both hastily undressed. That’s how he wound up between your legs, eating you out until you whined that you wanted him inside of you and so without care or thought about what could go wrong or what you were getting yourself into he slowly pushed himself in and you gasped.

“Oooh, fuck that feels good…” he breathed when he felt you wrapped around him. Every rock of his hips pulled and then pushed his cock through your walls.

He whispered to you like that all throughout. Soft and sexy. His deep voice had you tingling and his cock had you absolutely gushing. Everything about having sex with Harry was intimate and sweltering. You’d never been fucked so good in your life and even though you were still upset about your recent breakup, Harry’s dick and his dirty mouth were pulling you through the murky heartache a bit faster.

He fucked you so good you saw stars when you came. And the fact that you came in the first place was a feat in and of itself. Because Joe had never once made you come in all the time you dated him.

But it had been the best. It was just what you needed in that moment. His hands and lips on your body, his deep voice in your ear telling you how he’d always wanted to do that with you, messy hair, sloppy kisses, wet thrusts…

And when he came you told him to come inside of you and you felt every bit of that as he pumped into you, gushes of his sperm filling your insides as he kissed you softly through his orgasm while you gently ran your fingers into his hair.

All of it was so good. It could have been like a fairytale, some sort of epiphany where two friends suddenly realize they’ve been in love all along and they live happily ever after. But the problem was you were both a bit tipsy and you’d fucked without a condom. And the following morning when he ducked out before Esie woke up was the last time you two ever spoke of your drunken night.

And now here you were with a positive pregnancy test that looked up at you tauntingly.

You’d had your suspicions but hoped you were wrong. You started getting a touch queasy around 10 am while you were at work and your normal vanilla latte didn’t sit right with your tummy anymore. And then there was the exhaustion. You were so tired you were falling asleep on the couch by 8 pm every night and Esie teased you about it.

But the biggest clue was when your period didn’t come. You were regular like clockwork and you knew then but just didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

You weren’t sure what to do. You knew without a doubt it wasn’t Joe’s. You two had been having issues a month before he broke up with you and you hadn’t slept together since then. That left one option for the father and you certainly weren’t going to tell Harry about it. At least not right away. You figured he didn’t deserve to be tied down to you like that. Perhaps you’d just get an abortion, or maybe you’d have the baby and never tell anyone who the father was.

Whatever you decided, it wasn’t going to be an easy decision.

. . .

“Harry’s here,” Esie spoke when you walked into your apartment after work. She was sitting on the couch, “In the bathroom. Just wanted to let you know so you don’t have a scare when he walks out. You’ve been so jumpy lately.”

You gave her a weak smile and nodded, “Oh. Thanks.”

You kind of wished he wasn’t in the bathroom. You had to pee badly. Maybe worse than you ever had in your life. That was another thing, as the weeks drew on your bladder somehow seemed to shrink and you were constantly peeing.

The moment he opened the door you raced past him to take your turn.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, Y/n,” he laughed as you pushed the door closed and sat on the toilet in relief.

There was no time for niceties. Your bladder was about to burst. And not only that… you were in a bit of a foul mood. As nice as Harry was, you just wanted to get into your PJs and curl up with a book and ginger tea to soothe your queasy tummy. You really weren’t keen on entertaining him that evening.

When you finally joined the pair in the living room you’d already put on your comfy clothes and washed your face clean of makeup.

“Oh, you staying in for the night?” Harry spoke as you plopped down into the soft cushion.

“Yeah. Not feeling very good right now. Why? Are you guys doing something?”

Esie laughed, “Y/n’s been really forgetful lately,” she turned to look at you and tilted her head, “It’s Harry’s birthday today, Y/n. We were gonna take him out. Remember?”

You groaned and dropped your head back into the couch cushion, “Fuck. I totally forgot. I’m sorry, uh,” you looked at Harry and forced a smile, “Happy birthday.”

He shrugged, “It’s fine. Just another day. You don’t have to come if you’re not up for it, Y/n.”

You shook your head and pushed yourself from the couch to stand, “No. I’m coming. Let me just get dressed…”

And yet the other thing that was becoming… well, a thing… was that some of your clothes were a bit too tight in the waist. In the morning you could put on almost anything from your closet and it’d feel normal. But by the end of the day, your clothes had suddenly shrunk. The first pair of jeans you pulled up your legs buttoned but they were tight. So you cursed and tore them off, kicking them away before settling on leggings and a sweater.

At that point, you were around ten weeks and you had yet to go to the doctor, which you knew was bad but you weren’t sure what to do. Part of you wanted to have a baby, even if no one ever knew who the father was. But the other part of you wanted to continue on in life as you were before that night with Harry. Before you got pregnant.

Your small group of friends were already at the bar when the three of you arrived. Everyone ordered drinks and you had a water.

“Not drinking tonight?” Seth commented.

You shook your head, “Not feeling the greatest today.”

Harry sat down next to you and put an arm over your shoulder, “You didn’t have to come. I know you’re not feeling great. Stomach bug or something?”

You turned to look up at him and in that moment you felt a bit of relief. Like there was nothing to be scared of. Harry was a good guy. Someone you trusted and could rely on. Maybe having the baby wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if it turned out anything like him.

“Yeah, I think so. Just feeling blah…”

“Well thank you for being here. It wouldn’t have been the same without you,” he grinned and those damn dimples were like an elixir, soothing and restorative. Maybe it was pheromones or just being tucked under his arm so close or being given his attention, but you knew for sure that he was attractive, you’d always thought so. But now? It had morphed into some dreamy kind of residue that clung to you all the time. Made you wish you could just reach up and press your mouth to his. Tell him the truth and see what happened.

You thought about it often. That night. How ardent it was. You’d never had it like that before. You two just fit together so well. Everything slid together like it was a key into a lock. He touched you just how you craved, his warm lips were sensual, his words, his voice, his body, his laugh.

Harry stayed by your side all night. Everyone sang him happy birthday and he pinched your arm when you told him he was getting old. You couldn’t tell if that was just him being himself around you or if he was kind of flirting with you. But you brushed off that thought easily. He could have any girl he wanted and even though you sometimes wondered about the way he was looking at you, you couldn’t allow yourself to get hung up on that.

You had bigger things to worry about. Much bigger things. And just being next to him with his fingers at your shoulder, his deep raspy voice in your ear, the subtle flirting… it was in that moment that you made your decision about what you were going to do with the baby.

After you finally booked your first appointment with your doctor your decision to keep It was crazy but you wanted it. Doing the whole single-motherhood thing might be insane but you were determined. Somehow you felt a connection to the little life growing inside of you and the idea of being without it suddenly felt worse than letting your life go back to the way it was before.

It was months before anyone caught on. Before your best friend Erin figured it out. You were glad that none of your friends were observant enough to notice too soon (and that the weather had been cool enough that your wearing baggy sweaters didn’t raise any eyebrows). You felt like you needed those few months to adjust to what things were going to be like. To make a plan, to settle it within yourself that you were going to have a child and you were going to do it alone.

Well, mostly alone. You weren’t sure when or if you’d tell Harry. It might have been selfish to keep it to yourself but somehow you felt like it would mess up his life. He’d be forever stuck in your little town. Kind of like you probably would be.

“Can I ask you something,” Erin whispered as she pulled you aside.

You sighed. You’d noticed her eyeing your belly region since you arrived at her house. And on that particular day in May, it was oddly sweltering hot so you refused to put on anything that would have you sweating more than you needed to. You were at the point in your pregnancy where your comfort started to take precedence over hiding what was happening in your body. You couldn’t take it any longer. Five months pregnant and the baby was already bigger than was normal. Your doctor had made a joke that you’d have a 9 lb baby. Which didn’t sound funny to you at all.

Of course, Harry would make a massive baby. You wondered if he’d been big when he was born too.

“I know what you’re gonna say and it is exactly what it looks like,” you put your palms on both sides of your growing tummy.

Erin flitted her gaze down to your tummy and up to your face as she put her hand over her mouth, “Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I needed time to let it sink in. Just didn’t want to deal with talking about it really. It’s embarrassing.”

Erin shook her head, “No it’s not. You know you can trust me. Right? So it’s Joe’s?”

You blinked your eyes and looked down at the grass under your sandaled feet. You’d rehearsed what you’d say to everyone but you hated not telling the whole truth, “I haven’t gotten a paternity test but…” you shrugged. Hoping that was enough. Not a lie but certainly not the whole truth.

 “Oh wow. So he knocked you up and then broke up with you? Or wait… does he not know?”

You shook your head, “No one knows. Except for you now. And the doctor of course. Oh, and my mom. That’s it.”

Erin was having a little backyard barbeque. Most of your friends would be there. You figured with your outfit, a pair of linen shorts with a stretchy waistband and a tanktop that should have been a bit breezier but instead was rather tight, people would notice. Not everyone had arrived yet but you were anticipating a coming out of sorts. It made you nervous but you couldn’t really hide it anymore.

��So no alcohol for you then,” Erin snickered as she placed two bottles of wine on the outdoor table.

“Yeah. No booze for me for a bit,” you laughed with her. It was nice to have your best friend in the loop finally. You had wanted to tell her so many times. Nearly did the moment you saw the lines on the pregnancy test. But you just never found the right time to do it and selfishly you wanted to keep it a secret a little longer before everyone found out.

And just as you assumed, everyone who came, who knew you, took note of your obviously pregnant belly. Those who knew you asked about it, while those who didn’t didn’t. Most were perfectly polite. But your thoughts and attention were elsewhere because you were most nervous to see Harry. To face him and take in his reaction.

You were in the kitchen putting buns on a platter when he finally joined you. You hadn’t really looked in his direction much when he arrived because you were too nervous to see his face when he noticed your belly.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and disarming. You turned to look at him as he walked up behind you and squeezed your shoulders, “Gonna tell me what this is all about?”

You looked down at your tummy and then pulled another bun from its package and shrugged, “Well, I’m pregnant. What more should I say?” You laughed as you glanced at him and then back down to the platter. The words felt acrid because you knew why he was asking and now you were going to have to lie to him.

“I can see that, Y/n. How far along are you?” His expression was serious. He was clearly not in the mood for jokes and you could understand why.

Was he doing mental math? He probably was. Harry was not a dumb man. His first question to ask how far along you were indicated as much.

“About 5 months.”

It was silent for a moment. You crumpled up the plastic bag and looked at him and the expression on his face was telling.

“What?”

He shook his head and leaned his hip into the counter, taking the plastic from your hand, “Is it…” he took a breath and searched your eyes, “Is the baby…?”

You shook your head, “No. It’s Joe’s. Don’t worry.”

A full-on, flat-out lie. You hadn’t planned on lying directly like that but how could you tell him the truth? You’d already dug your hole so deep, might as well keep going.

“You sure? I mean… I thought you said that you two hadn’t… like… we didn’t use protection, Y/n,” he lowered his voice.

Letting out a breath you nodded, “Don’t worry, Harry. Really. You’re not on the hook for this. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Does Joe know?” You were surprised that he appeared… disappointed.

“No. Hardly anyone knows,” you laughed, “Well, after today everyone’s gonna know I guess.”

Harry carried the tray of buns outside for you. You told him you could do it. That you were on bun duty because it was one thing Erin would allow you to help with. But he insisted. In fact the rest of the afternoon he was doing lots of small things for you. Once you were seated to eat he gathered up all the sauces and brought them to you, asking which you’d like and spooning them onto your plastic plate. He refilled your cup with water every time it got low, helped you stand up when you started to get out of your chair after eating, and then brought you a cupcake when you mentioned to Erin how good they looked.

But Harry was kind of always like that. He was the sort of friend that did nice things for all of his friends. Except there was something this time. Perhaps it was just your own perception of it based on the little secret you had, but his attention was not taken for granted. You appreciated his kindness.

And before he left he pulled you to the side and hugged you into his broad chest, “Let me know if you need anything. Okay?” He cupped your face in his hands to look at you.

You nodded, “Okay. Thank you, Harry.”

. . .

Harry learned you hadn’t gotten a paternity test when he talked to Erin about you. You had made it seem like you were sure it was Joe’s but how could you be so sure? The timing was suspicious to him, especially since you told him, the night you two had sex, that Joe hadn’t touched you in over a month. And that’s kind of what put everything into motion with Harry coming on to you. He felt like when you told him that, you were laying down some kind of hint. So that part he remembered clearly.

But he remembered everything quite clearly from that night. He might have been a bit tipsy but there wasn’t a moment he’d forgotten. Like how he orgasmed inside of you. And how after he’d come you both laid together with his cock still inside of you as he gently rocked in deeper, which he was now sure had only pushed his come further into you.

And that had been so dumb. Of both of you. You asked him to come inside of you and he did without question. That was where his horny/tipsy brain let him down. But what choice did he have except to believe you when you told him the baby wasn’t his?

He wouldn’t press the issue but he wasn’t going to ignore his suspicions either. He’d push them down and choose to believe you but not without being a bit more watchful.

. . .

Once all your friends knew you were pregnant word spread a little faster than you preferred. You just hoped that it wouldn’t get back to Joe because if it did you’d have to confess that you lied and then all hell would break loose. Or that’s how it felt anyway. Maybe that was a bit dramatic of you with whole hell-breaking-loose talk but you were allowed to be dramatic!

All your life you’d done things the normal way. Under the radar. Never causing so much as a peep when you didn’t like something just so you wouldn’t offend anyone. You put up with a lot of shit from other people who didn’t take your thoughts and feelings into account.

So now things were different. It was like being pregnant had changed you. Where you once were a quiet doormat, now you were a bit louder with demands.

“Jesus. What’s gotten into you?” Erin laughed when you plopped down onto your couch after you just told her you had no desire for a baby shower and to drop it.

You put your hands on your belly, “This. I think being pregnant has like changed my brain chemistry or something. I have no patience for bullshit anymore. And a baby shower? Really, Erin? That sounds awful.”

Erin sat down next to you and put her hand on your bump, “I like the new you. And I can’t wait to meet this little one who’s giving you this new attitude.”

You laughed, “Yeah. Me too. The closer it gets the more scared I am but also really excited in a way.”

“You realize I’m throwing you a baby shower whether you say yes or not. I love your new gives-no-shits approach lately but come on, Y/n. You need things and if Joe isn’t going to pitch in then you need help from all your friends.”

You knew she wasn’t going to give up on the baby shower idea. You felt like a fraud, though. Gifts and a whole afternoon spent in your honor because you went and had sex without a condom?

“I know you’re gonna do it anyway. All I ask is that you don’t make some big announcement. I don’t want Joe to know about it or anything.”

Erin sighed, “Why don’t you tell him, Y/n? He could help you with everything too. And I know you two broke up but it’s something to think about ya know? Like he could pay child support and you’d have the father listed on the birth certificate and it’s good for like, health stuff too. Like anything that could be hereditary from Joe?”

Pursing your lips you looked toward the window. You’d already decided on telling Harry at some point. You’d gotten past the whole single mom, doing it on her own BS when the doctor told you the same thing. How important it could be to know the baby’s father’s medical history. You just hadn’t figured out when to tell him yet. Timing would be important but the shame of having lied all along was really what was keeping you from telling him.

“You’re right. The doctor told me the same thing. But, it’s not that easy…” your pulse increased as you looked at Erin. You didn’t know why but you felt the need to tell her everything. To come right out and just tell her. She was your best friend after all. You could trust her not to say anything.

“I know it’s not easy but come on… he’s gonna figure it out at some point. He was just at Seth’s house the other night when I went to pick up Marcy. Seth’s cousin knows you’re pregnant and so do half of his friends and if Seth finds out you know Joe will find out.”

Sighing you leaned your head back into the couch cushion behind you, “It’s not Joe’s.”

Erin was silent for a moment and then you felt the couch shift as she angled herself to face you, “Okay. And do you know who the father is?”

Nodding you turned your head to look at her, “Don’t say anything to anyone. But it’s… Harry.”

Her eyes nearly bulged from her head as she stood up and paced in front of the couch, “Harry Styles? Our Harry?” She stopped and looked at you, shock on her face.

“Yes. That Harry.”

She continued pacing, “How? When did… but…”

“It was just one night. Right after Joe broke up with me we went out and he came back home with me and then that was it. Got knocked up from just the once.”

“Holy shit… Okay… Okay…” Erin sat down and took your hand into hers, “Harry’s a really good man. I just know he’d be supportive and loving with the baby. I actually think Harry being the father is way better. This is actually,” she puffed out a laugh, “This good news! Oh my god, this is… and I think you two would make the best couple. He’s always had a crush on you and–“

“Stop,” you put your hand up, “One thing at a time. Okay? I’m not thinking about any kind of romantic relationship right now. I’m just concerned with getting this thing out of me healthily and figuring out how to tell Harry in the first place.”

“So you’re gonna tell him. Okay… Listen… I’m not going to tell anyone. You already know that. But this, Y/n… this is good. Okay? Harry and you? You don’t need to be thinking about the future of your relationship with him right now but you’re set, girl. If Harry’s the dad? But you better figure out how to tell him soon. He’s been talking to some chick he works with. I don’t think it’s anything serious but still…”

Rolling your eyes you shook your head, “I’ll figure out when to tell him. It’ll be when I’m ready. And if he starts seeing this other chick then good for him. He deserves happiness.”

Erin scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Yeah sure.”

. . .

You didn’t realize how much it would affect you seeing Harry with someone else. The girl was cute. She was nice and her perfume smelled pleasant (which was good because you were very sensitive to smell as of late and most scents made you want to puke).

Harry had stopped by at Erin’s to drop off a few things he picked up for your upcoming baby shower while you were there and the girl was with him because they were on their way to a movie. A date.

The introduction was nice enough but you didn’t like it all. You hadn’t expected to feel the way you were. And it was your fault in a way. Maybe things would be different if you’d just told Harry already.

“How’s our baby, doing?” Harry put his palm on your stomach and you could have burst into tears. The “our” baby was innocent. Your tight-knit friend group all called the baby our baby, but somehow in that moment it just hit different.

Swallowing down your emotions you put on a smile, “It’s good! Super healthy. Just another month and a half and I’ll get to meet the baby. It’s gonna be big, though. Doctor says it might be close to 9 lbs.”

Harry blinked and slid his palm down the thin material of your flowy maternity shirt over the bump and looked at you as if he was trying to speak paragraphs to you in a glance, “Wow. That’s… big. And how’s the mommy? Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded and looked from the girl who was standing next to Harry looking at your massive tummy and then back up to Harry, “Feeling tired. And this thing is huge and heavy. But we’re healthy, so…” you shrugged and Harry removed his hand from your tummy but he kept his eyes on yours.

“I’m glad you’re healthy. That’s the most important thing. Oh, and here,” he walked toward the table where he placed the shopping bags and pulled out a box of your favorite pistachio and vanilla cookies from the bakery you loved. “Made an extra stop to pick these up for you.”

Erin and Harry’s girlfriend or whatever she was stood and watched as your eyes teared up and Harry handed you the small container. He had been nothing but sweet and helpful to you during your pregnancy and all the regret you already had about not telling him came pouring out of your eyes in that moment. It was ridiculous.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You still like these yeah?”

You nodded as Harry pulled you into his arms, though the big bump in your tummy made it hard to have a proper hug, “I’m fine. Just emotional some days. Thank you, Harry. This is so so kind of you.”

You hated that this chick Harry was with had seen that. Hated that you were so sensitive and that Harry was with someone else. Hated that you looked like a bloated beluga and that your thighs were aching for no fucking reason. You hated that despite the gross feeling in your gut you wanted to devour the cookies like a starved madwoman.

“You want me to stay? Want to talk?” His deep voice in your ear as he rubbed your back was calming. And if you were a sliver more selfish than you already were you’d say yes and have him stay with you and skip the date entirely and you’d revel in watching the disappointment on his date’s face when he told her he was choosing you over her. Even though she was nice, that would have still felt really good.

But you wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t interrupt Harry’s plans that way. Looking up at him you shook your head, “No. That’s okay.”

The look on his face slowly transitioned from strangely hopeful and soulful to something like defeat. Disheartened. You pulled at his hand and smiled before mouthing thank you.

When Harry and the girl left Erin sighed, “I don’t mean to be nosy or push you or make you feel like you’re doing something wrong but I really think you should tell him and do it soon. Did you see the way he was looking at you? Y/n… I know you saw that. He’d drop everything for you. He’d break up with that girl and I guarantee the moment you tell him it’s his he’d do anything. That man is smitten with you.”

You shook your head and took a bite of a cookie, “No he’s not. Look at me? I’m a mess. Everything is puffy, I can hardly move… look at this!” You lifted your hand up to show her your swollen fingers.

Erin laughed and pushed her fingers through yours, “Beautiful. You’re gorgeous. Glowing. An entire life is being grown right here,” she put her hand over your tummy, “And Harry Styles is in love with you all while thinking this baby is someone else’s. Mark my words, Y/n. The moment you tell him is the moment you’re gonna learn how far gone he is for you and how he’d do anything to make you happy.”

You laughed and shook your head but you did wonder. Because Harry had been a certain way with you since the day he learned you were pregnant. His doting and his gentleness were not something you could ignore.

. . .

The morning of the baby shower had been good. Your mother took you to get breakfast and you both walked together along the path near the lake for some exercise and fresh air. The only two people in the world who knew about Harry being the father were your mother and Erin. Your mother had met Harry before and she was quite fond of him. Everyone was fond of Harry, though.

“I just don’t understand why you haven’t told him, Y/n.”

“Well, it’s because I lied about it, Mom. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the beginning of the pregnancy. I don’t know if it was hormones or scrambled brains or what… Now I’m sort of regretting it but I’ll figure it out. He’ll know soon. I just need to figure out how to break it to him.”

“How to break it to him? Well, maybe something like… Hey, you. You knocked me up. This baby is actually yours and not Joe’s. Sorry for the inconvenience but that’s the deal.” Your mom laughed, mimicking your voice.

You laughed and shook your head, “Yeah it’ll probably be something like that. I just hate that I lied about it. Because I’m not a liar. I thought I was doing it to protect myself… I don’t even really know what I was thinking but I will tell him. Soon.”

When you arrived at your apartment most everyone was already there. Including Harry. The place was filled with little decorations and baby things. A table overflowing with presents and some sat on the floor next to the table. Another spot where there was food.

You didn’t know what the sex was going to be and didn’t want to know until the moment it was born so the decorations were neutral colors with a few splashes of blue and pink here and there. It was cute.

“There you are…” Harry swooped in and took the tray of goodies your mom was holding and he kissed her cheek, “Nice to see you! How have you been?”

You and your mother followed him to the kitchen, your mother giving you a knowing glance before she responded, “Just great. Everything is pretty much the same as it was since I last saw you, except now my baby is pregnant.”

Harry chuckled and once the tray was placed on the counter he draped his arm over your shoulder and hugged you, “And how are you?”

He always asked how you were. Always offered to help. Often would buy you random things he thought might make your pregnancy easier. Creams, pads for your back, nausea bands, teas…

“I’m good. Closer and closer. How are you, Harry?”

Soft pink lips turned up as he kept his sparkling green eyes on you, “Good. Happier now that you’re here.”

You rolled your eyes at him and just as you were about to retort Erin popped into the kitchen, “The lady of the hour! Come! I have to show you something!”

The baby shower was relatively fun. But it was tiring. It lasted longer than you had anticipated and you tried not to complain. Opening every present was a bore. A full-on snooze fest. Most things were just practical stuff you’d need. Lotions and powders, things to make bath time easier and safer, diapers, bottles, cleaning things for said bottles, a special baby food blender, onesies, socks, bibs, blankets… But you didn’t complain because you didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

It was a sea of pastel yellow, green, creamy whites… The cake was good, though. And finally, when everyone started to leave you felt like you could breathe. Having a small apartment packed full of people felt like you were a zoo animal on display. But the remainder were welcome and you appreciated that some straggled behind to help clean up.

Your mother left once all the dishes were clean and put away and then it was just you, Erin, your roommate, Harry, and two others who were helping put things away so you didn’t have to lift a finger.

You were sitting on the couch with your legs propped up on a pillow when Harry sat down by your feet and pulled them into his lap.

“Hey!” You laughed and started to pull away from him but the moment his thumb mushed into the tender part of your sole you gave in and relaxed your limbs.

“That was easy. Thought you’d gripe a bit more. Feels good yeah?”

You nodded, “It does feel good, actually. My feet are so swollen, though. Sorry.”

Harry continued kneading at your feet, rubbing sore spots and you were working to hold back your moans, “Stop it. Your feet look fine. This is normal anyway isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah but still. Even my fingers are puffy,” you laughed.

Erin sat down on the chair near the TV and smirked at you, “Y/n doesn’t believe it when I tell her she’s glowing. She’s sexy as a pregnant woman isn’t she Har?”

You narrowed your gaze at Erin in warning.

Harry laughed, his eyes on yours, “I think she’s just as lovely as always. Pregnancy definitely suits her.”

Everyone else joined in the living room and you moved your feet from Harry with a quick thank you as you felt the baby kick. You put your hand on your tummy and gasped, “It’s kicking!”

“Can I touch?” Your roommate asked as she moved from her spot to make her way to you.

“Yeah. Go ahead,” you smiled and showed her where to put her hand. But there was no movement. You poked at the spot and groaned, “Ahhh… a tease, this one.”

Erin walked over and put her hand on your tummy. Nothing. The baby didn’t budge. It often did this. Whenever you’d feel it move it stopped moving for anyone else. Not even your own mother had the chance to feel the baby kick in your belly.

Your two other friends also tested their luck, “It’s always like this. I’m the only one who’s ever gotten to feel it kick. I don’t know what it is.”

“You try,” Erin looked at Harry as she backed away to sit.

Harry licked his lips, “I mean… only if it’s okay. I don’t want to–“

“It’s fine. If you want to it’s okay. Really. Probably won’t move but ya know. Why not?” You laughed.

Harry scooted himself across the couch to sit right next to you as he placed his hand over your tummy where you pointed.

“Hey there, little one. Uncle Harry is here saying hello,” you watched Harry as he spoke in a soft tone. His deep voice had your skin prickling and your heart rate increasing. No one else really spoke to the baby and somehow seeing Harry do it drew the smallest bit of emotion up in your chest as he looked into your eyes and slid his thumb next to yours.

But then it kicked. The baby kicked and kicked again. Harry laughed and placed his other palm over your tummy so he was holding you with both hands and the little sucker was doing acrobatics all of a sudden.

“It’s never done that…” you spoke as you laid your palm over the space, “For anyone but me.”

“It’s kicking for me,” he grinned and his eyes softened as he cooed in a hushed voice looking down at his hands, “Hey baby. We can’t wait to meet you.”

“Maybe it’s your voice,” you whispered and Harry looked like he was in awe. Eyes twinkling with emotion.

“I feel so special.”

“Can I try again?” Erin stood over you two. Harry moved his hands away and the moment her palm took over the place Harry’s was the baby stopped moving again.

You laughed and felt around, jabbing gently into your tummy, “I don’t know why it’s doing this. Come on little human. Kick for Erin…”

You caught Harry’s gaze on yours. He had a small smile on his mouth and his cheeks were flushed.

Erin shook her head, “Ahh it’s okay. Now’s not my time.”

“We should probably get going.” The pair who arrived together both stood and said their goodbyes. Harry got up and went into the kitchen as you walked your friends to the door and thanked them for their help.

“Go talk to him,” Erin whispered in your ear.

“What?” You scrunched your face in confusion.

“Harry. Go talk to him. He’s in the kitchen and I think he’s upset or something.”

“Why would he be upset?”

Erin raised her brows at you and looked toward the kitchen and mouthed, “Just go.”

Sighing you waddled toward the kitchen and noticed Harry had his palms flat on the countertop as he looked downward at the platter of cupcakes silently.

“Hey…” you gently put your hand on his tricep, “Are you okay?”

He looked down at you and nodded, “I’m fine. Just… needed a minute. Felt like it was nonstop today ya know?” He pushed himself from the counter and let out a forced laugh.

“Okay. You seemed upset just then. Wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it before he shook his head, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Oh!” You reached for his hand and pulled over your tummy again.

The kicking was nonstop as long as Harry’s hand was on your tummy, “Hi there. You wanted to say hello again, didn’t you? I am flattered you seem to like me so much. I’m your favorite, aren’t I? Your secret’s safe with me little one,” he bent closer to your tummy to speak to the baby.

If he didn’t give you butterflies before, well that whole exchange certainly did. You were aware your hormones were going bonkers too. Just seeing Harry had put you into overdrive, though no one would ever know it. Who knew pregnant women got so horny? Your doctor told you it could happen but looking at his big hands on your bump, the soft smile on his face, the look of something that could easily be mistaken for fondness in his eyes had your head spinning.

You laughed when Harry looked up at you and stood back to his full height, “What? Baby likes me more than the others. Pretty sure we’re gonna be best buds.”

A small breath fell from your lips at the thought. At Harry thinking it.

“I sure hope so. Just a little over a month. Doctor says could be sooner due to the size.”

“Yeah. You said on track to be a big baby,” he smiled and looked down at his hand on your bump and then back at you, “Will you…” he cleared his throat, “Please let me know if there’s anything you need or want. I can, you know, help. And… if you go into labor I’d like to know. I’m sure you already have a plan with your mother and Erin but…” he trailed off his words as you put your hand over his.

“I’ll let you know if there’s anything. You’ve already been so helpful, Harry. I’m beyond grateful for you. And when I go into labor I’ll make sure someone calls you.”

He nodded, “Thank you.”

There was something about that moment. How tender and vulnerable it was. Your eyes locked and his hand on your tummy with the baby kicking inside. His baby. And it felt like he knew it too. Like he could see through your bullshit and he was just waiting for you to tell him the truth. Praying you’d spit it out once and for all.

And that had stuck with you. The moment the baby had kicked for him was like a signal for you. Some kind of omen or something (not that you believed in those kinds of things). It was time to tell him.

“You wanna come over tomorrow and help me set up the crib?”

. . .

You slept like shit. Which wasn’t too outside of the norm since Harry’d gotten you knocked up. His massive baby was pushing on all your organs and made it hard to get comfortable in bed at night. And just when you’d start to doze off you’d need to pee or there was a sharp pain or your leg would cramp up.

In short, by the time Harry arrived the following day to help you set up the crib, you were in a terrible mood. You were still going to tell him the truth but you were unsure of how it would all go down now that your mood was spoiled. Where you’d been so hopeful before, now you were doubtful. What if he was repulsed?

You had wanted time alone with him. Your roommate was out so it would be perfect. It felt like it would be better to tell him when no one else was around.

He brought croissants and jam and your favorite cookies. The moment you saw him with the bakery box in hand and a warm smile on his pink lips your bad mood was suddenly lifted slightly. Just the sight of him was a breath of fresh air.

When he sat the box down he pulled you in for a hug and kissed your forehead, “How are you feeling today?”

You rolled your eyes because he was too perfect. Too sweet.

“I’m… well, I’m tired. Didn’t sleep much. This thing makes it hard to get comfortable and my back aches. But… we’ll survive.” You laughed it off.

Harry’s brows pinched together, “Okay. Let’s get you off your feet then. Here,” he pulled you into your bedroom where the unopened crib box was sitting. He gestured for you to sit down on your bed, “Sit.” He helped you scoot into the headboard and stuffed a pillow behind your back before he turned, “Let me grab the box in the kitchen.”

You watched him quickly exit your room and looked around yourself. He had no idea what kind of bomb you were about to drop on him. Your nerves were all over the place. You were sure that was part of why you didn’t sleep well the night before. You couldn’t put all the blame on Harry’s baby.

When he returned to the room with the pastry box and two plates, “Cookie first? Or croissant with jam?”

“Mmm…” you looked into the box, “… cookie I think first.”

“Cookie for mama… here you go,” he handed you a plate with a cookie and you huffed a laugh. God, just hearing him say that had your toes tingling.

Harry began to remove the parts from the box and handed you the instructions to read over, “Okay. Read to me what I need to do first.” He took a bite of a croissant.

“Attach small end panels A to posts D with lock washers and connector bolts. Here,” you turned it so he could see the figure in the picture with the parts and he began to put sections together as you read off the instructions.

You wound up getting up to help him even though he told you to stay put. You insisted anyway and handed him the small tools as you read the directions.

“This is so much more work than I thought it’d be,” he laughed as he tilted the nearly put-together crib upright.

You covered your mouth and looked at its frame. It was almost as if none of what was happening was real until you saw the crib there, at the foot of your bed with Harry’s hand on one of the corner posts.

He reached out to rub your arm, “You okay?”

Once again, your emotions and hormones were wrecking you. You sat down and Harry sat next to you.

Sniffing you nodded and laughed, “I’m okay. I just can’t believe there’s a crib in my room for a baby who’s going to be here sooner than I’m ready for.”

“I know it’s wild. I never really imagined what it’d be like to put a crib together before.”

You smiled sheepishly and looked down at your tummy. You wondered if the correlation between Harry being near you and making your heart race had something to do with the baby always kicking only for him. Especially when you looked into his eyes and he was looking at you like that.

“So, uh…” you laughed, “You still seeing that one girl from work?”

Harry cocked his head and looked at you with an amused smile, “Maybe. Why? You never once asked about girls I’m dating before.”

“Oh… I was just curious. You don’t have to answer or anything,” you frowned and moved to stand but your movement lacked grace and you only fell back into the bed and Harry put his hand on your back.

“I was teasing. You can ask me anything, Y/n. But it’s just casual. Haven’t been out with her in a couple weeks. Might not see her again outside of work.”

“Why not? She seemed really nice,” you were thrilled by the news but tried not to let just how thrilled you were show.

Harry laughed through his nose as he kept his eyes on yours, “Just cause. Kind of felt like I was leading her on a little. Never really was that into her.”

You nodded and pursed your lips to act casual but Harry’s hand was still on your back and your roommate was coming home soon and you needed to tell him. It felt like your room was closing in around you. It was time.

You inhaled deeply and swallowed, “Um… I need to tell you something. It’s kind of big and…” another deep breath and the feel of Harry’s hand soothingly rubbing your back that felt like he already knew what you were going to say as if he were coaxing it out of you gently. “Uh…”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

You smiled at him before closing your eyes and blurting out the words, “Joe’s not the father.”

Harry’s soft caresses slowed down as he pushed his hand upward to your shoulder, “I kind of had a feeling it wasn’t his.”

Popping your eyes open you looked at Harry, “You… didn’t think it was Joe’s?”

Harry shook his head, “Felt like you weren’t telling me everything. Are you gonna tell me who the father is then?” He raised his brows. He knew. He already knew. But he needed you to say it. To tell him. You could see it in his expression that he knew.

“Well, that kind of just leaves one person, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. You tell me, Y/n.” He wasn’t going to make this easy but of course you deserved that.

Pushing out a breath you nodded and put your hand on your tummy, “It’s… you.”

Harry nodded his head as he kept his eyes on yours. You swallowed thickly when he removed his hand from your shoulder and stood up before running his fingers into his hair and began to laugh.

You didn’t know what was going through his head but his reaction was… well it wasn’t what you imagined and now you were wondering if you should have just kept it all in. Never told him or anyone the truth. Because letting another full human being into the mix was daunting. Harry had his own life and hobbies and he was dating and he was in the process of looking for a house to buy and he’d recently talked about getting a dog…

You started to spiral in your thoughts, regretting that you told him at all. Feeling like you’d just made a grave error when you felt Harry’s arm slide behind your back, “Hey… come on. Don’t cry…”

It hadn’t even dawned on you that you were crying. You were too overwhelmed by the feeling of rejection and embarrassment to take note that tears were pouring out of your eyes.

“Sorry!” You squeaked and hid your face in your arm, turning away from him.

Harry pulled you in closer and smushed his lips to your temple, “Shh…”

You gasped to catch your breath and felt the warm singe of embarrassment still frothing over your skin. The tears weren’t helping anything because now you just looked like a lunatic. Unable to form words or look him in the eyes. You’d even put on mascara before he came over so you’d look cuter when you told him he was the baby daddy.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” he spoke against your hair and ran his hand up and down your arm gently.

You laughed and buried your face into his clavicle.

“Can I tell you something, Y/n?”

You nodded, and a muffled okay came from your mouth as you kept your face tucked away.

“Can you look at me first?”

“Harry my face is gross. You don’t want to see this…”

“Nothing about you is gross. You’re breathtaking. Please look at me.”

Another puffed laugh fell from your mouth. Breathtaking. That was a bit of an exaggeration.

You slowly pulled your face away from his chest and tilted your head up to look at him. The grin on his face stretched upward and he ran his thumbs under your eyes, “Look at you. Nothing gross here. Bit of makeup down the face. You don’t need this stuff anyway,” he wiped the smudged mascara and you brought a hand up to wipe with him.

“Sorry… I should know better than to put mascara on these days. Everything makes me cry,” you ran your fingers under the delicate skin of your eyes as Harry continued wiping at your cheeks.

“It’s an emotional thing. All this. Good to get a cry in here and there.”

You laughed and sniffled. Harry didn’t let his pupils stray from yours.

“So, listen…” he inhaled, “I want to be with you. I have wanted that. When I learned you and Joe broke up I thought that was my chance. But then we slept together and I thought you regretted it. You kind of acted funny around me for a bit after that so I backed off. But really, I wanted to scoop you up and make you mine. Figured maybe you just needed time to get over Joe.”

You were stunned. You blinked your eyes and shook your head, “You… I thought…” A breath fell from your lips.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me like that. But I do want to be part of this,” he placed his hand on your pregnant belly, “This is ours. I want to help. I want to do everything I can to be there for you.”

“You want to be with me? Like…” You blinked in disbelief.

“Yes. Like I’m in love with you.”

He’d just blurted it out so casually. As if you weren’t in a delicate state and that sentence couldn’t send you to your grave. As if those words wouldn’t have your head spinning and your heart raging behind your ribcage. As if him loving you was the most obvious thing.

“Wha– you… I’m surprised. I… love?”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should have waited for that one. But you did just tell me I’m the dad so… call it even,” he laughed.

“You’re laughing? Harry… this is…” you started to tear up again as you pushed at his chest. He’d waited all this time to admit he was in love with you and somehow it just seemed unfair, “You should have told me. This would have all been so different.”

“And you should have told me, Y/n. I could have been here with you. Could have driven you to every appointment and we could like… talk about everything and… be together. If you even want that.”

He was right of course. If you’d just told him sooner maybe everything would have fallen into place. Maybe it would’ve been easier.

“Well, what do you think?”

“You’re right. I should have told you much sooner. So this is my fault. I’m… I just didn’t expect you to tell me you love me.”

Harry folded his big palm over your hand and pulled your fingers between his, “I tried doing everything I could to make it obvious to you. I’m still wondering what you think about it, though.”

“It’s... I really like you. I haven’t thought about it too deeply, though. I didn’t want to focus on you too much because you were dating that girl and–“

“Forget about her. Took her to one movie. Went out to lunch twice. Not so much as a peck on the cheek. Would’ve flaked on our date had you told me to stay that one day. Remember that?”

You nodded and smiled, “Yeah. I do.”

“So tell me what you think. Just be honest. I can handle it. I’m a big boy, Y/n.”

You forced air through your nose, “Okay. I like you. I think it would be nice to be in a relationship with you and do this together. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s in the past. So, you wanna be with me?”

You nodded. It all didn’t feel real. Harry was this gorgeous man, the whole package with his shit together while you were a swollen, hormonal, puffy-faced girl who had no idea what she was doing.

“Good. Now, I promise I’ll finish the crib but can I kiss you? Want to kiss you so bad.”

You sputtered out a laughed yes and rolled your eyes but Harry slid his hand to the back of your head and cut off your exasperated laugh with his mouth over yours. And all the apprehension and uncertainty, the disbelief and the worry melted away as his lips smushed against yours.

And as it was, you were already halfway there – to horny. Lately, that’s just how you were; Always at the tip of horny and tired. But when his tongue slipped into the seam of your lips your response was to push your tongue against his and place your fingers through his hair, nudging yourself closer.

You didn’t stop there, though. Your other hand found his thigh and you flexed your fingers over the dense muscle. The memory of the night you slept together came rushing back. His body was solid and broad and no matter where you touched him it lit your fingertips like flint.

He placed his hand over yours and pulled your fingers upward, “Y/n…” he breathed your name as if he needed to hear it spoken out loud again. It was desperate. Starved. The man was starved. You wondered if the last time he had sex was with you. Selfishly you hoped it was. And selfishly you hoped he’d want to fuck you again.

You felt his hand on your jaw and then his thumb press into your cheekbone, “I missed this mouth, Y/n. I need you…”

He drew his mouth down to your neck and you felt him tongue at your pulse point. A shattered moan escaped your throat when he collared one side of your neck with his big palm and continued brushing his lips on the other.

“I need you too, Harry…” The sentence drizzled into the air like a steamy mist. And then his hand was on your breasts. Your very tender and achy breasts, “Oh god!”

Harry parted from your neck, “Are you okay?”

“I’m… god I’m just…” you didn’t want to say it but you needed it. Needed him. Craved him, “Really, really turned on. It’s been like this for a bit. It’s my hormones.”

Harry pushed a laugh through his nostrils, his heavy gaze dropped to your blouse-covered breasts and then back to your eyes, “Hormones? Is there anything I can do to help with that problem?”

His question was cheeky. The edge of his lips flitted upward teasingly and you laughed, “Yeah. I think you can help.”

Harry licked his lips and pressed his nose against yours, “Tell me what I can do. What do you need?”

His breath was humid against your mouth as you reached for him with puckered lips, an attempt to just get back to it but he backed away from you, dimples carving into his cheeks, “Ah ah ah… I asked you what you needed, Y/n. What’s gonna make you feel good?” His fingers trailed down over the fabric on your blouse.

“I want to have sex. You’re the only man who’s ever made me come and I can’t stop thinking about that night.”

“Really? No one else has ever made you come before?”

You shook your head, “No one else.”

A sudden visage of something like pride and plume took over his face, “And you want that again, do you? Want me to make you come, Y/n?”

“Yes.”

Harry’s hands were gentle as he pulled you back into his arms and smeared his mouth over yours until you found yourself lying on your side facing Harry with his hands on your round belly, “This is mine? I did this to you?”

“Yep. Got me knocked up on the first try,” you splayed your hands over his as he brought them down to the stretchy hem of your blouse and bunched at the material to move it out of his way and expose your tummy.

“It’s not cute. I’m sorry,” you watched as your shirt was lifted and Harry was confronted with the sight of skin stretched tight over your belly.

Dragging his fingers over your bump and to your tits he shushed you, “So cute. The cutest. That’s my baby in there. And you’re so sexy like this.”

He sat up to his knees and helped you out of your top, revealing the thick strapped greige maternity bra that fully covered every inch of your breasts. With his eyes on yours, he reached around to your back to unhook the tiny metal clasps until your straps shimmied free.

His lips parted as he peeled the fabric away from your engorged tits, “Oh fuck, baby…” He pawed at them and softly kneaded in his palms over the flesh, “Feels okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Yes. It feels so good with your hands on me.”

He moaned as his pupils roved every inch of your skin, dipping down to pull his tongue over and around your nipples only stopping to softly suck before his plush lips feathered kisses down your torso and the sides of your belly.

His fingers slid into the waistband of your pants, “Taking these off, all right?” He peered up at you.

Your chest was already heaving as if you were in the middle of being fucked and you nodded, “Okay.”

The nice thing about maternity wear was that it was easy to remove. Harry got you out of your cotton and lycra pants before you had time to feel shy about letting him see the kind of mess you’d made of your panties. Also greige like your bra.

“And clearly we need to get you out of these things too, Y/n,” he tutted as he cupped the meatiest part of your hips with his palms, “Don’t we?”

You giggled and nodded, “I know it’s a mess. I just can’t help it. The doctor said it’s normal to be like this.”

“Poor thing,” he looked down at the wet stain at the front of your panties, “Could’ve been taking such good care of you all this time.”

You felt your panties slip down your hips before cool air hit your wet pussy and you closed your eyes, “Sorry. Haven’t shaved down there or anything since… well…”

Harry’s graveled moan was accompanied by the feel of his hands on the insides of your knees as he pushed you open, “It’s beautiful.”

You opened your eyes to look down at him between your legs and his dark pupils were already on yours, “Really?”

“Really. Everything about you is so…” he smoothed his palms up the insides of your thighs from your knees and then paused, “I forgot. It’s not good for you to be on your back too long. Isn’t that right?”

You laughed and pushed yourself up by your elbows, “Yeah. That’s true. Did you read that somewhere?”

He nodded, “Not ashamed to admit I did in fact read that somewhere. So, would you like me to eat you out? And if so,” he teased his fingertips into your thighs, “What’s most comfortable for you?”

“I mean, yeah I’d like that but… truly unnecessary given the state I’m in.”

“The state you’re in? You mean pregnant?”

You chuckled, “I mean given how horny I am. I’m just saying you don’t need to prep me or anything.”

“Oh, I can see you need no prepping. It’s not so much about that as it is just making you feel good. Get comfy. I’m gonna lick your pussy.”

Another laugh fell from your chest when you heard the front door to your apartment close. Esie was home.

Harry clambered off the bed and shut your door in haste, “Fuck. I didn’t know she was coming back so soon.”

You scooted yourself back into your pillows, “We’ll just keep it quiet. But I do have one request.”

He raised a brow at you as he returned to your bed placing one knee on the pillowtop mattress with his palms down as he awaited your request.

“Can you take your shirt and pants off? I feel really… on display like this while you’re fully dressed.”

Harry grinned and pushed himself back to plant both feet onto the floor as he pulled his shirt off and then worked at his jeans, bringing them down his legs. You didn’t care that Esie was home. You needed to be fucked. You needed Harry. And the more skin and ink he revealed the more your mouth watered.

Just like 8 months before, he was an impressive sight. All tall and lean muscle (but kind of soft in some spots), inky drawings over long, well-thewed arms, and a broad torso with pecs you could bite into.

He climbed back into bed with you, quickly invading your space with the expanse of his body swathing over you like a mantle before he brought his hands to cradle your face and pressed his lips against yours.

He lowered his palms and groped at your tits, a bit rougher this time, but it only elicited a lewd mewl from your throat. Sensitive as they might be, having Harry touch you at all could only be a good thing.

“You like that, do you?” Harry spoke against your lips with a jesting tone.

You responded with a squeaky bleat to the affirmative when you felt him put pressure on your nipple, smushing it just between his thumb and middle finger.

He licked up from your bottom lip and ran his tongue over yours when you felt his fingers reaching for your other nipple.

Two loud knocks on your door startled you both, “Hey I’m home! Just letting you know!”

“Okay, thanks, Esie!” You and Harry quietly laughed as he put his palms on your knees.

“Do you think she was just telling you she was home, or reminding you to keep it down in here because she could hear us?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean… I doubt she thinks I have a guy in my bed right now. Much less it being you.”

Harry’s grin softened and he resumed from where you left off before Esie interrupted, this time his lips started at your neck. You relaxed back into the pile of pillows as you watched Harry slowly move further away until he was mouthing at your hips and peering up at you.

But then you felt his finger. It was just one but you felt it tickle at your crease. He ran it lightly along the seam of your pussy up and down before finally dredging in, parting your labia, and slicking it through your pussylips, completely wetting his finger.

Harry kissed at your mons and the curve of where your belly began to extend upward before bringing his lips back down closer to your throbbing clit but not quite there.

When he circled his finger at your slick entrance you rocked your hips, needing to feel his finger pushing inside of you. He kissed your skin at the apex of your thigh with a smacking sound and then finally thrust in, reaching through your insides and then pulled back, hooking his finger upward so it bumped into your spongy g-spot.

But the moment you felt his warm mouth kiss your clit and then tongue all around the tender and needy nub you gasped and reached down to put a hand in his hair, “Yess…”

Harry was surprised by how turned on you were. Slippery and puffy and he’d hardly touched you. But he’d read about how some pregnant women can be very horny until the end of the pregnancy. Ever since the day he learned you were pregnant, even though you told him it wasn’t his, he still learned what he could. Everything from how the body changes and what you might be going through and feeling, to nutritional needs, as well as the best sex positions (he was just a man after all). He never knew most of the things he learned and he was glad for it now that he was getting to have you again.

He wished you’d have told him, though. Wished he could have been there for you emotionally and physically… whatever you needed he’d have done it. But god it would have been so sweet to have been able to call you his girlfriend and show you off to everyone then take you home and fuck your horny little pussy every night.

No need to dwell on the past, though. He was absolutely over the moon that you finally told him and that his suspicions were correct. He was ecstatic you wanted to be with him so he’d make the most of it.

And the small squeaks and pants you were making as he fingered and sucked your clit were all good sounds. Hot. You were hot. So fucking sexy. He really loved how needy you were too. As big as your tummy was, you were grinding your hips down over his finger and lifting into him.

He couldn’t see your face from his spot but your fingers in his hair and the quiver of your thigh told him all he needed to know.

“Fuck…” you breathed out, quiet as you could, “Ohhh… shitshitshit!”

Your pussy pulsed and squeezed at his finger as you began to come. You draped your free arm over your mouth to cover up the gasps and hitched breaths as much as you could.

He’d never in his life made anyone come so fast. He had hardly gotten himself warmed up but there you were, shaking and sighing as you orgasmed into his mouth and around his finger.

When you began to close your thighs around his head and roll to your side to escape his mouth he pulled his finger from your pussy and gripped onto your hips to keep you still so you didn’t fling yourself off the bed.

He sat up and looked you over, smoothing his hands over your arms and to your tummy, “That feel good?”

You laughed and nodded, “Umm. Yeah, I’d say that felt good.”

Harry leaned down and peppered kisses to your tummy and pushed you to your side before he tucked himself behind you and pulled your back to his chest where he began to smush wet kisses to your neck, “You came so fast. You’re so sensitive, Y/n.”

“Mmmm…” you closed your eyes and then felt the bulk of his cock pressing into your backside. He was still wearing his boxer briefs. You pushed your ass back against him and heard a lusty moan vibrating over your ear.

You wanted more, unsurprisingly. Every time you masturbated lately it was two or three orgasms per go, which had never been the case before you got pregnant.

Harry rutted into you, his cock solid and aching. He hadn’t had sex with anyone since you and now he was desperate to get his cock wet. Desperate for you. No one else did it for him after you.

“Getting my underwear all wet,” he breathed his words between kisses and rocks of his hips, “You need some more, Y/n?”

Harry’s hands were cradling your tummy and rubbing at your tits as he humped against you and you nodded into your pillows, “I need more. Want you inside of me.”

Music to his ears. “Yeah? Need so much from me, don’t you? Need my baby in your womb, and my cock deep inside at the same time?”

“Fuck… yes I do…”

Harry leveraged himself up by one arm and pulled his underwear down his legs as fast as he could manage. His cock was throbbing and weeping at the tip already. He hoped he didn’t disappoint this time around because he was certain he wasn’t going to last long.

You turned to watch him and reached down behind you to wrap your fingers around his cock as he settled back onto his side. You felt the dribble of precome at his slit and spread it down his cock slowly, “I just wanna make sure… I know we slept together without a condom once but, like… I don’t know if you were sleeping with anyone else or–“

“You’re the last person I slept with. But we can–“

You moaned, cutting off the rest of his statement where he was about to suggest a condom, “Oh good. Just fuck me then.”

Angling his thick cock to your entrance you raised your hip to guide him in and with an easy thrust forward he spread your pussy apart and drove into you languidly. You both moaned in relief. You kept yourself turned to look at him as he entered you until he was pasted against your ass.

When he reared back and pushed in you laid your head down on the pillow. Every inch of him getting stuffed into you was filthy and wet sounding.

Harry kept a slow pace as he buried himself in and pulled back before thrusting into your sloppy wet hole. His balls were already squeezing as he rocked into you, “Pussy feels so good, Y/n. Fuck baby…”

You slid your fingers over your clit and buried your face into the pillow as you moaned his name. He could hear your muffled noises and he leaned back so he could see as he split you apart on his cock.

Everything was wet between your legs as he watched himself slide in and out, his cock coated in your cream already. Sloppy thrust after sloppy wet thrust. He dragged his thumb over the space of your pussy where you were gripping around him as he rolled into you, feeling the way you stretched for him.

You felt the liquidy heat of your orgasm slowly seeping through your nerves and your organs with every slick plunge of his cock. He filled up the space of your pussy just right, every stroke of him through your aching core glided against all your secret little crevices, bumping your g-spot and slithering through to your guts.

You’d done well to keep quiet as quiet as you were. You’d gotten good at quietly coming over the years of having a roommate. But Harry was testing this skill of yours.

“Wrapped around my cock like you needed it, baby. Listen to how creamy you are,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth before continuing to whisper into your ear, “All for me. Gonna make you come as many times as you want. Buy you a house where we can raise our little family together. Fuck all my babies into you…”

Harry didn’t know exactly what he was saying. He was delirious; holding back his orgasm as he felt you trembling around him. He grunted as he continued, “Gonna keep you satisfied, take care of you and our baby. Protect you…”

His words weren’t all that filthy. Not as filthy as they could have been but somehow the talk of raising a family with him and protecting you pushed you off the precipice and over the edge. You bit your lip and your whole body trembled as you hastened your fingers on your clit.

“Shit… holy shit…” Harry breathed out when he felt you coming around him and practically convulsing in his arms. You moaned as quietly as you could but his hips were slapping into your ass as he fucked you through your release.

You’d never come so hard in your life. You were sure it was because you were having actual sex with a man you’d wanted for so long all while your hormones were going haywire. Your pussy pulsed and fluttered, clenching on Harry’s cock as he squeezed his eyes closed and choked out a gasp, gluing his hips to your bum, grinding in and began to pump his come into your cunt.

He thought he could wait until you were done but you kept coming and shaking, your pussy vibrating over him like a siphon trying to milk him. He couldn’t resist, “Fuck!”

His cock throbbed violently inside of your warm channel as he emptied every drop of himself into you, holding you close as he rutted inward, dredging his cock as deep into your pussy as it could go.

He felt your hand reach over his forearm and rub as he opened his eyes and caught his breath. You were sweaty and gorgeous lying on your side all fucked out with your eyes closed and a satisfied smile on your lips. He kissed your cheek and squeezed your bum in his palm.

“I love you, Harry.” You whispered.

You’d said it back, finally. Harry leaned over to see your face, “Say it again?”

Opening your eyes you sighed and turned your head to look up at him, “I love you.”

Harry tilted your chin toward him and kissed your lips softly, “I love you, Y/n.”

It would have been bliss to have just stayed like that in Harry’s arms, with his soft pink lips dragging over your skin all night. Perhaps another round even. But there was the matter of the unfinished crib and your roommate, Esie who was about to find out about you and Harry.

“Promised you I’d finish the crib before I left,” he pecked at your cheek and sat up.

“Why don’t you stay the night?”

“You sure? That means Esie’s gonna know.” He grinned.

“I’m positive. I think it’s about time everyone knows.”

He couldn’t have agreed more.

. . .

Watching Harry holding your baby was like something out of a dream. He was standing, cradling her little head with his big palm and kissing her soft peach fuzz forehead between whispered words you couldn’t hear.

When he finally turned to set his eyes on you the look on his face was unlike anything you’d ever seen from him before. It was awe and love and overwhelm and joy all wrapped up in his eyes.

“I love her so much. And I love you. I can’t even describe–“ he blinked the tears from his eyes as his lip quivered and you reached out toward them.

“Come here. Sit with me.” You beckoned.

Harry sat next to you on the hospital bed and situated the little one into the crook of his arm between you two. You reached up and ran your fingers into his curls, “I love you, Harry. I’m so happy. Both of you make me happier than I’ve ever been. I’m glad we ended up together.”

Harry leaned in, carefully so as not to smush the precious life in his arms, and gave you a chaste kiss, “Me too, Y/n. I can’t believe how perfect she is. How amazing you are. I’m just blown away right now.”

You breathed out a laugh as you both stared down at the life you two had created. A beautiful sleeping bundle and she was all yours. All his. When her little lips stressed open and she let out the tiniest crackle of a yawn your heart felt like it was going to rupture from being so full of love.

“She’s beautiful, Harry. Look at her.”

“I know. I can’t take my eyes off her.”

You were exhausted but flying. Every kind of happy chemical; oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins were all flowing through your veins unencumbered. The labor was a difficult one, though. Harry’s baby was big. She came out at just under 9 lbs and you learned that Harry was a big baby as well. You cursed him a few times but after everything was said and done you couldn’t have been happier.

You fluttered your gaze from the man holding your child to the sweet little thing in his arms over and over. Your little family, all whole and healthy and happy.

“You should get something to eat, Harry. You haven’t eaten.”

He looked at you, those starry green eyes that could melt you right into your bed, “You just want to be alone with her don’t you?”

Shaking your head you laughed, “I mean that’s really not the motivation. I was just thinking about how we’re all healthy and it’s the most wonderful thing. But you haven’t eaten. I haven’t seen you eat anything since before I went into labor. It’s been like a whole day, more than a whole day, Harry. And while I scarfed down my jello and the little protein drink you were holding her and you haven’t left my side so you have to be hungry.”

“I am a little. I don’t want to leave, though. I feel like I have to be here in case anything happens…”

Cupping his cheek you shook your head, “Nothing will happen to us. The cafeteria is still open. You can get something and bring it up here. My mom won’t be back for another hour or so. Just grab a snack even. I need you healthy.”

Harry leaned into your palm and closed his eyes, “Okay.”

He placed your daughter into your arms and kissed your forehead as he gently caressed her cheek, “I’ve got the two most beautiful girls in the world. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“I think you’re just as emotional as I am right now,” you laughed. “Now. Let me have a minute alone with my daughter while you grab a quick snack.”

“Okay, Mom. You’re the boss.”

You took his hand, “Hurry back, Dad.”

Feedback/Thoughts | Ko-fi | Main Masterlist | Patreon

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran

@luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou

@itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge

@damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @babybunharry @anothermannharry

@love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme

@butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry

@hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @harrrrystylesslut @elidoho @bananabk9756

@gotdrxnkonu @freedomfireflies @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @lightsoutstyles

@certainlysyko @tiredinwinter @princessaxoxo @angeldavis777 @kissfromadove

@daphnesutton

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Run Baby, Run.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

authors note - seeing harry run a marathon just made him ten times hotter for some reason. 😫

word count - 1.4k

in which, harry is running the 2025 tokyo marathon, and who better to cheer him on than his fiance and little boy.

The air is crisp, the kind that clings to your skin but isn’t unpleasant. The streets of Tokyo hum with anticipation, the crowd thick with strangers who have all gathered for the same reason.

The hum of the crowd rises and falls around you, a mix of excited chatter and the occasional announcement over the loudspeakers.

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the stroller, your two-year-old nestled inside, bundled in a soft jacket despite the mild weather. His tiny legs kick idly, hands clutching a half-eaten rice cracker as his big eyes dart around and then back to the iPad hooked onto the front of the bar securing him in place, before his eyes then shift back to the sea of runners.

He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening,

Only that daddy’s going to be running a very, very long race.

You crouch beside the stroller, adjusting the blanket draped loosely over your son’s lap. He shifts in his seat, kicking his little legs, the hand that’s not holding the cracker is clutching his favorite stuffed bunny, its fur worn from love.

His dark curls peek out from under his hood, and he looks at you with wide, eager eyes.

The race started around an hour ago, and your stood at the halfway mark, and your son had been okay so far, (supplying him with snacks was the way to go).

The halfway mark was where you told Harry you’d be, and then towards the finish line.

“Bluey go zoo,” he announces, eyes locking on the iPad (something had to keep him entertained) nodding firmly, as if this is the most important thing in the world.

You smile, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. “Oh yeah?”

“Yuh,” he says, chewing his snack between words.

“Bluey see big ‘affe. Giraffe eat leafs.” His little fingers pinch at the air, mimicking the long neck stretching up. “And lion go—RAAHH!”

He throws his arms up dramatically, startling a woman standing nearby, who chuckles as she steps aside.

You grin, reaching to brush a few crumbs from his jacket.

“You’ve been watching that episode a lot, haven’t you?” you murmur, tucking the blanket around him a little tighter.

“Uh-huh,” he says through a mouthful, then pauses, his face screwing up in thought. “I wan’ see ‘affe too.”

“We’ll see if we can find one later, buddy,” you say softly, but your voice trails off as something shifts in the atmosphere around you.

The twenty minutes that follow stretch and fold in on themselves, time both fleeting and endless. Your son chatters on, switching topics with the rapid, boundless energy of a toddler—Bluey, then trucks, then something about a bird he saw earlier that morning. His little hands gesture wildly as he speaks, his face lighting up with each new thought.

You nod along, your attention split between him and the shifting sea of runners passing by. Every so often, a wave of cheers erupts from the crowd as clusters of athletes surge forward, their rhythmic footfalls pounding against the pavement. You scan their faces, searching, waiting.

And then, finally, you see him.

A familiar figure weaves through the pack, his stride steady but powerful. Sunglasses shield his eyes, but you don’t need to see them to know the determination etched into his features. A white bandana is tied securely around his head, keeping his curls from falling into his face.

Even from a distance, you recognize the way his arms move, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on his breathing.

Your heart tightens, pride swelling in your chest.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your son from the stroller, lifting him onto your hip so he can see. He clings to you, his little hands pressing against your shoulder as his wide eyes scan the crowd of runners.

And then—he spots him.

“Daddy!” he yells, his voice bright and excited, cutting through the noise.

A few heads turn, but it doesn’t matter, because Harry hears him.

His head snaps to the side, his pace faltering just slightly before he spots you both at the barrier. His lips part, his breath catching, and for a moment, he just stares—his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, something deeper.

You smile, calling his name, your free hand lifting to wave.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He veers toward you, breaking from his rhythm as he jogs over, his hands pressing against the barrier to steady himself. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, but it’s not just the run that has him breathless.

It’s you.

It’s your son.

It’s the sight of the two of you standing there, waiting for him.

Cheering you on.

“Hi, my loves,” he manages, voice thick with emotion, sweat glistening along his temples. His eyes flicker between you and the small boy in your arms, whose hands are now reaching out eagerly. “Oh, buddy, look at you.”

“Daddy runnin’!” your son exclaims, bouncing slightly against your hip. “Go fast, Daddy!”

Harry lets out a breathless laugh, his dimples appearing even as his bottom lip quivers just slightly. He reaches forward, brushing his fingertips over your son’s curls before cupping the back of his head, pressing a quick kiss there. “M’trying, bub. Doin’ my best.”

You stretch your hand out, fingers brushing his damp forearm.

“You’re doing amazing,” you tell him softly, and the way his shoulders drop just slightly lets you know he needed to hear it.

His gaze locks onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. He swallows hard. “Love you.”

You squeeze his arm. “Love you more.”

A voice over the loudspeaker reminds the runners to keep moving, and Harry exhales, nodding. He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back.

“Alright,” he says, mostly to himself, steeling his focus. “I’ll see you at the finish line, yeah?”

Your son wiggles excitedly in your arms. “Win, Daddy!”

Harry grins, shaking his head fondly. “I’ll try, little man.” He presses one last lingering glance at you before he steps back, blending once again into the sea of runners.

You press another kiss to his lips and murmur. “—run baby, run!”

You watch him go, your heart swelling with a mix of pride, love, and anticipation. And as your son settles back against you, resting his head on your shoulder, you whisper, more to yourself than to him—

“He’s got this.”

🏃🏃🏃🏃

He shifts restlessly in your arms, rubbing at his tired eyes with balled-up fists but refusing to settle.

“Wan’ Daddy,” he mumbles, his head heavy against your shoulder.

“I know, baby,” you murmur, swaying gently as you maneuver through the crowd. “He’s almost here. Just a little longer.”

You glance at the tracking app on your phone, your heartbeat kicking up as the little dot moves closer and closer to your location.

Two minutes.

Your breath catches as you press up against the barrier, shifting your son slightly so he can see the runners approaching in the distance. The energy is electric here—cheers erupting as each runner crosses the finish line, the collective exhilaration tangible in the air. But your world narrows to a single focus.

And then, through the blur of movement, you see him.

Harry’s strides are strong, his form steady despite the miles he’s endured. His bandana is damp with sweat, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head now, revealing the exhaustion in his eyes—but when he spots you, when he sees the small, sleepy figure in your arms, something shifts. His expression softens, his pace quickens.

You don’t even have time to react before he veers off course, heading straight for you.

“Here, give ‘im to me,” he breathes out, his voice raspy from exertion as he reaches for your son.

You hesitate. “Harry, you’re exhausted—”

“Please,” he says, and that’s all it takes.

Carefully, you pass your son into his waiting arms. As soon as Harry holds him, the little boy sighs, nestling instinctively against his chest, his tiny fingers curling into the damp fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“Daddy,” he mumbles sleepily.

Harry exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to the top of his curls. “Hey, bub. You waited for me, huh?”

You swipe at the tear pricking your eye, your heart clenching at the sight of them.

Harry turns back toward the finish line, adjusting his grip on the small, drowsy weight in his arms. He grins, breathless but determined. “Alright, let’s do this together, yeah?”

And then, with your son tucked safely against him, he runs the last few steps.

The crowd erupts as they cross the finish line, the cameras flashing, the cheers deafening—but all Harry cares about is the little boy in his arms and the person waiting for him just beyond the barrier.

And as he finally stops, as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours, his voice is thick with emotion when he whispers,

“We did it.”

[freedomfireflies]

One Day*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you still hate Harry, but turns out, you might be having his baby.

Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, spanking, brief choking, slight angst (happy ending), mentions of pregnancy and babies! *Please be so gentle with yourself and only continue if you feel comfortable! 💞*

“I’m late.”

“For what?”

You huff. “I’m late,” you repeat, gesturing frantically toward your hips. “A week late. Which I know can happen, but…not really to me, so…I’m late. And I think we’re fucked.”

Harry blinks. Looks down at your stomach. Looks up at your face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You rear back. “That’s all you have to say for yourself is oh?”

He lifts his left shoulder in nonchalant shrug before flopping down onto your sofa. “I don’t know. What did you want me to say?”

“I…I don’t know,” you huff. “I kind of thought you’d…yell. Or freak out or something. Or ask me if I’m keeping it.”

“Do you want me to freak out?”

“Well…no. Not really.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I…I don’t know, I don’t even…I’m not even sure if I am yet or not.”

“Okay.” He nudges his glasses up before crossing his arms. “Well did you get a test?”

You glance toward the pharmacy bag still sitting on your kitchen counter. It’s been mocking you ever since you picked it up. Staring you down, sticking out its tongue. One, tiny little box that’ll determine the next chapter of your life. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I, um…got one on the way home from work.”

“Okay. Have you taken it yet?”

“Not…exactly.”

His brow raises. “Do you…need help or something?”

You scowl. “It’s peeing on a stick, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“Yeah, well, knowing you, you’d find a way to fuck it up.” He smirks. “Sure hope our baby gets my brains instead of yours.”

You grab the pillow beside him and give him a firm whack. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs as he winces. “Good. I wasn’t being funny.”

“Then, stop it. And stop being so calm.”

“You just said you preferred calm—”

“Well…it’s scaring me now. So what gives?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t really feel the need to waste a reaction on something we don’t even know is happening yet. Take the test and then I’ll freak out if you’d like.”

“You say that like someone that’s had a lot of pregnancy scares.”

He snorts. “No, I say that like someone who knows freaking out won’t exactly help you right now. So just take the goddamn test, Tinkerbell. And we’ll go from there.”

Unamused, but somehow slightly comforted, you oblige and snatch the box from the table before retreating to the bathroom.

Once the timer has been set, you slowly make your way back to him.

He’s still sitting on the sofa. Calm. Unaffected. Watching you without a care in the world. Like his whole life isn’t about to change. 

It drives you nuts.

“Five minutes,” you tell him.

He nods.

Warily, you sit in the chair to his left, staring holes through your shoes as your heart races inside your chest. You’re not sure how you got here. Not sure where you could possibly go. You aren’t ready for a baby. Not…yet. Especially not one with…him.

“Hey,” he calls, pulling your attention up. “S’the matter with you?”

Your eyes narrow. “What the hell do you think?”

Another casual shrug that makes your teeth grit. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy?” You lean back. “Why on Earth would I be happy about getting stuck with your DNA for the rest of my life?”

He smiles. “I don’t know. You just seem like the type of girl to want a lot of babies.”

You scoff. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I am not.” You don’t think.

“Really? Is that why you begged me to breed you?”

“I didn’t actually mean it. That’s just what you say in a moment like that.”

His eyebrow raises.

You hesitate. “Did…did you mean it?”

“Kind of,” he admits. “I mean, yeah, maybe I didn’t mean right this second, but…I don’t hate the idea.”

“You actually want to be a father?” You snort. “Bullshit. You hate kids. I’ve seen you.”

“I don’t hate kids, I just don’t care about them when they aren’t mine.” He throws his arm over the back of the chair and smirks. “I like my nieces, though. They’re chill.”

You blink. “You…you have nieces? Wait, you have siblings?”

“Yeah. One brother. He’s got two kids and they’re cute as shit.”

“Oh.” Your head starts to pound. “See? We can’t have a baby when I don’t even know anything about you.”

He chuckles to himself before nodding his chin at you. “All right, fine. Go ahead. Ask me whatever.”

“What?”

“Ask me what you wanna know.”

You think. “Okay. How often do you see your family?”

“Often enough. They live in California, and they work a lot. But we call every couple of weeks.”

“Oh. That’s…surprisingly nice. Uh…do you have a history of disease in your family?”

He grins. “Excuse me?”

“I need to know what I’m getting myself into.” You motion at him. “Answer.”

“This isn’t an interview—”

“Answer.”

“No,” he says. “Not that I know of anyway.”

“Great. Do you plan to be a deadbeat father?”

His eyes roll. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“So, yes? You do? Oh, great—”

“No, because that’s not a fair fucking question—”

“It is a fair question. If I have to raise this baby alone, I want to know—”

“Of course you wouldn’t fucking be alone. Do you really think so little of me—”

“I don’t think about you at all. How am I supposed to know what you’ll do—”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he nearly snaps. He takes a breath to calm himself before adding, “Even if it wasn’t my baby, I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Your lashes flutter and you can feel your heart lodging in your throat. “Fine. Last question.”

He waits.

“Did you ever want kids…before? With…her?”

He doesn’t have to think for very long, but the mention of her makes him smile. “Nah. We talked about it, but we weren’t ready. We liked it being just us, you know? We had a bunch of shit we wanted to do. We were a long way from babies and a white picket fence.”

You try to blink back the tears swimming their way to your eye. You can still see that beautiful picture of her in his room. An entire future of love and life and adventures that he lost. Now…he’s stuck with you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” You swipe your knuckle along your cheek. “So, you probably still aren’t ready.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Harry, come on. You aren’t ready for a baby. I’m not ready for a baby. We…we don’t know each other, we don’t like each other…we can’t do this. You know that.”

“Do I?” He leans forward. “It’s a baby, not a bomb. I think we can handle it.”

“Well, I don’t. You don’t even like me. You can’t have a baby with me.”

“Why not? People do it all the time.”

“But not us.” You give him a firm stare. “Harry, we love our jobs. We want careers, not kids. So having a baby kind of gets in the way of that. There’s…there’s diaper changes, and teething, and potty training—”

“So?”

“So. We don’t work together well. In fact, it’s a rather well-known fact that we don’t get along. We can’t possibly raise a kid. We’d ruin it.” You study him for a beat, unnerved by the nonchalance in his tone. “Why do I get the feeling you actually want this to be real?”

Another shrug and you nearly lunge at him. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, resting his elbows on his knees while he glances at the floor. “I’m older now. Maybe it’s time to…think about settling down.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

He laughs. “Look, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, but…maybe it could be a good thing.”

You stand from your chair and pace the length of your small living room. “This is crazy. This is crazy. I can’t have a baby, I’m…I’m not ready. I’m too young, I…I don’t even know what I’d do with one. Or if I even have a maternal instinct.”

“Probably not,” Harry offers, smirking when you glare. “You won’t really know until you have one.”

“Oh, great.”

“Listen, if you feel like you aren’t ready…we can find another alternative,” he says, softening his voice. “Okay? There are plenty of other options and we’ll find one you feel comfortable with.”

A tad wary of his sympathetic answer, you eye him closely. “Yeah? And what if we disagree?”

“We won’t,” he says calmly. “Your body, your decision.”

“Right,” you snort. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I wouldn’t be the one having to carry it.” He nods as though to reassure you. “Honestly, Tink. This would be your decision, one hundred percent. It’s not mine to make. Just to support.”

The tears rush a little faster as you sniffle and step closer. “You say that now, but what if I decide something you don’t like?”

“I will like it. I promise,” he murmurs, standing up in order to move toward you. “If you want to keep it, great. If you don’t, great.”

“I…I…” You suck in a deep breath, unable to slow the wild racing in your chest. “Fuck, I can’t…I don’t know—”

“Hey, okay, easy. Easy, Princess,” he says, quickly reaching out to take you in his arms and ease you against his chest. “Relax. Okay? Just breathe. Breathe for me.”

“I…I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can. You are.” His lips press to the top of your head while his hand runs up and down your back soothingly. “I’m right here. Do you hear me? I’m right here. You’re not alone. You won’t be alone. I promise.”

You squeeze your arms together and hold on with everything you have. Right now, he feels like your only anchor in the world. The only person strong enough to carry you both through to the other side. And for the first time since you met him…you feel glad that he’s here.

The two of you stand in the middle of the room for a long while before he finally murmurs, “I think it’s been five minutes.”

Your eyes close and you grip his shirt in your first. “I’m…I’m not ready to look.”

“Okay.” You can hear the smile in his response. “Okay, we can wait.”

So, you do as the truth starts to build in your chest. Inescapable, no matter how hard you try to swallow it down.

Finally, you can’t help but whisper, “You know what scares me the most?”

“Hm?”

“…that maybe I’m hoping it’s real.”

The apartment falls silent again. He doesn’t push you to elaborate, but you can feel his heart beating just a little faster inside his chest.

“I don’t know why,” you continue. “I don’t…I really don’t think I’m ready, but…but what if I should be? What if…what if we met and we started this because…because we were supposed to do this?”

He considers this. “Like fate.”

“Yeah.” You roll your lips into your mouth. “Because I still hate you. I do. I just…I’m starting to get this picture in my head of us. Being a family. Having a big house in a good school district. Tucking them into bed at night and reading them stories. Which is…dumb.”

“No,” he mumbles. “No, it’s not dumb. I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because I meant what I said, I’d love to get you pregnant. You’d look really fucking hot.”

You chuckle. “Yes, so you’ve mentioned.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh…okay?”

He smirks. “I never had a breeding kink until I met you.”

You lean back and swat your hand across his chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“What? I’m being serious.” He grins and those dimples pop free. God, you hope your kids have his dimples—

No. Nope. You aren’t going there.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thought. “Whatever. You’re just horny.”

“Maybe. But it’s still true.” His gentle gaze sweeps across your face. “If you wanna do this…we’ll do it. You and me. We’ll have this baby, and we’ll raise it to be really smart, and funny, and to not take shit from anybody.”

You laugh, brushing away a few more tears. “Maybe we can teach it to write code.”

“Oh, fucking obviously.”

The two of you smile before the excitement seems to fizzle and Harry’s brows pull together.

“You know I don’t actually hate you, right?” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I know that’s our thing, and I know you said it earlier, but…I don’t actually hate you. This baby wouldn’t grow up with two parents that don’t like each other.”

“Oh…I…I know.”

“Good. Because I don’t want that to be one of the reasons you think we can’t do it. I’d fucking love that baby. And I’d love you for carrying it.”

Instantly, you both seem to still. The four-letter word sounds so loud inside such a small room.

I’d love you.

He clears his throat, shifting a bit as he glances toward the kitchen. “I mean, I’d…I’d appreciate you for carrying it—”

“No, yeah, I know,” you stammer. “I know what you mean.”

“Good. Yeah.”

The two of you fall quiet again before you softly admit, “I think I’m ready to look.”

“Okay.” He squeezes your hip. “I’m right here.”

You take in a deep breath before begrudgingly pulling yourself out of his arms. You already miss his warmth and the way he felt like home and your stomach turns as you slip into the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you reach for the stick that sits on the edge of your sink. And in those three seconds, an entire lifetime flashes before your eyes. 

The good, the bad, and the everything in-between. You see a house and a dog and a big backyard. You see two little kids rolling in the grass and jumping into the pool. You hear them begging for a bedtime story and crying when they scrape their knee.

You see a dozen birthdays and holidays and visits to the zoo. You see their heartbreaks and triumphs, their successes and letdowns. You see a million goodnight kisses and cuddles on the couch. 

And then…you see Harry.

In every picture, every moment. Taking them to their first baseball game and picking them up from their first dance. Sneaking them into R-rated movies even after you explicitly said no and feeding them far too much candy and popcorn.

You see him teach your son how to tie a tie and dance with your daughter as she stands on his feet. You see him cooking breakfast in the kitchen, flour all over his face. You see him curled up in bed, his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. You hear him tell you how happy he is. How glad that he found you.

It’s a beautiful life. Even if it’s not the one you imagined for yourself. And in that moment, you decide that it doesn’t matter what the test says. If that’s your future, so be it. 

As long as you get to live it with him.

“So?” Harry calls from the hall.

You swallow thickly and slowly glance down.

Negative.

Negative.

No baby. No pregnancy. No white-picket fence.

You stare at the test for at least a full minute. You aren’t sure how you feel. Relieved. Disappointed. Upset. Thankful. Confused.

“Tink?”

You turn around. “Uh…it’s negative,” you report, handing it to him. “False alarm. I guess I’m just late.”

He glances over the stick with a rather blank expression before looking at you. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. This is definitely the better outcome. I’m just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was just starting to get used to the idea.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, handing it back. “I know.”

You throw the test away. “Sorry for making you come all the way over here for that.”

“Hey, whoa—” He strides into the bathroom. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I’d be here.”

“I just…I wasted your time. I should have taken it before I called you—”

“Tink,” he sighs, taking your cheeks in his hands. “Stop. You can always call me for shit like this.” He looks at you, then amends, “You can always me. For anything. You know that.”

A tear slips from your eye without warning, and you suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. This is what I wanted—”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know. It’s hard.”

“Yeah.” You hiccup. “But this is good, right? This is better?”

For a moment, he says nothing. He simply stares at you with a rather sympathetic expression. Or maybe it’s forlorn. Maybe he’s disappointed. Upset that you aren’t giving him what he wants.

Then, he dips down to kiss the tip of your nose. “This is good,” he whispers, and you know he means it. “We would have figured it out. And you would have been a wonderful mom. But I know you. And I know you aren’t ready. Not yet.”

You close your eyes and melt into the feel of his palms against your skin. Into the way he reassures you and protects you all in the same breath. You never thought you’d feel so safe in the serenity of his touch, but here you are. Wishing for him to hold you forever.

“And when we are ready, we’ll do it on our terms,” he says. “Okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “This is good,” you repeat to yourself. “It is. Really. Things are going great at work, I’m finally secure financially, and even you and I are…kind of getting along.”

He smirks.

“This is good. This is better.” You repeat the mantra until you really believe it. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have been a very good pregnant woman anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’d be really cranky. Or needy. My ankles would get all swollen and I’d be hot all the time and nauseous and miserable. I’d probably try to kill you.”

“Oh, you’d definitely try to kill me. You try to kill me even when you aren’t pregnant.”

You gasp. “Rude.”

“What?” He chuckles again before his eyes slowly start to rake down your frame. “But I don’t know. I think it’ll be better than you think.”

You swat him again. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to picture it.”

“Why? I told you, you’d look fucking hot.”

“Yeah…no.”

However, he only nods, moving in to subtly brush his lips against yours. “You would. Be so fucking beautiful carrying our baby. With your tits all swollen and your belly getting bigger every day.”

Truthfully, the image almost makes you grimace, but there’s something about the way he says it. The way he talks about you so reverently. A soft, sultry murmur that goes straight to your cunt. Because you know he’s not just saying it to say it. He means it. Believes it. Would do anything for it.

He tilts your head back, thumb brushing along your jaw. “And I think you like it,” he exhales. “I think you like the idea of holding me inside you. Having a part of me. Knowing that I did it to you. No one else.”

You suck in a soft breath, knees going just a bit weak. “Harry…”

“What, baby?” His mouth ghosts along your neck. “Are you thinking about it? Thinking about how pretty your tummy would look with me inside it?”

He’s evil. Absolutely evil, and you clear your throat in a desperate attempt to regain control of yourself. “Do you…have a pregnancy kink I don’t know about?” 

His lips quirk up. “Apparently.”

“Mm.” Your lashes flutter and the urge to kiss him grows stronger. “You know…some women get really horny when they’re pregnant.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle it.”

He scoffs. “Oh, no?”

You shake your head. “I mean, do you really think you could keep up? Going for hours and hours on end? Trying to keep me satiated with your poor, limp little dick?”

He makes another noise, and you tsk.

“I mean, you can barely satisfy me now as it is. But if I was pregnant? Pfft. Forget it.”

Instantly, he’s snatching hold of your hips and yanking you against his chest. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Princess,” he nearly growls. “I’ll bend you over right now.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” you retort. “You’ve gone soft on me. Rubbing my back, kissing my hair. You wanna take care of me and honestly? It’s a little pathetic.”

His head cocks rather deviously and your pulse begins to skip. He could split you in half if he wanted to and you both know it. 

But that’s what you need right now. You don’t want to be coddled or looked after. You wanna be fucked. Tortured and teased until you’re begging for release.

You want an escape.

And in that moment, Harry decides to give you one.

He picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom while your legs quickly work to hook to his hips for stability and your arms snake around his neck.

He ignores your squeals and teasing huffs of annoyance, instead dropping you onto your mattress with a soft thud.

You glare and push up onto your elbows. “You know, you don’t have to manhandle me—”

“Shut up.”

He surges forward, lips gliding against yours as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. And kissing is easy with him. As easy breathing, like you’ve done it all your life. You know exactly what he likes, what he wants. And you give it him.

His glasses are cold against your face, keeping him from getting as close as he’d like, and after a moment, he huffs, and rips them off before tossing them aside. And even though you adore when he wears them, you happen to adore being near him even more.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging on his curls, scratching down his neck. He has the added advantage of being on top, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from turning to putty in your hands. Clay for you to mold to your liking. 

No matter how dominant he tries to be, he’s simply a man that needs to be told what to do. Taken care of. Shown. 

And you happen to like showing him.

You feel him tug on the hem of your shirt. “Off,” he breathes between carnal nips to your throat. “I want this off, Tink.”

Happy to oblige, you push him back so you can lift yourself up before you peel the fabric from your chest. You take your time with the bra, allowing the straps to fall down your arms oh so slowly. You don’t rush to reveal yourself to him, instead letting him anticipate you. Until his heart is racing and his eyes are darkening and he’s resisting the urge to do it himself.

But once he can finally see you, he nearly groans. “Oh, good fucking girl.” 

He resumes his work. More kisses are left to the warm, tender skin, and he happily sucks bruises into each swell and curve of your breast before teasing the nipple with his tongue. His hands are greedy—ravenous. Pulling at your flesh, clawing his way along your frame. 

When he reaches your thighs, you whimper. You’ve missed the way he touches you. The way he pries your legs apart and makes a home between.

In a rush, he snaps your panties off into his fist and you toss him a punishing glare.

He smiles.

You rid each other of your remaining clothes in a frantic fashion until they’re nothing more than a dirty pile on the floor. Messy and familiar. Fated.

He drops down onto the bed back first, effortlessly swapping positions as you’re placed in a straddle over his waist.

“Good girl, let me see you,” he murmurs, running his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your jaw. “Go ahead.”

You reach down and take his hardening cock in your hand, running it along your cunt before teasing yourself with the tip. 

“Didn’t stretch you,” he mumbles, leaving a few stray kisses to your collarbone. “S’might hurt, so—”

You push him in, simultaneously sinking down in an effort to feel a more prominent burn., and you both make a rather lewd noise as the grip on your chin tightens.

“Tink,” he hisses with a punishing look of his own. “Careful—”

You drop yourself further, muscles tensing around the thickness until your thighs begin to shake.

“Hey—” He forces your eyes on his. “Enough. Be gentle, m’not gonna hurt you—”

“I want you to,” you pant. “Please. I need it. I…fuck, Har, I need it. Please…please.”

He’s still frowning but his expression softens. “Baby…not like this. Maybe we should wait until you’re feeling better—"

“No,” you whimper. Desperate. Fraught. “Harry, please, don’t stop. Don’t make me stop—”

“Hey, easy, easy.” He pulls your forehead to his. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

You try to obey. Try to suck in a strangled gasp of air but it’s useless. He’s gonna take himself from you. He’s gonna leave, and you’ll be empty, and alone, and maybe he won’t ever touch you again—

He places his palm on your chest, right over your heart. “Breathe,” he says again. Soft. Quiet. “In then out. Good girl, just like that.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Mimic his inhales and exhales until the two of you fall into a synchronized rhythm. 

“Good,” he says again, rubbing his other hand along your back. “There you go. You’re all right, I’ve got you. Yeah?”

Weakly, you nod. “I’m…I’m sorry. I just…I—”

“Shh.” He kisses your nose. “You’re okay, Tink. I know.”

A long moment passes before you finally feel in control of your own heart again and once you blink the fog from your eye, you see him. Delicate and strong at the same time.

He sweeps his thumb along your lip. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admit. “Really, I just…I needed to feel you. And I wanted to…move on, I guess. Think about something else. Lose myself for a bit.”

He sighs but nods his understanding. “You could have told me that.”

“I know. I guess I’m just not used to sharing things with you.”

“I know,” he echoes with a small grin. “But we’ll learn, yeah?”

Your gaze grows suspicious. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he says simply. “If we’re gonna make a bunch of hot, smart babies one day, we’re gonna have to communicate.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, that won’t be for a while.”

“Fine. Just gives us more time to practice.”

Your eyes narrow. “You really have gone soft on me, haven’t you? All because you thought I was pregnant."

He laughs, fingers slipping around the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss. “I’d argue I’m actually quite hard right now.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“I can hate you and like you at the same time, right?” he teases. “Because I think that’s my sweet spot. Wanting to kill you and fuck you all at once.”

“Agreed. You’re insufferable but you’re also one of my favorite people. Which only makes you more insufferable.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I think we earned a little civility, no?”

You nod and take his lip between your teeth. “And I think we should celebrate with an orgasm.”

He laughs again. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

You dance your kisses down his chest, enjoying the way his head drops back while he sighs at the feel of your tongue. He’s so beautiful and so good and if you’re going to lose yourself, you want to lose yourself in him.

Leaning back, brace your hands behind you on his knees, and start to bounce yourself on his cock. Over and over, faster and faster, until he’s grabbing onto your hips and giving them a firm, encouraging squeeze to help you along.

Your tits bounce right in his face, and he takes advantage of his front row seat, allowing his hands to trace and tease your nipples as you whine. He sucks them into his mouth and pulls them with his teeth. It sends chills along your spine and goosebumps along your arms and when he notices, he smirks.

 Not even a minute later, he’s pulling you down so your chest meets his. His hands land on your ass with a firm grip and he drags you along his cock. Slow and sensual until your eyes flutter shut, and you disappear into the building pleasure.

You feel his kisses on your ribcage as he begins to thrust up into you. Returning to the pace you previously set until you’re both chasing that familiar high. 

“There you go,” he praises through gritted teeth. “Fuck yeah, just like that—”

“Harry,” you mewl, fingers tangling in his hair. “Shit, please—”

“I know.” He leaves another kiss to the inside of your arm before he smacks your left ass cheek. “I got you, Princess. S’okay. Keep going.”

You grind yourself over his lap, knees hugging his waist as you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. Needy. Anxious. You match each other’s rhythm and it’s a dance. An effortless fluidity that brings you closer than ever before.

Then, he sucks two fingers into your mouth, and moves them between your cheeks. He grazes them over your tighter hole, gently teasing them over the other entrance before dropping them down to where his cock is fucking into your cunt. He plays with you a bit, pushing you just a bit closer while you wail—depraved—and beg for more.

“My good girl,” he praises. He spanks you again. “Fuck—that’s it, baby.”

Your staccato whimpers are consistent now. One for every thrust and you can almost taste his desperation as he turns his head in order to kiss your cheek. The sound of skin against skin is crude and delicious. The way your body slides against his. Like butter on a hot day, melting together.

He goes faster, pulls you harder. Fingers digging into your skin so hard it almost hurts. But in the best possible way. In turn, you brace yourself with a palm on his throat. Squeezing it tight as you start to get closer. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Shit…harder—”

You obey, pinching the sides of his neck until his eyes roll back. 

You can feel his heart racing against yours. You’re both warm. Hot. Shaking. A tangled mess of limps and depraved grinding like animals in heat.

“M’almost…m’almost there,” you whisper.

He nods, looking down your body to watch the way your ass bounces in his hands. “Go. S’okay, go. Let me feel you.”

He leaves more kisses to your side and the tender way his lips feel against your skin makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You grip his throat a bit tighter and just like that…it’s over.

The two of you cum together, the room filling with moans and gasps and promises. He settles beneath you while you ride out the rest of your high but he makes sure to keep his arm around you through every second.

Once you finally catch your breath, he hums. “God-fucking-damn.”

You grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He turns to see you. “I think I’m pregnant.”

You roll your eyes with a swat to his chest but you’re laughing. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you still like me.”

“I never said that.”

“You said I’m your favorite person.”

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

“Right.” He helps you ease him out before he’s flipping you around and moving himself between your legs.   

You blink. “What the hell are you doing?”

He lifts two fingers and eases them along your swollen pussy. Collecting the white, sticky substance already leaking out before easily pushing it back in.

“Harry,” you scold. “I think we’ve had enough breeding for one day.”

He smirks. “Relax, Tink, m’not breeding you. I just…like to see it drip out.”

Your heart leaps. “…oh.”

“Yeah.” He rests his cheek against the inside of your thigh in order to watch. “S’always so fucking pretty.”

You reach down and card your fingers through his sweaty curls. Happy and content for the first time in days.

He looks up. “One day,” he promises, even though it sounds more like a question.

But somehow, in this moment, it makes everything else worth it.

You grin.

“One day.”

AAA I can’t believe we finally did it!! I’m not gonna lie them being soft with each other is gross 😭 BUT ALSO CUTE!! YAY PROGRESS!!

Thank you so much for reading and for always being so nice!! 🥹💞💞 and of course thank you for the amazing idea hehe

Also, if you see any mistakes……no you don’t 🫶

~  Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist:

@littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@babyyhoneyyy @swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

@hannahdressedasabanana @sykostyles @lukesaprince @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus

@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[erodasfishtacos]

Wedding Band Cuts

prompt: YN goes into a massage and things go haywire quickly

word count: 8k (oooops)

warnings: this is all filth, i couldn't get this concept out of my mind

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

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<3

=================

YN may or may not have a slight crush on the owner of the health club that she belongs to.

An boujee, exclusive type of place that there was a waitlist for membership and the prices to join were insane.

The only reason she could attend was because she got a massive discount because of her work.

He wasn’t what someone would imagine the typical gym owner to look like. 

No, he wasn’t a meathead with bulging biceps, thick veins protruding from his forearms, and  a protein shake in hand at all times.

Harry was lean.

Built in a way that was quietly powerful, his strength evident but not flaunted. 

The kind of muscular that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect nonetheless. 

He was intimidating in a different way—not because he towered over people or grunted loudly when lifting weights, but because he moved with an effortless grace that made everything he did look easy. 

The men who spent their time flexing in the mirror and slamming weights to the ground were often left in the dust by him. He bypassed them without so much as a labored breath, but he was never condescending about it.

He didn’t rub it in their faces or attempt to show off.

That, somehow, made him even more attractive.

YN knows that she has never, in her whole life, found someone as attractive as Harry. 

It was almost embarrassing how her stomach flipped whenever she caught sight of him in those tiny workout shorts, the ones that made it impossible not to stare. 

She wanted to drool like a dog when he lifted weights shirtless, every muscle in his torso shifting in perfect harmony. 

But she wasn’t the only one who felt this way—every woman at the gym seemed to have the same not-so-subtle admiration.

The issue was with her (and the other women) she was married.

Despite being the owner, Harry was always around.

 Sometimes he was doing administrative tasks, other times he was covering for employees who had called in sick. 

Hiring college kids meant dealing with last-minute schedule changes, so he often found himself playing the role of front desk attendant, janitor, or—on rare occasions—masseuse.

It was a health club, after all. 

The gym offered more than just workout equipment; there was a spa with facials, manicures, and, of course, massages. While Harry wasn’t an esthetician and couldn’t fill in for those services, he was a certified masseuse.

However, he rarely stepped in for that role because his staff was dependable.

That didn’t stop the women from hoping.

It was common knowledge among the female members that if someone called out, there was a slight—very slight—chance that Harry might step in. 

None of them had been lucky enough for it to happen, though. 

And when news spread that Jerry, a seventy-one-year-old man, had received a massage from Harry when his assigned therapist had to leave due to a stomach bug, the collective jealousy among the women was almost comical.

Jerry, blissfully unaware of the silent resentment directed his way, had wobbled out of the building looking loose-limbed and content, oblivious to the scowls of women who had never before envied an elderly man quite so much.

Tiffany, one of the braver women, decided to test her luck. 

With a sickly sweet smile, she had approached the front desk where Harry was working, tilting her head just so as she asked if he might be able to squeeze her in for a massage.

Harry, ever professional, had simply glanced up from the computer screen, offered her a polite but firm smile, and informed her that since the therapist had left early, they unfortunately wouldn’t be able to accommodate her request. 

He didn’t offer to step in himself, and Tiffany had to swallow her disappointment as she rejoined her friends, shoulders slumping in defeat.

YN was excited for the massage because she kept such tension in her lower back, her thighs, her glutes.

And she definitely didn’t get them regularly enough because life was busy so the strain and stiffness built and built until her body ached enough to have her make an appointment.

It was last minute, they were able to squeeze her in at the last session available, eight in the evening.

The gym was closed at that point but the spa was open until nine.

When YN steps into the dimly lit lobby of the building, she immediately notices how quiet it is. 

The usual low hum of voices or the distant clinking of weights from the gym is missing.

 Instead, the only sound is the faint buzzing of the overhead light and the gentle click of the door settling back into place behind her. She makes her way toward the receptionist’s desk, her steps echoing slightly against the polished tile floor.

The desk is empty. 

No receptionist in sight, no signs of life beyond the unlocked door. 

If the entrance hadn’t been open, she would have assumed the place had already shut down for the night. 

It’s unsettling, the stillness of it all. 

There had been only one other car in the parking lot—a sleek black sedan parked near the entrance. 

She could only hope it belonged to her massage therapist because if she didn’t get the relief she was craving, she might actually scream. 

Her shoulders ached, tension coiled tightly along her spine, and she needed to feel like jelly by the time she walked out of here.

YN lingers at the front desk, her fingertips lightly tapping along the smooth oak surface as she chews on the inside of her lip. 

She glances over her shoulder toward the hallway leading to the massage rooms, her nerves prickling when she hears footsteps approaching. 

The rhythmic sound of sneakers hitting the linoleum floor grows louder with each step.

She fully expects to see Pedro—her regular massage therapist. Pedro, who always greeted her with a knowing smirk and a shake of his head, chastising her for letting herself get so tense.

But it’s not Pedro who steps around the corner.

No, it’s Harry.

Harry, the owner of the gym.

He’s always been effortlessly charming, the kind of man who draws attention without even trying. 

Women often mistook his friendliness for flirting, but that was just his nature—engaging, attentive, and naturally likable. He had one of those faces that made it hard to pinpoint his exact age. 

Deep-set dimples softened the sharpness of his jawline, giving him an almost boyish appeal, while the light scruff and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed his real age.

“Hello, I’m sorry about that,” he says as he moves behind the desk, leaning down to click around on the computer, hiis voice is smooth, deep, the kind that makes you want to lean in just a little closer, “You must be… YN, right? Here for your massage with Pedro?”

“It’s okay,” YN reassures him with an easy smile, a bit fluttery because he was cute, “Yes, that’s me,”

“Pedro had to leave earlier due to a family emergency,” Harry informs her as he clicks around a bit more before looking up at her, “I should have called to cancel but I got distracted with some paperwork. Are you comfortable with having one with me? Or I can reschedule and give you a free massage on the house for the inconvenience.”

YN hesitates. A free massage sounded tempting—nearly $200 worth of pampering for nothing. 

But then there was the other option: a paid session with Harry, the hot gym owner with broad shoulders and an easy smile. 

She hadn’t expected to find herself in this predicament, but now that she was here, her stomach gave a nervous little flip.

“I really need one. I’m really stiff,” YN’s eyes darted away nervously, something akin to the feeling when you’re about to drop down on a rollercoaster creeping into her stomach, “But I don’t want to inconvenience you at all.”

“It wouldn’t be an inconvenience to massage you,” Harry replies, his words slow and this morbid monotone that somehow works for him, his eyes narrow just the slightest, and even though nothing he said was inappropriate.

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. 

It’s not the words themselves—it’s how they linger in the air between them, heavy with something unspoken.

 YN presses her thighs together instinctively, pulse quickening as heat creeps up the back of her neck.

YN rolls her lip between her teeth, she doesn’t know when she got so brazen but she gives him a small, unsure smile, “Hopefully you’re as good as Pedro.”

Harry’s grin falters slightly, eyes narrowing at the challenge, “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands.”

“Pedro’s hands are amazing though, not just good, you know?” YN keeps her tone casually like she’s not trying to bait him but she’s pretty sure that she’s not misconstruing the sexual tension for him just being nice, he wasn’t like this all the time. 

“I'm sure you’ll be satisfied with my services. Are you hard to please?” Harry asks with a tilt of his head, a slight smirk she's never seen before.

YN lets out a breathy laugh, tapping her fingers against the desk, “Most people would say no. My husband, on the other hand? He might say something different.”

Harry’s eyes flicker down to her left hand, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly when he finds her ring finger bare. 

His jaw clenches just the slightest bit before his tone turns cool, more businesslike,  “I’ll show you to the room we’ll be using.”

YN wonders if she shouldn't have mentioned she had a husband, maybe she had led him on with the fact that she didn't have her wedding band on.

She knew she would have to take it off anyways, and didn't want to get the lotion rubbed into nooks and crannies that are difficult to clean.

He steps out from behind the desk.

YN’s eyes drop to do a full body scan, she often subtly checked him out when she was here but now with a bit of arousal pooling in her tummy - she had a whole other perspective on him.

How his legs were such a sweet juxtaposition of lean but thick at the same time, she could easily imagine herself sinking her nails into them.

The shorts he wore showed them off entirely too well, he absolutely knew what he was doing when he stepped into those short shorts that morning.

And when he turns to start walking down the hallway, YN can appreciate how broad his shoulders are, and they're accentuated by the way they lead down into narrow hips.

The definition of manly.

As they walk down the hallway, YN peeks into the other offices—empty, confirming that they are, indeed, alone.

 It shouldn’t matter. 

This was a professional massage.

 Nothing more.

“I didn't know you were certified in massages,” YN chimes in as they walk, just to break the silence that had fallen in between them.

YN deemed it awkward but she didn't know if he did.

He doesn't turn around but he does reply, “I got a certification when I got my doctorate in exercise science and kinesiology. It was an elective. I did them more when I started the business but now I have employees for that.”

“So you're rusty, is what you're telling me?” YN teases, she should stop baiting him because he seems easy to react and not always in a good way.

YN has seen Harry yell at grown men over poor form that could have seriously injured their backs or throwing them out for not respecting the gym rules.

He was intimidating to say the least.

“Did I say that?” Harry turns to look over his shoulder, “My wife requests them enough that I don't get to become rusty.”

“Oh,” YN replies lamely, eyes darting down to see that he did in fact have a gold wedding band on his ring finger, hard to miss, and proudly shining.

 It’s hard to miss.

And yet, for a moment, she had.

“Oh?” Harry questions, still glancing back, “Is there an issue?”

YN swallows harshly, his eyes were laxer focused and challenging her to say something that she shouldn't.

She shouldn't because he's married.

She shouldn’t because she’s married.

“N-no,” YN stammers at the sudden question, tightened uncertainty winding in her belly - mixing with the hot, subtle arousal.

“Good,” Harry nods before he's stopping one of the last doors on the left, his hand curls around the knob, “Undress to your comfort. Some people prefer keeping their bra and underwear on, others go nude. Whatever you feel best doing.”

YN hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides.

 Normally, she’d strip off her bra but keep her underwear on—just enough coverage to maintain a sliver of modesty. 

But something inside her stirs, something unfamiliar yet enticing, daring her to step beyond her usual boundaries.

She bites her bottom lip, the decision swirling in her head as she looks at Harry.

 But his expression gives nothing away, his patience unwavering as he waits for her to step inside.

“I'll give you a few minutes to get settled. Please lay face-down under the sheet, pull it up to your lower back. Do you have any questions?” Harry asks as he flips on the light, the beautiful room already set up, and a twinkling zen music filters through the built-in speaker.

“No,” YN says again, quiet as she steps past him into the space, “Thank you.”

Harry dips his chin in a silent nod before stepping back, allowing her to move past him. 

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

++

It takes longer than she expects for him to return.

At least ten minutes pass, maybe more. 

She can tell by the way the medley of soft instrumentals has shifted two or three times, a seamless transition of calming melodies. 

She breathes deeply, inhaling the mix of essential oils perfuming the air, but the stillness is beginning to make her twitch.

The way that she can feel her nipples against the sheet, the way that every part of her skin is touching it actually.

It’s warm in the room, enough that she can feel the perspiration start to prickle at her lower back, and she can’t decipher whether or not it’s from the temperature of the room or the flush of her body.

YN digs her fingernails into her palms momentarily, to ground herself, to get a hold of herself.

She’s not in some fucking fantasy novel.

Harry is a professional. 

He’s probably oblivious to the thoughts swirling in her head.

He’s married.

She told him that she is married.

The last thing he probably wants is a client sexualizing him in the middle of his job.

Before she can scold herself enough to feel guilt of her rather debach thoughts - the door opens and her heart squeezes with anticipation.

He cracks the door before stepping in, “Ready?”

“Yes,” YN swallows as she squeezes her eyes shut, the door clicks closed behind him.

YN had pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, every masseuse had different protocol, and as soons as he steps over - she realizes that she already hadn’t been great at following his very simple instructions.

She hears his measured footsteps approach before feeling his hands on the sheet—his fingers brushing against the warmth of her bare back as he carefully folds the fabric down.

 It settles just above the swell of her bum, exposing the curve of her lower back.

He stills for the briefest moment.

Then, a deep inhale.

It’s almost imperceptible. A barely-there intake of breath that might be nothing—or might be something.

YN convinces herself she’s imagining things.

He’s probably adjusting his stance. 

Or stretching his fingers.

 Or something entirely mundane that has nothing to do with the fact that he just discovered she’s completely bare beneath the sheet.

“I'm going to begin. Please, let me know if anything is sensitive or sore during. Is there anywhere you would like me to focus in particular?” Harry inquired, he sounds formal, professional as he should.

“My glutes and calves,” YN responds after a moment of thought.

The calves part was true - they were tight and sore from her legs days at the gym.

Her glutes, however, did not need any work but she couldn't get the imagine of his hands massaging her there out of her mind.

“Noted,” Harry replies with a gruff, clipped agreement like he was gritting his teeth at her answer.

The beginning of the massage is as normal as anything, his fingers press deep into the knots lining her shoulders, working out the tension that she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. 

The pressure is firm, methodical.

But the moment his palms cup around the nape of her neck, a shiver bolts through her spine.

She tries to squeeze her thighs together subtly, a feeble attempt at quelling the heat pulsing low in her belly. 

But it’s impossible, her legs already splayed relaxed on the table.

Harry notices the movement.

“Are you uncomfortable? Do you need to reposition?” Harry asks when he notices her fidgeting, concern in his voice that makes her feel even more guilt at her thoughts.

“No, I'm good,” YN’s reply isn't more than a strained squeak.

Harry doesn’t comment on it, but he does press his thumbs deeper into the base of her neck, a silent cue for her to relax.

“Try to relax then. You're tight,” Harry continues to move his fingers and all she can hear is that last sentence on repeat.

He's talking about back muscles, she has to remind herself.

You’re tight.

YN does finally listen, relaxing into the soft, heated cushion of the table, and purposefully clearing her mind.

“There you go, good girl,” Harry murmurs when he notices her shoulders start to loosen, neck letting her head hang more into the face cushion, and her thighs melting into the table too.

Good girl.

YN’s clear mind is now filled once again.

Her muscles should be turning to liquid under his touch, her mind blank with relaxation. 

But all she can focus on is the phantom sensation of his voice curling around those words.

By the time he finishes her back—nothing but completely professional work thus far, she’s half-certain that if she were to open her mouth, she’d be panting like an overheated dog.

“I’m going to start on your calves,” Harry informs her, shifting his stance beside her, “Then I’ll work my way up to your glutes. Since you requested them, I just want to confirm you’re comfortable with my hands there.”

YN knows he’s only being professional, ensuring her comfort.

If only he knew the absolute filth running through her head.

If only he knew just how much she wanted his hands there.

“Yes,” YN replies shallowly, she had been laying down for at least the last twenty minutes and she felt like she’d just ran a marathon, her throat parched and aching.

Harry’s tone sharpens, more assertive than she’s ever heard before. 

There’s a domineering edge to it that sends a shiver down her spine, “Yes, what? Yes, you are comfortable with that, or yes, you do want to change your mind?”

YN feels embarrassment flushing her at the miscommunication, it blends into the heat she already has seeping from her skin so there’s no difference.

“Yes, I am comfortable with your hands there,” YN manages to get out, she wonders if Harry thinks she’s an absolute basketcase or if he even has any awareness of the situation.

If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

 Instead, he resumes his work, his hands slick with the massage oil he had been using. The scent of sweet almond fills the space between them, subtle yet intoxicating.

 It’s her favorite scent—always has been.

 It reminds her of the raspberry almond cake she and her husband had shared on their wedding day, the same one they’d made a tradition of enjoying every anniversary since. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by an involuntary groan that she lets out when he presses on a tight spot right in the center of her calve.

The pain is sharp and sudden, and instinctively, she tries to yank her leg from his grip, but Harry’s grip is firm, steady.

 He doesn’t even struggle to keep her still. 

His hold is effortless, almost dismissive of her attempt to squirm away.

“You should stretch for longer than five minutes before you work out,” he chides, his tone laced with knowing disapproval,“Especially when you’re doing legs. You need to be warming up your hamstrings, groin, calves.”

He punctuates his point by pressing into the same tender spot again, and she lets out a similar sound—somewhere between a whimper and a gasp as the ache flares up once more.

“How do you know I’m not?” YN challenges, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. 

She hadn’t even realized Harry was paying attention to her.

 She hadn’t thought he noticed her at all, let alone enough to critique her habits.

Harry chuckles, the sound low and rough, curling at the edges with amusement, “That reaction, right there.”

YN is about to deflate because it wasn’t because of him noticing her until -

“I’ve seen you stretch. You sit on your mat and scroll on your phone for five minutes while barely trying to touch your toes,” Harry calls her out.

His assessment is shockingly accurate, and she doesn’t have much of a defense.

 Instead, she deflects.

“I’m plenty flexible without stretching,” YN quips, allowing a teasing edge to slip into her tone. 

The innuendo is obvious, intentional.

Harry doesn’t rise to it in the way she expects.

 He doesn’t laugh or smirk or falter.

 Instead, his response is delivered in the same flat, unimpressed drawl. 

“Are you?” His thumb digs into her calf again, pressing into another tight knot of tension, “You’re just as tight as you are flexible.”

Touché.

She doesn’t realize just how tightly she’s been clenching her thighs until Harry’s palms press flat against the backs of them. 

Firm but not forceful.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Fuck.

His voice is steady, authoritative, yet devoid of hesitation. 

There is no question in his command. 

She obeys without thinking, parting her legs easily, pliantly.

 But as soon as the sheet shifts—just slightly, the reality of her own arousal crashes over her in a suffocating wave. 

Embarrassment sinks its claws into her as she wonders—can he see?

 Can he tell? Is there enough of a telltale sheen on her inner thighs to give her away? 

A visible wet spot on the table?

“Why are you clenching—” Harry starts, but then he stops.

Silence.

A sharp inhale.

It’s as if something clicks into place, something he wasn’t expecting, and it cuts off his line of questioning entirely.

“Wha—” YN begins to ask, shifting slightly to glance behind her, but before she can move too far, a hand comes down to the base of her neck.

His palm cups it, firm yet controlled, pressing her back down into the face cradle. 

The pressure isn’t rough, but it’s purposeful.

 It’s the first real slip—something that isn’t professional, not even close.

The way he grips her isn’t the neutral, detached touch of a masseuse simply guiding their client. 

No. 

This is something else entirely.

“Don’t move.”

His voice is rougher now, deeper.

 There’s something strained in the way he speaks, his accent thickening as if he’s forcing himself to remain composed.

 It takes her an extra beat to process his words, to pick them apart through the weight of his tone.

“Jesus. S’ridiculous. Just trying to do my fucking job.”

The words aren’t meant for her, not really.

 He’s speaking to himself as much as he is to her.

And yet, they hit her like a slap.

Embarrassment rattles through her, her heart climbing up into her throat. 

He sounds frustrated. 

With her. 

The realization makes her shrink, makes her feel small—like a child being scolded.

“I’m s-sorry,” YN stammers, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue thick and useless in her mouth. 

She doesn’t even know what she’s apologizing for—only that she feels like she should.

 Because whatever he saw, whatever he realized, it was enough to shift the entire dynamic between them in a matter of seconds.

To Harry’s credit, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t pull away. 

His hands remain on her, though now they focus on her glutes, kneading into the muscle with a more methodical, calculated touch.

Subconsciously, she starts to clench her thighs again, as if trying to ground herself. 

As if trying to remind herself that this is just a massage. 

That she isn’t some… deviant, reacting to something as simple as his hands on her.

She isn’t.

But then…

His hand moves.

It grips the soft flesh of her ass, squeezing just hard enough that the tips of his fingers press deep into the skin, surely turning it white beneath his grasp.

The gasp that rips from her chest is instant, shocked, sharp.

Because this isn’t just crossing a line.

This isn’t just towing the boundary of professionalism.

This is tearing right through it, shattering it to pieces, leaving nothing behind.

“Stop apologizing and stay still,” Harry orders, his voice rough with unspoken tension.

His fingers remain where they are, digging in just enough to make a point, to drive something unspoken between them.

“Do you understand me?”

YN swallowed hard, her heart was trying to escape her chest at the moment.

Yes.

Yes, she understands.

The massage resumes, thumbs pressing into knots, trading the ache for a different kind.

Should she end the appointment? 

Apologize and never show her face in the gym again?

YN does better, she does, she lasts at least another five minutes as she tries to stay as stock still as possible.

His touches are back to professional and she’s starting to question herself, start to question whether or not he had even squeezed her ass like that.

But then her thoughts start to spiral again, horny and desperate in a way they’ve never been.

It must have been a wiggle of her hips, maybe even a subtle attempt to see if she could find any friction against the table, but whatever it was—Harry had noticed. 

He had noticed, and she knew it the moment the air in the room seemed to shift, thickening with the weight of his attention.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Harry scolded with no more softness in his voice, that upbeat bubbly man that everyone around the gym knew and loved - nowhere to be found and it was as intimidating, thrilling as it was frightening.

The smack comes fast, hard, landing squarely on her left ass cheek with a force that makes her gasp before she even realizes what’s happened. 

The sharp sting spreads out in waves across her skin, the heat sinking into her already sore  muscles. 

She jerks, instinctively trying to sit up, but she doesn’t get far before his palm is at the base of her neck, pressing her face back into the cushioned cut-out of the massage table.

The stinging sensation lingers, blooming like fire just beneath the surface of her skin

 It’s different, though—not just the typical burn of an open-handed slap. 

It’s sharper, pinpointed.

And then she realizes—

His wedding band.

It had cut her. 

Only slightly, just enough for her to feel the tiny scrape, but still, the knowledge of how it had happened made her stomach clench.

 Her cunt shouldn’t pulse around nothing at that thought, but it does.

 It totally does.

“You’re ruining my sheets,” Harry observes, full of judgement and disapproval, like she was inconvenience more than anything.

YN stays quiet because he had told her to stop apologizing and is she pouting about because she just got smacked? 

Maybe.

Harry leans forward, his body heat radiating against her back. 

The soft cotton of his t-shirt brushes against her skin, and she can feel the cool chain of his necklace ghosting over her shoulder.

 When he speaks next, his voice is quieter, deliberate, “You have four options.”

Her breath catches.

“You can either stay still and get your normal massage. You can keep moving and have an ass that aches for the next week. You can end the massage right now and walk out the door. Or…”

YN waits for him but she realizes that he’s teasing it, edging it, her voice is barely above a whisper,  “Or what?” 

“Or you can tell me exactly what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it,” Harry hums as he stands back up, his hands gripping the back of her thighs, and pushing them apart from where they started to drift together once again.

She could tell him. 

She could put it into words, could give voice to the heat curling low in her belly, but the thought alone makes her want to squirm in embarrassment. 

She’s already acted desperate enough—she refuses to push herself further into that category.

The tension in her stomach, the feeling of his wedding band leaving a mark on her ass.

“I’ll stay still,” YN replies with as much of a steady voice that she can manage.

Harry laughs, deep and mean, amusement tinged with something almost cruel. 

It makes the humiliation simmer hotter beneath the surface of her skin.

“Do you soak Pedro’s table?” he asks conversationally, like he’s discussing nothing more than the weather, “Because he’s never mentioned it. And I think I’d remember something that pathetic.”

She knows exactly what he’s doing. 

He’s trying to break her, to make her react. 

His hand twitches against her skin, like it’s itching to leave more marks. But she refuses to give him the satisfaction. 

She clenches her jaw, grits her teeth, forces herself to keep still even as his hands press into her muscles with increasing pressure.

YN doesn’t bite, has to squeeze her eyes shut but she doesn’t, teeth gritting as the pressure of the massage increases.

Then, he revisits the small cut, pressing his thumb against it, rubbing over it in a way that makes her tense involuntarily.

“Does your husband not fuck you?” His voice is scalding, lips brushing her cheek as he speaks, “You’re squirming like you’ve never been touched before.”

The impulse to shoot an insult at him is hard to not take but she’s staying still out of spite.

Harry’s hands start to dip further in between her inner thighs, his fingers swipe against the damp skin of her thighs, and he then rubs it on her asscheek, “Can’t tell when the massage oil ends and your slick starts.”

Her thighs part slightly wider, a silent offering, even though she knows better than to expect mercy. 

She should have anticipated it—the punishment that follows.

The next smack is harder, sharper.

 It radiates through her lower half, a forceful enough hit that her nipples brush against the sheet below her. 

She swallows back a moan, biting her bottom lip until she nearly draws blood.

“You should be thanking me, do you know how many women wish they were in your position right now?”

Even though it was true, he didn’t have to be a cocky prick about it.

YN stays silent, she didn’t know how he still managed to get up the massage at this point.

“I said thank me.”

Another slap. 

Same spot. 

This time, the band on his finger catches her skin just right—or just wrong. 

She feels the sting of it cutting into her, nothing deep, just enough to make her gasp softly. 

Her breath shudders as she exhales.

YN gnaws on her bottom lip to prevent herself from speaking.

Harry’s patience snaps.

His hand knots in her hair, jerking her head up so that her cheek is exposed to him.

 His lips hover on her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth, but he doesn’t close the distance, “Speak the fuck up,” he growls, “or I’m stopping.”

She can’t believe she’s in this situation.

With a married man.

As a married woman.

But when she speaks, her voice is even, measured.,“I would like my massage to continue.”.

Harry exhales sharply, nostrils flaring.

 He unwinds his fingers from her hair, pushing her head back down onto the table.

“Fair enough.”

He does exactly as she asked.

He massages her like nothing happened, his hands working over her shoulders, the backs of her arms, expertly kneading out tension.

 It’s frustrating. 

Infuriating.

Because he has more energy for edging, doing things out of spite than her.

And fifteen minutes later—she’s the one struggling not to move again.

Harry actually starts to hum, an annoying tune from an old game show, completely out of place in the dimly lit room. 

It breaks into the soft rhythms playing from the speakers.

YN squirms.

Harry smacks her again, sharp and precise, the sound echoing through the space, echoing in the thick air between them.

 It stings.

Of course it fucking does.

 It leaves heat blooming across her skin, a reminder of his control. 

But he does not speak.

 Instead, he returns to the slow, methodical touches that are driving her mad—too firm to be teasing, but nowhere near what she needs.

She breaks.

She fucking breaks.

"Touch me, please," YN throws her pride out the fucking window, off a bridge, down into the deepest black hole where she doesn’t have to face it again. 

Desperation drips from her words, heavy and undeniable.

Harry exhales a long-suffering sigh, unbothered by her distress, "I am touching you," he bleats, his voice laced with indifference. 

His fingers trace aimless patterns along her skin, not nearly enough, "We have about ten minutes left of the hour. Where would you like me to focus the rest of the massage?"

“I need something, please,” YN asks with a pathetic plead starting to work her way into her tone.

Harry, ever unyielding, remains unaffected, "You came in with the complaint of calves and glutes. Are you still not—"

YN wants to cut the shit.

“Please, fuck me. Please,” YN feels like she’s on the line of sobbing for relief at this point, she doesn’t know if she’s even been this worked up, and the inability to see him somehow makes it worse, makes her feel more vulnerable, more desperater, “Please.”

“You could have had it fifteen minutes ago,” Harry chastises but his hands - they slide down her body, teasing the sensitive skin, but they don’t go directly to where she needs them the most.

“Harry, I -”

A smack.

Unraveling her like that wedding band on her sensitive skin.

Then his hands are gone entirely. 

The loss is immediate, unbearable. 

The air crackles with unspoken tension before she realizes—he’s just looking at her.

"Knees," he commands, his voice sharp enough to slice through the thick fog of her arousal.

“I-” YN begins to asks but he’s not patient any longer.

“I said get on your fucking knees,” Harry repeats, louder and thankfully, no one else is here.

Before she can fully process, he takes it upon himself to move her, gripping her hips and lifting them effortlessly. 

Her knees slide inward, bringing them closer to her chest, forcing her body into a position that leaves her fully exposed, fully at his mercy.

He winds his fingers into her hair again, fisting the strands tight enough to pull her out of the cradle of the cushion. 

Her cheek is smushed sideways against the table now, breaths coming in shallow, uneven pants.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry has no manners, taking what he wants by spreading her cheeks to get a better look at her.

There is no manners left in him. 

No pretense of control.

YN realizes belatedly that there are fat tears rolling down her cheeks, that Harry must now be able to see, and in a break from the thick tension in the room.

He does something oddly sweet, it reminds her of her husband actually, he presses his lips to her cheek.

His voice is soft, more so like she hears around the gym or when he greets her in reception, “Okay?”

“Okay,” YN nods in agreement, her voice cracks, and she can see him smile before slipping back into a scowl.

She appreciated him checking in, warming  her up in a different way.

“Never seen a needier thing in my life. God, your husband must not do shit for you. You're clenching around nothing—both holes,” Harry murmurs thoughtfully, his tone a perfect blend of mockery and amusement. 

His words are crude, biting, but they set her nerve endings on fire.

YN barely has time to react before she feels it—his spit landing on her tighter hole, warm and slick, quickly chased by the rough pad of his thumb spreading it around.

Her skin prickles, her breath catches, and then he continues, his voice dripping with sinful amusement.

“Everyone around this gym thinks you're this sweet, kind person. I hear them talk,” He pauses, tilting his head as if considering something. “What would they think if I told them about this? A bored housewife coming into a massage and begging to be fucked decently.”

It's a monologue, she knows he isn't expecting an answer.

“Spread out on this table, showing me everything with no shame.”

Two fingers—his index and middle, drag lazily through her folds, teasing, pressing at her entrance but never quite pushing in.

YN is trembling, trying not to move but everything aches.

“I would have subbed in much soone for Pedro if I knew I'd get such a sweet cunt out of it. I should have known you'd have the prettiest one I've ever seen,” Harry accentuates it with tucking his fingers into her, the slight stretch of his two thick digits were welcome with how ready she already was, “Those little bike shorts you wear hide absolutely nothing.”

YN pushes back, pulling him in even deeper, and luckily, he doesn't scold her.

But he makes her work for it.

“Ride ‘em. My hands are tired from the massage,” Harry curls them forward against her spongy front wall, hitting her spot head on like he had it memorized on a map.

YN was sweating, hair matted to her skin, and visibly droplets of west gathering around her temples as she started to push back on him.

She couldn't believe what she was doing right now.

“You hear that?” Harry asks, thrusting his fingers a few times to make the sound even more obscene, slick and lewd in the quiet room, “Should record that and make it the spa soundtrack. S’that sound like a good idea, baby?”

Her head drops forward, a loud moan tearing from her throat when his thumb presses into her tighter hole, sending pleasure ricocheting through her body. 

She’s never been this full before—never felt this close to unraveling without even having her clit touched.

Harry’s laugh cuts through the haze of her pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he groans, watching her. “You like your ass played with too? This is my lucky day, huh? Is that how you’ll tip me? Let me choose?”

“Yes, yes—you can choose,” YN babbles, her voice high and desperate, her stomach tightening, her body coiling tighter and tighter. 

She’s grinding now, less controlled, more frantic, chasing something she’s not sure she could explain, “Please, I just need to come. I need it, please—”

But Harry pulls his fingers out.

The loss is devastating.

Tears sting at her eyes, spilling freely, mixing with sweat, with spit, with the sheer mess of her. 

Her hair is frizzy from where he’s pulled it, her cheeks damp, her mouth parted as she gasps through the absence of him.

Harry grips her hip harshly, not giving her choice as he helps flip her over until she's on her back.

And it's the first time in all of this that she's been able to really see him.

It was nice to see that he was affected too with huffing breaths, nostrils flaring, and sweat on his temple from the heat of the room.

And then he’s peeling his shirt off, tugging it over his head in a way that looks effortless.

His body is all sharp lines and defined muscle, the kind she sees every day in the gym but never gets to touch.

Her legs automatically close, a futile attempt to shield herself, to protect her most vulnerable spot.

 But Harry frowns at that, smacking her thigh sharply, silently telling her to open back up.

He tuts, shaking his head as he looks down at her, “Puppy, if you were this desperate for cock, you could have just asked me. You’re cute enough. I’d fuck you in front of everyone—bend you over a weight bench, let those little biker shorts trap your thigh and watch your squirms.”

YN can tell he’s about to put his mouth on her—but she can’t. 

She can’t take any more teasing.

Her hands shake as she reaches up, fingers pressing to the side of his neck, thumb pressing beneath his jaw. 

She’s sniffling, trying to speak through her sobs of frustration.

“I can’t—I need you to fuck me. Please, H, please.”

The hour of foreplay was more than enough.

Harry blinks, his gaze locking onto hers, searching. 

And then….

He moves up the table, his hand cradling her jaw as he kisses her, slow and deep, melting away her desperation for just a moment.

“You want me to fuck you?” he murmurs, the rasp was thick in his tone, “You’re ready?”

She nods frantically, clinging to him. “Yes. I���m sorry, I can’t—”

Harry kisses her quiet before pulling back just enough to push his shorts and briefs off. 

She doesn’t get a chance to look at him before he’s guiding himself to her core, pressing in, inch by thick inch, until their pubic bones meet.

He lets out this euphoric, beautiful low moan when he pushing in until their pubic bones meet, and he's big - really fucking big and she's so fucking full that it's insane.

Don’t need to wait,” she breathes, voice trembling with urgency, her fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders. 

Her legs wind around his narrow hips instinctively, locking him in, heels pressing into the firm curve of his bum as if to keep him right where he belongs,“Please move.”

And Harry fucks like he weightlifts.

Hard. Determined. Precise.

Every powerful thrust sends electric pleasure sparking through her veins, his strokes deliberate and deep, like he’s got something to prove—like he won’t stop until he’s got her unraveling completely beneath him. 

His pace is relentless, the force of his movements pushing her up the table in tiny, helpless jolts before he’s tugging her back down onto his cock without missing a beat. 

The friction is dizzying, intoxicating, and YN feels herself slipping closer and closer to the edge with every merciless snap of his hips.

“I’m gonna—if you rub my-” she pants, but she doesn’t even need to finish.

Harry already knows.

With a low grunt, he shifts, his weight shifting back slightly as his hand snakes between them.

 His fingers find her clit with ease, with skill, and he presses down, rubbing tight, fast circles with a very specific intent in mind.

 His voice is rough and coaxing as he groans, “Yeah, fuck, yeah. C’mon, baby. I deserve it, don’t I? Soak me.”

And that’s all it takes.

A sharp, wrecked cry tears from her throat as her body gives in completely, pleasure overtaking her in a crashing, uncontrollable wave. 

YN’s limbs go boneless, loose like a marionette with its strings cut, as her orgasm seizes her, dragging her under with white-hot intensity. 

The overwhelming sensation floods her lower half, a gush of wetness spilling out between them, coating both of them in the aftermath. 

The slick, obscene sounds of him fucking her through it echo in the room, each thrust impossibly louder, wetter, filthier.

“Holy shit,” Harry growls, his voice thick with awe and arousal, “That’s the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

His breath hitches, his control slipping,“You just squirted on me—look at you, all swollen and puffy for me.”

His gaze is locked on where they’re connected, utterly mesmerized, before something shifts in his expression—something primal.

 He grips her hips tighter, holding her open as he starts pounding into her even harder, chasing his own release with ruthless determination.

The force of it knocks the breath from her lungs, and before she can even process the sheer intensity of it all, he’s surging forward, crushing his mouth against hers in a desperate, bruising kiss.

 It’s messy—more teeth and tongue than finesse—but it’s everything. 

A claiming, a surrender, a moment of pure, unfiltered need.

He pulses inside her with a deep, guttural groan, spilling into her with a final, shuddering thrust, his body going rigid before finally melting against her. 

He stays there, buried deep, chest rising and falling against hers as he slowly comes back down from his high.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is their mingled, heavy breathing. 

Then, Harry huffs out a breathless chuckle, forehead pressed to hers, body warm and weighty on top of her.

“Told you,” he murmurs smugly, voice thick with satisfaction, “Told you you wouldn’t be patient enough for foreplay.”

YN scoffs, though there’s no real heat behind it.

 Her fingers find their way into his damp curls, scratching lightly at his scalp as her lips twitch into a lazy smile. 

“The whole massage was foreplay,” she argues, pressing a kiss to his temple, “I think I did okay.” 

A playful smirk tugs at her mouth as she adds, “I don’t have the patience you do.”

“You never have,” Harry murmurs, his thumb brushing her slick hair off her forehead with a tenderness that makes her stomach flip. 

He presses a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, voice laced with affection as he murmurs against her lips, “You’re an impatient little thing for orgasms.”

His tone is teasing, but the warmth in his gaze, the soft adoration in his touch - it’s so much love and fondness interwoven between them.

“Don’t like this one bit,” Harry grumped after a moment, pulling her hand up and giving a pointed gaze towards her bare ring finger, “Made me almost break character.”

YN giggles as she allows Harry to pull her up to sit, he slips off the table, “I didn’t want to get massage oil on it. It makes the diamond all foggy and I have to take it to the jeweler to get it cleaned then.”

“Hey,” Harry grips her chin, buttoning their lips together for a long moment, “Happy anniversary. I love you and I hope this met your expectations of the scene you were fantasizing about. I’m just glad your fantasies are with me.”

“I’m in love with you, have been for ages and never plan not to be. It was absolutely perfect but now I’m worried I’ll get greedy for more,” YN laughs as she spreads her loegs once again, letting Harry start to wipe her off with a warm towel he takes from the towel warmer that’s conveniently in the room.

“You’re always greedy,” Harry argues gently, blinking up at her, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk into this room again without getting a hard-on.”

YN shakes her head with another bout of laughter, “You’re going to be fucked. I have a lot of fantasys about fucking a gym owner.” “Mm,” Harry rumbles as he tosses the towel, his touches getting more full of intent once again, “Lucky you’re married to one, hm?”

+

whew. i hope you enjoyed!

now if you are confused about anything the synoposis - harry and yn are a married couple, they own a gym, and yn wants to roleplay masseuse/client for their anniversary. there is no cheating!

now i recommend going back and reading it and finding all the little hints that they were married couple the whole time.

i would super love to know your feedback on it

[thecuriousbeauty]

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

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

Word count: 9.1k

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

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

____________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

The actual, Federal Bureau of Investigation. 

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

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

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

“Good morning, Agent Carter!”

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

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

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

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

Harry. Detective Agent Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s the plan?”, Nora asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think he’s on your side.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. “I’ve noticed that. Some of these cases... they’re so close to being solved, but there’s always one missing piece.” She pauses, flipping to a specific file that’s particularly puzzling. “What do you think about this one? A string of disappearances in a small town, no evidence left behind. It’s like they just vanished.”

Harry glances down at the file she’s holding, leaning over slightly, his voice low and contemplative. “Sometimes it’s not the evidence you’re looking for, but the pattern behind it. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks. But if you look at the people involved—especially the families, the connections between them—you might find something that doesn’t belong.”

“Thanks for that,” she says, her voice more sincere than usual. “I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking it.”

Harry gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “You’re thinking in the right direction. Just keep pushing yourself. That’s how we get better at this job.”

She smiles in return, feeling a little more confident in her approach. Harry glances at his watch, then looks back at her. “Well, if you’re going to keep at it, you’ll need a little company. I was planning to head out, but it’s quieter here than usual.”

y/n looks up in surprise. “You’re staying?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Not really,” he says, his tone dry, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Just thought I’d walk you out. It’s late. Wouldn’t want you to be walking to your car alone.”

Her surprise morphs into a small, grateful smile. “That’s... considerate of you. Thanks.”

He offers a slight nod, then gestures toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them walk out together, the quiet hum of the office behind them. Outside, the evening air is crisp, the sky darkening as they make their way across the parking lot.

As they approach their cars, y/n hesitates for a moment, then turns to him. “You’ve been doing this for a long time, huh? The whole... detective thing. How do you keep from getting burned out?”

Harry pauses, his hand resting on the door handle of his car. He looks at her, his expression momentarily distant, as if reflecting on the years of work behind him.

“It’s not about not getting burned out,” he says quietly, “It’s about finding what keeps you going. Whether it’s the people you work with or the cases that pull you in, you have to find something that reminds you why you do it.”

y/n nods, absorbing his words as they linger in the cool air between them.

With that, he starts his engine and pulls away, leaving y/n standing in the quiet parking lot for a moment. She watches his car disappear down the road, wondering what led him into pursuing this career.

___________________________________________

The next day, the guys are gathered around a table near the bullpen, eyes glued to a sports game playing on the office TV. The game is close, Ethan and Cole are already arguing over who’s going to win the match.

“Come on, you’re seriously betting on them?” Ethan snorts, shaking his head. “They’ve been playing like amateurs.”

y/n can’t help but overhear, the playful banter catching her attention. She’s not usually one for sports, but she’s been learning the ropes from her fellow agents. She knows enough to get by, and today, something about the challenge calls to her.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite,” she says, walking over with a raised eyebrow. “How much are we betting here?”

Ethan looks up, surprised, then grins. “Didn’t think you’d be interested, y/n. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

She smirks, her confidence growing. “I’m a quick learner. I’ll take your bet. I’m putting my money on the underdogs.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. This’ll be fun.”

As the game continues, the guys teasingly rib her for her risky bet, but y/n holds her ground, getting increasingly into the match. When the underdogs actually pull off the win, she’s the first one to stand up, pumping her fist in victory.

“Told you,” she says, beaming with pride as the guys groan good-naturedly. “Pay up, gentlemen.”

“Yes, we’ll be there soon, got it.” They all look up at the sound of their boss, who comes into the room, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Murder scene in Oak Drive, let’s go.”, Harry tells them, and everyone gets onto their feet, getting ready to go.

y/n goes to her desk as usual, knowing she’ll be given the duty of doing the background checks.

“Who’re you riding with Styles?”, Logan asks him.

Harry straps on his gun, and looks at y/n. “Can you drive?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Come on, then, newbie, let’s go to your first murder scene.”

y/n almost squealed with joy, jumping up in excitement, but then toned it down as Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

“Yes sir, right away.”

The car ride is quiet, with a subtle tension between them, an unspoken understanding, a quiet connection that neither has acknowledged. y/n's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as they approach the crime scene. He can’t help but steal a glance at y/n—she’s focused, eyes sharp, her thoughts clearly already at the scene ahead.

“You aren’t gonna faint, are you?”, Harry asks, breaking the silence. “Cause one of the interns did, seeing all the blood.”

She laughed lightly. “Nope, I’m excited, and I’m good with blood.”

“Good.”, Harry lets a small smile escape, and she pulls over to the crime scene. The other agents have already reached and are doing their allotted work. 

"Alright, you’ll handle the photos for now. We’ll take care of the rest."

Y/N nods, grabbing her camera from the seat beside her, trying to steady her nerves. She’s been given more responsibility lately, and with Harry’s subtle support, she’s been slowly gaining confidence.

 "Got it. I'll make sure to get everything."

As she moves closer to the crime scene, Y/N kneels by the body, snapping photos of the surroundings. Her heart beats a little faster as she works, but the adrenaline feels good. And while the scene before her is dark, there’s something about Harry’s quiet faith in her that makes her feel capable. She captures the details—each angle, each small clue—as if she’s been doing this for years. She steals a glance back at Harry, catching him watching her from a distance. For a moment, she wonders if he sees something more than just a hard-working intern.

As the team works around her, Harry steps away briefly to speak with the others, but his eyes flick back to her every so often. Y/N can feel it—his attention on her, the weight of it—but for now, she’s focused on her task. Still, there’s a strange pull between them, unspoken, but undeniable, lingering in the air like the tension of the scene itself.

Harry wants to leave soon, to talk to someone and take y/n with him, this time, he drives. As they pull away from the crime scene, Harry’s eyes are focused on the road, but his mind is already on the next step. Y/N’s still processing everything they’ve seen.

“So, what’s your take on this case so far?"

Y/N pauses, glancing up at him. She can tell he’s genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I think the victim knew the killer. Too many personal details for it to be random, but the motive’s still unclear."

Harry nods thoughtfully. "I agree. That’s why I’m going to talk to the first suspect now. Stay sharp—this could get tricky."

Y/N feels a small thrill at his trust in her judgment. It’s not just about the case anymore; it’s the way he values her input. As they drive toward the suspect’s location, she wonders if he’s giving her more responsibility on purpose, or if it’s just part of the job. Either way, it feels like a step forward.

After questioning the suspect, Harry and Y/N head back to the office, the car cutting through the quiet streets. Y/N’s mind is still on the conversation with the suspect, but then..her stomach growls loudly.

Harry glances over at her, his eyes sharp but gentle.

"Did you eat anything this morning?"

Y/N flushes slightly, trying to keep her cool, but the guilt is written all over her face.

"Yeah, I—"

"You didn’t eat, did you?"

Y/N shifts uncomfortably.

"I’m fine, really."

Harry sighs, shaking his head with a small smile."We’re making a stop. You’re getting something to eat. I know a good taco place.”

He turns the car off the main road, pulling into a small taco place. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh tortillas drifts through the air as they step out, and Harry opens the door for her, his usual professionalism replaced with a kind of care.

As they sit at a small booth, Y/N digs into her food, finally letting herself relax. Harry watches her for a moment, the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. After a few bites, she glances up at him.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you always so grumpy? You’re like... a walking storm cloud sometimes."

Harry chokes on his drink a little, caught off guard by her boldness. He laughs—genuinely, with a surprised smile that softens his usually serious face.

He chuckles and wipes his mouth. "Grumpy? I’m not grumpy. I’m just... focused."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Focused, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?"

Harry shrugs, his smirk turning wry, clearly amused by her bluntness."Okay, maybe I’m a little grumpy. But someone’s gotta keep this place in line. You can’t just go around smiling all the time like everything’s sunshine and rainbows."

Y/N laughs, and for a second, their eyes meet. There’s an ease between them now, something playful, yet still with an undercurrent of something deeper. Harry’s usual walls are lower, and Y/N’s teasing is making him more human in her eyes.

"I don’t know, sometimes I think it wouldn’t hurt to see you smile a little more. Just... not at the crime scene, please."

Harry chuckles again, and it’s the kind of laugh that feels lighter than usual—almost as if he doesn’t mind sharing this side of himself with her.

"I’ll try. But no promises.", he says with a soft smirk.Y/N found herself grinning as she saw his dimples poke out. She hadn’t realized how much she loved seeing that little dimple until now, how it made him look so much more... approachable.

After a few more bites, she glances up at him. "Why did you want to be a detective, Agent Styles?"

The question lingers in the air. Harry’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heaviness between them. "Because I lost someone who mattered. My sister... she was murdered by some people when we were younger. I couldn’t sit by, not after that."

Y/N’s breath catches, and she sees the pain flicker in his eyes—his calm demeanor betraying a history of loss that runs deep. It’s the first time she’s seen him so vulnerable, so open.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know.", she says quietly.

Harry shrugs, with a distant look in his eyes,"It’s alright. It’s been a long time... but it’s why I do this. It’s why I never give up on a case. To make sure no one else has to go through that."

There’s a pause, and Y/N feels the weight of his words sink in. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on his. The warmth of the moment takes them both by surprise. He appreciates the gesture, thumb ever so softly stroking a line on the back of her hand.

“You can call me Harry by the way, when we’re not at work.”, he says to lighten the air, and she smiles, drawing her hand back. “Okay.”

Little did she know that Harry had told her something that no one else knew about him. 

________________________________________________________

The precinct is buzzing with its usual morning chaos, the air thick with the noise of phones ringing, officers discussing cases, and the sound of feet shuffling across the floors. y/n is at her desk, flipping through some case files, trying to focus. She’s about to make another note, when she hears the unmistakable sound of Ethan and Eliza approaching her desk, their voices carrying through the room in a familiar, teasing tone.

“Well, well, y/n, looks like you’ve caught Styles’ attention,” Ethan says with a playful grin, sliding into the seat across from her. He leans back, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

y/n looks up, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Eliza raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, come on. We’ve all seen it. Harry doesn’t usually make time for anyone. But you—" she motions between the two of them, “—you got breakfast with him this morning. He doesn’t do that unless he’s got a soft spot.”

Eliza’s cheeks flush slightly. She opens her mouth to protest, but Ethan cuts her off.

“We’re just saying, Harry’s usually all business, right? But with you—” he gestures with a wink, “he’s practically a different guy. You must be special.”

y/n can’t help but laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off. Yes, they had eaten breakfast together that morning, because both of them happened to arrive early to the office. “You guys are ridiculous. We just had breakfast. He saw me sitting alone and he was just being... well, Harry.”

But they aren’t buying it. Eliza smirks, leaning forward. “Right, Harry just casually opens up to you about his deepest, darkest secrets over a bagel. We’re all jealous, you know.”

y/n shakes her head, a little embarrassed, but also secretly amused. “Okay, okay, I get it. He’s not a softie, I swear.”

Ethan grins, clearly enjoying teasing her. “Sure, sure. But just wait until the next big case. When he pulls you aside to give you a ‘confidential’ briefing, we’ll be here, dying of curiosity.”

y/n sighs, trying not to laugh as she adjusts the papers in front of her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m still the intern, remember?”

Eliza raises her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about. We all saw the way Harry looked at you when he was complimenting you yesterday. Like... he actually noticed your contribution for once.”

At that, y/n’s face goes a little redder, but she can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “He just—well, he just doesn’t say much. When he does, it’s kind of a big deal.”

Ethan chuckles, leaning in closer. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. Harry doesn’t exactly dish out compliments like candy. And if he says you’re doing good work? That’s... noteworthy.”

y/n laughs nervously, feeling a little overwhelmed by their teasing, but she’s also secretly flattered. She’s always admired Harry—his skill, his mind, the way he commands respect from everyone around him—and to hear that they’ve noticed the shift in his behavior, even in the smallest ways, makes her feel like she’s on the right track.

“Alright, alright, enough. You’ve got me all figured out,” y/n says, trying to play it off cool. “But don’t go getting any ideas. He’s still Harry Styles.”

“Sure, sure,” Eliza says, winking. “But we’ll be keeping an eye on you two.”

As they walk away, leaving her to her work, y/n smiles to herself, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. She wasn’t sure if Harry really had a soft spot for her, but just knowing that she’d earned a little of his respect—enough for the team to notice—felt like a win. Maybe she wasn’t just the intern anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to become something more.

______________________________________________

y/n has been busy lately. She passed her detective training exam but the theory exam wasn’t over yet, so she was preparing for that, along with managing the work she had been assigned at the FBI. It’s nearly midnight when Harry walks into the office, his eyes scanning the darkened room before landing on Y/N. He spots her hunched over her desk, staring at the screen, her tired eyes squinting in the dim light. By now he knows she’s a hard worker, but what really hits him is how late it’s gotten—and how she hasn’t stopped working.

Harry’s voice is tight with concern, trying to mask his frustration."Y/N, what the hell are you still doing here?"

Y/N looks up, startled, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard as she blinks at him, trying to hide the exhaustion on her face.

 "Just finishing up some things... It’s not that late."

He sternly walks closer. "It’s midnight. You should be home, resting. This can wait until tomorrow."

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops her. She’s used to his seriousness, but there’s something more here—something that’s not just about the case.

His voice softens, but still firm."You’re not invincible, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself."

Y/N sighs, glancing back at the stack of files on her desk, torn between wanting to finish everything and knowing she’s pushing herself too hard.

 "I’m fine, Harry. Really. I just want to get this done."

Harry’s frustration slips through as he says, "No, you’re not fine. You’ve been at this for hours, and you’re running on empty. I’m not leaving until you get some rest."

Y/N meets his eyes, seeing the genuine concern there, but also the subtle edge of worry in his features. She opens her mouth to protest again, but Harry doesn’t give her the chance.

Harry grabs her bag from the desk. "Come on. You’re getting in the car, and I’m taking you home."

She hesitates for a moment, but Harry’s serious enough that she knows there’s no point in arguing.

She grabs her things and follows him out of the office. The rain is coming down hard now, the city streets glistening under the dim streetlights. Harry opens the door for her, holding out an umbrella as they step out into the downpour.

They don’t speak at first, the quiet of the night surrounding them, just the soft patter of rain as they walk to his car. Once inside, the silence between them feels comfortable, but Harry keeps glancing at her, concern still etched on his face.

Harry breaks the silence."You sure you’re okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately."

“I’m fine, my detective exam is soon, I just really wanna make it.”

“You will, you’ve already passed the physical. Trust me, you don’t have to worry about making it, the exam’s gonna be very easy for you.”

She lets out a soft exhale, those words making her feel a little better. After all, he had gone through all of this. “Are you gonna apply to work here?”

“Yes, I think this is where I wanna work. Not sure about the department though, I still have other rotations. I’m going to be with foreign affairs next week.”

Harry gasps in hurt, glancing over at her. “You don’t wanna be in homicide? Is it because I’m grumpy?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s not you, Harry.. And I love homicide, the thrill is amazing! It’s just that I still have other departments to experience, you know, that’s what an internship is for.”

“Believe me, you aren’t gonna find any other department as interesting as this. But yes, you’re right. You have time to decide.”

The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, just the sound of the rain tapping on the windshield. When they finally reach her flat, Harry pulls up to the curb, parking the car in front of the building. He looks over at her, his voice quiet, with that same concern in it.

"You sure you’ll be okay getting inside? It’s late, and it’s still raining pretty bad."

Y/N nods, though she can’t hide the weariness in her eyes."Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, Harry."

He doesn’t move, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to say something more, but instead, he opens his door and steps out, walking around the car to open hers.

He holds the umbrella over her as they step out into the rain, his arm wrapping around her back and her arm as he keeps her close and they walk side by side toward her building. The air is cool, and the rain falls steadily, but there’s something about the closeness of the moment that makes it feel almost intimate.

When they reach her door, Harry stops, looking at her with that same quiet intensity. "You’re getting some sleep tonight. No excuses."

Y/N can’t help but smile at his persistence, the kind of care that’s always just under the surface of his gruff exterior."I promise. I’ll get some rest."

Harry doesn’t move immediately, his gaze lingering on her face. There’s an almost unspoken weight in the air now, a subtle shift between them. Without thinking, Y/N reaches out and touches his arm, her fingers brushing against his sleeve.

“Thanks for everything, Harry. Really."

His eyes flicker down to where her hand rests on his arm, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. Slowly, he lifts his free hand, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, and Y/N feels her heart race at the intimacy of it.

His voice is low, and a bit hoarse."Anytime. You don’t have to thank me."

The tension between them lingers in the rain-soaked air. Harry steps back, holding the umbrella just a little closer to her to shield her from the downpour. Then he whispers softly, "Sleep well, Y/N."

He gives her a soft smile before turning to leave. Y/N watches him walk away, her heart still fluttering from the small but meaningful moments they’ve shared. The rain still falls, but in that quiet moment, everything feels a little different—like they’ve crossed a line, even if just for a moment.

As she walks into her apartment, she can’t help but replay his words and the feeling of his touch, knowing that whatever happens next, something between them has changed.

_____________________________________________

Y/N enters the quarters, the soft click of the door barely audible as she steps inside. The usual hum of chatter and playful teasing is absent, replaced by an air of tension that hangs thick in the room. Her eyes quickly scan the group of agents—none of them in their usual good-natured moods, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Something’s off.

Her gaze lands on Harry, talking quietly with someone behind his glass office door. He looks serious, his posture rigid, eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in conversation about something important. Y/N walks to Nora who’s sitting at her desk, the usual casual grin replaced by a solemn expression.

"Hey, what’s going on? Why’s everyone so serious today?"

The agent looks up. "We got a lead on the Rotherl case. Word is, he has a fourth hostage with him. Cole and Eliza managed to track down where he should be right now and we’re just waiting on Harry’s word to go.”

“A fourth hostage?”, she gasps. She wasn’t part of the team during the investigation of the Rothel murders but she had read up all about it. He was one of the most wanted men, who kidnapped his victims before killing them. He had already killed three innocent people, leaving no traces behind him. If they had a lead on him, that was amazing.

She glances toward Harry’s office, where he’s still deep in conversation, his jaw clenched. Before she can ask more, the door opens, and Harry steps out, his sharp gaze scanning the room. “Let’s go, everyone. I’ve called for backup. Matthews, Carter, good job. Now let’s wrap this up.”

“This mother fucker has had enough of a run.”, Eliza mutters, strapping on her bullet proof west and tossing the other to her partner. 

Y/N’s been with the team for weeks now, and in that time, Harry’s allowed her to tag along when things got tense, letting her learn the ropes. She can’t imagine being left behind on something so big, not now.

She grabs her things, ready to move with the team, but Harry catches her before she gets too far, his lean fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Not this time, Y/N.", he says, his voice firm, with no room for negotiation.

Y/N freezes, her heart sinking at his words. She’s about to protest, but she catches the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and something else she can’t quite place. She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Come on, Harry. I’ve been with you through worse. You know I can handle it."

“It’s not about how much you can handle, y/n. This is a mad man, and you don’t even have a gun to defend yourself.”

“But I’m trained to fight, and I can use a gun if someone throws it to me-”

“-y/l/n.”, Harry cuts her off with his classic stern face. She hasn’t gotten her gun license yet, she’ll get that only after she becomes an agent after her exams, but she’s already done with all her training. He’s trying to protect her, she realizes. Still, she won’t back down so easily.

"You can’t keep me in the dark. I want to be there with you guys.”, she says firmly.

Harry stares at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if weighing the risk. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

He reluctantly agrees. "Fine. You can come. But you stay in the car. Understood?"

Y/N’s heart skips, but she hides her smile, knowing she’s won this small battle. She nods, her voice determined.

 "Understood.”

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge if she’s really going to stick to her word. When he finally nods, there’s something like relief in his eyes, mixed with the ever-present worry that seems to linger with him.

"Good. But if you step one foot out of that car, I swear I’ll drag your ass back inside myself.”

Y/N chuckles lightly, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. “Got it, sir.”

As Harry turns to lead the team out, Y/N follows behind, a mixture of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. This was more than just another case. It was a dangerous one, and she was in it, even if only on the sidelines. 

“Here, y/n, put this on.”, Ethan comes to her with a bullet proof vest just like everyone else’s. She didn’t think she’d need one sitting in the car, but she put it on, not wanting to start another argument with an agent.

They pile into the cars, the tension in the air thick as they head toward the high-risk location. Y/N’s fingers tap nervously on her lap as she watches Harry in the rearview mirror, his eyes already set on the mission ahead, and she can’t help but feel, even in the midst of everything, that tonight could change something between them.

The car rolled to a stop a few blocks from the dilapidated building. The air outside felt damp from the rain that had just stopped falling, but the tension was thick, and the city streets seemed unusually silent, despite the flashing lights of squad cars surrounding the area.

Y/N leaned forward in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the building in front of them. The usual lighthearted banter between the team was gone.She could see Harry’s figure through the windshield as he stepped out of the car, his dark coat flaring behind him like a shadow as he walked toward the rest of the team.

She saw the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his body was braced for the weight of what they were about to face. His focus was sharper tonight, sharper than usual. He was already in the thick of it, mentally preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the seat, but she stayed silent. Harry moved with precision, the rest of the team falling in behind him as they gathered around him. The air between them was charged, the kind of energy that only came when everything was on the line.

She heard Harry’s calm voice through his earpiece, “Position yourselves around the building. No one moves unless I give the word.”

Y/N nodded along with the rest of the team, even though Harry couldn’t see it. Her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze shifted from Harry to the building—dark and looming against the city skyline. She could barely make out the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Rothel. The man who had committed violent crimes. And now, he was holding someone else hostage.

Y/N exhaled slowly, gripping the seat tighter. The girl in the doorway, only a teenager by the looks of it, was standing frozen in place, her face pale with fear. Rothel had a gun to her forehead, and she heard him yell out something, but couldn’t make out what it was. Harry raised a hand to the rest of the team, signalling them to hold off.

She could hear Harry. “Rothel, listen to me. Let her go. We don’t need any more bloodshed. Just put the gun down.”

She couldn’t see Harry’s face from the car, but Y/N knew how carefully he must have been approaching the situation. His voice never cracked, but there was an undercurrent of urgency there—just enough to show he was trying to negotiate without pushing Rothel over the edge.

The earpiece crackled with static, and then Rothel’s voice, sharp and filled with fury, came through.

Rothel growled. “I don’t want to hear your deals. If you don’t back the fuck off, I’ll shoot her right here.”

Y/N’s hands went ice-cold. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. She swallowed hard, wishing there was something she could do, some way she could help, but all she could do was watch—wait—and pray that Harry could talk him down.

Harry’s voice came again, steady and unwavering.

“You don’t want to do this, Rothel. Let her go. We can work something out. Just... put the gun down. It’s not too late.”

Y/N’s eyes were fixed on the building as the tension in the air grew heavier. There was a shift, a subtle movement at one of the upper windows. She squinted, her heart dropping as she realized the figure there wasn’t just an observer—he was armed, and his sights were set on Harry.

Her breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she saw the man preparing to act. Without thinking twice, Y/N grabbed her earpiece, trying to warn the others, but there was no time for that. The danger was too immediate.

She threw open the car door, barely pausing before sprinting toward the building. Every step was fueled by a sense of urgency, her mind racing. She couldn’t let him hurt Harry.

Y/N reached the back of the building and found a staircase leading up. She didn’t hesitate as she ascended quickly, her heart thumping in her chest. At the top, she paused, ears straining for any sound—anything that would give away the shooter’s position.

There, at the far end of the hallway, the man stood, oblivious to Y/N’s approach. She didn’t think, she just moved. Silent and quick, she rushed toward him, tackling him off balance. They hit the ground, but the struggle wasn’t over.

“Move out of my way unless you want me to kill you, bitch.”, he growled.

“Oh you can try.”, she growled back.

The man pushed back, trying to regain his footing, but Y/N used every ounce of her strength to keep him down. He fought back, his hands grabbing at her, but she was faster—more determined.

In the chaos, she was struck hard, sending her crashing into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the growing pain. She couldn’t let him get to Harry. He needed to save that girl.

She heard gun shots from below and something that sounded like a cry of relief from the hostage, then she heard Harry’s voice through her fallen earpiece. “He’s down, great job team.” She made the mistake of letting her guard down for one second, in relief, and that’s when the man managed to rise to his feet and point the gun at her.

She heard Harry’s voice again, through her earpiece, now panicked. “Y/N, where are you? Answer me.”

Her vision swam from the dizziness, but she forced herself to focus. The man looked down and groaned in frustration. y/n laughed. “Guess your little plan didn’t work out, huh?”

“It was a good plan, now it’s all ruined because of you. Did you think I was joking when I said I’d kill you?”

“Y/N?”, she heard footsteps and Harry’s voice. 

“Harry!”, she called back, panic starting to rise in her chest. The gun was pointed at her, so she couldn’t risk moving. 

Harry points his own gun at the man. “Put it down right now, you sick bastard.”

y/n closed her eyes as she heard two shots fire at the same time. Then she heard a big thud. Suddenly, there was pain shooting through her body. The pain was overwhelming, but there was something else—disbelief, confusion, and the shock of what had just happened.

She had been shot.

She was brought back from her dazed state by Harry’s panicked, almost broken, voice, “Y/N, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay..don’t worry, o-okay?”

She could hear the crack in his voice, the fear that only came when someone was truly scared of losing someone they cared about. Her heart fluttered weakly in her chest at the realization. Her thoughts weren’t on the blood soaking her arm or the pain threatening to consume her. They were on Harry. He was here. He was with her. And as she fought to keep her eyes open, the last thing she heard was him calling her name, desperately holding onto her in the chaos of it all.

____________________________________________

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove @mayalove014 @vikiii07

[golden-reverie]

Burnt Out

Author’s note: Hello to anyone who sees this! I’m Elodie, 24, from the Midwest. I love to experiment with writing, and my guilty pleasure is anything to do with Harry Styles. I’ve been so inspired by all the amazing writers on here, so I finally decided to take a stab at something of my own. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: You’ve been running yourself ragged over a work project, and Harry isn’t having it.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: MDNI, spanking, punishment, fingering, pre-established dom/sub relationship, stern dom!harry, sub!reader, fem!reader, aftercare, all actions and dynamics are consensual

The soft glow of the laptop screen flickered against the walls, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit house. Y/N’s fingers danced over the keyboard, her eyes locked onto the cascading lines of code. Stray wisps of amber hair had escaped the messy bun atop her head, and she absently chewed on the end of a pen—an old habit from her college days. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of keys and the quiet hum of the laptop’s fan.

Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

Ahhh! Kind of out there for my first post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hope you enjoyed!

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Twelve Days^**

After Y/N's engagement falls through she's been having a very rough time of it. Y/N is dreading to go on her family's Christmas holiday knowing the scrutinization she might be subjecting herself to. But her time there goes better than expected when she and her brother-in-law, Harry, forge an even deeper connection than before through an exchange of struggles, secrets, and attraction.

Warnings: Depictions of mental health struggles/traumas, alcohol and drug use, infidelity, toxic relationships, sibling rivalry, sexuality explicit content (sex penetrative and oral, foreplays), verbal arguments/fights, family conflicts.

PART ONE- Y/N arrives to the vacation home in Palm Springs, more than prepared to have a bad time under her family's probably dissecting of her failed engagement. But it doesn't take long for Harry, her brother-in-law, to reveal an even bigger problem than her own. (WC: 11.5K)

PART TWO - After learning her sister, Julie's, secret Y/N confronts her. After hours, Y/N and Harry continue to spend time together and a new tension starts to build between them. (WC: 7.1K)

PART THREE - Harry feels a little anxious about the line that he and Y/N have crossed and is worried that it'll just lead to more heart ache and mess for the both of them. This newfound closeness is not lost on Julie. And she can't help but wonder if there is more going on. (WC 7.8K)

PART FOUR - After the holidays, Y/N is resigning to the fact that her closeness with Harry has run its course. And on top of things starting to get hard again, an unexpected visitor shows up to create even more conflict. However, much to her relief, Harry continues to show Y/N his care for her and gains the courage to set an ultimatum for Julie. (WC 7.2K)

PART FIVE - Y/N decides to confront Julie about some of the things she's been saying about her and to try and appeal to her reason. Since Julie has not been staying at their house lately, Harry decides to spend the next few days with Y/N. All is well in their little slice of heaven until Harry receives some unexpected news. (WC 10.5K)

PART SIX - After learning this life altering news from Julie, Harry is feeling a bit in shambles but decides to stand up to her once and for all. And despite their bitter end, Harry finds sympathy for Julie and even finds himself standing up for her. Though there is still a lingering worry that his relationship with Y/N will be used against him, he finds an unexpected ally who knows everything and more than ever, Harry is entirely optimistic about his future with Y/N. (WC 16.7K)

[harrywavycurly]

Summary: You’re moving into your first apartment after graduating college and you use a moving service your friend recommended. Not really expecting much of the company with a name like “College Hunks Hauling Junk” you take extra care to box your things up really well. But no amount of bubble wrap can keep the cocky, snarky, semi retired frat bro Harry Styles from damaging a few of your boxes which leads to him learning the hard way that sometimes he’s going to have to handle things with a little more care than he’s used to. 📦✨

Pairing: frat!Harry x fem!reader

Trope: Grumpy x sunshine

CW: Frat Harry (some people really aren’t into this lol), language, tiny bit of angst, one drunken moment

Story Type: Mini Series (5 parts)

A/N: This is gonna be a whirlwind of an emotional roller coaster for Harry from the very start so if you’re into that then this is the story for you! ✨

Status: Completed ✨

Tag List: Open

Extras: here

Highly Recommended

This Can’t Be Happening

Are You Okay?

Sunshine and Citrus

What Have You Heard?