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idontplaytrack · 5 months ago

Note

aaaaa!!! you opened regina requests!! i love your work sm and im so glad abt this 😭 can i request regina x fem!reader where regina's had a really bad day and she just feels insecure about her body the moment she gets home and reader comforts her and eases her worries?? basically body worship fluff (or if you wanna make it more spicy, up to you!!) i trust your brain. tysmmm <33

She will be loved

Regina George x fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut. Coarse language, insecurity about body image, angst, comfort/fluff

“You can speak of anger and doubts

Your fears and freak outs and I'll hold it

You can share your so called shame filled accounts

Of times in your life and I won't judge it”

Last night, you were on the phone with Regina and something seemed off so you gave her a video call. You were right, because she told you something had happened between her and her Mom. Which unfortunately wasn’t unusual, but so infuriating because you knew what happened. It was usually one of three things— what she ate, what she wore or her grades. Of course, those were the main…quote-unquote, problems. There were always more issues in June’s opinion than meets the eye.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She looks at you, then away, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Regina.” You insisted.

“No, I don’t. Not now, and not over a FaceTime call.”

“Okay.” You agreed, “Let me know when you’re ready. If you want to, I’ll come over, or I can pick you up.”

“Not tonight, I just— I just need to sleep this one off. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

The lack of a nickname addressing you at the end? This was one of her tells that she really wasn’t in the mood, or had the energy to talk. She needed alone time, to calm down and get rest. So you let her off the hook— you said good night to her and hung up. “Good night, I love you.” You said, smiling softly. She forced a smile, “Night.”

“See you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 7:15.”

You were expecting school to be a little rough, and you were right. She was expecting the same too. “G, why do you always get cheese fries? The other options are not all bad.”

“Just not feeling those options, Gretch.”

Well, it was a genuine question. The school food was great here compared to what you had at your old school.

“Okay.” Gretchen stopped asking and went back to chatting with Karen. Meanwhile, Regina’s brows were knit together. She seemed to be thinking, but then also…started to seem like she was in distress. “Regina.” You said quietly, looking at her.

She took a deep breath, “I’m fine.” You didn’t buy it, she was already in a bit of a…bad mood after yesterday. Every little interaction like that, it only seemed to push her closer and closer to a breakdown. “I’ll be okay, y/n.” She insisted, “I got this.” No one else at the table noticed. Not Karen, not Gretchen…just you. Her voice was quivering, her eyes— shifty, and glossy. She wasn’t okay. “Do you wanna go home?”

“Home?” She bites back a scoff, “No, thanks.”

“To mine?” You clarified.

“No.” Regina shook her head, she went back to eating her food. You couldn’t help it but keep an eye on her. Why was it so damn hard for her to accept any help? To open up? To you of all people?

After lunch, there were three more classes left. You didn’t have the last two with her so you couldn’t exactly make sure she was alright. You could only hope.

“I’ll meet you at your locker after the last bell. okay?” You pecked her cheek.

“Okay, baby.” She smiles softly, then evidently biting the inside of her cheek before she turned to leave. You usually had no problem being away from her but when things got tough, you hated that. You would spend all day, everyday with her if you could. “Hey.” You hear Regina behind you as she tapped your shoulder. Turning around to face her, your greet, “Hi. Let’s go?”

She nodded silently as then took her hand in yours and walked out of school with her. Regina sits in the front with you, like she always does. Except she was just sitting there and staring into space— another bad thing. You had to get her out of that god awful place in her mind.

“Regina, you know this. We gotta talk about it.”

“What’s there that you don’t already know?” She asked, defeated.

You shut your bedroom door, gesturing for Regina to sit down. She does, letting out a sigh as she looked up at you. Her gaze follows you as you moved towards her and sat down in the spot beside her. “I’ll be fine, you know. Always happens, I just need to deal with it until it blows over.”

“What happened, Reg?”

She wanted to scoff but bit back, “Well, you know my mom.”

Of course.

“It’s the same thing, every time, y/n.” Regina replied through gritted teeth, the annoyance within her bubbling up to the surface. “Everytime. ‘Regina, maybe you shouldn’t wear that. It’s too tight, it doesn’t look good.’, ‘Regina, leave the cupcakes alone. You’ve had enough food for the day. We gotta watch what we eat’, ‘Regina, have you worked out today?’ I am so sick of it.”

You gazed into her eyes as she revealed all of that and more to you. “She’s been like this my whole life. Why am I still not used to it? Why am I still listening to what she says? I know it’s no good for me, but I just— I can’t stop thinking about what she’s been feeding my mind for the last eighteen years.”

You grabbed her hands and held them in yours, giving them a squeeze. Tears were starting to fall from her eyes…she was blinking profusely, trying to get rid of them, flustered. “It’s okay.” You assured.

She shook her head, sniffling.

“Regina.” You repeated, “It’s okay. Let it out. All of it.”

“When I was a kid, she used to make me finish my plate no matter what.” Regina exhaled shakily, “Then when I got older, I listened to my body, you know? I stopped eating when I was full but she’d tell me I was wasting food if I threw out what was left on my plate. I didn’t want her to get mad, so as pissed as I was, I finished my plate. I was pretty active, so it didn’t really affect me. Middle school, puberty happened. My body changed.”

Wiping away her tears quickly, she continued, “And I always held more weight somehow. Well then, you know what. My eating habits got bad and I’d go days at a time without eating. Then it was the opposite. Now I’ve just been trying to heal from all of that but she’s been making it hell for me and sometimes I cannot do anything but feel like shit for a few days then get back to normal. We’ve been together almost a year, we’re off to college next year. We’re going to be adults but I’m still plagued by childhood problems. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous.” You told her, leaning down to catch her gaze, “It’s not. You’ve been putting in a lot of effort to get better and anyone would be stupid to not see that.”

“Really?” She scoffs, “Even when I have days where I literally do nothing but cry about what she’s told me years ago, or do even worse things, because of her?”

“Yeah. Even then. It takes a lot of strength and courage to push through all that, and pick yourself back up. Which you do, every single time no matter how hard it gets.”

Her frame seemed less tense by the time she stopped talking. With your thumb brushing over her knuckles, you said, “Regina, I need you to remember that I’ll always be here for you. Not just for the good things, for anything. Tough, sad, infuriating. Anything at all. You are not alone. I’m your partner.”

She looks at you, tears welling up in her eyes again.

“I know it’s hard, I know why so you don’t have to keep explaining yourself. And I know it seems like I’m offering nothing but companionship. But that’s sort of what a partner is. I’m here, to keep you company. No matter what life throws at you.”

Another deep sigh falls from her lips before she goes, “Thank you.”

“I love you.”

A pink hue tinted her tear-stain cheek as she tried to hide a smile. “I love you so much.” You added on.

“I love you too.” She squeezed your hand in return.

“And you know I’d do anything for you.” You smiled while your hand rested on her thigh.

————

Regina tensed up slightly at that touch. A harsh exhale was heard from her as you smirked to yourself. “Anything…” Your finger traced her pale skin. You looked up, meeting her eyes once again. Regina had that look, she wanted this. She wanted you. “To prove it.”

“Do you want me to make you feel good, hm?” Your hand relocated onto her cheek, cupping her face. Like a switch has flipped, she immediately gave in to the temptation and nodded eagerly. Her eyes closed and you leaned in to capture her lips into your own. Fleeting kisses were swiftly followed by longer kisses…ones of desire. A whine slips from her mouth in the midst, sending a rush of heat that pooled between your own thighs. You’d back her up against the headboard, she sat with her legs naturally spread open while you straddled her, your knees on either side of her hips. You hands were grabbing her face, lips having never left hers since they latched on several minutes prior.

Regina whimpers this time. You chuckled, “You want more?” It was a little amusing to see her reduced to nothing but meek little noises when under your control. You loved it though, having slightly more dominance over her than typical. And well? She loves being beneath you, that’s for sure. Her head rolls back on reflex, inviting you to work her neck over. And expectedly, when you’ve hit a certain little spot, you’ve earned your first moan. Smiling to yourself, you continued your action until she got louder and squirmier. “Fuck.” She cursed.

Your hand moves down south, grabbing a handful of her breast without having to look. Regina panted, the air right by your ear tickled you and sent a shiver down your spine.

“Take it off.” She grumbled.

“As you wish, baby.” You smirked, reaching back underneath her shirt and unclipping her bra before you detach yourself from her and removed her shirt then got the bra out of the way. Your lips resume its work along her neck, your fingers play with her tit on one hand. You tug on the teat, and she gives you a pretty high pitched moan. “Does that feel good, honey?”

“Yeah—” She says, you didn’t even let her finish that word before you pinched that hardening tip between your fingers. “Shit.” You climb off her, pulling her pants down on the way after getting a hurried nod of approval from her. Settling yourself down between her legs on the mattress, you wasted no time and ran your tongue up and down her slit. Already, she was breathing heavily and you saw her groping her own tits for more stimulation.

“Don’t be shy, now.” You chuckled, thumb moving to rub her clit at the same time your mouth worked. Regina flinches, a muffled noise comes from her. “Don’t hold back, Regina.” Your free hand massaged her thigh, “I want to hear you, baby. I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

The strokes of your tongue quickened, becoming firmer and more purposeful. Your hand on her clit then shifts and you instead slide two fingers inside her. Regina gasps, and flinches. Her leg moves out of position slightly but it remained that way, her body gradually getting overcome by increasing pleasure. You two digits pumped in and out of her at a leisurely but consistent pace, making sure you hit her g-spot everytime. That, sends a shock through her body without fail, making her head spin in pleasure. You feel her fingers combing through your hair roughly, keeping your head in place. Your brows were raised briefly but you carried on, “Fuck, right there— right there—” Regina whimpered, strained. “Don’t stop—”

“Mmkay, baby.” You hummed, keeping at this exact pace and place for awhile. You feel her wetness on your chin, but you couldn’t care less. You were lost in the moment, feeling her writhing beneath you, hearing her making all those noises for you. You were drawn to her like moths to a flame, your only priority now was making her feel good and making her come, worshipping this beautiful body of hers. Worshipping every single inch of her.

“You’re so beautiful.” Your mouth and fingers left her entirely, then you clambered back up to meet her face. “You’re my beautiful girl, aren’t you, Regina?” Brushing her cheek, you gave her a smile as you broke away from the kiss. You pulled her down carefully so she now laid on her back, you reattach your lips to the spot on her neck and started to kiss your way downwards…covering every bit of her exposed skin with a smooch. “Fuck—” She whined, “F—I need you, I need you. y/n—”

“Answer the question, Regina.” You smirked, fondling her tits while hovering over her. She kept quiet so you grabbed at the flesh harder, forcing the lewd noises out of her mouth, followed by impatient nods, “Y—yes— yes— oh, fuck—”

“I’ll be right back.” Kissing her once more, you got off her and then the bed.

“Baby, come on.” She grumbled.

“Just getting the strap, babe.” You winked, “Be patient~”

Regina exhales exasperatedly, looking at you while you walk to your closet and put on the harness behind its door. You’ve gotten her all hot and bothered already and you were absolutely enjoying yourself at this moment. “Open up, baby.” You tapped her thigh and she did as you told her to. Dragging the tip of the shaft along her throbbing cunt, the whining and whimpering from her resumes. “Aw.” You teased, “Are you ready, darling?”

“Yes— yes— oh my God…” She swallowed thickly, nodding her head while she kept looking at you. She knew you would ask for eye contact, so she did it first.

“Please, do it, please.” Regina pleaded desperately.

“Oh, good girl.” You smiled cheekily, lining up the tip of the shaft with her entrance. You were swift, pushing into her before she could say anything. All you heard was a low moan when you entered her and gradually bottomed out. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” She replied in a whisper, unintentionally whimpering at the end. You retracted and pushed into her more forcefully, a whimper just erupts from her throat like that. Hearing her just spurs you on, you went faster and faster, plus her noises matched up with your movements. It quite literally feels as though you were ascending into a whole new dimension. The noise of both your skin hitting each other’s, combined with the wetness? Whatever it was, it was obscene and had you weak in the knees. But, you persisted. Your hand was on her knee, pushing that leg of hers up as you continued railing to her. She was babbling…curse words, your name, incoherent noises. Goddamn. Her mind was one clouded mess, miles away by now.

When Regina’s back arched off the mattress, she exclaimed, “Oh, fuck!”

You looked at her, slightly worried, “You okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” She gasped, “Don’t— don’t stop. That feels so fucking good, baby. Keep going— I’m so close— so close—”

“Alright~” You smiled, relieved and eager, “Don’t hold back, Regina.” You resumed your consistent motion of impaling her, watching her face contort, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” She babbled in a daze. “Let it all go, Reg. Let it all go.”

“God, you’re insane…” She panted, breathless.

“You’re the one gushing now and I’m barely doing anything anymore.” You retorted.

“God, keep going.”

“What?”

“I want more, keep going.” Her voice was airy, soft. “Keep going?”

You nodded, giving her what she wanted and completely disregarding the state of your sheets. “Oh, you’re so hot, baby.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Regina chewed on her lower lip, “I— I need your mouth— God, fuck—”

Once again, you went along with her happily, pulling out of her then promptly diving back into her cunt, tasting every last drop of her. And yet, she just kept spilling into your mouth. At this point? You couldn’t care less if you drowned. “Damn.” You chuckled, “How far can you go?”

“Push me.” She ordered.

“Well, since you asked…” You shoved your fingers back inside her, assaulting her sensitive spot while lapping her up without complaints.

Somehow, her pitch got higher, making you giddy. You feel her tightening around your fingers rapidly, and you kept going to push her over the edge again. She came, and she came hard. She even backed away a little, so you immediately stopped. That was it, she didn’t want more and you knew. It’d been discussed— if she backs away like that, you’d stopped.

With a tentative hand on her thigh, you shushed her, trying to help her find her breath again. “You’re okay, I got you. You’re okay.”

She nodded, “I know, I know. Oh— my God, I love you.” Hiding her face in her hands to hide the blushing, you brushed her hands away when you crawled back up to lay down next to her. “Look at me.” You held her face in your hand, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She does, and you continue, “I love you. sometimes your mind’s gonna try to convince you otherwise…but, I really, really do. I love you so fucking much and I never want you to forget that.”

“After all of that? I won’t ever be able to get you out of my mind.” She jokes, her usual smirk on her face.

“I mean it. I love everything about you, every little bit of you. Just like you do me. You are perfect the way you are.”

Regina kisses you back, snuggling closer to you. “I know you do, and I promise. No more of that ‘keeping things to myself’ next time…I’ll try my best to talk about it, with you, or with a therapist.”

“And if you ever need to get away from your house, please don’t hesitate to come over to my place. Please. Come over here yourself, or call me, or text me. Anything.”

“Roger that.” She smiled just slightly, which turned into a smirk. “Also, you are freakishly good at whatever that was. Never came this hard in my life.”

“Well, you also did more than that, but…anything for you, eh?” Your fingers traced along her arm. Regina chuckles, “Oh, I’m just as shocked as you are. Sorry about the mess.”

“I’m not sorry, Reg. They’re just sheets.” You laughed, rubbing her back. “You wanna take a shower? Freshen up?”

“That sounds nice, sure.”

“Alright.” You got up first, then pulled her up, “Let’s go.” She smacks you on the ass while you walk ahead of her, entering the ensuite bathroom first. You gasped, “Regina.”

“I think, it’s only fair that you get your turn too now.” She whispers into your ear, sending a chill down your back. “Do you want that, baby girl?”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

So…my first Regina x reader smut 🫣

251 notes · View notes

ijustmissyouraccenths · 14 hours ago

Text

Venom & Honey: Il

Where a girl once set out to catch a killer, and now shares his bed, his secrets, and the darkness he brought out in her.

Part two of Harry, a serial killer.

*Part one *

Content warnings: mentions of murder, blood, knives, cursing and filthy talk.

Word Count: 11k

The air in the courtroom was suffocating.

Y/N sat in the front row, her hands clenched together in her lap, nails pressing into her skin. She forced herself to stay still, to breathe, to keep her face neutral.

She had to watch this.

She had to see him go down.

The judge’s voice rang out, clear and absolute.

“Harry Edward Styles, you have been found guilty on all charges. You are sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.”

A rush of noise swept through the room—whispers, murmurs, a sharp sob from someone in the back.

But Harry didn’t flinch.

He didn’t react at all.

He sat in his chair, wrists cuffed, posture relaxed, his signature smirk still curling at the edge of his lips.

Like this was all a game.

Like he’d let them think they’d won.

Y/N swallowed, her throat tight, her skin hot under the weight of his gaze. Because he was looking right at her. She was burning.

Not at the judge. Not at the officers preparing to haul him away.

At her.

And when they came to take him, when the cold snap of metal echoed through the room as they grabbed his arms—

He snarled.

Not in anger.

In amusement.

His lips pulled back, teeth flashing, his eyes burning with something wild, something dark, something thrilled.

And then—

He smiled.

A slow, evil, knowing smile, one that made her stomach twist, made her breath hitch before she could stop it.

It was a promise.

A warning.

A threat.

They were dragging him away, pulling him toward a future that should have been a cage.

But the last thing Y/N saw before he disappeared through the doors—

Was his mouth moving.

Silent words.

Ones she would never forget.

“This isn’t over.”

Her blood ran cold.

Because somehow, someway…

She knew he was right.

It had been a year.

A full year since the trial, since the last time she saw him, since the last time she heard his voice.

Harry Styles was gone—rotting in a cell where he belonged.

Y/N had spent months convincing herself of that. Months rebuilding her life, pushing away the memories, trying to forget the way he had looked at her as they dragged him out of the courtroom.

But lately… something felt off.

It started small.

Little things she brushed off at first.

A window left slightly open when she was sure she had locked it.

The faintest scent of cologne in her apartment—something dark and musky, something that smelled like him.

Her phone buzzing in the middle of the night—unknown caller, no message left.

She told herself she was imagining it. That it was her mind playing tricks on her, that she was just paranoid, that she didn’t want it.

But then, one night, she found her front door unlocked.

And that?

That wasn’t her imagination.

That was real.

Her stomach twisted as she stood there in the doorway, staring at the lock, at the bolt that should have been turned but wasn’t.

She lived alone.

No one else had a key.

And yet, someone had been inside.

Her hands trembled as she pushed the door open, stepping in slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Nothing looked out of place.

No broken windows, no drawers rummaged through, no sign of a break-in.

In every creak of her bones, she felt it.

That eerie, crawling sensation at the back of her neck, the prickling awareness that she wasn’t alone.

That someone had been here.

That someone was watching.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself to shake it off.

Harry was in prison.

Harry was gone.

But for the first time in a year—

She wasn’t so sure.

Y/N locked the door.

Turned the bolt. Checked it twice. Stared at it for a full minute, willing herself to believe that it had been her mistake.

A lapse in memory. A long day. A moment of carelessness.

Nothing more.

She would not let herself spiral.

So, she took a breath, shaking the unease from her limbs, and forced herself to move on.

She made her favorite tea. Put on a mindless show. Scrolled through her phone.

But the entire time, she could feel it—that wrongness.

Like the air in her apartment had shifted. Like the walls had eyes that were watching her every move.

Every creak of the floorboards made her stomach twist. Every gust of wind against the window made her flinch.

She was being stupid. Paranoid.

But when she finally went to bed, she locked her bedroom door. Just in case.

The next morning, she convinced herself she had overreacted.

She threw herself into work, into routine, into anything that didn’t leave room for fear.

By the time the sun had set again, she felt normal.

Until she saw the mirror.

She was getting ready for bed, moving through her nighttime routine, when she noticed it.

The smudges.

Faint. Almost invisible in the dim light.

Like fingerprints.

Like someone had touched the glass.

Her stomach twisted as she stepped closer, heart hammering, fingers hovering over the faint outlines.

She never touched the mirror like this.

She never stood close enough to leave prints at this angle.

But someone had.

And when she exhaled, the breath fogged up the glass—revealing a streak that shouldn’t have been there.

A single, slow drag of someone’s fingertip.

Down the center of the mirror.

Her pulse roared in her ears, her throat going tight.

This wasn’t paranoia.

This wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her.

Someone had been here.

And somehow, she knew— It was him.

Y/N sat stiffly on the couch, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater as she stared past her therapist’s shoulder. The office was warm, dimly lit with soft yellow lighting, a candle flickering on the corner of the desk. It smelled like lavender, like something meant to be soothing.

She wasn’t soothed.

Dr. Bennett sat across from her, watching her carefully. A legal pad rested on her lap, pen poised between her fingers, waiting.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing her nails into her palm. “I think I might be losing it.”

Dr. Bennett didn’t react. “Tell me why you think that.”

She hesitated, swallowing against the dryness in her throat.

“It’s just… little things.” She shifted, fingers curling into the hem of her sleeve. “Doors unlocked when I swore I locked them. Noises in my apartment. My mirror had fingerprints on it, ones that weren’t mine.”

The words sounded ridiculous out loud.

She could hear the paranoia in them, the way they clung to her like something suffocating.

Dr. Bennett nodded, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been through something traumatic, Y/N. After what happened with Harry, it’s understandable that your mind is searching for threats. Even ones that might not be there.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “I know that’s what it sounds like. I know it sounds like I’m being paranoid, but—” She inhaled sharply, rubbing at her temple. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels real.”

Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

Y/N hesitated. “A few weeks.”

“And have you checked in on him?”

Her stomach turned.

She hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to. The idea of searching for him made her chest tighten, made something crawl beneath her skin. If she found nothing, she could breathe again.

If she found something…

She didn’t know what she’d do.

Dr. Bennett’s voice softened. “Y/N, sometimes our minds play tricks on us. When we experience fear for long enough, we start seeing it in places it doesn’t exist. Have you thought about looking up his records? Seeing where he is now?”

Y/N clenched her teeth. “No.”

“But you could.”

She looked away, fingers twitching against her knee.

She could.

She should.

Because if she did, if she saw proof that he was still locked away—

Then she’d know.

She’d know she was just being paranoid.

She’d know that the wrongness in her apartment, the mirror, the unlocked door—

It was all in her head.

Right?

Dr. Bennett gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you try? It might give you some peace of mind.”

Y/N inhaled deeply, nodding once. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

But when she left the office, stepping into the cold evening air, she didn’t feel better.

She felt worse.

Because part of her already knew what she was going to find.

Nothing.

And somehow, that terrified her more than anything.

Y/N sat at her desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Her apartment was quiet, save for the hum of her laptop, the only light coming from the screen. The glow cast soft shadows across the walls, stretching and shifting whenever she moved.

She didn’t want to do this, she had to.

Her therapist was right—if she checked, if she saw his name on the prison registry, she could let this go.

She typed in the website for the state’s inmate records, her breath coming slow and shallow as the page loaded. Her hands felt cold, her pulse a dull thud in her ears.

Her fingers moved before she could think too much about it.

Harry Edward Styles.

The cursor blinked, waiting, expectant.

She hit enter.

The page loaded.

And then—

Nothing.

Her stomach twisted.

She hit refresh.

Checked the spelling.

Tried again.

Still nothing.

Her breath hitched, panic coiling tight in her chest. Her fingers scrambled for her phone, quickly searching his full name, the prison he was supposed to be in.

No news articles about an escape.

No public records stating his release.

No proof that he was anywhere.

It was like he’d been erased.

Like he’d never been locked away in the first place.

Y/N’s hands began to shake.

Because this wasn’t paranoia.

It wasn’t trauma.

It was real.

Harry was gone.

And somehow—he’d made sure no one would know.

Her stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rolling through her.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the window, making her jump.

The shadows on the wall stretched, flickering as the light from her laptop screen shifted.

Her throat went dry.

She wasn’t alone.

She could feel it.

A presence.

A shadow.

Something watching.

She turned slowly, heart hammering, breath locked in her throat—

And the lights went out.

A sharp inhale was all she managed before the darkness swallowed her whole.

The moment the lights went out, Y/N barely had time to react.

Her breath hitched, heart slamming against her ribs as her hands scrambled for her phone, for anything—

But she wasn’t fast enough.

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Her body went rigid, a muffled scream swallowed by the thick fabric suddenly pressed against her face. The scent was strong, chemical, suffocating.

Chloroform.

Fuck.

She kicked, thrashed, her nails clawing at the skin of the hand holding her in place. She tried to scream, to bite, to do anything—

But the dizziness hit fast.

Her vision blurred, her limbs turned to lead.

She was falling.

No—being caught.

She felt strong arms wrap around her as her body slumped, her mind slipping into darkness.

The last thing she heard before everything went black—

Was a soft chuckle.

Low. Amused. Familiar.

“Shhh, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.”

Then—

Nothing.

Y/N woke up with a pounding headache.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as she blinked against the dim morning light filtering through her curtains.

Her mouth was dry. Her head swam with dizziness. She felt hungover.

But she hadn’t been drinking.

She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead. Something was wrong.

Her sheets were tangled around her legs, her pillows slightly out of place. Had she thrashed in her sleep?

The night before felt fuzzy. Disjointed.

She remembered working at her desk. Searching for Harry’s records. Finding nothing.

Then the lights had gone out.

Her stomach twisted, a deep unease curling through her.

Had that been real?

Had she actually felt someone behind her? Had she actually struggled against hands that weren’t her own?

Or had it been a nightmare?

A cold shiver rolled through her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, moving carefully. Her head still felt off, like it wasn’t fully attached to her body.

She needed water. Needed to clear her head.

Pushing herself to her feet, she made her way toward the bathroom, her hand reaching for the knob.

She turned it. It didn’t budge.

Her stomach dropped.

She tried again. Twisted harder. Still locked.

Her breath caught, fingers tightening around the handle, pulse ticking up in slow, creeping realization.

She never locked her bathroom door.

A sound from behind her made her freeze.

A shift in the air. A presence.

And then—A voice. Low. Amused.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her pulse spiked.

Slowly, she turned.

And there—leaning against the wall, smirking like he belonged there—

Was Harry. Alive. Here. In her fucking bedroom.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Because for the first time in a year, she was looking into the eyes of the man she had put away. Y/N’s entire body locked up. Her mouth was dry, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she tried to force rational thought through the rising panic in her chest. She needed to get out, needed to move, needed to wake up from whatever fucked-up reality she had just been dropped into.

But her feet were rooted to the floor, her back pressed to the locked door, her breath coming in shallow bursts that she couldn’t steady.

Harry took a step forward, slow and unbothered, like she was an animal he was waiting to bolt. His eyes flickered down the length of her body, taking in the way she was still in the clothes she had worn last night—except now they were rumpled, twisted, evidence of how she had been moved without her knowing.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N inhaled sharply, her throat aching with the effort to hold back the fear clawing up from her chest. She didn’t want to give him that, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But her voice shook when she finally spoke.

“How?” she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice. “How did you get out?”

Harry exhaled a slow, amused breath, tilting his head as he stepped closer. “That’s the first thing you want to ask?” His lips curled. “Not why you woke up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck? Not why you can’t remember how you got to bed?” He took another step, closing the space between them, his voice dipping lower. “Not why the door’s locked?”

Y/N’s chest rose and fell rapidly, every muscle in her body screaming at her to run, to fight, to do something.

But she couldn’t.

Because there was nowhere to go, he had made sure of that.

Her back hit the door fully as he took the final step, crowding into her space, his warm breath ghosting over her skin, the scent of something sharp and musky filling her senses.

He was real.

He was here.

And she had never been more fucked.

Harry lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, brushing a curl from her cheek before trailing his fingers down to her chin, tilting it up just enough to force her to look at him.

His grip was gentle.

His gaze was not.

“You should be asking what I’m going to do to you now,” he murmured.

Her stomach flipped.

Harry’s thumb skimmed her jaw, his touch deceptively light, like he wasn’t holding her trapped, like he hadn’t just ripped apart the careful, controlled world she had tried to rebuild.

“But since you asked so nicely,” he mused, “I’ll tell you.”

His mouth quirked, his voice dipping into something dark, something dangerous.

“I walked out the front door, sweetheart.”

A chill rolled down her spine.

His smirk widened.

“And now?” he whispered, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, his words curling like smoke against her skin. “I’m never leaving you again.”

Harry inched closer, his body pressing into her space, the scent of him—leather, smoke, something undeniably sharp and masculine—making her stomach tighten. His hand remained firm beneath her chin, keeping her head tilted up, keeping her gaze locked with his.

“You’re going to wish I’d slit your throat the first time we met,” he murmured, his voice a slow drag of silk-covered razors.

Y/N sucked in a breath, pulse hammering beneath her skin.

His smirk deepened, his thumb pressing into her jaw just enough to feel like a warning. “Stupid, silly girl,” he murmured. “You really thought you’d gotten away from me? That you’d just go back to your little life like nothing happened? Like I wouldn’t fucking find you?”

The words stung, but not in the way they should have.

Not with fear.

With something else.

Something she didn’t want to name.

Something she refused to acknowledge.

Her body reacted before her mind could stop it.

Her fist swung up, hard and fast, colliding with his jaw with a sharp, satisfying crack.

Harry’s head snapped to the side.

For a moment, there was silence.

Y/N barely had a second to breathe before he moved.

His hand caught her wrist before she could pull back, twisting her around, forcing her onto the floor before she even knew what was happening.

The impact sent a shock through her body, knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could scramble up, he was on her.

Straddling her.

Holding her down.

One hand gripped her wrist, pinning it above her head, the other pressing firm against her chest, keeping her trapped beneath his weight.

His breath was ragged, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something vicious.

“You just don’t fucking learn, do you?” he growled, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into her skin. “Always running your mouth. Always thinking you’re smarter than me. Always thinking you have a fucking choice.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his touch. Her limbs twitched beneath him, her body thrumming, every nerve on fire.

She should be fighting. She should be screaming. She should be terrified.

But she wasn’t.

Because, God help her—She had wanted this. Not the fear. Not the helplessness.

But the weight of him. The heat of his skin.

The way his hand wrapped around her wrist like it belonged there, the way his breath ghosted over her lips, rough and heavy, filled with the kind of anger that made her pulse quicken in the worst possible way.

And before she could stop herself— She smiled.

Harry froze.

His eyes flickered, searching, his fingers twitching slightly against her skin.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” he muttered, his voice low, edged with something almost… confused.

Y/N swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.

“Nothing,” she whispered, her lips still curved, the weight of her secret burning at the back of her throat.

Harry narrowed his eyes. His grip on her wrist flexed, his body shifting slightly, pressing her further into the floor.

“Liar,” he murmured.

Her smile widened.

And Harry’s pulse fucking jumped.

Because this wasn’t fear.

Harry’s breath came hard and slow, his weight pressing her deeper into the floor, his grip unrelenting.

But it wasn’t just rage in his eyes anymore.

No, it was something else.

Y/N could see the shift, the way his expression flickered, the way his fingers flexed against her skin like he was testing her.

Like he was trying to figure out what, exactly, she was made of.

He tipped his head, smirk still curling at the edge of his lips, amused, disbelieving. “You’re smiling,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over the inside of her wrist, pressing just hard enough to feel her pulse beneath it. “I have you on the fucking floor, a knife was at your throat not even five minutes ago, and you’re smiling.”

His voice was slow, laced with something sharp.

Something dangerous.

Y/N licked her lips, her throat aching with the effort to keep her breaths steady.

She should say something.

Something smart. Something biting.

But she didn’t trust her voice.

Not when he was looking at her like this.

Like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

Harry hummed, tilting his head, his fingers dragging slowly down her arm, brushing over the exposed skin, testing, waiting.

“Do you like this, sweetheart?” His voice was quiet now, almost like a whisper, but deadly. “Is that it?”

Her stomach flipped.

She swallowed, her jaw tightening.

“You want me to believe you’re terrified,” he mused, his grip tightening again, forcing her still. “But you’re not, are you?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“You should be,” he murmured, voice low, thick, edged with something dark. “You should be fucking shaking. You should be begging. You should be crying. But instead—”

He exhaled a soft, disbelieving chuckle.

“Instead, you’re smiling.”

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle in her body locking up as he pressed his palm against her chest again, feeling her heartbeat.

Fast. Too fast.

But not panicked.

Not scared.

Harry’s smirk widened.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You really are a sick little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N bit down on her lip, her body betraying her again, a shiver rolling through her.

Harry saw it.

Felt it.

And he fucking grinned.

“You like this,” he murmured, dragging his fingers up to her jaw, gripping it tight, tilting her face up toward him. “You like the way I could fucking ruin you, don’t you?”

Y/N’s breathing hitched, her secret unraveling in front of him.

Harry’s eyes darkened.

“You’re worse than I thought,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “And here I thought you were just a liar.”

Her stomach twisted, heat pooling at the base of her spine.

His fingers drifted lower, trailing the line of her throat, his eyes locked onto hers, watching, studying, learning.

Then—

“Admit it,” he muttered.

Her breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“Say it,” he pressed, his nose brushing against hers, his words slipping over her mouth like a secret.

“Say you like it.”

Y/N’s pulse pounded.

Her skin was on fire, every inch of her burning beneath his touch, beneath his attention.

She should have fought.

But instead she whispered, “I like it.”

Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes flickering, something dark and satisfied settling behind them.

“Of course, you do,” he murmured, his lips barely a breath from hers.

And then, he laughed.

Low.

Wicked.

Because now—

Now he knew exactly what to do with her.

Harry’s fingers tightened around her throat.

Slow at first, his palm warm against her skin, the pressure firm but not yet crushing. He was testing, waiting, watching the way her lips parted slightly, the way her pupils blown wide with something filthy and unspoken.

Y/N’s pulse hammered against his palm, a thrill shooting up her spine at the way he held her—like he owned her, like he could squeeze a little harder and end her right here if he wanted to.

And God help her—

She wanted him to, not to kill her, but to break her.

To ruin her.

Harry saw it.

And fuck, he loved it.

He leaned in, so close his breath ghosted over her cheek, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice rough, thick with something dark and amused. “You’re actually getting off on this, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

His grip flexed around her throat, pressing just a little harder, just enough to make her breath hitch.

“I could kill you,” he whispered, dragging his nose along the side of her face, his lips just barely grazing her skin. “And all you’d fucking think about is how wet it makes you.”

Heat flooded her body.

A whimper caught in her throat, her legs twitching beneath him, her entire body betraying her in real time.

Harry grinned.

“Filthy little thing,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip, his free hand skimming lower, teasing, taunting.

“You want it, don’t you?” His voice was a rasp, a taunt, a promise. “You want me to ruin you.”

Y/N gasped, barely able to think.

His fingers tightened.

“Say it,” he muttered, his mouth brushing against her jaw.

Her mind spun, her body burned, her own voice barely a breath when she finally choked out—

“Yes.”

Harry laughed.

Dark. Triumphant.

“That’s my girl.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around her throat once more, cutting off her breath just enough to make her squirm beneath him. His smirk curled wider, dark and wicked, watching the way her lips parted, waiting for the telltale sound of desperation.

Then—he let go.

Her chest heaved as air rushed back into her lungs, her head spinning, body aching with want.

But instead of giving her what she craved—what she had just fucking admitted to wanting—Harry pulled back, shaking his head with an exhale that was half amusement, half disappointment.

“Too bad,” he muttered, voice low, taunting, full of cruel satisfaction.

Y/N blinked up at him, her dazed, pleasure-hazed mind barely keeping up. “W-what?”

Harry smirked, shifting back just slightly, still straddling her, still caging her in.

“You think you get it that easy, sweetheart?” His fingers traced along her jaw, but there was no softness in it. Only control. Only ownership. “After all the bullshit you put me through?”

Her stomach dropped.

His eyes flickered, sharp and calculating, dragging over her face like he was studying her, peeling her open, exposing every lie she’d ever told.

“You want me?” he murmured, his voice turning mocking. “Want me so fucking bad, you’re smiling with my hand around your throat?”

He leaned down, his breath warm against her lips, so close she could taste him.

“Then beg.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Harry grinned. Laughed, even.

“But before that…” His hand slid back into her hair, yanking her head back just enough to make her gasp. His tone shifted, cold and sharp.

“I want answers.”

Her stomach twisted.

His grip tightened.

“Why’d you do it?” he murmured, dragging his nose along her cheek, his voice almost soft—almost. “Why were you in on the sting?”

Y/N’s pulse pounded.

She swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.

Harry smirked against her skin. “What, nothing to say now?”

“I—” she gasped, but her words tangled in her throat, her mind spinning, reeling, breaking apart.

“You wanted me,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “So fucking bad.” His grip tightened. “So tell me, sweetheart—why’d you turn me in?”

Her heart ached.

“I—” she started again, struggling against the truth she had never wanted to say aloud.

Harry’s grin widened.

“You didn’t have a choice, did you?”

Y/N’s breath shuddered.

And Harry fucking knew.

He tilted his head, watching her fall apart beneath him. “That’s it, isn’t it?” His grip loosened, just slightly, just enough to let her breathe, to let her wallow in the truth.

“You didn’t want to turn me in,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over her lips, his voice dripping in something dangerous. “They made you.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut.

“I—”

Harry clicked his tongue, his smirk returning.

“Sweet girl,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You really are fucked, aren’t you?”

Her breath froze.

Harry exhaled a slow, amused breath, shaking his head as if he pitied her. As if she was pathetic.

“Fucked little thing,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down her throat, feeling the rapid thump of her pulse. “Did they tell you what to say?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath shaky, uneven.

“Did they feed you some rehearsed little script?” he continued, tilting his head, watching her like a predator watches wounded prey. “Told you how to get close to me, how to make me trust you, how to set me up?”

Her chest rose and fell, her lips parting slightly as she struggled for words, but nothing came out.

She was trapped.

Because he was right.

She had been sent in. She had been hired to be the one to get close to him, to make him slip, to catch him in a moment of vulnerability.

But it had never been that simple.

Because Harry had gotten into her head. Had wrapped himself around her thoughts, her body, her very existence.

And now?

Now she wasn’t even sure if she had ever really wanted to stop him.

Harry hummed, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip, smearing the warmth of his skin against her mouth. “You gonna lie to me, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered, voice barely there.

Harry laughed.

“That’s what you’re going with?” His smirk widened, his grip tightening as he forced her to look at him. “That’s your excuse? You didn’t have a choice?”

Y/N burned under his gaze, her skin hot, her pulse hammering, her mind spinning in too many directions at once.

“I—”

“You could’ve walked away,” he cut her off, dragging his fingers down to her chest, pressing just hard enough to make her feel it. “Could’ve refused.”

He leaned in, so close, too close, suffocatingly close.

“But you didn’t, did you?” he whispered. “You stayed. You played your part. You set me up.”

His grip tightened.

“And now?” His lips brushed against her ear, mocking, teasing. “Now you’re under me, telling me you like it.”

“You really are a sick little girl, aren’t you?” he muttered, his voice slow, cruel. “You wanted me. Wanted to be near me. Wanted to be claimed by me.”

Y/N shivered.

Harry dragged his fingers lower, over the delicate line of her ribs, his touch taunting, his eyes burning.

“You want me now, don’t you?” His smirk widened. “Even after everything, after all the lies, after what I could do to you right now.”

Y/N’s body betrayed her.

Her breath shuddered, her stomach tightened, her mind spun with the horrible, humiliating truth.

She wanted him.

Even now.

Even like this.

Harry’s grin stretched, his fingers pressing against her hip, holding her still beneath him.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, dragging his thumb along her jaw. “Look at you.”

He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

“You did all that work to put me away,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips. “And now you’re still exactly right where I want you.”

His grip tightened.

“Say it,” he murmured, his tone dropping into something darker, something dangerous.

Y/N squirmed.

“Say you want me.”

Her breath came out ragged, her mind screaming at her to fight, to deny it, to hold onto whatever dignity she had left.

But instead—

She whispered.

“I want you.”

Harry exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against her skin, his pupils blown wide with something filthy and victorious.

“Of course, you do.”

His lips curled.

“But I’m not giving it to you.”

Her stomach dropped.

Harry grinned.

“You think you get rewarded for betraying me?” He let out a mocking laugh, his fingers digging into her hips, pressing her further into the floor. “No, sweetheart. You work for it.”

Her throat went dry.

“You beg for it,” he whispered, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. “After everything you fucking put me through? You don’t get to just have me.”

His grip flexed, his smirk taunting.

“You have to earn me.”

Y/N swallowed hard, every inch of her body on fire, every nerve screaming at her.

Harry let out a slow, heavy sigh before shaking his head.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, rolling off of her like he had just wasted his time.

Y/N blinked, breath still ragged, body still burning from the weight of him, from the way he had held her down, from the way he had looked at her like he was going to devour her whole.

But now?

Now, he was standing over her, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt, looking bored.

Bored.

Like she was nothing.

Like she was just another useless, desperate thing that had lost its appeal.

Harry stretched his neck, cracking it once before sighing. “There’s probably someone else out there more deserving of my time,” he said, barely even looking at her. “Some other girl who actually knows what she wants.”

Her stomach dropped.

Panic.

Real, raw, deep panic clawed at her throat.

Because no—no, no, no.

She couldn’t let him leave.

She wouldn’t.

Not after this.

Not after knowing what it felt like to have his hands on her, to have his full, undivided attention, to be the thing that made his pulse spike.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her hands and knees, crawling toward him.

“Please,” she gasped, voice wrecked, desperate, pathetic.

Harry stilled.

His head tilted slightly, amusement flickering in his dangerous, dark eyes.

She kept going.

“I’ll do anything,” she whispered, hands pressing into the floor as she stared up at him, shaking with need, shame, everything in between.

“Anything?” he echoed, his lips twitching.

She nodded frantically, willing to say, do, be whatever he fucking wanted.

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging his gaze down her body, watching her like she was nothing more than a pathetic little pet at his feet.

Then, after a long moment, his smirk deepened.

“Take your shirt off.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her pulse pounded.

She didn’t hesitate.

Her fingers trembled as they reached for the hem of her shirt, ready to do exactly as he said.

Y/N grabbed the hem of her shirt, fingers trembling slightly as she pulled it over her head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

She sat there, bare from the waist up, chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin burning under his gaze.

Harry didn’t react right away.

He just watched.

His expression unreadable, his eyes dragging over every inch of exposed skin, like he was committing her to memory. Or deciding what to do with her.

Her stomach tightened.

“Your pants, too,” he murmured, voice low, commanding. “Then sit on the bed.”

Y/N swallowed hard, but did as he said.

She stood just long enough to unbutton her jeans, shoving them down her legs, kicking them off before sitting back down on the edge of the mattress, waiting.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for what came next.

Harry stepped closer, standing between her legs, his fingers trailing along her bare shoulders, down her arms, over her collarbone.

Soft, almost gentle.

Her skin prickled, heat pooling in her stomach as his touch skimmed lower, teasing.

He traced the line of her ribs, his palm skimming over her stomach, sliding around her waist, squeezing.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her breath catching, her body tensing, anticipating—

But then—

Harry chuckled.

Low, amused, cruel.

Her eyes snapped open, blinking up at him in confusion.

Then, he smirked.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, fingers drifting lower, skimming her hips. “I was just checking for a wire.”

Her stomach dropped.

A wire.

He thought—

Her blood ran cold.

Harry’s smirk widened, like he was thrilled by her reaction.

“You really thought I was about to fuck you?” He let out another sharp laugh, his fingers digging into her waist for just a second before pulling away. “After what you did?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry.

Her pulse hammered, something twisting, coiling, breaking inside her.

Because he was right to check.

She had been a snitch.

She had turned him in.

Harry hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Guess it’s my turn to ask some questions,” he muttered, dragging his fingers along her jaw. “Since you’re being such a good girl for me now.”

She forced herself to swallow. Harry tilted his head, dragging his fingers down her bare arm, his touch light, teasing, but laced with something far more sinister. He was enjoying this, playing with her, unraveling her, exposing every lie she had ever told.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her cheek. “So, tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice smooth and laced with mockery. “Why you?”

Y/N swallowed hard, fingers digging into her lap, her entire body tensing.

She had known this question was coming.

She had dreaded it.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she forced herself to breathe, to keep her voice steady, to give him something real.

Because Harry could smell a lie.

She knew that.

So she gave him the truth.

“I write true crime novels,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Harry stilled.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, he let out a slow, amused exhale.

“Of course, you do, so that part of your lie was true,” he muttered, shaking his head, his fingers skimming her shoulder, her collarbone, pressing just slightly into her skin. “Fucking hell, you really are a sick little pup, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She kept going.

“I was looking for you.” Her voice wavered. “Before the police ever got involved. I—I wanted to know if the stories were real. I wanted an up-close look at you.”

Harry grinned, his hand sliding lower, taunting her. “And what did you think when you found me, sweetheart?”

Her stomach twisted.

She could still remember the first time she saw him.

The way he had looked at her.

The way her entire body had reacted to him.

The way she had wanted him before she even knew what he was.

“I…” she hesitated, her pulse racing.

Harry’s fingers trailed lower.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

She inhaled sharply.

“I was obsessed,” she whispered.

Harry laughed.

Low. Dark. Triumphant.

“Of course, you were,” he muttered, his smirk deepening.

Her breath hitched as his grip on her hip tightened.

“You wanted me,” he continued, voice silky and cruel. “But instead of coming to me like a good little girl, you ran to the police.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach churning.

“I didn’t run to them,” she muttered, her voice strained.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She forced herself to look at him.

“They found out about you on their own,” she admitted. “I had already been researching you, and when they started closing in, I—” she swallowed, “I reached out.”

Harry hummed, dragging his fingers over her jaw, gripping her chin just tight enough to hold her still.

“And they thought you were perfect for the job, didn’t they?”

Her throat bobbed.

She nodded.

“Because you looked like them,” Harry murmured. “Like the others.”

Y/N shivered.

Because she had.

That was why they had chosen her.

She fit the profile.

The dark hair. The delicate features. The softness, the sweetness.

The perfect bait.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “That’s fucking poetic,” he muttered. “The writer getting thrown into her own story.”

His fingers tightened, his grip firm but taunting.

“But you weren’t just writing about me, were you?” His voice dipped lower, something dark curling beneath it. “You were fucking dreaming about me.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat once more.

“Thinking about what it’d be like,” Harry continued, dragging his lips close to her ear. “To be one of them. To see if you’d survive. If you could make me keep you. If you could fix me. If you could fuck me. ”

Her stomach coiled.

Harry smirked against her skin.

“And now,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction, “you’re exactly where you wanted to be.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, forcing herself to keep talking.

“I thought you were…” She hesitated, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her, her body still bare from where he had made her strip down, still burning under his taunting, amused gaze.

Harry hummed, tilting his head. “Go on,” he urged, his voice slow, dripping with something mocking.

She swallowed hard, her chest tight, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

“I thought you were attractive,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “And charming.”

Harry froze.

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

He laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Cruel.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His amusement was genuine, his grin stretching wide, flashing his teeth. Harry let out another bitter chuckle, pacing in front of her, running his tongue over his bottom lip before flicking his gaze back to her.

“There are a million guys out there,” he said, raising an eyebrow, grinning like this was the funniest fucking thing in the world. “And you’re pining after the one that fucking kills people for fun?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her face burning as humiliation twisted through her.

But she couldn’t deny it.

Couldn’t argue.

Because he was right.

Harry sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders back before stepping toward her again, trapping her beneath his gaze.

“You’re the one who should be fucking institutionalized,” he said while point his finger at her and shaking his head. “Not me.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Because it wasn’t just an insult.

It wasn’t just something to throw at her in anger.

It was the truth.

She had hunted him down.

She had wanted to meet him.

She had let herself get close.

She had let herself fantasize about him, even after knowing what he was.

Harry dragged his fingers down her cheek, tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“You’re sicker than I am,” he murmured, smirking. “You just hide it better.”

Y/N didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

She was still perched on the edge of her bed, her body bare, vulnerable, exposed to the man standing over her, the man who had dragged her into this, who had unraveled every carefully crafted lie she had told herself.

And now?

Now he was looking at her like he had finally figured her out.

Harry’s smirk lingered, his fingers still curled beneath her chin, keeping her face tilted up toward him, forcing her to hold his gaze.

“You gonna deny it?” he murmured, his voice smooth, taunting, wicked. “Gonna sit there and tell me you’re not just as fucked in the head as I am?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her stomach twisting, burning, breaking apart.

Harry chuckled, his grip tightening slightly. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, his breath warm against her skin, his taunt curling through her like smoke.

His other hand trailed slowly over her collarbone, his fingers skimming the delicate line of her neck, his touch light, teasing, testing.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her body betraying her, her breath shuddering beneath him.

He saw it.

Felt it.

And fuck, he loved it.

Harry exhaled a slow, amused sigh. “You really are ill, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip, watching the way her breath hitched at his touch. “A normal girl would be crying by now.”

His smirk deepened, his fingers trailing lower, toying with the hem of her underwear, teasing her.

“A normal girl wouldn’t be sitting here,” he continued, voice dipping into something darker, something dangerous. “She’d be screaming. Fighting. Begging for me to let her go. ”

He tilted his head, dragging his thumb along her throat again.

“But you?” He hummed, shaking his head. “You’re sitting there, half-naked, still fucking wanting me. Still thinking about what it would be like to have this cock inside your mouth.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her entire body betraying her, heat coiling at the base of her spine.

Harry grinned, reading her like a book, seeing straight through her.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” His voice was slow, deadly, intoxicating.

Her stomach twisted, shame and desire colliding, melting together into something filthy, something humiliating.

She licked her lips, her voice breaking, wrecked, ruined.

“Yes.”

Harry let out a sharp laugh, his grip tightening on her hips.

“You are a stupid little thing,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.

Y/N blinked, her body screaming at the loss of contact, her breath caught in her throat.

Harry stepped back, rolling his shoulders.

“Too bad.”

Her stomach dropped.

Her lips parted, eyes widening as she processed what he had just said.

Harry smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think you get rewarded for betraying me?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart. That’s not how this works.”

She clenched her fists in her lap, anger, frustration, need all colliding inside her, breaking her down further.

Harry just grinned.

“You want my attention? You prove you deserve it.”

He tilted his head, watching her closely, waiting.

“What are you willing to do for me, sweetheart?” His voice dipped lower, his fingers tapping idly against his forearm. “How far will you go to earn me back?”

Y/N’s stomach coiled.

Because she already knew the answer.

As far as he wanted. Y/N didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

And now?

Now he was looking at her like he had finally figured her out.

Harry’s smirk lingered, his fingers still curled beneath her chin, keeping her face tilted up toward him, forcing her to hold his gaze.

Harry didn’t move for a moment.

He just watched her, taking his time, letting the silence stretch, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter around her throat.

He still had one hand wrapped around it, fingers firm, commanding, possessive, but not pressing hard enough to hurt—not yet.

She had given him the words he wanted.

Now, he wanted her to show him.

His thumb stroked absently along her jaw, his smirk deepening as he tipped her chin up.

“On your knees,” he murmured.

Y/N shivered.

Her stomach twisted, flipped, burned with something filthy and unspoken.

She hesitated—not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew exactly what this meant.

If she did this, if she obeyed him now, there was no turning back.

Harry cocked his head, amusement flickering in his gaze as he felt the hesitation ripple through her.

“Problem, sweetheart?” he taunted, his voice smooth, almost lazy.

Her breath hitched as she shifted forward, hands trembling slightly as she slid off the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her entire body hot, on fire, burning beneath the weight of his stare.

Harry grinned.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

He reached out, dragging his fingers slowly through her hair, gripping just enough to make her tilt her head back further, to make her look up at him.

She exhaled shakily, her own pulse hammering against her skin.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head with something like mock disappointment.

“You make me sick,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

Y/N clenched her hands into fists in her lap, her stomach coiling.

Harry let out a slow breath, dragging his thumb over her cheek, his gaze still locked on hers.

“You could’ve had a normal life,” he mused, his voice low, thoughtful, cruel. “You could’ve stayed away from me. You could’ve lived in blissful ignorance, never knowing what I looked like, never knowing what I was capable of.”

His grip in her hair tightened.

“But no,” he murmured, shaking his head, “you had to come find me.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered.

“You had to dig your nails in, had to crawl inside my fucking head, had to make me trust you.”

Harry exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching, his fingers digging in.

“And now look at you,” he whispered, voice dripping with mockery, with something victorious.

“Kneeling for me.”

Harry hummed, tilting his head, his smirk stretching.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles down the side of her cheek.

“How does it feel?”

Her breath hitched.

“How does it feel,” he repeated, slowly, his tone dipping into something dark, something dangerous, “knowing that you lost?”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Her pride was shattered, obliterated, reduced to dust beneath him.

And yet—

She licked her lips, looked up at him through her lashes, and gave him the truth.

“It feels good.”

Harry grinned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip.

Harry’s grip on her throat loosened, his fingers dragging down to her collarbone, his expression shifting into something calculating. The amusement faded just slightly, replaced by something sharper—awareness.

They couldn’t stay here.

For all the fun he was having, for all the ways he enjoyed pulling her apart piece by piece, he wasn’t stupid.

The police were going to start looking for him.

And now that he had her?

That meant they’d be looking for her, too.

He sighed, shaking his head, before finally stepping back. “As much as I’d love to keep playing with you here,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, “we need to go.”

Y/N blinked, her body still humming, still shaking, still completely and utterly ruined from everything he’d just done to her.

But then, the reality of what he was saying sank in.

They were leaving.

Just like that.

Harry had decided.

She was going with him.

Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching in her lap. “Go where?”

Harry smirked, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. “Anywhere but here, sweetheart.”

And that was it.

That was all he had to say.

Because he had already won.

They drove for hours.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, silent, obedient, devoted, watching the road stretch out endlessly before them, watching the night swallow the last pieces of her old life.

She didn’t ask where they were going.

She didn’t ask when they would stop.

She just existed beside him, waiting.

When they finally pulled into a run-down roadside motel, the neon VACANCY sign flickering weakly above them, Harry turned to her, tilting his head.

“You’re gonna take care of me, right?” he murmured, smirking, though there was something serious, something possessive behind the tease.

Y/N’s stomach coiled.

She nodded.

“Say it,” he muttered.

Her throat tightened.

“I’ll take care of you,” she whispered.

Harry grinned.

“Good girl.”

Y/N did everything for him.

She checked them into the motels.

She cleaned him up when he came back in the middle of the night, knuckles bruised, face splattered with things she didn’t ask about.

She washed his clothes.

She made sure he ate, brought him food, set it down in front of him like she was offering something holy.

And when he touched her, when he pulled her into his lap, when he whispered things in her ear that made her shiver, made her ache, made her cum, she let him.

Because she had already given him everything.

And now?

She didn’t know who she was without him.

The motel room was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside and the soft sound of water dripping from the bathroom faucet. The walls were thin, the bed was stiff, and the air smelled faintly of cigarettes and cheap cleaning supplies. But it didn’t matter.

Because they were alone, together.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted back slightly as he watched her. Y/N was kneeling in front of him, carefully wiping his hands clean with a damp washcloth, her touch delicate, reverent.

She didn’t ask where the blood had come from.

She never did though she knew it came from another midnight kill.

And maybe that’s what made him feel something different when he looked at her.

Harry exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching beneath her touch, his gaze heavy as it traced the features of her face. She was so careful with him. So soft.

It had been a long time since anyone had handled him like that, with the love and devotion she had for him.

Y/N glanced up, catching his stare, her lips parting slightly as she held his gaze. “What?”

Harry smirked slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow, dragging the washcloth over his knuckles one last time before setting it aside. “Thinking about what?”

He inhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, leaning back against the headboard.

For once, he wasn’t smirking, wasn’t mocking her, wasn’t playing a game.

He just looked… tired.

Harry ran a hand through his curls, exhaling through his nose. “Just wondering how the fuck I ended up here,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, slower, more thoughtful.

Y/N swallowed, shifting to sit on the bed beside him, tucking her legs beneath her. “What do you mean?”

He let out a soft chuckle, dragging his fingers along his jaw. “I wasn’t supposed to be this,” he muttered.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, curious. “Then what were you supposed to be?”

Harry exhaled, pausing for a long moment before answering.

“My mum wanted me to be normal,” he muttered, his voice almost distant. “Wanted me to go to school, get a job, get married, have kids. All that shit.” He shook his head slightly. “She always saw the best in me. Always thought I could be something good.”

Y/N swallowed, her stomach twisting at the way his voice softened when he talked about her.

“Where is she now?” she asked gently.

Harry glanced at her, his green eyes darker, unreadable.

“Dead.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“I—”

“Don’t,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenching slightly. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

She nodded, staying quiet.

Harry ran his fingers along his bottom lip, exhaling slowly. “She was the only person who ever really believed in me,” he muttered. “Even when I started—” He stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She knew something was wrong with me. But she never said it. She just kept trying to love me through it.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

Because for the first time, Harry wasn’t speaking like a predator, like a monster, like the untouchable thing he always wanted to be.

He sounded like a person.

Like a little boy who had once been loved.

“What about your dad?” she asked softly.

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Never knew him.”

Y/N stayed quiet, watching him.

Waiting.

And for once, he kept talking.

“My mum was young when she had me,” he muttered. “She did her best, but I think she always knew I was different. Other kids… they played football, they laughed, they made friends.” He smirked slightly, but there was no amusement in it. “I liked to hurt things. Even when I was little. I used to rip the wings off bugs, kill small animals, just to see what it felt like.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled, but she didn’t move away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look at him like he was a monster.

And maybe that’s why he kept talking.

“When I got older, it got worse,” he muttered. “Started getting into fights. Started craving that feeling—the control, the rush, the power.”

His fingers flexed at his sides.

“I think my mum knew she couldn’t save me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But she never stopped trying.”

Y/N swallowed, her throat aching.

“She sounds like she really loved you,” she murmured.

Harry exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “And I fucking ruined her.”

Y/N froze.

Harry didn’t look at her.

Didn’t say anything else.

Just let the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

And for the first time, Y/N saw something in Harry she had never seen before.

Guilt.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to ignore the voice in the back of her head that told her she should be scared, that she should leave, that she should fight for whatever was left of her own life and dignity.

Because that wasn’t what she wanted.

She reached out, hesitating for only a second before placing her hand over his.

Harry’s fingers tensed beneath hers but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he just looked at her, his expression unreadable, guarded, almost suspicious.

Like he couldn’t understand why she was still here.

Y/N squeezed his hand gently, her voice barely a whisper.

“I see you, Harry.”

His jaw clenched.

His eyes flickered.

And for the first time, maybe ever—

He didn’t know what to say. Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t react the way she expected him to.

Y/N had thought he might shove her hand away, scoff, make some biting remark about how she was just another girl trying to fix him, trying to make him something he wasn’t, or that she was fucking crazy.

But he just sat there, still, quiet, staring.

His green eyes flickered, darting over her face, searching, testing, waiting.

“Say that again,” he muttered, voice low, almost like he didn’t believe she had said it in the first place.

Y/N swallowed, but she didn’t look away.

“I see you,” she whispered.

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching beneath hers, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away or hold on.

His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking in his cheek, his body rigid.

He wasn’t used to this.

To someone staying.

To someone not looking at him like he was a monster, a thing to be feared and avoided.

She wasn’t scared.

She should be.

But she wasn’t.

And that fucked with him.

Harry exhaled, dragging a hand over his face before shaking his head. “You don’t get it, sweetheart,” he muttered. “You don’t want to see me.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around his.

“But I do,” she murmured.

Harry scoffed, shaking his head, his smirk returning, but it wasn’t as sharp as before.

“You see what I let you see,” he muttered, his voice a slow drawl, lazy, dismissive. “You see the version of me you want to believe in. But that’s not real.”

Y/N inhaled, her heart twisting, because she knew that was only half true.

Yes, he had played a game with her.

Yes, he had controlled every move, every piece of their story.

But he had also let her in.

Even if he hadn’t meant to.

“I see you,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. “Not the version you show the world. Not the one they talk about in newspapers or whisper about in interrogation rooms.”

She shifted closer, her breath shallow, pulse pounding.

“I see the part of you that still remembers your mother,” she whispered. “The part of you that didn’t want to disappoint her. The part of you that still feels something—”

Harry’s hand snapped up, wrapping around her throat, stopping her words in an instant.

Her breath caught, her pulse pounding against his palm, but she didn’t pull away.

Harry’s grip wasn’t crushing.

It was firm, commanding, warning.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were burning.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” he muttered.

The motel room was still, but the air between them was charged with something unspoken, something neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Harry had let her in, just for a second, just long enough for her to see the cracks beneath the smirking, taunting, dangerous exterior he wore so well.

And he hated it. He hated the way being vulnerable made him feel. He hated feeling weak.

Y/N could tell.

She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself to do it.

But despite the tension coiling between them, he didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before dragging a hand through his curls. “We need to sleep,” he muttered, like he was forcing himself to move on, like he was forcing himself to bury whatever had just passed between them.

Y/N blinked, watching as he kicked off his boots, pulled off his shirt, and dropped it onto the chair in the corner like this was just any other night.

Like he hadn’t just admitted that she had gotten under his skin.

Like she hadn’t just made him feel something.

Y/N hesitated. “Do you want me to—”

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” he cut her off, not looking at her, not giving her the chance to argue.

Her breath caught slightly, her fingers twitching in her lap.

“But—”

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart, I’m not making you sleep on the floor.”

Y/N swallowed, something warm curling in her stomach.

He wasn’t acting like a man who didn’t care about her.

Not really.

Because a man who didn’t care wouldn’t have said anything.

A man who didn’t care would have let her take the floor, let her suffer, let her figure it out on her own.

But Harry wasn’t that man.

Not with her.

She climbed into the bed carefully, waiting, testing, unsure of how close she could get without setting something off.

Harry sighed again, like she was exhausting him, but when he laid down next to her, he didn’t turn away.

He stayed facing her, his green eyes flickering in the dim motel light, his expression unreadable, guarded, but softer than before.

She let the silence stretch between them for a moment before speaking.

“Why are you letting me stay?” she asked, her voice quiet, careful.

Harry scoffed, dragging a hand over his face. “You don’t have anywhere else to go,” he muttered.

Y/N frowned slightly, watching him. “That’s not why.”

Harry inhaled, staring at the ceiling, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets.

Then—he reached out.

Slowly. Hesitantly.

And he tugged the blanket over her.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

It was small.

It was barely anything.

But it meant everything.

Harry sighed, rubbing his jaw before turning to look at her again.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he muttered. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

Because she had won.

Not all of him.

Not yet.

But this.

This was something.

And for now—

It was enough.

The year slipped by in a haze of highways, dimly lit motel rooms, stolen glances, and the ever-present hum of danger that never really went away.

Y/N had stopped counting after the first six months.

She didn’t know how many towns they had passed through, how many different names they had used, how many times they had barely missed getting caught.

But somehow, they were still here.

Together.

And that was the only thing that mattered.

The motel room was quiet aside from the rain that pattered on the windows.

Harry sat on the bed, legs stretched out, his arm draped behind his head as he flicked a pocketknife open and shut, the blade catching in the low light.

Y/N sat cross-legged beside him, carefully wrapping his knuckles, her fingers steady, practiced.

“You’re getting good at this,” he muttered, watching her work, his voice deeper now, rougher with time.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That’s not a good thing.”

Harry smirked, tilting his head. “Depends who you ask.”

She tugged the bandage a little tighter, just to make him hiss.

Harry chuckled. “Sadist.”

“Masochist,” she shot back.

His grin widened. “You love it.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I love keeping you alive, which is apparently a full-time job.”

Harry hummed, watching her carefully. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t respond.

Because they both knew it was true.

She had spent a year taking care of him.

Washing the blood from his skin.

Lying beside him in nameless motel beds.

Buying him cigarettes at gas stations in the middle of the night.

Keeping him alive, keeping him close.

And somewhere along the way, she had stopped trying to convince herself that she wasn’t in love with him.

Because she was.

She had been for a long, long time.

And he knew it.

That night, Harry let her settle against him, his arm curling around her waist, his body warm, solid, real.

She traced absent patterns over the ink on his chest, her fingers memorizing the way he felt beneath her touch.

“Do you ever think about stopping?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the dark.

Harry inhaled deeply, dragging his fingers along her back.

“Stopping what?” he murmured.

“The running.”

His body tensed slightly.

She felt it.

Not much. Just enough.

“Not really,” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

Y/N swallowed, waiting.

And after a long pause, he added—

“But if I did, it wouldn’t be without you.”

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers froze against his skin.

Because he meant that.

Harry didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him. “So if we found a place,” she murmured, “a real place, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe—you’d stay?”

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his curls before pressing his forehead against hers.

“If it was with you,” he muttered.

That night, Y/N rolled onto her side, pulling the thin motel blanket up over her shoulder. The room was calm besides for the steady hum of the heater.

She could feel Harry behind her, his body warm, solid, familiar. His arm slung over her shoulder tightly. His breathing was slow, steady.

She assumed he had already drifted off.

So she let herself relax, closing her eyes, letting sleep pull her under.

But just as she was about to slip away, she felt it.

A shift in the bed.

A faint exhale.

Then—his voice.

Soft. Low. Almost hesitant.

Like he was speaking to himself.

Like he thought she wouldn’t hear.

“I’d stay for you,” he whispered.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

Didn’t let him know she was awake.

Didn’t let him know that his words had just cracked something inside her.

His fingers brushed her hip, barely there, just a ghost of a touch.

“You’re the only thing keeping me here,” he muttered, his voice so quiet she almost thought she imagined it.

Almost.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, aching, twisting, screaming at her to turn around, to face him, to tell him she wasn’t asleep, that she heard him, that she felt the same.

But then—

He let out a slow, almost shaky breath.

And what he said next nearly stopped her heart.

“I don’t love many things,” he murmured.

A pause.

Then—

“But I love you.”

Y/N froze, her entire body tensing beneath the sheets.

But Harry wasn’t done.

“Mum would’ve loved you too,” he whispered, his voice soft, distant, raw. “She always liked people who made me feel better.”

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