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paarksunghoon · 1 month ago

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resignation | sunghoon

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: desperately need to rant about my life and I’m doing it by way of enhypen 😩 this is a small little chapter and I have no idea if I’m gonna make this a whole thing, but we’ll see. enjoy for now and let me know your thoughts! xx

WARNINGS: none :)

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Like a bird stuck in a metal cage, you feel trapped in an enclosure that’s meant to prevent you from flying away. That’s what it feels like to work at Park Inc., an international venture capitalist firm that serves Asia and the greater North American and European landscape. Your job is boring and meaningless, and today is the day you decided to do something about it.

Your alarm rings every morning at 5 A.M. on the dot and today is no exception. Since becoming Park Sunghoon’s assistant six years ago, you’ve learned the masterful art of never hitting snooze after hearing an earful from Sunghoon himself when he requested your presence the following hour (you failed to arrive in time and learned to never go back to sleep unless it was your day off).

This life seemed like a dream at the ripe age of twenty-one. Freshly graduated from college with no real career goal in mind, one of your academic mentors suggested entering the workforce as a personal assistant to gain social capital and learn about different areas of industry that could potentially lead you towards a career. Your measly business degree left you feeling unfulfilled and your parents’ aloof demeanor towards the lack of job offers lining up after graduating wasn’t the kind of news you were ecstatic about. You jumped at the chance to work as a personal assistant with the assumption that it would be the kind of job that you could pursue in the meantime until something else came along.

This position at Park Inc. fell into your lap like some kind of dumb luck. The role wasn’t posted on any job site. Rather, your name had been submitted on behalf of your academic advisor, which got you your first interview. You suppose that must be some kind of nepotism. After six separate interviews over the course of three months, the job was yours.

You’d saved up enough money, working the night shift at a local restaurant to afford a rundown apartment and a new office-appropriate wardrobe from the local second hand stores in your neighborhood. Pencil skirts, fashionable blouses, heels that promised to last a long time, and blazers that looked professional enough lined your closets for future use. It was an exciting prospect and starting your new life after graduating university felt like a different ball park than when you were still pursuing your degree.

Despite all of that, you feel listless.

Your days begin before the sun rises and ends just after sunset. Anticipating Sunghoon’s needs is seamless for you, to the point where you’re able to think on his behalf without second guessing yourself. He agrees on most days and doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to business matters because you’ve been by his side for over half a decade. You’ve picked him up from many late night rendezvous with women who definitely wanted more than he was willing to give, and you’ve accompanied him to events where he couldn’t bother asking somebody to be his date. You’re his assistant, and therefore you’re always available.

But you’re just the help. You don’t have any real stake in Park Inc., nor does anybody take you seriously unless Sunghoon agrees with your opinion. You know this company inside and out, and you know exactly how Sunghoon envisions this company to succeed. You act like you’re a managing partner without the title because you’re by his side nearly every hour of the day, and it’s gotten to a point where people me either whisper about a silent affair, or look at you with sympathy because Sunghoon can’t seem to function without you.

It was fun, at first. Learning how to stand on your own two feet while leaving everything you knew behind felt exhilarating. Abandoning your hometown to explore the big city was a dream come true, and you envisioned all of the late night food runs you’d go on in an attempt to explore each neighborhood within Seoul. The beginning was tolerable at best—if you count crying in your small apartment after thinking you’d never get the hang of this job—and Sunghoon knew to delegate tasks to you based on experience level. He had you fetch coffee and take care of his dry cleaning in the first few months, on top of organizing multiple reports until you were ready for more. He was kind like that, and you’re sure his willingness to help you in your career was why you stayed for as long as you have.

Six years ago, receiving the amount of responsibility you carry felt like you’d reached the top of the tallest mountain after dreaming of the day Sunghoon could trust you enough to let you do your job without much supervision. You could complete a task for him before he delegated it to you, because you understood his workflow and what needed to be prioritized. The both of you worked well like that, and after six years of getting to know each other, many would say you’re both joined at the hip professionally.

It comes to a point where you learn that the Sunghoon you see is far different than the Sunghoon everybody else sees. He’s naturally funny and a bit clumsy. He’s professional and stoic when he needs to be, but behind closed doors, Sunghoon laughs your ear off about old men who think they can walk all over his business tactics and people who are too rich to see that they’re the problem. Sunghoon is the best boss you’ve ever had, bar none.

He’s unlike any of the wealthy, stuck up assholes you deal with on a daily basis. Sunghoon hides his witty, flirty personality behind a professional face in the eyes of higher ups and investors who he does business with. He keeps his personal and work life separate, as far as he can, with the exception of occasionally letting women he meets accompany him to select events that almost always end up in having to kick them out of his penthouse apartment the morning after if they haven’t left already. His lifestyle is one you’ll never get used to. Even after six years working beside Sunghoon, you go back to your humble one bedroom apartment, the same one you moved into once you were able to afford living without any roommates.

It seems as though life moves for Sunghoon. He doesn’t have to do or say much to get people to fall to their knees or grant his every wish. He’s good looking (that’s something you’ll never deny because he’s objectively handsome), he manages to say all the right things, and he’s really good at his job. Sunghoon comes from a powerful and wealthy family that’s existed in Seoul for as long as anyone can remember, and there aren’t many bad things people say about him behind his back. He’s risky but strategic, gambling on chances that would typically slip through the cracks if not for his watchful eye and modern approach to business.

You’ve learned a lot from him, too. Sunghoon grew into the man he is today. He’s no longer the overly arrogant and cocky person he was when you first met him, and he’s gained a deeper understanding of the company he’s about to inherit once his father transitions his title unto him. There’s much to be said about powerful men who choose to view everybody he works with as an equal, and while you might legally be his personal assistant, Sunghoon has allowed you to partake in the business too. You’ve been his right hand man ever since he realized you knew the company as well as he did. Yet, you can’t help but feel utterly stuck in this endless cycle of work, work, and more work.

There must be something out there for you that doesn’t consist of answering emails and letting your inbox pile up until the stress eats you alive. Being able to travel alongside Sunghoon for business opportunities has granted you a pathway to see the world, but it’s not enough to accompany somebody else. You want to explore the world by yourself and create agendas for your taste and likeliness, not Sunghoon or potential business partners while you sit in the back and take notes during every conversation. You want to live your life without being chained to a desk and learn what it feels like to try something new.

For the past six years, your life has been dedicated to Sunghoon and only Sunghoon.

“Sir?” You say tentatively, knocking on his door while pushing the heavy wooden door open.

“Come in.”

You know well enough he’s got nothing on his schedule that would impose a distraction. You slip into the room and close the door behind you with your fingers gripping a beige Manila folder behind your back. Sunghoon wears a suit that’s tailored to his likeness and his hair is slicked back like he’s trying to resemble Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unscheduled interruption?” Sunghoon asks with humor in his tone. He knows you typically keep to your inbox unless something is imminently urgent.

He turns around from looking outside of his window and watches as you hesitantly walk towards his desk. The office space is huge, bigger than your entire living room, and the sudden realization that you’re about to make the biggest change of your life is weighing on your shoulders. Your feet feel heavy beneath you when Sunghoon glances between your face and the folder in your hands.

“What’s this?”

You don’t hesitate to open it and put it on his desk facing up.

“My resignation letter.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Sunghoon stares at the letter you’ve typed out and notices the large, black signature at the bottom of the page. His eyes flicker back at you as if to detect any lie in your face before he scoffs with a short laugh.

“Right. April Fool’s Day has already passed. No need to keep me on my toes like you usually do, though I appreciate a good joke.”

You shake your head. “I’m being serious, Sir. I’m quitting.”

The seriousness of your voice seems to catch him. He takes a seat on his leather chair and pulls himself closer to the desk to fully examine the letter.

“Dear Mr. Park, I am writing to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as your personal assistant at Park Incorporated. My final day will be two months from the day I hand you this resignation letter. I am committed to ensuring a smooth transition, and will facilitate seeking a replacement while I complete projects and tasks on my docket.”

He looks up at you.

“You’re breaking up with me.”

“No, I’m quitting this job.”

“Which is the same as breaking up with me. You’re my business partner, for God’s sake. You come with me to every meeting and important event that requires my presence.”

“I’m your assistant. There are many people who would die to be able to do that for you.”

He looks at you like you’ve set his office on fire. “I will not let you quit.”

You tilt your head. “That’s not how it works, you know. Soobin from HR will process my resignation, even if you beg him not to. I’m giving you a two months' notice because that is how much I value my time here.” Sunghoon clasps his hands as if trying to make sense of the matter.

“But why? Why now? You’re impeccable at your job. Is the pay not suitable enough for you? I can give you a generous bonus and pay raise, if that will convince you to stay. Do you want a bigger office or reduced working hours?”

“I don’t need any of that. I’ve made up my mind, Sir.”

“Why?”

With a sigh, you sit down in front of him. “I’ve spent nearly every day for the last six years catering to the needs of you and this company. I’ve loved my time here, and I credit my ability to navigate this industry to you and this job. You’ve given me incredible opportunities that I probably wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere, and it’s been fun learning the ins and outs of this business.

“But I don't have a personal life at all. My days are spent catering to your needs. I don’t have many friends aside from the people I see in this building. I don’t travel and I’ve had to miss important family milestones because of work obligations.”

“Is more time off what you need?” Sunghoon interrupts. “You’ve earned your fair share of requested time offs, even if it’s a personal day for no reason. You’re responsible enough for me to know you can handle your workload when you get back.”

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. I…I don’t meet new people anymore. I don’t make new friends and I don’t date because this job eats up my life. I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in this company and doing whatever it takes to help it succeed while neglecting my own needs. I’ve had six incredible years, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“…Date?”

With a sigh, you respond. “Yes, Sir. Just because you can find women at the snap of your fingers doesn't mean that everybody else can too.”

“You don’t date at all?”

You scratch the inside of your wrist at his question. “I can’t date. I don’t have the time to.”

“So you’re quitting because you want to date.”

“No. I’m quitting because I want to experience life without being on call for when you need my help.”

Sunghoon purses his lips and you can’t read his expression. In the years you’ve worked with him, learning his every mood has been critical to maintaining cordial balance between the two of you, and with other people who Sunghoon isn’t particularly fond of. You’ve extinguished emotional fires just by glancing at him, but the way he looks at you is something you can’t seem to figure out.

While you wouldn’t say you’re exceptionally close with Sunghoon, you’d argue your relationship to him is far closer than other assistants in the firm. He might be hard headed and stubborn, but he’s compassionate and understanding. He doesn’t expect you to stay in the office until he leaves unless explicitly stated (which consists of half the week, but you can’t complain when some of your colleagues are constantly working longer days than you).

He compensates you well from time to time, buying you new wardrobe for events he’s requested you to be at. You have a drawer full of exquisite jewelry. You’ve had the privilege of accompanying him on international business trips. From the outside, your life looks like one glamour shot that’s been afforded to you through diligent work, which is partially true, but seldom do people see the dark circles underneath your eyes or how many meals you skip because you need to cater to Sunghoon’s needs.

For as lucky as your career has been thus far, it’s all on company time, and nothing is ever because you want to. You get the perks, but it’s a transaction. There’s nothing you want more than the freedom to choose what time you wake up and what time you go to bed.

“I can’t say I’m too happy with this news,” Sunghoon says as he leans back on his chair. “You and I work together really well. I don’t think I’ve ever had an assistant as diligent and as smart as you.”

“You had three assistants before I came into the picture.”

“They were terrible. Why did you think you went through six interviews?”

“I can train my predecessor to be as excellent as I can be. I can do it in two months because that’s the time it took me to get used to you and your habits.”

Sunghoon remains silent for a moment.

“They’ve got big shoes to fill.”

Part of you thinks he’s accepted your resignation. He doesn’t immediately grab the Manila folder with the papers in it. Rather, he closes it and keeps it shut on his desk with his hands clasped like he’s afraid it’s going to materialize and escort you out of his office.

“You’re still needed for events and other internal-facing meetings until your time comes to an end.”

“Of course, Sir.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “There’s one tonight. I wasn’t going to have you come to this one initially, but given the circumstances, I think it’s fair that we squeeze in as many as possible before you’re off the hook, no?”

You can’t say you’re incredibly excited by the idea, but knowing Sunghoon, he’s either forgotten he needs someone to act as arm candy or one of his many flings bailed on him at the last minute.

“I’ll have my car pick you up from your apartment at 8 P.M. Don’t worry about checking in early tomorrow, either. Come in at nine instead, and get some sleep tonight.”

Nine is still early, especially if you’re going to accompany Sunghoon to an event this evening, but it’s better than getting four hours of shut eye before you’re needed the next day.

***

A section of your wardrobe is dedicated to items Sunghoon has gifted you throughout the years you’ve been with him. They’re far more expensive and of higher quality than the garments you buy for yourself, and the jewelry is far too precious for you to mix in with your everyday wear. They sit in their own designated section, away from your business attire and weekend wear.

Back when you started this position, Sunghoon found it amusing that you refused the luxurious gifts he’d offer for large tasks such as acting as a liaison at black tie events or helping him with projects that required you to look more presentable than remaining in an office. He bought you enough dresses, shoes, and jewelry until you were able to rotate a few pieces so that you’d never have to wear the same thing twice in a row. To assuage your mind about the prices of each item, Sunghoon would tell you to wear it out on a date with a special someone or to important events that required you to dress up a bit.

When you pull out a sleek baby blue powder dress that hugs your body in all the right places and jewelry to match, the memory makes you laugh. There hasn’t been any time for engaging in those types of things and your life does not reflect that of Sunghoon’s. They gather dust in your closet until you’re needed to make an appearance as his well-trained, capable assistant. His colleagues know to defer to you unless Sunghoon’s word needs to be confirmed, and that’s how the dynamic has been for the entirety of your working relationship with him.

You don’t put much effort into your appearance tonight. After touching up your makeup and slipping on a pair of black sling backs that match a black Italian clutch purse he had gifted you on your first international trip, you wait for the car to arrive at your doorstep.

Surprisingly, Sunghoon steps out from the backseat and holds the door open for you.

“…Sir?”

“Right on time. You look stunning.”

His compliment flies over your head as you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. You’re used to meeting Sunghoon at the fairgrounds and not holding the door open for you in his personal mode of transportation. The only time the two of you arrive together is when you depart from the office. Sunghoon is a busy man who makes work his priority. He doesn’t escort you from place to place. That’s your job.

“What are you doing here?”

He beckons you inside of the car. The partition is raised to give the two of you some privacy. Sunghoon slides into the backseat and puts a respectable distance between the two of you when the driver begins to drive away.

“It dawned on me that I rely you on you for so many things, and yet, I can’t seem to take an hour of my day to ride with you to events I’ve asked you to be at.”

“It’s my job.”

“No, your job is to make sure I don’t lose my head.”

“If letting you work while I drive alone makes your head stay on your shoulders, I think that’s a job well done.”

He purses his lips. “Still, I don’t think ending my workday early to pick you up will kill me.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“This isn’t changing my mind, Sir. I still plan to leave the company.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Worth a try. But I meant what I said about accompanying you. We’re a team, even if your position is just my assistant.”

“Sir—”

“Sunghoon,” he interrupts. “Call me Sunghoon.”

“...Sunghoon.” He smiles.

“That’s more like it.”

***

will there be a part 2? who knows

#enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #enha x reader #kpop x reader #park sunghoon fanfiction #park sunghoon fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #sunghoon #fic: resignation #my writing*

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zoe-oneesama · 1 month ago

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Since you drew pig!Sublime, i wanna know what you think about the character (even though she only appeared once)

Season 6 gives me Season 1 vibes but with baggage, so I fully expect Sublime to be, like, the Aurore of S6 - high impact in Her Episode only to be relegated to background fodder. Honestly we probably won't get much more out of her despite the Smirk of Dubious Intentions we got when Tomoe Tsurugi agreed to sponsor her. Oh nooo, giving money to allow a disabled girl to participate in her chosen sport, what evil must lurk behind her choice here, ahhhh, I'm so scared.

Sorry got off topic

Uh, Sublime seems fine? I mean it's hard to get enthusiastic about yet another Comically Flawless Character for Marinette to compare herself to for no reason. I guess it's that to me Sublime herself isn't interesting, she's just kind of a prop for other characters to reflect off of. That's kind of the downside to being so Comically Perfect, most of her personality just doesn't read as real or relatable. I mean, she wasn't even the akuma, her mother was. And her mother and father's dynamic around both each other and Sublime's career are much more complex and I have way more to talk about the two of them than Sublime herself.

The only place of any interest is her unique way of dealing with her anxiety - making it separate from herself and talking shit to it. Of course, this was just a contrived way for Marinette to mistakenly believe Sublime was talking shit to her, so even that's not without it's annoyances, but it's definitely A Strategy to dealing with your Inner Saboteur. Reminds of the post/tweet about turning your Intrusive Thoughts into a drunk backseat passenger so it's easier to write off as nonsense.

Sublime's design is okay, I like having a character actually lean into some less saturated colors for once. I just wish she had more contrast because it's a lot of similar blue on blue on blue, especially where her dress hem meets her "legs". And it's crazy that her default hair has FIVE BRAIDS, at LEAST. Where does all that hair go when she puts it in a ponytail though?

The name is cringe, but we all knew that. It's like the episode title "Sublimation" was decided on first and they worked backwards from there. I don't know if Sublime is a common name in Belgium (doubtful), but in English it's just weird because that's Not a Name. It's not even a common adjective that people use. In English, a more appropriate name would be "Grace" or "Harmony" or "Bliss" - they are names but they're also pretty literal. But then they couldn't have the "gotcha!" moment from naming the episode "Sublimation". Does it sound weird to French viewers the way it does in English???

I'm glad she's so forgiving but also has a healthy amount of Oh This Girl is Craaaazy in the way she interacts with Marinette. Willing to meet her half way but isn't like "oh that's cute how she's a total freaking weirdo!" She sees Marinette for exactly who she is. And I'm glad she's Adrien's friend, he needs his own damn friends.

Anyway, hopefully we see a little bit more of her but I'm not really holding my breath. As is, she's nothing that really makes me excited. At least I get to practice drawing prosthetics now?

#'I can never be as SUBLIME as SUBLIME' was the only line that sold me on the name even a little #ask zoe #sublime #my art #miraculous ladybug #sublime bartlet #sublime redesign

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dannyriccsystem · 23 days ago

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i swear im in love w your posts and your account 😭 the way you write the drivers feels rly accurate, i had an idea for an au after i saw that video w the papaya boys looking down at the camera w their helmets on so maybe something about reader telling the drivers to 'sleep' w them only wearing their helmets 🙂‍↕️hehe no pressure 🧡

THE HELMET STAYS ON.

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

Summary: Begging the drivers to nail you with their helmet on. And they do.

Warnings: Pure smut, Y/N usage, P in V, foreplay, reader has a tongue piercing in one of them, hair pulling, blowjob, the whole nine yards. Basically really filthy. Also not proofread because it was embarrassing enough just writing this.

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, CS55, OP81

This video. Oh my days. I have nothing appropriate to say.

One more before I sleep. I’m kind of scared to post this, this is my first super out there post.

(Do feel free to request risqué stuff idm!)

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Let me get this straight,” Your boyfriend stood in front of you as you sat, prettily perched on the edge of the bed with an innocent smile, despite what you just asked. “You,” He pointed to you. “Want me,” and then to himself. “To fuck you. With the helmet on.” He raised both of his brows.

You looked off to the side, and then back at him, nodding. “Sounds about right, yeah.” You confirmed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but with a sigh… He reluctantly gave in. Anything for his beloved girlfriend, I guess.

“M-ahhh-x,” You groaned out his name, nails desperately clawing at his bare back for some sort of leverage. Your legs were quivering as he slowly thrusted into you, his hips moving in such a hypnotic way. Even off the track, his pace was consistent, apparently.

All of his skin was exposed, every last inch, except for his face. It was covered by his iconic helmet design, the visor pulled down to conceal the expression in his eyes. You were certain they were darkened with lust, but had no proof of it.

His hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up to get an even deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around him weakly, trying to pull him in closer. At this point, you could barely move them.

He brought his helmeted face down closer to your ear, the sound of his voice deliciously muffled by the soft casing surrounding his head, “You asked for this, lieverd.” You whined out at his typical pet name, which sounded so dirty now. You were unsure if you’d ever be able to see your boyfriend in an innocent light ever again.

Your hands grabbed both sides of his helmet, mouth drawn open in an ‘O’ as you weakly moaned for him. The sweet sounds motivated him further, allowing him to draw out his final thrusts. He pulled out, hands stroking his length as you pressed soft kisses to the surface of his helmet.

He came on your stomach. With one hand, Max lifted the visor while the other gentle traced a heart onto your cum-coated belly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny?” You came out of his bedroom one day, finding him relaxed on the couch. He leaned his head over to look at you, motioning for you to continue. In your hands was the cause of confusion— His old racing helmet. The last one he ever wore, to be exact.

It was a black helmet with a sparkly flame that shined different colors depending on the lighting. You remembered him wearing it in Singapore, the last race he ever competed in. It probably held a lot of special memories. “Do you use your old helmets for anything? I see you have a few in our room.”

“Hmm, nah. Mostly just decoration.” He shrugs and turns to sit with one leg folded underneath him, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. His elbows were propped on the back as he stared at you. “Why?” He smirked almost like he could see the gears turning.

“Wanna have sex with one on?” The answer was always yes.

It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in the best way possible. Nothing could have prepared you for the animal that your boyfriend would become upon exploding this new area of your sex lives.

He had one of your legs pushed in the air, resting over his shoulder, which allowed him more space to thrust experimentally. The other laid on the side of his thigh, your hips held up by his free hand to get a better angle. You propped yourself up on your elbows, head slightly angled down while you stared through damp lashes.

“Fuck, Danny…” You whined, your hips twitching with a little gasp. He groaned, his head falling forward until the helmet was carefully pressed against your forehead. His grip on your raised thigh was tight, practically digging into your skin to keep himself from going feral.

“Feel that?” He muttered, his voice enveloped in the cushy walls of his helmet. The hand that held you up at the waist circled around, palm pressing down on your stomach to emphasize the slight bulge. He cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering and his dick twitching. “Shit.”

He leg your leg fall against the mattress as he carefully slipped out. One hand massaged your sore folds, bringing you to your peak just as he reached his. You both climaxed together, your thighs painted with his arousal.

He carefully lifted the helmet, still panting as he looked down at the mess he made. “Satisfied?” He asked, voice hoarse. You grinned, eyes droopy.

“Very.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

There was something special about Lando in his signature green helmet. The helmet itself was bland, but it was his staple. When he wore it, it was unimaginably attractive to you.

You tried to ignore it, but during one of his week long breaks, you decided to address the issue upfront. It was a hard topic to approach, so you figured now was a good time to be as blunt as possible.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your helmet.” Literally. As blunt as possible.

He looked taken aback, and rightfully so. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…” He asked next. It was hard to discern what sort of face that was supposed to be. Confusion? Disgust? Arousal? All three at once?

“Because it’s hot.”

He fell silent, and then pulled you into his room where the helmet in question sat, like it was ready for this moment.

“Not so confident now, are you?” His husky voice murmured in your ear. You were currently bent over with your hands against his bedroom door to support yourself, your ass stuck out against him. All while your legs trembled. If one of his hands wasn’t supporting you under your stomach, you’d have collapsed by now.

Strong hands gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to get a good look at your fucked out expression, and your stretched neck that was littered with deep purple marks. All you could do was softly cry out in pleasure as a reply to his question, which earned a dark chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Regretting your choice yet?” You shook your head with teary eyes. You couldn’t see his face, cloaked beneath the secrecy of a bright green racing helmet, but you knew for a fact he was smirking. Every thrust was carried out confidently, sending a resounding smack through the room. The sounds were sticky from the buildup of arousal.

“Laan,” You drawled out his name, eyes twitching as you struggled to keep them open. You could feel another orgasm approaching— Just one of many for the night. “P-Please—”

“Please what?” Another tug of the hair, making you whimper. “Use your words, pretty.”

“Let me cum,” You whined, your voice trembling. He continued silently for another thrust or two before the hand on your stomach traveled down to massage your clit, sending you over the edge. You squealed out, lurching forward to rest against the door.

He pulled his throbbing length out, releasing onto your back. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lando scooped you up and gently laid you on his mattress, littering your aching body with kisses upon the removal of his helmet.

“You did so good for me.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles and you had been together for a while, and it was safe to say you knew your way around each other’s bodies. However, neither of you quite knew the other’s mind.

It was hard to pinpoint the specific kinks and such. If you were both paying attention you could figure out the little things you liked— For example, Charles liked kitten licks on the tip, and he loved you in red lingerie. And you liked sensual sex with romance and eye contact.

However, there was something you had never been able to admit until now. “Can you keep the helmet on for tonight?” He blinked at your question, already half naked and hovering over you, who was… Entirely naked.

“Keep the helmet on?”

“Yeah. Just to try it out.”

It didn’t take much convincing.

The entire experience changed when the helmet came on. Maybe you were expecting him to take a dominant stance, but it seemed as soon as the mask came on he was a whining and stuttering mess.

Charles was propped up on his elbows as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself further onto his impaled cock. He couldn’t even form a sentence, just desperately grip your hips and occasionally involuntarily thrust up into your tight heat. He was thankful for the helmet, actually. That way you couldn’t see his pathetic expression.

“Feels good,” You praised, your voice like honey. He squeezed the fat of your hips tighter, both of his index fingers anxiously tapping against your skin. He wasn’t normally so… Submissive like this.

You reached out, lifting the visor of his helmet to unveil his eyes. Just his eyes, that’s all you could see, but they told you exactly what you needed to know. With furrowed brows and a watery gaze, he made direct eye contact with you.

His hands traveled to find yours, squeezing them tight while you rode him. He could barely ground himself, but your steady presence certainly helped. “Y/N-” He finally managed to splutter out, his legs twitching and his hips jerking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” You whispered, moving your hips faster. “You got it, you’re doing great.” At your praise, he seemed to lose it, spilling deep inside you.

His body collapsed against the mattress, leaving you to carefully lift his helmet and brush his damp hair away from his eyes.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You came home from a stressful day to your boyfriend standing in the dining room, examining his racing helmet under the light. “What are you doing?” You questioned softly as you set your things down on the table.

Her flinched, but relaxed as soon as he realized it was just you, and there was no need to be worried. “Just thinking.” You raised your brow as if asking ‘about?’ He showed you the helmet, and you just shrugged with a lack of understanding. “I want to fuck you with it on.”

You blinked at his forwardness, your gaze shifting from the helmet, and then to him. “If you’re comfortable with it, I don’t mind.”

Sex with Carlos was typically slow and sensual, just what you needed after a long day.

Not this time.

He had you folded in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Your knees were pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets as he fucked into you in your folded position. He hovered over you, one hand on the headboard and the other on the curve of your ass.

He grunted, but most of the noise was coming from you. “C-… Carlos!” You yelped, surprised by the change in tone. Your eyes twitched, threatening to roll back into your skull. You tried to swallow your moans, but it was impossible to keep silent.

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands, bringing them up to hold your own legs back. He busied his digits with your hole. Two fingers circled your needy clit, making your legs ache and shake. The other two slid right in with his cock, plunging in and out in a rhythmic manner.

“Feel good?” He questioned in that thick accent, ensuring your comfort over all. You couldn’t form a coherent response, leaving you to just nod a silent yes.

It seemed like ages he toyed with your poor hole, but finally he pulled free and let himself release onto your stomach. You let your legs fall to the mattress, twitching occasionally. Both of you panted as he removed the helmet, sweat dripping from his forehead. His hair was beautifully messy.

“That was…” He trailed off.

“Hot,” You finished for him.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You had been giggling to yourself all day as you stared at your phone. It was beginning to make Oscar anxious as he automatically assumed the worst. With sudden steeled courage, he decided to confront you.

“What have you been looking at? You haven’t stopped laughing at your phone.” His tone was calm, but inside he was slightly panicked. That is, until you turned the phone around to show him an edit. Of himself.

He had seen a few of them. Ever since him and Lando filmed that video showing off their helmets, the fans had been going crazy. “What about it?” He tilted his head, not unlike the way he did in said video. Your ovaries basically exploded.

“Do you have your helmet?” He nodded. “Put it on.”

Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

This… Wasn’t exactly what Oscar had been expecting. He knew you had something filthy in mind, but to suck him off while he was wearing nothing but his helmet was a little absurd, even for you.

Thankfully, he accepted the freak in you.

Your tongue darted out to give his tip a little lick, the cold metal of your tongue piercing making him twitch. He shuddered, a deep groan leaving his lips. Without even thinking, his hands grabbed the back of your head. However, he relaxed before making any sharp movements, and let it rest there for now.

You experimented further, plump lips encasing his whole tip, cheeks hollowing experimentally. He groaned, head tilted back momentarily. You looked at him through your lashes, giggling around his length when he peered back down, the movement unbearably attractive in your eyes.

You placed your hands on his thighs to balance yourself, and slowly took more of him in. He tried to keep quiet, but he could only bite back so many groans before they started to flood out. As your pace increased, his grip on the back of your head did, too.

Eventually, you weren’t even moving anymore. He was just full on face fucking you to get himself off, and you didn’t care. You let your mouth be used by your boyfriend, whose hips were jerking in and out in a spontaneous rhythm.

He finally came to a stop, his length twitching as he pulled it out. Half of his seed was shot onto your face, while the rest was expertly aimed for your mouth.

He was breathing heavily as he lifted the helmet, peering down at you with a heaving chest. “Holy shit.”

That was by far the most emotion anyone had ever gotten out of him.

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wingedshadowfan · 5 months ago

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do y'all not even realize jinx altered caitlyn's entire arc by kidnapping her and that bcuz of it caitlyn had a good enough reason to hate jinx before jinx even bombed the council and killed her mother in the process??

yes, jinx kidnapped her but it was heavily implied jinx kidnapped her from her fucking bathroom. i'm sorry but how fucking terrifying is that? the one place where you're at your most vulnerable, literally naked. then, jinx must've forcibly dressed caitlyn up in her enforcer uniform (you can argue she just politely waited in a corner for caitlyn to finish showering and get dressed but it was late evening and caitlyn had nowhere to go and no reason to put her uniform on after a shower, and even if you claim jinx allowed her to get dressed herself - why the fuck would caitlyn choose her uniform, considering who was kidnapping her), then jinx took her to the undercity and held her hostage there by herself for an entire day before she got silco and vi to join the tea party.

during this time, of course caitlyn would've tried to escape, like did we all see her with that broken wine glass? she was just waiting for a chance. but the fact that she couldn't escape likely means jinx was there with her the entire time (aside from when she was gone for silco and for vi). and what do you think happened between them so that caitlyn wouldn't try to escape during the time jinx was gone? what do you think jinx had done to make caitlyn flinch when she approached her?

we may never know but i'll give you a hint. when jinx tells vi she made her girlfriend a snack, she pulls off the cloche to reveal... a single cupcake.

how would jinx know about that unless she'd forced caitlyn to tell her? vi gave jinx her name. that's what she was, a jinx. of course jinx would've wanted to know what name she'd given caitlyn. but you're so sweet, like a cupcake. of course caitlyn wouldn't have wanted to tell jinx that, not only bcuz of its implication for her relationship with vi but for the fact that it would only make jinx angrier, more insane and more destructive - her only reason to kidnap caitlyn and want her dead in the first place was the fact she thought vi had replaced her with caitlyn. so she somehow got caitlyn to tell her. eventually. if i had to guess how, i'd say jinx waterboarded her - since caitlyn's hair was wet when jinx pulled her chair in, and there's no way it wouldn't have dried since her shower (24hr ago), even though it's also possible caitlyn was so scared and nervous that it was sweat.

and unless i'm mistaken, vi doesn't call caitlyn cupcake again up until after caitlyn tackles her on the border of the noxian camp. so perhaps vi connected the dots after seeing the cupcake and this became yet another thing she felt guilty for her sister doing to caitlyn, or perhaps there just hadn't been an appropriate moment to be flirty again after caitlyn's literal mother died. but vi hasn't called caitlyn cupcake again since. and, metaphorically and only half-jokingly, caitlyn stopped being sweet. the caitlyn we knew from season one was gone. and i hate to say it, because i strongly advocate that vi calling caitlyn cupcake is not what made her decide to betray ambessa, but it had a grounding power over her and i wonder if it would've made a difference in caitlyn's choices if vi had done it sooner. if she'd been reminded sooner of who she was, and what vi meant to her.

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jezebelblues · 7 months ago

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𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

#harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #hs1 #2016 harry #lhh #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #one direction #one direction smut #one direction imagine

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

Text

Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC.

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future.

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field.

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe).

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.”

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn’t sound too bad right now at all.

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat.

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab.

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?”

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly.

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder.

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes.

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things.

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused.

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen.

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general.

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies.

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face.

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day.

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way.

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips. When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping his bag a little tighter to him.

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.”

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?”

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away.

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk.

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.”

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent.

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable.

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional.

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence.

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading.

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time.

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.” He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him.

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply.

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away.

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could.

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond.

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?”

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space.

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen.

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you.

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office.

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt.

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat.

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention.

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same.

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer.

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.”

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line?

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you.

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before.

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face.

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again.

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist, and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now.

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat.

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed.

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?”

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind.

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day.

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?” You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him.

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands. Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands.

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night.

-X-

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