#one direction fiction

[gurugirl]

[2] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 2 Word Count: 8,759

Ch. 2 Warning: genitalia rubbing (with some dirty talk), discrimination, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation, jealousy

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n had insisted that Phoebe leave the library to get some rest. It was the middle of the night and while her new friend (she refused to think of anyone as being her assistant because that was– well, it was preposterous) told her she wasn't tired, she could tell that the girl was.

"I'll be another hour and then off to bed myself. There's no reason for you to suffer."

"Madam, I'm not allowed to leave you alone to wander the castle. I could get into trouble."

Y/n placed the brand-new book down onto the table that she had in her hand. It was a book that contained drawings of anatomy (amongst other things) by a fellow named Charles Darwin. She imagined it might come in handy to help her understand the mechanics or even just the names of some of their— bits. She had no idea if the book was what she really needed or not but it looked promising.

"But you're so tired. Why can't he just keep watch?" She pointed at the guard who stood in the library's entryway.

Phoebe cleared her throat and looked toward the man. "Are you allowed to be alone with Her Majesty?"

Y/n let out a squawk at the way she was addressed. "Good heavens! Her Majesty? Please, madam is enough. Y/n would be even better."

"My apologies. If it suits you, I will address you as you please." She turned back toward the man. "Can you, George?"

"Yes. If she's only another hour, I'll see to it that she makes it to her room well."

"Thank you, sir," Phoebe said politely before looking toward Y/n. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please go on. I'll make haste and be off soon."

The library was gorgeous. It was almost magical. She rarely got her hands on any new books and often was left to read the same two she had in her possession over and over again. But the castle had the most decadent library in the world, she imagined.

Her issue was, though, that most of the books had nothing to do with intimacy or engaging in intercourse whatsoever, which she was in desperate need of. She could think of no other way to help prepare herself for the eventual poking she'd have to endure. The book on anatomy could be educational, though she was looking for something a little more risqué. But then she came across a weathered paper book with the sewn binding edges coming undone at the tops. The name Fanny alone harkened images of feeding the pussycat–if you will.

Fanny Hill.

She glanced at the guard on watch to ensure he hadn't seen the book she'd pulled from the case and her face heated as she opened up the first page. Her eyes widened at the full name of the book: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Closing it quickly she tucked it under the new one and smiled.

It was exactly what she'd been searching for.

"Think I'm ready to go to my room now."

At night the castle was well-lit inside. She wondered how much fuel must have been used (and the cost!) to keep the large spaces bright the way they were. Oil lamps and burning fireplaces guided their path until she was at her doorway.

She didn't know the protocol for greeting or dismissing people but she bowed her head slightly and thanked the man before entering her room, the tall wooden door closing behind her with a heavy clank.

Her fire was freshly stoked and there was more fruit in a bowl on a side table with a glass pitcher of – water? She placed the books down on the table and lifted the pitcher to her nose to sniff. There was no scent. Had she been given fresh water to drink?

She wasted no time in pouring a bit into the heavy baluster glass on the tray next to the water. Lifting the rim to her mouth she took the smallest sip. Water! Pouring more into the cup she guzzled half the glass in one go.

Smiling to herself she placed the heavy glassware down and picked up her books along with an apple. She could get used to the luxuries of living in a castle. When she turned toward her bed she noted it was ready for her to climb into, the blankets turned down and her pillows all fluffed and sat in a row. Then there was the matter of the night dress draped over the bottom edge of the bed.

She looked down at the dress on her body and frowned. It was going to be quite the task to get it off, what with all the underthings tied tight around her middle and strapped over her chest.

Her outer frock wasn't too difficult to remove but she did wish Phoebe was there to help. She struggled a little with the fasteners and the bows and reached around the back to unpluck every tiny porcelain button. But when it was finally off she let out a sigh of relief.

Except she was not even halfway done. The ties and the clasps and the lace stays on the corset were impossible to work apart when she could hardly get her fingers properly aligned with the ribbing at her back.

She groaned in frustration and fell back into the bed, giving up at once. It was useless. She was going to be stuck wearing the uncomfortable things until morning when she could find Phoebe. Never again would she allow anyone to stick her into such garments. She'd rather walk around in the nude! Well, maybe not, but right then she certainly felt that way.

Y/n was used to the underthings she normally wore. They were easy to pull on and off as needed. Not the fancy, silky, ribbed garb that currently adorned her body. With a huff, she pushed herself up to sit and leaned into the feather pillows. At the very least, her bed was a soft heavenly thing. And the apple was juicy and crisp.

She found herself bored with the Darwin book but appreciated the graphics. Most of them were useless for her particular quest, though. It was the Fanny Hill book that had her back tingling and her breath caught a time or two. She'd lost track of the hours as she turned page after page of the filthy book and kept looking toward the door to make sure no one knew what she was doing.

Of course, as titillating as the book was, soon, she found herself unable to keep her eyes open and she fell asleep just like that, sitting over her blankets, apple core browning next to her knee, with the book opened to a scene with two females enjoying one another in a way Y/n had never once heard of before.

.

"Madam. Madam Y/n…"

She was jolted awake, her eyes pried open to see the kind face of her new friend Phoebe standing over her. Quickly closing the book in her lap she tucked it under the blanket and sat up.

"You poor thing," Phoebe spoke as she took the old apple core and placed it on the small table next to her bed. "You've kept your drawers and corset on all night. Here, let me help…"

The relief she felt when the terrible hard corset was peeled from her sides was immense. She moaned and inhaled a breath like she hadn't been able to breathe properly until just then.

"Oy, thank you. I never want to wear that again!"

Phoebe laughed. "We have to get you dressed for the king at some point today, madam. I'm afraid you've no choice when he calls for you."

She held her palms outward toward the girl and shook her head. "I will not wear that thing. I can't stand it!"

Y/n felt like a child throwing a fit but she'd never worn anything so uncomfortable in all her life. She had marks dug into the skin at her sides from the stiff ribbing and pleated fabric. Even then, touching the grooves in her skin, it hurt.

"I believe we—"

A heavy knock on the door had both young women turning toward the noise. Y/n pulled the fabric of the dress over her breasts as it opened and in stepped King Harry.

"Your Majesty," Phoebe said as she lowered her head.

Y/n took a step back toward her bed feeling hot embarrassment that the king was seeing her in such a state of undress. She looked away but the sting of his gaze on her bare arms and neck felt like fire singing her blood.

He sauntered casually into her room and placed himself in the chair near the table where the fire was slowly dying. "Continue as you were."

Phoebe looked at Y/n and darted her eyes toward the dress she'd crumpled up at her bosom and reached for her shoulder to have her turn her back. "Just the chemise then. It's much softer, and we'll put the dress on after. Yes?"

Y/n nodded turning her head to see the girl in her periphery. "Yes. Thank you."

"You needn't thank her. She's your assistant. You're the queen consort to be. Act it."

She lifted her arms up when Phoebe slid the chemise over her head and responded. "She's of the noble class, My Lord. I'm just a beggar. It's only right to speak to her with respect as—"

"Noble class… a beggar. Pish! The class system is a farce. Everyone in the kingdom will bow down to you and your family once you're crowned Queen. Respect is due where I demand it, not where the aristocracy thinks it belongs."

Phoebe pulled the bow at the back of the chemise around her waist before she bent and helped her out of her drawers that she'd been in all night. It felt good to air out a little and she was thankful that Phoebe had waited to help her out of her bottoms until the chemise was draped over her backside so she was hid from the king's searing gaze. The girl held the dress up and slid it over her head before helping her put her arms in. Y/n didn't quite understand what the king meant but she was intrigued by his words about the class system.

"My family. I need to let them know where I am and—"

"The boy you were with on the street yesterday has already sent word. Your family will be at the castle for dinner tonight. I'm sure they'll all be happier than a lark once they arrive. As long as they're well behaved they will get along here fine."

She was turned around as her friend quietly adjusted her dress and attached the collar. Now she could see him directly and her eyes must have deceived her because even though he was the most ill-mannered person she'd ever met, his face riveted the eyes. His brilliant complexion and well-turned jaw were of note. Even the hair on his head was attractive. She appreciated that he didn't wear his hair in the formal old way as most men of the upper classes did. He had a rebellious edge to him that was uncommon for royalty.

Yes, she had seen him up close (all of him) the evening before but it was as if she'd forgotten the fine, pleasing details of his features. It was difficult to think him so dashing when he was so rude. And the smile that drew up on his face as he looked her up and down from his spot in the chair made her palms sweat.

When he winked at her she looked away quickly. Handsome as he may be, he was awful. Just awful.

"Leave us. I need a moment alone with my new wife."

Y/n would have corrected him if he weren't the all-powerful king. She wasn't yet his wife but she knew there was little she could say to make him listen regardless.

Phoebe left the room, quiet as a cat and Y/n stood next to her bed, watching as her king stood and walked right up to her and grabbed her hips, turning her to her side as he looked her over. "This is better than yesterday, isn't it?"

Y/n looked down at her dress and where his hands were on her as she inhaled. "I think so. I dislike the corset."

"As do I. You've no need to wear all that. The kingdom will have to get used to the new method of things."

She was surprised that he agreed. Looking up at him as he turned her to face him, he plucked at her collar. "But this is a nuisance. Would you like it off?"

Nodding she reached up to touch the collar that had been tucked into the bosom of her dress and Harry reached in to untie the laces with deft fingers. She held her breath, frozen, as he quickly released the fabric and pulled it from the top all without grazing her breasts. She imagined he was going to make an advance but he kept his fingers respectfully away from her. Which was another surprise for her.

"There we are. How did you find your bed last night?" He glanced at her rumpled blankets and she followed his gaze. The indecent book she'd been reading was only partly tucked away and she knew it before it even happened, that he'd reach around her for it.

"Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure." He quirked a brow at her and licked his lips. "What's this?"

"A book." She reached for it but he held it away from her and grasped her wrist.

"Ah, ah, ah… I'm still looking at it." He pushed her hand back down to her side and kept his eyes on her like he was curious. "Tell me, can you read?"

She swallowed thickly. Yes, she could read but was it wise for him to know that? He likely preferred a wife that couldn't read which might explain why he chose her from the street. Most men liked their women without education. But, it would be difficult to hide that she couldn't read at all and she wouldn't want to pretend either, especially when she so enjoyed doing it when she could.

"A little." She compromised.

"And you found this in our library here?"

She nodded looking from the book to the king as he narrowed his eyes over the pages, flipping through them.

"I asked him if he was afraid of a lady, and with that took and carrying his hand to my breasts, I pressed it tenderly to them; they were now finely furnished, and raised in flesh so that panting with desire, they rose, and fell, in quick heaves, under his touch."

The king read a short passage, squinting up from the page at Y/n with a grin, and then continued as her face grew hot that he knew what she'd been reading.

"And now glancing my eyes towards that part of his dress which covered the essential object of enjoyment, I plainly discovered the swell and commotion there. I stole my hand upon his thighs, down one of which, I could both see and feel a stiff hard body, confined by his breeches, that my fingers could discover no end to: curious then and eager to unfold so alarming a mystery, playing as it were with his buttons, which were bursting ripe from the active force within…"

Y/n turned and covered her face. She could hardly believe he was reading out loud the same words she'd read in her bed that had her wiggling and tensing the slightest the night before.

"Did you enjoy reading this smut? Did it remind you of my own swell from last night?" His words were spoken very near to her ear as he stood behind her. She kept her face covered and shook her head no. A lie. She wasn't ready to admit to him all the strange emotions she'd gone through the night before. And certainly, she'd never let him know about the odd fantasy she'd had of him after reading certain bits in the book. Imagining Harry standing tall above her with his cock in her face made all the blood in her limbs race to her head.

She felt him place his hand on her hip. "You did like it. I could see it in your eyes. Do you know what I did when you left my chambers last night? Can you imagine what a man with a big swell under his breaches might do when he's all alone?"

Pulling her hands from her face she turned her head but didn't look at him directly. "You called someone in to help you with it?"

She was sure that was what he was going to say. He'd eluded to it the night before so it only made sense he'd find someone else to sate his desires when she wouldn't.

"Oh, you dim little girl. There was no one else I wanted for the task but you last night. My future wife…" he spoke the words close to her ear as ran a finger down her neck, still gripping her hip. "I had to deal with the undertaking all alone after your refusal. I've never had anyone deny my request as you did."

She pushed a shaky breath from her mouth as she closed her eyes. The sensation of his warm finger trailing the length of her neck up to her jaw and back down stimulated her blood, sending it to churn hotly under her flesh. His deep voice against the shell of her ear stoked a strange ache in the pit of her belly.

Strange… well, she understood the ache truth be told. Virgin, she may be, but innocent of feelings of lust, she was not. She recognized her body's natural reaction to her king but it confused her. Perhaps it was due to that book, stuffing all those improper ideas into her brain. Desire was something she'd known before but explaining the function was foreign. She'd never acted on desire before and now, she had to contend with a man who wanted her to act on his.

Her body, of its own accord, pushed back into his chest and she arched her neck into his touch. The pad of his finger drew lazy paths but soon was replaced by a moist warm and plush mouth. She pulled in a breathy gasp when she realized he was kissing her. But the feel of his solid form behind her, pressing his hips to her rear made her limbs nearly give out.

Harry grunted a laugh against her neck as he held her up with his arm wrapped around her front to keep her securely in place. "Do you like my mouth on you?"

Yes! She did and her pounding heart was proof of it. "No."

He laughed and squeezed her tighter into his chest as he ran his tongue along the space behind her ear. "You say no but your body says yes. Shall I release you? Or shall we continue?"

She didn't want him to stop but she couldn't possibly want it either. Could she? What was she to say? If she told him to stop then would he remove her from the castle and find another Queen? Then what of her family who was newly offered shelter and provisions by the king himself? She couldn't go and ruin it but if she said yes would he take what he wanted from her without permission? Would God smite her at once for her wayward acts?

"You are not yet my husband."

The rattled moan he let out as he pressed a warm kiss to her jaw, setting her skin to flame. "But you are mine. Yes?"

She looked at her unmade bed and down at his arm that was tight across her middle. She'd never felt such a longing to engage in her shameful needs as then. Even the night before, reading the sort of smut she'd read, she felt the pull of wanton thirst but resisted it still. With the king, though, his mouth smoothing against her skin, his body, hard, warm, granite, at her back, her soft bed beckoning, the vision seared into her memory of his member (a pretty one at that).

"Yes, my King. But it's indecent until God binds us."

"Not even God himself can stop us. You needn't deny yourself of base urges. We're all just animals, Y/n, seeking the same delicious release. Have you experienced it before? Felt the elation of your lust during climax and wetted your fingers when you got excited?"

She'd never been more embarrassed in her life. Shaking her head she grunted when he pulled at her and sat at the edge of her bed, bringing her with him to sit between his legs, her back to his chest. "Never? Not once?"

His hand bunched the fabric of her dress, slowly pulling at it, exposing her leg. "Never."

"Pity! It's one of life's finest pleasures. An indulgence you must know."He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and pressed his face next to hers as he looked down at her dress and the skin of her knee.

"We don't need to disgrace God for you to know such pleasure. You can remain a virgin still, until our wedding night."

She watched his large hand squeeze at her knee and drag slowly upward revealing her thigh inch by inch. "Would you like that? I can show you how good it feels. Give you something new to crave."

She was terrified and eager all at once. But the thought of ruining herself before she was wed and the stories she'd been told about how badly it would hurt had her unsure in her answer. "I'm… I'm scared. It hurts, doesn't it?"

"If you've never tried it, how would you know it hurts?"

"I heard my aunt telling her friend about it. They both agreed it was awful. Women's bodies aren't built to enjoy it. Only men can have pleasure in it. Otherwise, it's sinful. It's how God created us."

Harry chuckled and pulled at her to bring her further back into her bed, his breeches pulling up as he moved with her and leaned himself back, her body still against him and between his legs. "My little feather-brained girl… Well, maybe you're not so feather-brained as you can read, but you've been led astray. Let your king show you the truth so you can know the mountain of pleasure you're capable of. Yes?"

She felt so exposed. Without her drawers, she had nothing to hinder his hand from sliding up her thigh to her secret little tulip. It was something she rarely even touched herself for fear of betraying God and her own body. So to feel a man's hand on her flesh, hot and searching, it had her heart pounding so hard she thought it might crack through her chest.

"I'm… I feel faint…" She placed her hands on his forearms as he helped her spread her thighs apart.

"I swear I will do no more than make you feel like a queen right now. Let me show you how delicious it is. Or shall we stop?"

He tucked his chin over her shoulder to peek down at her as he pulled her dress and he could feel her wiggling into him. She was not well-versed in the truth of biological functions, but rather, as Harry understood it, had a deeply ingrained fear of God and Anglican Christian teachings. He was not shocked to know this, as the Church of England influenced most of the ongoings of society, especially the poor with its reprehensible practices that only hindered education and growth.

Poor thing.

"Let me see your hand," he spoke quietly, turning his arm to face his palm up. Y/n slid her palm into his and he slowly pushed her hand between her legs. "I'll show you how to do it yourself. Consider it a gift."

She felt his large, warm hand over the outside of hers as he nudged her fingertips into the soft fleshy inner parts of her thigh and guided her to her private quim, tucked away under layers of fabric. He couldn't see it but he could feel the heat radiating from it.

"Take your finger and touch. Give yourself a chance to explore."

Y/n inhaled shallowly as she did what he said. He squeezed her thigh, dangerously close to where her fingers were touching herself. She'd not touched it often. A quick rub to clean or to scratch, and maybe once or twice for curiosity's sake, but never like this.

It was warm and moist and fleshy bits moved and bent away from her touch with ease. Dragging her digit up and down she only grew bolder with her exploration knowing he couldn't see her and neither could anyone else. But the sensation of what she was doing didn't falter. She was keenly aware of the illicit act and that her king was dragging his fingers so close to where she was it made her feel fuzzy and hot.

"How does it feel? Describe it."

Closing her eyes, as if somehow that would hide her shame, she opened her mouth and did her best to tell him the way she felt under her fingertips. "Like a stiff jelly. Strange… A little moist. Warm crevice that folds and splits. It's… It's difficult to say…"

"That sounds about right to me. Bring your fingers upward, to the very top of that split. What's there?"

Drawing her fingers upward she pushed her labia apart and felt her hair scattered over the outer edges of her lips and inward to a fleshy fold. "It feels much the same. I can feel the hair there, and a soft thing at the center with none."

"Press that little merry bit gently. Small circles."

She already had been. Once her digit rubbed around the space she remembered her brief investigations from before. The tingle it sent throughout her groin felt connected to her inner turmoil.

"Yes."

He smiled as he ran his fingers along her inner thigh. "Yes? Yes, what?"

She gulped her saliva and nodded. "Yes… I feel it."

"You feel it. What do you feel?"

"It's just skin and gelatin."

"It's much more than that, little mouse. That's the key to your desire. The more you press her and play with her, the more you'll feel. She'll come alive underneath your fingers. Soon, you'll be able to juice her and she'll make a mess of your fingers but you won't want to stop."

"Juice her?" Y/n blinked in confusion.

"Yes. Like a citrus. She'll gush the better she feels."

It was already feeling like something so lascivious that she had to pause before she got carried away. It felt… well it was quite nice. But it was sinful.

"You've stopped, yet you have so much more to learn. If you continue you'll see what power you possess over your own body. You can reach the agony of bliss by persisting."

The agony of bliss. Y/n knew this phrase as a fake for women. To come to bliss from meddling with her bits or participating in amorous congress was impossible! Only men could be flooded with that kind of pleasure.

"It cannot be done. I'm sure of it," she whispered and turned her face in toward his, catching the outline of his face so close to hers.

"It can be done. Don't be stubborn. Allow yourself to find the truth. Would you like me to take over for you and show you?"

"But God—"

"No more talk of God. He's not here with us. He never was." Harry reached for her fingers and pushed them back against herself, circling slowly as he spoke. "I am the one here with you now. You will seek my presence, and you will acquiesce to my will."

Slowly, she let herself relax into him and laid her head back against his shoulder as he guided her movements. She wasn't ready to confess to anyone how delightful it felt. And the more he moved her fingers around the wetter she indeed got, just as he said she would.

Harry craned his neck over her shoulder, hoping to see her wetted queam but the fabric of her dress cost him a good view. He could however see her soft thighs spread and as he leaned outward and looked at her face saw pretty parted lips and closed eyes as her chest rose and fell patterned in lust. Then he heard the smallest whimper that had him quickening his fingers and staring at the side of her face in awe.

His own bits were enlightened by the heady wetness under his fingers and soon she slid her pelvis upward and she'd let go of her finger's movements in favor of grabbing onto his forearms to let him take over. He groaned when he had full access to her cunt-lips. And the little button he'd knocked into was swollen and slick.

"You have a delightful quim, Y/n. So warm and full of life, aren't you?"

She arched her back and panted as he slid lazy fingerprints to her sex. She hadn't felt anything like it but she was both thoroughly aroused and embarrassed. Even the wetness that leaked from her was audible as Harry moved his long fingers over her crevices.

When she gasped a breath he murmured against her ear—there's my good little mouse—and he pushed himself against her for his own relief. His cock was hard, and nudging it against her backside provided him with a bit of satisfied deliverance. His bride-to-be was stubborn but she was ripe. What a pleasure to have chosen her over anyone else. It was by chance that he had seen her the day before and now he was certain that he'd been right about his selection.

(When wasn't he right?)

And oh! Y/n was sure she would be sent straight to the pit of hell for all eternity but the sudden need to see it through and know the carnal pleasure King Harry promised, overwhelmed her existence. Nothing could stop the pull of her desire to climb the mountain's peak and throw herself down into the rough and unknown valley below. Dangerous it may be, but her new willingness to gaze into the depths and explore the truth burned in her stronger than any lake of hellfire could.

He rocked against her slowly and moaned as he worked her wetness. With one hand steady, gripping at her soft thigh to hold her open, he could feel her muscles straining, shaking as she humped toward his fingers. She liked it. He knew she would. Her skin was warm and her desperate inhalations turned into mumbled nonsense.

Oh! Oh my! Fooo… Hee ooohhh…

"I want to see you let go. Come into my hand, mouse," Harry's shaky breath against her face inferred to her that he was also aroused.

Everything in her body was aching and pulsing as she writhed into his fingers for more. Her soft pearl was coated in cream, the king's fingers smeared with accurate strokes around her quim and pressed into the knob of her pleasure as temptation slid through her tummy and seeped from her.

"You're going to crave a strumming from me like this every day. And once you let me show you what it feels like to have your insides pricked and your belly tickled with my staff you'll be begging me for it."

The limn of her vision turned red and spotty and rushing blood drummed in her ears, muffling the dirty things he said to her. She could not resist the pull of her orgasm as she let out a wobbled cry. Her whole body was beating and throbbing and her insides were molten, sweet jelly.

Harry tossed his head back and parted his lips in ecstasy as he rolled his hips up and down and finally, his vital spend coated the inside of his breeches. He pumped hotly against the fabric and squeezed at her skin in his release. He flushed hot as the girl in his arms moaned and slid into his hand.

Y/n had melted into him and her legs gave out, falling flat to the bed between his thighs as she closed her eyes. She felt like an explorer. Someone who'd discovered a coveted, secret treasure that no one else had ever known. When she felt Harry's mouth against her neck she smiled in satisfaction and relief.

The shocking realization that she was still in his arms in the castle and not struck down to ash by God was almost equal to the sensation of her orgasm. Why had God not taken action upon them? Flitting her eyes open she saw a drizzle of sunlight shining over her body and Harry's as they sat on her bed, as if the sun would still rise and the day would continue to tick on as normal. As if they hadn't just participated in something so vile.

But her feelings of narrow escape turned into shameful regret when she felt his hand brushing against her skin and he grunted behind her as he moved. She shot forward and turned to look at him and found his pleasant face all flushed and at ease. How could he be so casual?

"What have I done?" She spoke to herself as she climbed away from him and smoothed her dress down to cover her legs.

Harry draped his arms across the feathered pillows and watched her with an amused expression. "What is it now?"

She got to her feet and shook her head as she spun away from the vision of the handsome man spread out on the bed she'd just been in. "We've sinned! God will find his vengeance on us soon!"

He laughed and sat up. "Does it appear to you that God cares what we just did? You are still alive and well, mouse. And I am just as healthy and whole as before."

"That doesn't mean he won't repay us with his anger."

Getting off of her bed he pulled her back into his chest and grinned as he spoke quietly.

"You are no woman of virtue, Y/n. Do not pretend you didn't enjoy yourself. The only shame you should be feeling is that you have been led to believe that your pleasure is a sin. Soon, you'll be begging me for more."

She huffed as she jerked herself away from him and stepped toward the table with the pitcher of water, placing her palms down on the wood. She heard him walking away toward her door and glanced at him as he turned before opening it.

"I'll find Phoebe to bring you your breakfast. You still need plumping."

. .

His wife-to-be could read. Harry almost couldn't believe it but she had a book on her bed that she'd been reading (naughty little thing) and he tried not to show her how surprised he was by that revelation but he was quite taken aback. Thanks to The Enlightenment, it was becoming more common for women to read but the lower classes weren't educated in that way quite yet. In truth, he couldn't have been more pleased to learn that his little mouse had some brains after all.

The middle-class proletariats and the wealthy gentry would not agree that this was a good thing. Their Christian morals led them to believe that only those of rank should have the ability. Someone poverty-stricken with the skill wouldn't know how to control their urges and read the right things. They'd balk at a woman of poverty reading just as much as they'd soon balk at the idea of Y/n being their queen. He couldn't wait to introduce Y/n and her family to the public.

The Lord Mayer had only heard that Harry had found a wife, not who the girl was just yet. He smiled as he imagined the look on his face when he met her and the family at dinner. Of course, his council would be there as well and he knew they'd have a fit over it.

"Sir, Y/n's family has arrived. They have been shown their quarters, warm baths drawn, and wardrobes ready. Dinner will be served in one hour and a half," Fred spoke. "And Y/n… Well, it seems she's unhappy with the dressings she's been given. Something about the unmentionables being too tight. She refuses to wear the appropriate clothing."

"My wife may wear whatever she pleases. If she doesn't like the underdressings then she does not need them. Tell her assistant to stop trying to force her to comply or else I'll find her a new one."

Fred quietly left the sitting room where Harry was enjoying a warm fire and a stiff gin. He'd go and help Y/n dress himself if she wasn't so squeamish around him. Though, he did enjoy their morning tryst, he knew she'd need time to get used to her new setting.

"You!" Harry spotted a worker scurrying past the room and stood from his chair.

The young man stopped and looked at the king with wide eyes as if he were in trouble. He bowed his head quickly. "My Lord."

"Whatever task you've been given, forget it. Your new duty is to go into the library and find as many smut books as you can and have them delivered to the Rose Room before the end of the day."

The man nodded. "Yes, My Lord."

. .

Y/n was as shaky as a feather as she stepped into the Great Hall with Harry by her side. Her mother and father stood quickly, followed by her sisters, and then finally her grandmother. She noted they were all washed and wearing fine clothing. Her sisters wore big grins as her mother wobbled out a sob (the woman could tend to be a bit dramatic).

They'd never seen one another dressed so nicely before. It was a new world for all of them. Her grandmother had a large pearl pin in her hair and rouge on her cheeks. Her mother's linen yellow gown looked perfectly fitted for her. Y/n's father looked regal and influential in his dark blue tailcoat and silk cravat, while her sisters were adorned in colorful muslin with full skirts.

But Y/n… All eyes were on her as she walked toward the royal table, arm tucked into Harry's. Her extravagant velvet gown was a soft green color that matched the king's eyes. The ruffled bust was nearly draped from her shoulders, her neckline on display. The skirt of the dress was full (but not as full as it would have been if she'd worn the proper gear) and there were sewn-in patterns in the shape of vines and flowers in dark green. She was a vision.

Harry's chair was pulled out first and he sat at the head of the table as Y/n sat to his right. The long table was draped in white linen cloths, topped with silver and gold platters and plates, and crystal glassware. Lavish flower centerpieces were spaced out between the covered dishes and the room smelled divine.

There were seven men that sat with them, all scrutinizing the king's pick. They'd never heard the last name of her family as it was not common in high-class society. Which could only mean that the king had not selected advantageously.

"Y/l/n… Where does that name hail from?" One of the men spoke as the servers began to plate food for everyone.

"Does it matter?" Harry barked as he shot his gaze across the table to the man who spoke out of turn.

"Of course it does. The kingdom is relying on a favorable match. And to my eye, I do not suspect these people have any clue of the standard we must uphold. We must maintain—"

"You will keep quiet about your opinion, for it does not concern you who I marry or why."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect—"

"You too will not speak on this matter." Harry raised his voice at the other man who'd chimed in. "Let us enjoy our dinner, yes? No more talk of class or agreeable matches. I am the king and I have made my choice. I'm not interested in hearing your insignificant drivel."

Y/n's carving of meat was plated before her and she nearly gasped at the spectacle. She looked up at the man who'd served it and before he could step away to carve a portion for her father who sat to her right Harry stopped him.

"Give her twice as much as the rest of us, and the fat too."

Y/n looked at the king, down to her plate, and then back at him again. "Why? I can't possibly eat—"

"You need the fat. You have been underfed for too long."

"Enjoy it, dear. The king is right," her father spoke quietly to her.

She leaned forward and looked at her mother who sat on the other side of her father and reached across to take her mother's hand as she'd begun to cry. "Don't do that, Mother. There's no need for it."

Her mother inhaled a sob and nodded. "I know. I just can't believe this is happening to us. What did we do to find ourselves in such favor? And you!" She wobbled out a shallow cry. "Who knew you'd caught the king's eye? We didn't realize he'd been courting you!"

Harry chuckled and looked at Y/n as she tried to calm her mother while her plate was piled high with meat and roasted potato. Her sisters whispered amongst themselves, discussing their outfits and the jeweled pins in their hair as the Lord Mayer sighed in displeasure.

Y/n's family was a nightmare. They were unfit for such a designation and looking at all of them The Lord Mayer was sure they were as well behaved as street dogs. Her father began eating his food before the king even took a bite of his own, the mother was sobbing like a lunatic, tears falling onto her plate, and her sisters were whispering and giggling like they were playing child's games at the royal table.

He stood from his spot, his chair sliding back and he slammed his hands down onto the table. He was provoked to finally speak his peace. "This cannot go on! What a disgrace to Thornekeep to have these commoners assigned a place amongst royalty. I will not stand for this mockery! Your father—"

"My father is dead!" Harry stood from his chair and loudly spoke over the Lord Mayer's voice. "Sit down or leave at once! You will not insult these people or I will have your head!"

"You do not have that kind of power, yo—"

"The Bloody Code says I do and I will evoke it should you say another damned word against them. Leave! All of you!" Harry pointed toward the arched opening that would lead them from the Great Hall.

The council and Y/n's family all stood up quickly. "Not you. Just the blunderbusses who think themselves worthy of their titles," Harry spoke.

The men all mumbled unintelligible things under their breath as they left their untouched food on the table and scurried away in haste. When it was just Harry and Y/n's family at the table he smiled. "Please, enjoy your supper."

The king had to admit, he quite enjoyed the liveliness of the dinner once the council and Lord Mayer were gone. Y/n's family was not trained in the usual way of the upper classes and so their etiquette was unrefined at best. They slurped and laughed and chatted like they were at a pub. Even Y/n was a messy eater as he watched her once wipe her hands on the skirt of her dress. And halfway through, the young girls were chasing each other around the table and using the linens to play hide and seek underneath.

When the dinner was finished and the family had all left the table and were taken back to their quarters Y/n's chair was pulled from behind and she stood to take Harry's arm as she looked up at him before he led them out of the Great Hall. She spotted the guard who'd taken her to her room from the evening prior and greeted him kindly.

"Good afternoon, George." She smiled at the guard.

Harry stopped and looked at his guard and down to his queen-to-be. "Do you know one another?"

Y/n nodded looking from George back up to Harry. "Yes. Last night in the library. He stood guard."

"And how do you know his first name?"

"Phoebe called him by it."

Harry looked at his guard, releasing Y/n's arm as he stepped forward. "And what do you think of my wife-to-be? Dashing isn't she?"

George flicked his sight to Y/n before fixing it to Harry. "My Lord, she'll be suitable for the kingdom."

"No, she won't, which is why I picked her. But tell me. Did you see the books she selected?"

"No, sir."

Harry let his shoulders relax as he looked down at Y/n and pulled his arm around her back, clutching at her hip. "Your assistant introduced you to him? Why is that?"

She didn't understand the inquisition at first. "Because Phoebe was tired and I told her she could return to her room to rest. She asked George if he could help me back to my room after I was finished."

The edge of his mouth flitted up before it dropped back into place. "Is that so? You two were alone in the library?"

Y/n looked from George to Harry, suddenly realizing her error. "Well, only for a bit. I sent Phoebe away. It was quick. And then I went to my room. Nothing mo—"

"Did you invite him into your room as well?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Do not raise your voice at me," he snapped.

"Sorry," she whispered and looked downward.

"Did he touch you?"

"No, My Lord."

"I'd wager he wanted to. Isn't that right, George? Pretty thing such as this can be quite tempting when the night has come. Have yourself a good look at the future queen, then?"

"No, sir."

Harry looked at Y/n and she felt his cold demeanor pouring icy down her frame as he grasped the nape of her neck. "Why not have a gander now, George? Don't be timid. Go on. Look at her. The curve of her neck and soft cheeks arouse thoughts of youth and beauty. The way her chest rises heavily under such scrutiny is quite stimulating to the eye, is it not?"

Y/n swallowed and kept her sight forward on the silk flock wallpaper as Harry held her still. The moment was unpleasant with Harry scrutinizing and intimidating his guard. George remained silent as her heart rate ramped up wildly.

"You're not even looking at her. Why is that? Is it because you're only bold enough to glimpse at what's mine when I'm not in party? While I was sleeping in my chambers my wife-to-be was alone with the night guard. Look at her."

She tried to pry away from Harry's hold and scowled at him for his rough behavior with George. George hadn't done anything wrong at all and yet here the king was, berating him and acting like a foolish cracked twat.

The guard hesitantly looked at Y/n, keeping his eyes above the line of her neck as he remained silent.

"What do you see? Hmm?" Harry practically snarled.

"Sir, I see your bride-to-be."

"That's right. Mine. Your station will be with the front guards from now on. You are not to approach her or talk to her ever again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Do not punish him! He did nothing wrong!" Y/n balked and once again, tried pulling herself from Harry's grip.

Harry squinted down at her and scoffed. "If I say he did something wrong, then he did." He released her arm, making her tumble back a few steps as he looked at Phoebe. "Take her to her room. Do not let her come back out for the night."

"You're awful!" Y/n bellowed at him. She'd had such a wonderful dinner with her family and even began to feel warmth from the king as he'd stood up for her family with such fervour when they'd been insulted by the council.

Harry merely let out an annoyed laugh at her as he looked back at George. "Tell Niall he's been promoted to your position and send him here to set up. Go at once."

If there was one thing she'd learned about the king in her short time knowing him, it was that he both infuriated and confused her to her core. And there was the matter of the way he aroused her curiosity as well, but that was a thought for another day. Because at that moment, she wanted to strike his pretty face with her fist as hard as she could muster.

When Phoebe opened the door to her room she flung herself inside and began to pull at her dress as tears worked their way down her cheeks. "I hate him! I hate him!"

"He can be quite crude at times," Phoebe offered.

"He's awful! I will… I will…" She balled her fists and shrieked loudly as she bristled in anger. "I will not marry such a devil."

"Here, let me help you," Phoebe reached for her gown and worked the buttons at the back to allow her to finally pull it off, leaving her in only her chemise and drawers. "Better?"

Y/n nodded and rubbed at her face. "Yes, thank you." She breathed and sat down on the chair near her fireplace. "I need to be by myself, I think. Will you come back in an hour? Please?"

Phoebe smiled softly. "Of course. Whatever you like. I'll return in one hour."

The silence of the room surrounded her as she closed her eyes and laid back into the chair to breathe and to think. She wasn't used to the ways of the upper class and she certainly wasn't used to being bossed around as the king did to her and to everyone else. But, she could admit, she enjoyed the lavish things around her. Her bed in particular was of note.

She looked toward the perfectly made, pillowy cloud across the room and sat up quickly when she saw a basket on the floor next to it. She hadn't seen it before. Standing from the chair, she walked toward it, assessing the contents, and realized it was full of books!

Plucking one of the bindings up to inspect she inhaled softly when she realized what kind of book it was. Flipping through the pages she smiled and then looked down at the basket again and bent to see another book of smut and then another, and yet another.

She sat at the edge of her bed and stared toward her fireplace. There was no question to her who'd sent the books for her. Phoebe, could not only not read but wouldn't dare do such a thing. The only other person who knew about the smut book she'd gotten from the library was the same man she wished to give a thorough thrashing to.

The king, Harry Styles, had sent a basket of books to her room. And Y/n wasn't sure how that made her feel. She wanted to hold onto her rage for a while longer but as she pulled herself into her bed and opened up one of the books to read, she felt a sliver of her anger disintegrate. Perhaps things weren't perfect, but certainly, anyone would agree, it was much better than sitting out in the cold seeking small kindnesses from strangers who thought her no better than a street dog.

. .

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[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Pillow Wall

Where Harry wants to blame the cold or the mattress or her gravity, but the truth is, he just sleeps better wrapped up in her.

Word count: 1,357

Every night, they start the same way.

Harry climbs into bed first, flops onto his side with a groan like it’s been the longest day in the world—even if it hasn’t. Y/N follows a minute later, switching off the lamp, the room going soft and quiet.

He shifts to the far edge of his side. She mirrors him on hers. A whole country between them.

“G’night, love,” he says, muffled into his pillow.

“’Night,” she replies, already halfway to sleep.

Sometimes he’ll add something dumb, like “Don’t steal the covers,” even though she never does. Or, “Don’t kick me,” even though it’s his foot that always ends up on her side.

They face away from each other. No touching. No cuddling. No crossing the invisible line.

It’s not a cold thing—it’s just how it is. She likes her space. He says he sleeps better without limbs on him. It works.

At least until morning.

Because every single day, without fail, Y/N wakes up with Harry practically glued to her.

This morning, it’s worse than usual. He’s managed to wedge himself between her arm and chest, face smushed against her collarbone, one leg thrown across her hips like he’s trying to claim territory. His breath is warm and slow against her skin. Peaceful. Way too comfortable for someone who swears he needs “distance to function.”

She blinks at the ceiling for a second, lips twitching.

“Again?” she mumbles, mostly to herself.

Harry stirs, groaning like someone’s just disturbed his royal slumber.

“You dragged me in,” he mumbles without opening his eyes. “Every time. Like a bloody magnet.”

She snorts. “Sure I did.”

His arms tighten just slightly around her, and then he goes still again, already drifting back off.

Liar, she thinks.

It keeps happening.

The next morning, she wakes up with his nose buried in her neck and his hand resting casually under her shirt, palm flat against her stomach like he belongs there. He’s snoring lightly, and his leg is hooked around hers in a way that makes it physically impossible to move without waking him.

She lies there for a minute, not quite annoyed, not quite amused—just… baffled. Again.

“Harry,” she whispers, shifting just enough to make a point.

“Mm?” His voice is rough, still half in a dream. “Cold. You pulled me in.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did too.”

She sighs. He’s not even trying anymore.

Morning three, she wakes up practically spooning him. His back is to her, but her arm is slung around his waist, his fingers lazily twined with hers, like they fell asleep mid-conversation. Like this is just what they do.

She pulls her hand back slowly, like she’s dealing with a wild animal, and rolls onto her side. He follows her instinctively, still asleep, reaching for her even as she escapes.

By the time she gets up to brush her teeth, he’s taken over her pillow and curled into the spot where she was like a cat chasing warmth.

“Menace,” she mutters under her breath.

The next day, she wakes up nose-to-nose with him. Full frontal cuddle. His knee between her thighs, his arms around her like they’ve been in the middle of some intense, slow-motion hug all night. His lips are slightly parted, curls a mess, breath hitting her chin in soft little waves.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even try.

“You okay down there?” she whispers.

His eyes barely crack open. “Would be better if you’d stop yanking me in like a sleep-deprived octopus.”

She just stares at him. “You seriously think I’m the one doing this?”

“Babe,” he says, voice low and hoarse, “I’m a victim.”

Then he presses his face back into her neck and falls asleep again.

A smug, snoring victim.

It happens again on a Thursday.

She wakes up with his entire body sprawled on top of hers. His head is tucked beneath her chin, his arms wrapped under her back, and somehow, he’s managed to get one of his feet under her calf like he’s trying to anchor her in place.

She’s had enough.

“Harry,” she says, sharp this time.

“Mmmph.”

“Get off me.”

He groans, buries his face deeper into her chest like that’ll help. “Why’re you so loud?”

“Because you are a liar,” she says, untangling her arm and smacking his shoulder with it. “You keep blaming me for this. Every morning. Like I’m the one dragging your six-foot ass across the bed in my sleep.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just exhales, long and dramatic.

“Look at this,” she gestures, even though his eyes are still shut. “You’re fully on top of me. There is no way I pulled you into this.”

He cracks one eye open. “You’re warm.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re warm,” he repeats, like that explains everything. “And you smell nice. And sometimes I wake up a little and think, ‘Cuddles would be good,’ and then I just… do it.”

She gapes at him. “So you admit it.”

“I’m only human, Y/N.”

She smacks him with a pillow.

He grins into her shirt. Doesn’t even pretend to move.

Later that night, she makes a big production out of it.

“I’m putting a pillow wall between us,” she announces, tossing one of the big decorative ones from the couch onto the bed and propping it upright between them. “You stay on your side. No trespassing. I mean it.”

Harry watches her from his side, already under the covers, biting back a smile.

“Alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Message received. No cuddles. Ever again.”

“Exactly,” she says, climbing in. “Cuddle embargo. Effective immediately.”

“Harsh but fair.”

“Thank you.”

She clicks off the lamp. Silence falls.

For two minutes.

Then—

“I just think,” he says quietly, “you’re being a bit dramatic about how much you love me.”

She groans into her pillow. “Harry.”

“Can’t help that you’re clingy in your sleep. I’m the victim here, remember?”

She tosses a hand over the pillow wall and hits him in the face without looking.

He laughs. “That’s assault.”

She stays silent. Firm. Unmoving. She’s serious this time.

Until morning.

Because, of course, when she wakes up, the pillow wall is gone—mysteriously vanished—and Harry is back where he always ends up: wrapped around her like he belongs there, like it’s instinct. Like neither of them ever meant the distance in the first place.

She doesn’t bother waking him. Just lies there, hand idly brushing through his hair.

She’ll rebuild the wall tonight. Maybe.

Probably not.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name? 

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation. 

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next? 

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow. 

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach. 

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear. 

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain. 

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent? 

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way. 

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture. 

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory. 

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex? 

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it. 

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details. 

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat. 

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus. 

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. 

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise. 

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things. 

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud. 

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…” 

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body. 

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close. 

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack. 

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?” 

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy. 

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within. 

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him. 

He could tell you were nervous. 

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers. 

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked. 

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready. 

“Still kind of cold.” He lied. 

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next. 

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered? 

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water. 

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable. 

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want. 

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out. 

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place. 

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat. 

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to. 

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy. 

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water. 

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves? 

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising. 

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?” 

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it. 

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking? 

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place. 

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away. 

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip. 

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…” 

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability. 

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you. 

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner. 

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because 

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn 

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face. 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin. 

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck. 

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine. 

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort. 

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was. 

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat. 

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic. 

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him? 

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name. 

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—” 

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door. 

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view. 

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room. 

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?” 

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go. 

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?” 

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows. 

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away. 

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives? 

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?” 

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom. 

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared. 

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer? 

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning. 

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch? 

Where had someone like him been when all the others failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. 

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch. 

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear. 

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more prominent in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry. 

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away? 

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head. 

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it? 

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it. 

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further. 

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers. 

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward. 

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure. 

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come. 

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest. 

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for? 

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night. 

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day. 

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and you picture yourself lying there. 

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering. 

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all! 

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally. 

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon. 

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top. 

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to. 

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief. 

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him. 

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck. 

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it. 

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock. 

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control. 

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh filling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his. 

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter. 

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise. 

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your clit against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold. 

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both. 

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill. 

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen. 

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud. 

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch. 

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palms to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out. 

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that’s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan. 

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction. 

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him. 

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving. 

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you. 

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…” 

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep. 

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time. 

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt. 

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work. 

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing. 

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same. 

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now. 

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt. 

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way. 

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush. 

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night. 

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body. 

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this. 

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths. 

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there. 

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition. 

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him. 

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with. 

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone. 

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back. 

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

Masterlist<-

[stylesonfilms]

the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]

word count: 4.5k

after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.

(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)

warnings: none, just fluff!

Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.

Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.

By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.

Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.

Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.

Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.

“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.

“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.

You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.

If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.

But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.

He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.

You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.

“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”

The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.

You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.

Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.

But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.

The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.

“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.

The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.

Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.

When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”

The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.

You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.

By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.

You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.

“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”

You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.

Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”

Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.

Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.

When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.

The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.

By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.

Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.

Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.

He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.

His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”

Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.

You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.

“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.

Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.

Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.

You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.

Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.

“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.

Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.

“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”

You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”

“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”

Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”

“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”

“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”

Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.

With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.

“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.

When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”

“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.

“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”

Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”

You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.

[harryssyndrome]

Kiwi baby! | h.s 🥝

Summery: Harry’s wife surprises him during Kiwi with the best news ever.

Word count: 3.2k || Masterlist 🍉🍓❤️

The gif and the ai image are both mine! Don’t you dare steal it! I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE EITHER OF THEM OR STEAL MY WORK!!!

On a kind note, I hope you enjoy reading!!! I love this one-shot sm <333 I couldn’t wait to write it the whole night ever since I got the idea. This is probably my most favorite piece of work ever. I guess I’ll make this a part of ‘Our Little World: Documentary series’. REQUEST ARE OPEN! 🌊

Posted on: November 24th, 2024. (IST)

Tag-list: @angeldavis777 @fruity-harry || TAGLIST OPEN 💌

The evening sky above the stadium was painted in deep shades of purple, and the crowd beneath it surged with energy, every soul gathered to see him perform. Harry Styles was in his element, bathed in bright lights, his smile as wide as the stage itself, his voice carrying through the open air. The music was loud, vibrant, and electric—Kiwi blasting through the speakers as Harry moved across the stage, every step laced with the confidence and excitement that only live performances could stir.

His outfit tonight was nothing short of breathtaking—a red and black Gucci harlequin-patterned suit that shimmered under the lights, accentuating his every movement. The slickness of his hair, now a little longer than usual, fell just enough to brush his forehead as he swung his body to the rhythm of the song. Fans were ecstatic, their voices harmonizing with his in perfect unity, shouting the words to Kiwi as if their very existence depended on it.

The crowd threw water at him, a playful and typical reaction to the intense heat of the show. Harry, ever the entertainer, caught one of the bottles and used it to douse them back with a mischievous grin. The energy was alive in a way only concerts could make him feel. He laughed along with his fans, feeling that familiar thrill that had kept him addicted to this life—the adoration of strangers, the pulse of the music, and the sheer joy of performing.

But amidst the buzz of lights, the sweat dripping from his skin, and the joy in the air, there was a quiet thought that kept tugging at him. YN. His wife. She wasn’t in the VIP stand like usual. He could always rely on her to be there, her smile always radiating at him from the crowd, her presence a constant comfort. But tonight, the spot where she always stood was empty. The concern he tried to shake off kept creeping into his mind, distracting him in the back of his head, even as his heart continued to race with excitement from the show.

He couldn’t help but glance over to the section where she usually sat, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face, knowing it would soothe the small, gnawing worry he felt. But the space remained empty.

His foot tapped the beat of the song beneath him, trying to focus on the crowd once more. He tossed the water bottle at the fans, his fingers brushing the cold plastic. The adrenaline kept him high, kept him in the moment, but his gaze drifted again.

Where was she?

YN had been a little quieter than usual in the past few days. He hadn’t pushed for any answers, but now he found himself wondering if something was wrong. Maybe she was feeling unwell. Maybe she just wanted to have a quiet night in. Still, the thought of not seeing her there tonight gnawed at him.

His voice still rang out with the words of the song, but his mind was divided between the stage and the empty stand. He kept looking—one eye on the crowd, the other scanning for her. And just as his next verse was coming up, he saw it.

There she was.

Right in the front row—so close to the barricade, she was almost on the stage.

His breath caught in his throat.

She wasn’t in the VIP section. No, she was right there. In the heart of the crowd. The waves of people parted like the Red Sea for her, and there she stood—holding a sign. Her figure illuminated by the stage lights, her long hair falling in waves over her shoulders, a look of pure joy and love in her eyes.

For a moment, everything else fell away—the music, the fans, the lights—all of it was distant. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of her. The sign she held was simple, but to him, it was everything.

“I’m having your baby” it read, scrawled across a bright poster board in bold, handwritten letters.

He froze. His heart nearly stopped.

She’s pregnant.

He blinked, thinking he must be imagining it, but no—she was smiling at him now, holding up the sign for him to see, her eyes locked on his. There was no mistaking it. YN—his wife—was carrying their baby.

Harry’s pulse raced as the flood of emotions hit him. His heart thudded against his chest like it wanted to burst free. The happiness, the disbelief, the excitement—it all rushed through him like a tidal wave, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt beneath his feet.

He had wanted this. He had dreamed of this. Of being a father. Of having a child with YN. They had talked about it before, casually, in quiet moments after dinner, while walking through the park, in bed at night. But it had never been a “right now” kind of conversation. They had agreed that when it happened, it happened. And now… it had happened.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and his throat tightened. The emotions, overwhelming and beautiful, blurred his vision, but all he could do was stand there on the stage, dumbstruck by the sight of his wife, her belly now holding the future they had always dreamed of.

In a rush of pure joy, Harry stumbled forward, intent on reaching her, to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her how much he loved her. But as he took a step toward her, he didn’t see the puddle of water gathering at the edge of the stage, a result of the fans tossing their bottles earlier.

And then, it happened.

His foot slipped.

There was a split second of disbelief before Harry lost his footing completely, crashing down to the stage in an ungraceful heap. The crowd gasped collectively, their moment of joy paused in shock. But Harry, ever the professional, couldn’t help but laugh at himself. His laughter echoed through the microphone as he quickly scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, still chuckling as he shook off the fall. The fans laughed along with him, the tension breaking as they cheered even louder, impressed by his quick recovery. Harry took a deep breath, regaining his balance and composure. He grabbed the microphone again, still laughing, and gave the crowd a playful wink.

“You okay, Harry?” someone from the crew called out, teasing him from the side.

“Yeah, I’m good! Just a little slippery, that’s all!” Harry replied, still grinning.

His gaze immediately returned to YN. She was still standing at the barricade, her sign still held high, her face alight with joy, her smile as radiant as the sun. It was in that moment that Harry realized he couldn’t wait any longer. The song was still playing behind him, the familiar rhythm pulsing through his body, but he couldn’t focus on the lyrics anymore. Not with the overwhelming emotions flooding his heart.

He took a step forward, slowly walking toward the edge of the stage, his eyes still locked on YN, who was holding his gaze with the same intensity. With each step, his heart pounded harder in his chest.

And before he even knew it, his knees buckled beneath him, and Harry collapsed to the stage once more, but this time, it was with pure emotion.

He covered his face with his hands, unable to contain the tears that had begun to fall freely down his cheeks. After a few moments, Harry wiped his eyes, clearing the tears away as he stood up once more. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke into the mic, his words trembling with happiness:

“My wife is having my baby!” he shouted, his voice trembling. “It’s all my business!”

The crowd erupted in pure, ecstatic noise, the roar of the fans filling the stadium as Harry remained on his knees, the overwhelming weight of the moment too much to bear. His chest was heaving, his body shaking as the reality of the news consumed him.

“Is that real?” a fan shouted.

“Yes, it’s real!” Harry replied, laughing through his tears. “I’m going to be a dad! A dad!” He repeated the words as if he needed to hear them again, the joy overwhelming every part of him.

The fans roared in approval, the noise a chaotic symphony of celebration. But Harry didn’t care about any of that now. He didn’t care about the performance or the crowd or the cameras recording every moment. All he could think about was YN.

His mind was consumed by thoughts of the future—the life they would build together, the family they would raise. He quickly stood to his feet, wiping his eyes, and glanced once more at YN.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Harry dropped the mic to the stage and sprinted toward the barricade, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Harry could feel the heat of the stage lights burning against his skin, but they didn’t matter. The noise of the crowd was deafening, but it was like a distant hum. His heart was the loudest thing he could hear, thrumming in his chest, pumping through his veins with an almost frantic rhythm. His legs carried him toward YN like they had a mind of their own. He was driven by a force he couldn’t describe, propelled by the overwhelming joy of the moment.

Fans parted for him as he made his way to the front of the stage, their cheers rising to a fever pitch as they realized what was happening. Harry didn’t hear their excitement—he only heard the steady beat of his heart, louder now than the music, than anything else in the world.

YN. His wife. The love of his life. The mother of his child.

As he approached the barricades, YN’s smile never wavered. She was grinning from ear to ear, her eyes shining with excitement, her hand placed lovingly over her flat belly. As soon as Harry reached her, he lifted her into his arms, spinning her around in a joyous embrace, laughing like a child. The crowd cheered even louder, their love for Harry and YN growing with every passing second.

She had always known that he wanted this more than anything. They both had. But now it was real. She was carrying their baby, and everything about their lives was about to change.

“YNN…” Harry’s voice caught in his throat as he reached her. He placed her back on the ground, eyes never leaving hers. She was glowing—absolutely radiant in the soft light of the stage, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh as his arms reached out to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. The crowd cheered louder, but Harry only had eyes for YN, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

“I love you,” Harry whispered into her ear, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents.”

YN pulled back slightly to look at him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart under her fingers. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her smile wide and full of joy, matching his own. “I know. I can’t believe it either,” she whispered, voice trembling just slightly. “I wanted to tell you in the cutest way possible, but you’ve already made it the most unforgettable moment of my life.”

Harry’s breath caught again, a lump forming in his throat as he looked down at her belly, still so small but already holding the life they had created together. His hands rested gently on her sides as he crouched down slightly, his eyes never leaving her. He placed his lips softly on her stomach, his kiss a promise—a vow. The fans around them cheered again, but this time, it was just background noise to Harry.

“I’m going to be the best dad for you,” Harry muttered against her belly, his voice filled with awe. “I promise.”

YN’s fingers threaded through his hair as she smiled down at him, her heart swelling with love. “I know you will be. I’ve always known,” she whispered, her voice full of faith and affection.

“You’re going to be the best dad our baby could ever ask for.”

As Harry pulled back from the kiss, he stood to his full height and stared at YN, his hands still resting on her waist, his expression filled with wonder. His lips curled into a grin, and he couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before meeting her eyes once more.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as if the words didn’t fully make sense to him yet. But the more he said them, the more real it became. “You and me. We’re going to have a little baby.”

YN’s eyes sparkled, the tears now freely falling down her cheeks. She looked at him with a mix of love, gratitude, and joy. She reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing gently against the stubble on his jaw. “It’s happening, Harry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s happening.”

Harry smiled wider, and without thinking, he reached down, cupping her face with both hands. He kissed her then—slow, gentle, tender—a kiss that held all of his joy, his love, his gratitude, his hope for their future. This was more than a kiss; it was a promise, a symbol of everything they were about to become. Harry pulled away slowly, his forehead resting against hers as they both tried to catch their breath.

“I can’t wait,” Harry murmured, his lips still grazing hers as he spoke. “I can’t wait to hold our baby. To be there for you. For everything.”

The love in his voice was enough to make YN’s heart swell to bursting. He kissed her again, softer this time, and then looked back at the crowd.

Harry wrapped her in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around again as he laughed.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

YN laughed, her fingers threading through his damp curls. “I love you too. Always.”

Harry set her down gently, his hands never leaving her as he looked into her eyes. “You’re my everything, YNN. You and this baby—you’re everything.”

Tears slid down YN’s cheeks, and she nodded, her heart full. “And you’re ours.”

Harry dropped to his knees once more, pressing his lips to her stomach in a gesture so tender it made YN’s breath catch.

“Thank you for making my life so much beautiful,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I’ll love this baby with everything I’ve got. And I’ll love you even more.”

YN’s hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers squeezing gently. “You already are, Harry.”

The evening continued around them, but for Harry and YN, time seemed to slow. The music had become a distant hum, the chatter of the fans a soft murmur in the background. All that mattered was each other.

As they stood at the barricades, Harry reached up to take YN’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. He leaned in once more, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and slow, as if savoring every moment, every sensation. His heart felt full to bursting. He had everything he had ever wanted—YN, their love, and now, the promise of their baby.

He felt as if his entire life had led up to this point—this single, beautiful moment. The rush of emotions from earlier hadn’t yet subsided, but now there was a calmness in him, a peace. He smiled as he looked down at YN’s hand in his, then back into her eyes.

“I know we’ve been through so much already,” Harry said quietly, his voice full of emotion. “But I feel like the best part of our journey is just beginning.”

YN nodded, her smile soft and full of love. “I feel the same way.”

Harry squeezed her hand once more, then stepped back slightly, turning his attention back to the crowd. “I’m going to be a dad,” he said out loud, his voice full of awe and happiness. He turned to face the audience, the microphone still lying on the stage. “Everyone, this is the best moment of my life,” he said, his voice carrying the emotion of the words. “My wife, YN, is having my baby.”

The moment was surreal. The fans were still screaming, the cameras still rolling, but none of it mattered. For Harry, nothing would ever top this moment. It wasn’t just another performance or another stage—it was the night his greatest dream began to come true.

As they stood there together, the crowd began to chant, “Baby Styles! Baby Styles!”

Harry threw his head back in laughter, turning to wave at the audience. “You lot are mad!” he called out, but his face said it all—he was over the moon.

The crowd continued on cheering wildly, but Harry’s focus was on the woman in front of him. She was glowing, every inch of her radiating love and joy, and he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive.

He leaned in to kiss her once more, this time a gentle, loving kiss on her lips. He felt everything he had ever hoped for in that kiss—his future, his family, and the love of his life, all wrapped up in one perfect moment.

As the kiss ended, he pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” YN whispered back.

They stood there for a moment longer, the world around them continuing on, but nothing mattered now but each other, and the new life they were about to bring into the world. Together.

The fans’ cheers faded into the background as Harry held YN’s hand tightly, the two of them standing side by side, facing the future with all the love and hope that their hearts could hold.

Harry stood up and kissed her again, his heart still racing, his mind still in a daze, but in the best way possible. His dream of being a dad was coming true, and no matter what came next, he knew he had everything he ever needed right here, in this moment. He knew one thing for sure: their love was only just beginning

And with that, Harry Styles was no longer just a rock star on stage—he was going to be a dad, and that was the greatest role he’d ever play.

[nickistuffs]

Hello Again Pt. 1

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: This feels fated to meet again and again and again

Word Count: 3.07k

Warnings: None. It's It's just fluff and also a slow burn.

Read Chimed Encounters first to start before this one.

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

A ping from your email broke your concentration on work. You sighed, already assuming it was one of your manufacturers asking for yet another confirmation about a product you’d been working over for months. Without much thought, you clicked on the notification, ready to fire off a quick response.

To your surprise, the email wasn’t from a manufacturer—it was from Sam, your old friend and occasional collaborator. His subject line read: “Job Offer You Can’t Refuse.” Intrigued, you opened the email and quickly scanned its contents.

It seemed Sam had found you a project that piqued his interest—and yours. The pay was good, the timeline was tight, and the concept sounded straightforward.

You immediately picked up your phone and called him. No need for formalities; this was Sam, after all.

“Hey, Sam,” you said as soon as he answered, skipping any pleasantries. “What’s this mysterious job offer you’re dangling in front of me?”

“Oh, that.” He sounded smug, which only made you roll your eyes. “I’m under an NDA, so I can’t say too much, but it’s a pop-up store project. The whole thing needs to be modular and removable, so it can be packed up and relocated in two months. Easy, right? You in?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, I’m in! Sounds simple enough. Send over the contract and details, and I’ll get started.”

“I knew I could count on you,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the phone. “See you onsite, Y/N.” ...

The day of the meeting arrived, and you were ready—or so you thought.

Sam couldn’t make it and had entrusted you to lead the meeting solo, but you were used to working independently, so it wasn’t a problem. Dressed in a professional outfit that balanced comfort and confidence, you walked into the office where the meeting was being held.

As you glanced around at the product displays, your heart skipped a beat. You could already tell this was a high-profile client. Their products, branding, and visuals exuded quality and creativity.

As you tried to calm your nerves, the conference room door opened, and a group of people filed out.

A friendly woman approached you, pulling you back to reality.

“Hello, are you Ms. Y/N L/N?”

“Yes,” you replied with a polite smile, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I have a meeting with your visual merchandising manager.”

“Perfect, you’re our two o’clock appointment. Please come in.”

You stepped inside the sleek, minimalistic conference room and began setting up.

“Our lead designer just stepped out for a quick break,” the woman explained, handing you a water bottle. “They’ll be back in ten minutes and a few other designers. Is there anything else I can get you while you wait? Coffee?”

“Water is fine. Thank you,” you replied.

You opened your laptop, pulled up your notes and sketches, and jotted down a few ideas in your journal. You were mid-thought when the door opened behind you.

You turned, ready to greet whoever entered, but the words caught in your throat.

It was him. Harry Styles.

...

You both stared at each other, completely stunned. Of all the people you could run into at this meeting, it had to be him. You hadn’t seen Harry since your last encounter at Felice’s Café.

For a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down, your mind scrambling to process his presence. He looked just as effortlessly charming as you remembered, his warm green eyes flickering with recognition and surprise.

Finally, Harry broke the silence, his voice smooth but slightly uncertain.

“Hello, I’m Harry Styles. I’m the owner of the company. Nice to meet you…?”

It took you a second to respond, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you as well.”

He smiled, extending a hand toward you. You scrambled to your feet, standing taller than you’d expected, and reached out to shake his hand.

Your hands met, and you shook it—a bit too long, you thought as the realization hit. The warmth of his hand lingered, making you feel like time had momentarily stopped again.

You quickly dropped your hand and clasped it behind your back, your face heating up.

For a split second, an awkward silence filled the room. Harry seemed like he was about to say something, his lips parting as if to speak—

But just then, the door opened, and a small group of people filed into the room, shattering the quiet bubble you’d both been trapped in.

“Ah, great,” said a cheerful man from the group, clapping his hands together as he approached. “Harry, you’re here. And this must be Ms. L/N!”

The moment was gone. Harry straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly to one of polite professionalism, though you caught a flicker of something in his eyes as he glanced back at you.

You offered a polite nod to the newcomers, forcing yourself to focus as introductions were made. Yet, as the meeting began, you couldn’t help but feel like something important had been left unsaid.

And judging by the way Harry occasionally glanced your way, he felt the same.

...

As the meeting progressed, Harry found himself quietly observing you. Initially, he’d assumed you might be shy or reserved—perhaps because of the nervous energy that had lingered when you first met. But as you delved into your presentation, he realized just how wrong he was.

The confidence with which you spoke captivated the room. Your tone was steady yet approachable, and your words were carefully chosen to articulate your vision. You presented your design concepts with precision, highlighting the intricate details and practical functionality behind each element.

Harry leaned forward slightly in his chair, his interest piqued. The way you seamlessly balanced creativity with logic was impressive. He could tell how much thought you’d put into this project—every choice seemed deliberate, every detail purposeful.

What surprised him most, however, was your ability to command the room. You weren’t just presenting; you were selling the design, painting a picture of how the concept would come to life. And the team was eating it up.

He stole a glance around the room. His team, typically quick to interject or challenge ideas, sat quietly, nodding along with your points. Even he couldn’t help but admire the way you navigated through the questions and feedback with such ease.

When you paused for questions, Harry cleared his throat and spoke, his voice cutting through the room.

“I really appreciate the thought you’ve put into the design—it’s incredibly well-considered. I do have a question, though,” he said, his tone genuinely curious. “You mentioned incorporating natural textures into the layout. Can you elaborate on how those elements will remain modular while still maintaining their aesthetic appeal?”

You turned to him, locking eyes for a brief moment. His question wasn’t just thoughtful—it showed that he’d been paying close attention to your presentation.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” you began, your voice steady. “That’s a great question. For the natural textures, such as reclaimed wood and stone-inspired finishes, I’ve ensured that they’re lightweight and easily removable. The modular framework uses a system of interchangeable panels, so the aesthetic can be retained without compromising functionality.”

Harry nodded, clearly impressed. “That makes sense. And it aligns well with what we’re trying to achieve here—something unique, but also adaptable. Nicely done.”

You gave him a polite smile, though inside, his compliment sent a ripple of pride through you.

As the meeting continued, Harry couldn’t help but feel drawn to the passion and expertise you brought to your work. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself—so composed and articulate, yet with a spark of creativity that set you apart.

And as the session wrapped up, he found himself wondering if this serendipitous reunion might be more than just a chance encounter.

As handshakes and congratulations were exchanged, the manager gave a final nod of approval, and Harry himself followed suit, offering his praise for your presentation. It had been a resounding success.

With most of the team filing out of the room, the buzz of conversation slowly faded, leaving you alone at the conference table, still stuffing your things into your bag. You were on a high from the meeting—everything had gone so smoothly, but the exhaustion from a long day was beginning to catch up.

Suddenly, you heard a soft cough. Looking up, you were surprised to see Harry still standing near the door.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, startled. “Are there any more questions you need from me, Mr. Styles?” You quickly adjusted your posture, feeling a bit flustered.

Harry smiled, the easy warmth you remembered from your past encounter resurfacing. “You can call me Harry,” he replied with a casual, almost reassuring tone. “I’m not too big on formalities. Can I call you Y/N?”

“That’s alright with me,” you answered with a smile, pleased by the friendly tone of the conversation. It felt much more natural now that the formality had faded.

A beat of silence passed before Harry spoke again, his eyes twinkling with a hint of curiosity. “So, how long have you been eating breakfast at Feli’s Café?”

You blinked, a bit taken aback by the question. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. “Oh, I’ve been going there for a while now. I usually grab a matcha latte and sometimes a sandwich. Feli’s a good friend of mine—she’s the one who got me hooked on her menu.”

Good thing I found your journal, your presentation was fantastic. Harry complimented.

Thank you again for giving it back. and sorry I was on a time crunch that I didn't introduce myself.

Harry chuckled softly, his expression warm.

You felt a sudden shift in the air between you two, the unspoken moment starting to surface. But before either of you could delve deeper into the conversation, a voice from the hallway interrupted the moment.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the manager popped his head back in, looking around. “But I just wanted to confirm we’re all set for the next steps, Y/N? Can we count on you for the design rollout next week?”

You gave a nod, quickly snapping back into professional mode. “Yes, everything is in order. I'll start on the proper revisions needed for the plans."

“Perfect,” the manager smiled, satisfied. “Thanks again for your excellent work today.”

As he left the room, you turned back to Harry, who was still standing near the door, clearly reluctant to leave just yet.

“I guess I should let you get back to your day,” you said, trying to break the lingering tension. “I’ll see you around, Harry.”

Harry’s smile widened, and he nodded slowly. “Definitely.”

...

It had been a month since you completed your work for Pleasing. You scrolled through their Instagram, admiring how your designs brought their brand to life. Seeing people lining up to buy their high-quality products filled you with a deep sense of pride.

You’d only seen Harry a handful of times during the project, but he always seemed busy, caught up in meetings or surrounded by other people.

Sighing loudly, you collapsed onto your bed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over you. You had plans to join an art market this month, where you’d sell your prints, stickers, and other handmade knickknacks. It was something to look forward to, at least.

“Will we ever meet again?” you murmured to yourself, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, what are the chances?” You already knew the answer before you even finished the thought. Harry was probably the busiest person you’d ever met, and you were just a nobody in his world.

Your heart felt heavy as you grappled with the cold, hard reality—he might have only been a fleeting moment in your life, a beautiful memory to cherish but not something meant to last. ...

A month had passed, and Harry still hadn’t been able to properly speak with you. He had been trying—desperately, in fact. He’d gone to the café where you first met, hoping to run into you again, but you never showed up, or you came at different times. He even tried catching you after work, but you were always whisked away to other locations or surrounded by people.

In a final act of determination, Harry had even approached HR for your contact information, but they refused to give it to him. Frustrated and defeated, he began to think maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

As he walked home one evening, his eyes caught on a brightly colored poster advertising an upcoming art market at the same location he frequented. He stared at it for a moment, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest before he brushed it off with a sigh. Maybe it was time to give up. Maybe it was never destined to happen.

But something about the poster lingered in his mind—a quiet, persistent thought that made him decide, almost on impulse, to go to the market anyway. Perhaps, by some happy chance, fate would intervene.

You were busy setting up your booth in the bustling market, carefully adjusting misaligned prints and rearranging trinkets to create the perfect display. The air buzzed with chatter and laughter, the atmosphere lively as other artists greeted passersby and showcased their work.

“Your paintings are just lovely, dear,” an elderly woman remarked, her eyes sparkling as she pointed to one of your pieces.

“They really are,” her partner chimed in with a warm smile. “We could hang one in the hallway, couldn’t we?”

“Excuse me, miss,” another potential buyer interjected, holding up one of your prints. “How much is this?”

“For the A4 size, it’s 25 pounds,” you replied with a friendly smile.

More people began to gather, drawn by the charm of your artwork. You did your best to keep up, answering questions, wrapping purchases, and making small talk with the growing crowd. It was a whirlwind, but you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride seeing so many people appreciating your work.

...

Walking through the bustling market, Harry wandered past the stalls he always loved to visit. He admired the fresh vegetables and fruits, browsed through racks of thrifted clothes, and flipped through stacks of vinyl records that always piqued his interest. But today, something different caught his attention—a special event featuring local artists who had been invited to showcase and sell their work.

As he turned toward the next stall, his eyes landed on something—or rather, someone.

It was you.

There you stood in front of your stall, surrounded by your artwork, speaking to customers with an energy that radiated warmth and passion. The light in your eyes, the way you animatedly gestured while describing your creations, the genuine smile that lit up your face—it was everything he remembered and more.

For a moment, Harry froze, rooted in place as he took it all in. You looked so at home in your element, effortlessly captivating the people around you. His heart raced, a mixture of excitement and nervousness coursing through him. But before doubt could creep in, before he could second-guess himself, he moved.

Harry started walking toward you, his steps quick and purposeful. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but there was only one clear thought that anchored him: now or never.

This was his chance to finally talk to you—to close the distance that had been lingering between you both for far too long. He wasn’t going to let it slip away again.

...

It has been a good day so far. People were buying your prints, admiring your stickers, and complimenting your craftsmanship. You smiled to yourself, feeling content with the steady stream of visitors who appreciated your work.

Just as you reached for your water bottle, a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hello, again, Y/N.”

You froze, the cap of your bottle slipping through your fingers. Slowly, you turned toward the source of the voice, your heart skipping a beat.

There he was—Harry. Standing there amidst the sea of market-goers, looking as effortlessly charming as ever in a white T-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses perched on his curls. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile as your eyes met.

“Harry?” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought it was you,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flickered over your stall, taking in the vibrant prints and trinkets on display. “This is all yours?”

You nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, just a little side project I do. How…how did you find me here?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I was just wandering around, and there you were. Funny how the universe works, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, funny.”

He looked around at your stall again, picking up one of your prints—a delicate watercolor of flowers intertwined with abstract shapes. “This is beautiful,” he said earnestly, his fingers brushing over the edge of the paper. “You’re really talented.”

“Thank you,” you said, warmth spreading through your chest at the compliment.

“Do you take commissions?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes intensely focused on you.

“Sometimes,” you said, tilting your head. “Why? Are you looking for something specific?”

“I might be,” he replied cryptically, his lips curving into a playful smirk. Before you could press him further, he added, “But first, do you have a break coming up? I was thinking I could buy you a coffee.”

Your breath caught at his unexpected offer. “A coffee?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was the simplest thing in the world. “You’ve been on my mind lately, Y/N. Thought maybe this time we could actually catch up without a room full of people or work deadlines in the way.”

Your pulse quickened as you tried to process his words. Was he really asking you out, or was this just Harry being Harry—charming and polite?

“Well,” you started, glancing at your stall. “I do have a little time before the market closes…”

“Perfect,” he said with a grin. “I’ll wait for you to pack up, or we can just grab something nearby. Whatever works for you.”

As he spoke, the faint hum of the market seemed to fade into the background. For the first time in weeks, the heavy feeling in your chest lifted just a little. Maybe this wasn’t just a fleeting moment after all.

...

Okay, this is actually too long I’ll make it into two parts. Give you guys some suspense. Thank you for reading everyone! ☺️

…

Hello, Again Pt.2

Here’s part two loves hope you enjoy it!

[thelovehypothesis]

The promise behind the word

Pieces of us - masterlist

Harry Styles x mom-fem!reader

-1k words

a/n’s: This is part of a new AU, hope you like it!

warnings: just Dadrry because I love me some fluff. son's name is Théo and he is almost 3.

Summary: being a Daddy isn’t just a title, it’s a connection, a promise.

It had been a few months since Harry had truly stepped into the role of being a father to Théo. He’d put in the work—showing up for every moment he could, learning Théo’s likes and dislikes, and trying his best to be the steady figure that the boy needed. But even after all that, even with how much progress they’d made, there was still a gap—a quiet, unspoken distance between them.

Théo was still reluctant, still unsure about the man who had only recently come into his life in this way, and Harry had accepted that. He knew it would take time for Théo to trust him completely, to let him in. But Harry was patient, so patient, letting Théo take the lead in their relationship, following his cues, never pushing.

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and you and Harry had been playing with Théo in his playroom. The sun was filtering in through the windows, casting a soft glow over the scene. Théo was sitting on the floor, building a tower with his blocks, his little face scrunched in concentration. You and Harry were lounging on the little couch, chatting softly as you watched him, your hearts full of love for the boy between you.

“You’re doing a great job, Théo,” Harry said, smiling at the boy. “Keep going, bubba. You’re gonna make the biggest tower ever.”

Théo looked up at him, his small face lighting up with pride, but his gaze quickly flickered away. It was a fleeting moment, but it was enough for Harry to notice. He’d seen that look before—the one where Théo wasn’t quite sure how to respond to him yet, how to let his guard down.

Harry’s heart ached a little, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just leaned back, allowing the little boy to be the one to close the gap, whenever he was ready.

Suddenly, the stack of blocks wobbled, and Théo’s tower began to topple over. The blocks tumbled to the floor with a loud clatter, and the little boy let out a surprised giggle, his little hands still hovering over the fallen blocks. He looked over at Harry, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

“Uh-oh,” Théo said, his voice a little breathless from laughing.

Harry chuckled, leaning forward, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “That was one wobbly tower, wasn’t it? Want some help fixing it?”

Théo shook his head, determined. “No, I do it.” His tiny hands scrambled to start rebuilding, but as he did, his eyes darted back to Harry. His face was still bright with that smile, but there was something more now—something softer, a spark of trust beginning to show.

After a moment Théo tilted his head at the toppled block tower, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Daddy, you help me fix it?” he asked, his voice small but sure.

The word hung in the air, so natural, yet so monumental. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest as you realized what he’d just said. Daddy. The word neither of you had forced on Théo, letting him decide when—if—he was ready to use it. And now, here it was, spoken so casually, as though it had always been part of his vocabulary.

Harry froze for a moment, his hands halfway to the blocks, his expression softening into something so vulnerable it made your throat tighten. But he didn’t question it. He didn’t ask Théo to repeat himself or make a big deal out of it. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice gentle and steady. “Sure, bubba,” he said, his lips curving into a soft, breathless smile. “Let’s fix it together.”

Théo looked up at Harry, his smile shy but proud, before his gaze flickered back down to the blocks. “don’t want it fall again,” he said, his little hands fidgeting with a few pieces.

“We’ll make it really strong, yeah?” Harry replied, his hand brushing lightly over Théo’s hair as he sat beside him. Together, they began rebuilding the tower, the little boy leaning into Harry’s side as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You sat on the little couch, watching the scene unfold with tears stinging your eyes. Your chest felt so full it might burst. This was it—the moment you’d been hoping for, the one you weren’t sure Théo would ever feel ready to give. It wasn’t just the word “Daddy”; it was the trust, the love, the acceptance behind it. You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to keep your emotions in check as you smiled through the tears.

Harry glanced up at you then, his eyes shining with emotion, and the two of you shared a look that spoke volumes. You could see the gratitude in his expression, the sheer awe of what Théo had just given him. Your smile widened, encouraging him silently, as if to say, He’s yours now too.

As Théo carefully added another block to the tower, he paused, glancing up at Harry again. “Daddy, hold this one?” he asked, his voice a little quieter this time, as though testing the word again.

Harry’s breath hitched, but he didn’t falter. “Of course, Théo,” he said, his tone steady and full of warmth. He took the block from Théo’s hand, holding it steady while Théo placed the next piece.

And that was it. Just quiet acceptance of a monumental moment. From that point on, “Daddy” wasn’t just a title—it was a connection. A promise. A bond that had taken time to build but was now as strong as the tower they were creating together.

You wiped at your eyes, your heart swelling as you watched them. Théo leaned against Harry’s shoulder as the tower reached its final block, a smile spreading across his little face. And Harry, his hand still resting protectively on Théo’s back, looked more at peace than you’d ever seen him.

This was the start of something beautiful. And as you watched them together, you knew it would only grow stronger with time.

———The End———

This will be a very cute AU hope you enjoy it!

-Lots of love, Em.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the thing is, i don’t disagree that what and how you choose to write about things is a reflection of you, the writer, and cannot be divorced from your beliefs and biases. but to assume that anyone can perfectly pick out your beliefs from a piece of fiction you’ve written is an extremely weird and paranoid thing to claim, especially if you’re positing that the secret truth is that the writer is a dangerous person and they’re “revealing” that through fiction that upsets you, personally. at the end of the day, the artist is not the art, and no matter how upsetting, no matter how much you dislike it, no matter how much it disgusts you, you don’t know the person who made it and you can only guess how who they are shaped what they made.

like, really, is it more likely that the secret “belief” that’s being revealed when you’re reading something that is really upsetting to you is that the author is a secret Bad Person™️ who wants all of this fantasy to happen in real life, or that the author knows it’s a safe and normal thing to create upsetting works of fiction and so did that.

[harryshousekey]

Target {H.S.}

This is on wattpad (harryshousekey,) but wanted to share a bit of the chapter that freaked my friends out.

THIS IS SMUT. - Harry x OFC // From Harry's POV

Whatever Harry era you want (it's BTA harry in the book)

Vienna is a small blonde with brown eyes :)

He was literally hired to kill her. If you happen to read this psychological warfare of a book i'm writing, leave me a comment over there and we might have to kiss.

Word Count: 5,349

--

Harry Styles

Her back hit the wall with a dull thud, but she didn't flinch. She stared at me like she could kill me with a look, and hell, maybe she could. Maybe that was why I couldn't stop.

Her pulse thudded under my grip. Fast. Furious.

"Let go," she said, breathless.

"You want that?" I asked, stepping closer. Our chests nearly touched now, heat crackling in the inches between us. "Really?" I move my thigh, almost accidentally. But it wasn't.

My leg now sitting flush against her core, she glares up to me. Hate and lust seep out of her face into my body, and I soak it up willingly.

She didn't answer. Her eyes dipped to my mouth for half a second - too quick for most people to catch. But I did. I always saw her.

I let her wrists go, slow. She didn't move.

"You're a psychopath," she whispered.

"And you're still here."

Something in her snapped then. She grabbed the hem of my shirt harshly and pulled it up just barely, like it was a dare. I eye her back like I had something to prove - maybe I did. That she couldn't fight me off, couldn't pretend she didn't want this as badly as I did.

Angry hands rip the shirt over my head, inked skin now exposed to the cold hair in the house. Her nails raked down my neck as she brought her hands back down, the shirt landing somewhere in the kitchen. My hands found her waist, then her thighs - gripping, lifting, pinning. Her legs wrapped around me like it was instinct. Like this wasn't our first time losing control.

"You hate me," I muttered against her neck, working to leave marks. I love leaving marks.

She bit her own lip hard enough to draw blood. "Exactly."

It wasn't love. It wasn't forgiveness. It was rage and lust tangled up in a heated fire that burned too hot to last. And I didn't care. Not tonight. Not when I finally had her like this - furious, wild, and mine.

My hands slip under her sweater, struggling to pull it off. My sweater. The smell of me soaked the sweater and I can't apologize for the grin that spreads over my face as she throws her head back in frustration as I still work at her neck. I pull back, biting harshly where my mouth was before. The sensation pulls a gasp out of her, and I take the opportunity to get a grip at the hem of her sweater.

Her arms link around my neck for support as she lets me strip her of the warm hoodie, only unlinking to let me pull it over her head. My hand falls back on her lower back, the other throwing the sweater somewhere in the room, careless and thoughtless.

I get back to her neck, her short nails digging into my neck near my spine. I grunt at the feeling, reminding myself to let Elira get her nails done too.

Turning us around, I manage to find the bedroom we'd been sharing. The bed is unmade, sheets pulled back. Perfect.

I drop us onto the bed at the same time, crawling to hover over her and work at getting the rest of her clothes off.

My jeans feel really tight right now. Not yet, Harry.

I find her arms, loosely thrown over my body, and grab them both. Finding her wrists, I gather them in one hand to hold over her head. As much as the pain of her scratching my back feels incredible, I can't fucking focus.

She fucking whines, struggling under my grip to no avail. "Let go," she commands, voice strong despite my mouth below her ear. I pick my head up to look her in the eye, her brown eyes completely glazed over already. Through it, I still see her. She's still fighting.

I laugh at her request, "No."

She huffs, trying once again to struggle out of my hold. I really need to take her to the gym, but the struggle is kind of cute.

I suck back below her ear for a minute while she keeps fighting, leaving a mark that'll probably be purple in the morning. I smile at my own work, mentally patting myself on the back.

Finally letting her arms go back around my neck, she grips harshly once more, left hand sliding up into the base of my scalp. I try my damndest to ignore the feeling, reaching under her to easily unclasp the pretty light purple bra she has on, smirking at her when I get it first try with my left hand.

"Fucking-" I pull her bra out from under her, but leave her covered. I can't just expose her with no warning. "God, you're so cocky." She huffs, too frustrated to hold a sentence.

I grin at her, leaning down to bite the mark I left before leaning into her ear to whisper. "I know, baby."

She pushes the side of her face into the mattress, face scrunched. I take that as my cue to pull her bra off, finally taking her in. Her skin is tan for a girl who's been living on the road, and her breasts relax into her, nipples perking up in the cold air.

I have no restraint at this point. All self-control flies out the imaginary window as I grunt and lean down to take her into my mouth. She lets an untamed moan out, arching up into the sensation. I use my right hand to push her back down by the hip, making her groan in frustration.

I leave my left hand on her chest, touching her where my mouth can't. She pushes up once more, met with restraint as I keep her down, pushing on her abdomen now. "Vi," I warn, voice low, vibrating her chest.

She grunts and rolls her head to the other side, hands pulling angrily at my hair. It actually really fucking hurts. "Just fucking-" she breathes, pulling harder at my scalp. "Such a prick."

I decide not to respond, just pull her hands out and pin her wrists again. I hover over her face, giving her a warning. "Don't move them."

"Fuck off," she spits harshly. I pull my hand down to grip at her jaw, squeezing her face. She looks at me with pure hate, a feeling I revel in.

I force her to look at me, grip tight. "I'm pretty fucking busy right now, so for once on this fucking trip, behave."

I yank my hand away, going back at her other nipple, using my right hand now to keep her stimulated. It almost pisses me off every time she lets a noise out, because I'm not one for foreplay. Rather not split her in half until I can exchange her for my freedom, though.

Gripping her hips harshly, my thumbs traveling cautiously under her waistband. I'm about to ask when she brings her own hands down. The ones I explicitly said not to move. I'd be mad, but she's pulling her own pants down, revealing-

Oh, fuck.

I didn't go with her underwear shopping. Didn't wanna deal with it. Should've sucked it up, because now she's got deep red lace on, the same color as the stupidly tight dress she tried on earlier.

Without another word, she gets her pants past her ass and puts her hands back where I'd just placed them. Behaving.

She might actually make me pass out. I pull harshly at her pants, pooling them around her ankles before she flails her feet around impatiently to get them off entirely.

I exhale through my nose, trying to keep my focus, but it's really fucking difficult with her spread out beneath me like this-panting, glaring, waiting. The lace is deep red, delicate, and so goddamn unnecessary. It just proves my point. She knew this would happen.

I hook my fingers under the waistband, slow, dragging my thumbs over her hip bones, but don't pull them down yet. Instead, I tighten my grip, pressing my thumbs deep into her skin until she hisses.

"Something wrong?" I murmur, pressing my mouth to her stomach, deliberately skipping over the places I know she wants me.

"Yeah," she snaps, trying to shove her hips up. I dig my thumbs in again, keeping her firmly against the mattress.

"Problem?"

Her head jerks up, dark eyes burning. "You're a fucking tease."

I grin against her skin, letting my teeth graze her hipbone. "You just figured that out?"

Her breath stutters-just for a second-but I don't miss it. Her hands, still obedient where I left them, curl into the sheets like she's debating whether to follow my rules or claw at me again.

I nudge my nose against the edge of the lace, moving lower, but at the last second, I move back up. I drag my mouth across her ribs instead, letting my teeth scrape deliberately slow as I kiss and bite my way up to her sternum.

She groans, actually groans, head dropping back in frustration. I love that sound.

I smirk against her skin. "Something you'd like to say?"

"Yeah," she snaps, twisting against my hold. "Get the fuck on with it."

I laugh, really laugh, because she's suffering. She hates this as much as she needs it, and that makes me never want to give it to her.

I push up on my elbows, hovering inches from her mouth, so close she could kiss me if she just swallowed her fucking pride.

"You beg, I'll consider it."

Her eyes snap to mine, and for a second, I think she might slap me.

Instead, she laughs-sharp, humorless.

"You think I'd beg you for anything?"

My grin doesn't falter. "You will."

Her nostrils flare, frustration rolling off her in waves, and then-fucking finally-she moves.

Her hand lashes out, curling in my hair, yanking me down so hard I nearly lose balance. My mouth crashes into hers, violent and demanding, her teeth knocking against mine, and fuck yes.

I let her take control-for a second.

Then I take it right back.

My hands snap up, grabbing her wrists, pinning them above her head again. Her legs kick at my sides, pissed as hell, but she still locks them around me, pulling me closer.

"You're so fucking annoying," she grits against my mouth.

I bite her bottom lip hard enough to make her gasp. "And you're still underneath me."

Her head slams back against the mattress, hands tugging, testing my grip, but she's stuck.

"Harry." My name is a warning, furious and desperate.

I press my knee between her legs, just barely enough pressure. Just enough to drive her insane.

Her whole body tenses.

She stops fighting. Stops breathing.

And then she whimpers.

My smirk returns as I lean down, lips brushing her ear.

"That's close enough to begging, don't you think?"

Her breath shudders against my cheek, but her voice is still sharp, still full of venom.

"I fucking hate you."

I grind my knee against her just to hear her whimper again.

"Then hate me," I murmur. "Just keep your legs open while you do it."

Her whole body reacts before she can stop it-hips twitching up, fingers curling into fists above her head, lips parting just barely like she wants to say something but refuses to give me the satisfaction. I watch every flicker of emotion on her face, every war she fights inside herself, and I let it all sink into me. The frustration. The restraint. The push and pull of someone who hates that they want this and wants it anyway.

I keep my mouth right next to her ear, lips brushing the flushed skin, keeping her caught between every word, every inch of contact I allow. My knee stays where it is, pressing-not hard, not soft, just enough to make her ache for more. It's deliberate, calculated.

Just like everything else I do.

Her breath shudders, and I swallow down the sound, committing it to memory because fuck me, that's addictive. She's so fucking stubborn, and I want to be the one to break her. Not fully. Not in the ways that would ruin her. But enough to make her forget herself, even if just for tonight.

Her legs are locked around me, holding me to her despite the anger rolling off her skin. The heat of it burns, and I want to feel every inch.

I push lower, just barely, enough that her nails scrape at my scalp in retaliation. My jaw clenches at the sting, but I don't stop her-I let her have it, let her pull me down, let her take something back even as she loses the war.

Her voice is a whisper of a growl when she finally speaks, like she has to force the words through clenched teeth. "Let me go."

I press my lips to her jaw, soft but mocking. "Make me."

Her fingers tighten, pulling so hard it forces a breath out of me. She doesn't want soft. Doesn't want sweet. She wants to rip this from me, to tear into me the way I tear into her.

So I let her.

I release her wrists and the second I do, her hands are everywhere. She shoves at my shoulders, pushes at my chest, rolling us until I land on my back and she's straddling me, thighs tightening around my waist. Her breathing is erratic, wild, and I barely get a glimpse of her face before her hand grabs my throat.

I let out a low, dark laugh, dragging my tongue over my bottom lip as I take her in. "That all you got?"

She glares down at me, fingers flexing like she's debating whether to actually squeeze. Her nails dig in, but she won't. She knows it. I know it.

I drag my hands up her thighs, gripping them hard enough to bruise, and she inhales sharply, her body betraying her all over again.

"You fucking hate me," I remind her, pushing up just enough that our bodies align exactly how I want them to.

Her throat moves beneath her own grip as she swallows. Her jaw clenches. And then-so quiet I almost don't hear it-

"I do."

She tilts her hips forward just barely, her exhale catching in her throat, and that's it. That's my final thread snapping.

I sit up fast, one arm curling around her waist, the other tangling into her hair and pulling. She gasps, fingers tightening on my throat, but it's not a fight anymore.

Not really.

Her chest brushes mine, heat searing through every inch of fabric between us, and her breath is so close it sends a shiver down my spine.

I drag my nose against her jaw, slow, deliberate, teasing. "Then show me."

She does.

Her mouth crashes into mine, teeth and heat and desperation. Her nails scrape over my scalp as she pulls harder, hips rolling, pressing down in a way that might actually kill me. I grip her hips, forcing her down, controlling the rhythm, making her feel every second of this.

Her body shakes, just slightly, and I don't know if it's rage or anticipation. Probably both.

I pull back, just enough to bite her bottom lip, just enough to make her feel it. Her breath hitches, and she's so fucking close to losing control completely, I can feel it.

So I drag it out.

I reach between us, fingers teasing the waistband of her still-on lace, sliding under the elastic but going no further. She whines. Actually fucking whines, a noise so involuntary, so frustrated that I have to grin against her mouth.

"Oh, sweetheart," I murmur, fingers teasing lower, but not enough. Never enough. "You sound like you're begging."

She growls, low and dangerous, and I have half a second to smirk before she does something reckless. She reaches between us, grabs my wrist, and shoves my hand down exactly where she wants it.

I freeze.

Then I laugh-low, thick, dark.

"That desperate, huh?"

She glares, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. "Shut the fuck up and touch me."

And fuck me, I need to.

She's still on top of me, breathing heavy, skin burning against mine. Her nails dig into my shoulders like she's waiting for me to push back, fight her, tell her no.

I don't.

I grab her throat instead, not to choke, just to feel the way her breath stutters when my palm wraps around it. My thumb presses into the hinge of her jaw, tilting her head back, forcing her to look at me, to see me.

Her lips are parted, swollen, her pupils blown so wide there's barely any color left, and fuck, I could stay here forever-watching her, feeling her try to fight off the way her body gives in to mine.

But I have other plans.

My hand slides from her throat to her jaw, grip firm but not hard, and I drag my thumb down the slope of her bottom lip, pressing in just barely. Her tongue flicks against the pad of it, and I feel her body tremble in frustration when I don't give her anything else.

"You want something?" I taunt, knowing exactly what she wants. I want to hear her say it.

Her expression twists in pure defiance, but she doesn't move away. If anything, she leans into my touch, into my control, like she hates herself for it.

"I want you to shut the fuck up," she mutters, voice hoarse from the way she's been breathing me in like she needs it to survive.

I chuckle darkly, dragging my hand down her body, slow and possessive, feeling every inch of her before gripping her hips. I flex my fingers into her, rolling her against me, just enough friction to make her curse under her breath.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, "Not happening, sweetheart."

And then, before she can throw something back at me, I move.

I flip us fast, pressing her into the mattress, letting my weight pin her down just for a second, just to make her feel it-how easy it is for me to control this, how little power she actually has. Her chest rises and falls sharply, her thighs tightening around me, but she doesn't fight. She never really fights.

She just pretends she wants to.

I pull back, sitting up on my knees between her spread legs, dragging my gaze down her body. She's a fucking sight-half-naked, flushed, her hair a wild mess around her, and she's glaring at me like she'd rather put a bullet in my head than let me keep looking at her like this.

Too fucking bad.

I take my time.

I hook my fingers under the band of her red lace underwear, snapping it against her skin before slowly-painfully slowly-dragging it down her hips, over her thighs. She shudders, a full-body tremor she tries to suppress, but I catch it. I feel it.

I smirk, watching as the lace pools at her ankles, and she kicks those off too, like she's trying to get rid of evidence.

But I'm the one committing the crime. More of a downright sin, really.

I push her thighs apart, holding them there even when she tenses like she might try to close them on instinct. She doesn't. She wouldn't dare give me that much satisfaction.

Instead, she exhales through her nose, tilting her chin up like she's daring me to do something about it.

"Oh, I plan to," I murmur, eyes locked onto hers as I lower myself down.

She stops breathing.

I can tell by the way her stomach tightens, the way her hands fist into the sheets beside her head, the way her body goes perfectly still as I settle between her thighs.

And I don't rush.

I drag my hands over the inside of her thighs, squeezing the muscle there, spreading her wider, making her feel how exposed she is. She's still glaring at me, still holding onto that last sliver of control.

I intend to take it from her.

So I drop my head and press the softest, most delicate kiss right against the inside of her knee. Then another. Then another, working my way up, each one deliberate, slow torture.

By the time I reach the crease where her thigh meets her hip, she's quivering. Not much, just a slight shake, but enough that I know she feels this everywhere.

I hover, just barely breathing against her, my mouth so close but not touching.

Her hips twitch.

She hates me for it.

"You're fucking insufferable," she breathes, voice cracking at the edges.

I grin against her skin, inhaling her scent, feeling her body tense with anticipation.

"And you're fucking impatient," I counter, my breath brushing over her most sensitive spot, watching as her thighs threaten to clamp shut before I hold them apart with both hands.

"Be good," I murmur against her. "Or I'll take my time."

She lets out a shaky, wrecked exhale, and I don't give her a second longer to process.

I lick into her slow, wide and devastating, dragging my tongue from base to peak, savoring every fucking inch of her.

She chokes on a moan.

And I?

I fucking devour her.

She tastes like sin. Like she's never let herself be touched like this-never let someone have this kind of power over her. And maybe she hasn't. Maybe that's what drives me fucking feral about it, knowing that I get to be the one to break her down, to force her body to betray her when she wants to fight me off.

I can feel her thighs trembling under my grip, every muscle coiled tight like she's about to bolt. But she doesn't. She just fists the sheets, sucking in sharp breaths like she's trying not to make a sound.

I won't fucking allow that.

I pull back just enough to drag my teeth against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, nipping, sucking-marking her, because I know it'll piss her off. She hisses, fingers twitching in the sheets. I don't acknowledge it. I just slide my tongue against her again, slow, filthy, purposeful.

Her breath catches.

I feel her hips jerk, trying to chase the sensation, and that's what does it. That's what makes me groan into her, low and possessive, because she can pretend all she wants-her body knows the fucking truth.

"You're shaking," I murmur against her, kissing her slowly, tongue flicking out just enough to tease.

She makes a frustrated sound, shoving at my shoulder with one hand, but I catch her wrist midair, pinning it down beside her. My grip tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who's in control here.

"You wanna pretend you don't want this?" I taunt, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss against her, feeling her twitch under my mouth. "Go ahead, lie to me."

She grits her teeth, her nails digging into the sheets now that I've taken away her chance to fight me off. But she doesn't push me away again. She doesn't move at all. Her breathing is ragged, coming in short, uneven gasps, and I know she's holding back, trying so fucking hard to stay quiet.

So I change tactics.

I flatten my tongue against her clit, dragging it up in a way that makes her whole body jolt. My grip on her wrist tightens when she gasps-loud, raw, unfiltered.

There it is.

I fucking grin against her, pleased, satisfied.

Her free hand slams over her mouth.

Not a fucking chance.

I reach up, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling it away from her lips. Her eyes flash, dark and wild, like she's ready to throw hands over it. But I don't give her the chance. I pin it beside her other wrist, forcing her to be open, exposed.

"Let me hear you," I demand, lazily dragging my tongue against her again.

She whimpers. Fucking whimpers.

I nearly groan at the sound, my cock throbbing against the confines of my jeans, but I don't let up. I dip lower, tasting her, sucking, licking, devouring her in slow, calculated strokes. I want to ruin her, make her lose whatever self-control she's clinging to.

She's close already. I can tell by the way her thighs are starting to shake, how her breath is coming in short, broken little gasps.

Still, she refuses to beg.

I'll change that.

I pull back slightly, flicking my tongue right where I know she needs me, circling, teasing, denying.

She whines, actually fucking whines, and I feel her try to rock against me. I tighten my grip on her wrists. "No," I say, voice gravelly, wrecked. I press my lips against her inner thigh, nipping, sucking, teasing. "You wanna cum?" My voice is a low, deliberate murmur. "Beg for it."

She shudders. "Fuck you."

Her whole body is tense, her jaw clenched, fighting so hard not to give me what I want. So I give her another slow, devastating lick, swirling my tongue just right before pulling away again. Her body convulses. I smirk, lips ghosting against her. "Say it, darling."

She hates that I use those names, nearly degrading at this point. I can see it in her eyes, the way they darken, furious and desperate all at once. But her voice shakes when she exhales, ragged and weak.

"Fuck you." I laugh, low and dark, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her soaked skin. "That's not what I asked for, sweetheart." And then, because I want to watch her fall apart, I pull my head away.

She fucking hates this. Hates me. I can see it in the way her lips curl back, in the sharp bite of her nails against my skin as she tries to shove me away. Like she actually thinks she has a chance.

"Get the fuck off me," she spits, her voice ragged, her body twisting beneath me.

I catch her wrists in one hand and pin them above her head. "Not a chance," I murmur, my voice rough, breathless with the way she clenches around me.

She bucks against me, her glare slicing into my skin, but all it does is make me harder. She's furious, practically trembling with it, but her body? Her body's telling a different story.

"Fuck you," she hisses, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips. "That's the plan, sweetheart."

She jerks against me again, but it's useless. I press my forehead to hers, watching the anger flicker across her face, mixing with something else-something she doesn't want to admit.

"You're gonna come on my cock," I breathe, my grip tightening when she tries to turn her head away. "And you're gonna fucking like it."

Some point along the way, I'd lost my pants. Hovering over her heavy now almost felt like too much. I reach down onto the floor, pulling my wallet out of my pants pocket.

Breathing heavy, Vienna's chest rises under me as she gives me a frustrated, yet curious look. I pull what I'm looking for out of my wallet, and hold it in front of her face. A condom. The gold wrapper makes her grunt impatiently. "Of course you have one in your wallet-just," she shifts under me, completely stripped, "Just hurry up."

I chuckle darkly, sitting up a bit to pull my own underwear off. I'm a bit embarrassed by the small wet spot on the front as the waistband comes down-

"Jesus fucking Christ."

I snap my head back up, pushing my boxers down the rest of the way. "What?"

She rolls her head back dramatically, gesturing to my lower half. "That's not-"

I smile at her, making her attempt to slap my chest. "That's not fitting."

Shrugging, I tear open the package carefully, examining it. The last thing I need is a mini of the person I can't stand. I roll it on carefully, rubbing myself up and down her folds, sliding easy in the mess she's created.

Moaning each time I pass her sensitive spots, I look up at her to be met with a simple nod. I huff. "I need fucking words, Vi."

She sits up, eyes blown out. "Yes, fuck. Just-"

Good enough. I push foward gently. I never bothered to ask about her sex life, which I'm now regretting.

Holy Shit.

She's so tight around me I can barely breathe. Her own eyes are scrunched shut as I keep my hips slowly moving.

By the time our hips are fully together, she's glazed over, focus on the ceiling. The sight alone almost makes me come.

I grip her thigh, keeping her still as I let her adjust, every inch of her clenching me like she wasn't sure she could take it-but fuck, she was. She would.

"Breathe," I murmur, my own voice coming out rougher than I intended. My forehead presses to hers for just a second, and her breath hitches. I can feel every shaky exhale she takes against my lips.

Vienna's hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in like she needs something to ground herself. She's warm, tight, fuck-so tight it's almost unbearable, but I stay still, giving her a second.

Her fingers twitch. Her body squirms, adjusting. Then her lashes flutter open, and she looks at me with something between frustration and need.

"Move," she grits out.

That's all I need.

I pull back, just enough to feel the drag of her around me, then push forward again, slow and deep. She gasps, back arching slightly. I do it again, watching her face, how her lips part, how she fights every sound that threatens to escape.

"Don't-" she swallows hard, "don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" I thrust a little harder this time, feeling the way her breath stutters, the way her nails dig deeper.

"Like you're enjoying this."

I let out a dark chuckle, lowering my mouth to her ear. "I am enjoying this."

She shudders, but she doesn't deny that she is too. Her legs tighten around my waist, trying to pull me in deeper.

"Fuck, Vi," I groan, picking up the pace, my grip tightening on her hips. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room, her strangled little moans barely contained, and it's driving me insane.

She slaps a hand over her mouth, muffling herself, but I yank it away, pinning it above her head. "Let me hear you."

She glares, like she wants to fight me on it, but then I angle my hips just right, hitting something that makes her choke on a whimper.

"Fuck, Harry-"

"There it is," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before dragging my lips down her throat. "Now, be a good girl and come on my cock."

Her whole body locks up beneath me, back bowing as a sharp moan leaves her lips. She clamps down so tight around me that I nearly see stars, her orgasm ripping through her so suddenly that it drags me right over the edge with her.

I bury myself deep, groaning against her sweat-slicked skin as I spill into the condom, her name slipping past my lips in a hushed, wrecked whisper.

For a moment, all I can hear is our heavy breathing, the faint creak of the bed beneath us.

Then she exhales shakily, voice hoarse. "I still fucking hate you."

I smirk against her shoulder. "I hate you too, baby."

She tries to push me off almost immediately, her body still trembling beneath me. I don't let her. Not yet.

"Get off," she grits out, attempting to wiggle free.

I catch her wrists, pinning them lightly to the bed. "Stay still."

She glares at me, but I can see the exhaustion setting in. Her muscles twitch with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her breathing still uneven. I shift off her slowly, careful as I pull out, making her suck in a sharp breath.

She winces, legs clamping shut as she rolls onto her side like she's trying to get away from me. I don't let her.

"Need to clean you up." I tell her simply, because I'm not asking.

"I can do it myself," she snaps, pushing up on shaky arms.

I grab her by the hip, keeping her in place. "You can barely move."

"Fuck off, Harry-"

I ignore her, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table and running it between her legs. She tenses, the fight still in her, but her body betrays her when she lets out the smallest sigh at the contact.

Her eyes squeeze shut, her lips pressing into a thin line as I finish, taking my time even as I know she wants to swat me away.

Once I'm done, I toss the tissue in the trash and roll onto my back beside her.

The silence is unbearable.

She shifts, pulling the blanket over herself even though I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. She doesn't look at me. I don't look at her.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing, still uneven, like neither of us has quite recovered.

Then, from downstairs, the front door creaks open.

Laughter spills into the house, too loud, too carefree.

Niall and Kaydie are home.

--

A/N oh. my. gawsh.

i took her to my safehouse and i freaked it

Thanks for reading Tumblr :)

[ineffablywriting]

favourite crime - part iv

part iv - doctor's note

“Are you sure I won’t be intruding?” Alena asked anxiously as she played with her fingers from the entryway of the kitchen where Anne and Gemma were shuffling around getting dinner ready. She’d offered to help half a dozen times but they’d waved her off every time so she had nothing to do but stand around, anxiously staring at the clock and waiting for the front door to open. 

“Sweetheart,” Anne sighed, shaking her head exasperated. “This house is as much yours as it is ours. Have we done something to make you feel otherwise?” 

Alena felt only a little sheepish at that but she didn’t get a chance to respond as the door finally opened and Harry walked in and Alena’s heart rate felt like it tripled. 

She froze in place, stiffening to stop herself from spinning and facing the man who haunted her dreams and was the bringer of all her nightmares. 

“Hiya, Mum, Gemma,” Harry called without looking up as he kicked his shoes off. “I brought a salad,” he said, voice getting closer. He trailed off when he saw Alena standing in front of him with her back to him, shoulders stiff. 

There was an awkward pause in the room as everyone waited to see what he would do. “Alena,” he nodded at her when she finally turned to look at him, eyes staring unblinking over his shoulder. 

“Harry,” she whispered back, turning back and moving further into the kitchen, trying to get as far away from him as possible. She was already wishing she had stayed at home. But Gemma had threatened to show up at her door if she didn’t show up on her own. 

Alena eyed the bottle of wine she’d brought with her and wished so badly she could have a drink right now. 

She sighed, wringing her hands together, and turning pleading eyes to Anne. “What can I do?” 

“Why don’t you set the table, dear?” she said, finally taking pity on Alena and giving her something to do. 

‘Thank you’, Alena mouthed, turning to the cabinet beneath the kitchen island where they stored their dinnerware.

She crouched down, opening the door and staring at the different types of china Anne had hoarded over the years. Alena took this as an opportunity to try and sort out her scattered thoughts, closing her eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. 

When she opened her eyes, her heart had finally slowed down to its usual rhythm. She took one final deep breath, psyched herself up and grabbed a pile of matching dishes before moving to stand back up. It took her a second to regather and rebalance herself with her ever changing centre of gravity as her stomach continued to grow, but she managed it. She was getting good at rolling with the punches and the tilting world the universe threw her way. 

“Should you be carrying all that in your state?” Harry asked sharply, hovering over Lena as she turned around and found him standing behind her. 

“I’m fine.” Alena moved to step around him, the plates clinking in her arms as she moved. 

“Just give it here,” he insisted, sounding put out. 

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Alena replied, voice sharper than she’d intended. She instantly felt guilty, her eyes flitting to look at Anne who watched her in concern. The last thing Lena wanted to do was cause a scene at their family dinner, so she took a breath and forced herself to swallow the anger and hurt building in her throat. “But thank you,” she forced the words out. 

“Setting the table was always my job. Just give them to me and go do something else.” 

“I’m pregnant, Harry. Not disabled. I’m fi-ine. Oh,” Alena froze. 

“What? What happened?” Gemma rushed over, noticing the spooked look on Alena’s face. Harry had instantly grabbed the dishes out of her hands, moved across the room and placed them on the table before rushing back over to hover. 

“Nothing,” Lena whispered, voice a little choked up. “I just, I think I just felt her move for the first time,” she glanced up, eyes wet and a small smile quivering on her lips as she looked from Anne to Gemma and back again. 

Harry moved back, feeling like he was intruding on a moment he shouldn’t have been a part of and leaving his family to have their privacy, trying to make sense of the feelings building in his chest. 

-

Harry Styles paced in his living room as his thoughts kept drifting to Sunday night.

Dinner had been awkward at first and then everything had simmered down into a background discomfort as everyone ate and chatted while Alena and Harry pretended the other wasn’t there. 

But now it had been days and all he could think about was the look on everyone’s face when Alena had admitted she’d felt the baby move for the first time. The tears in her eyes and the looks of identical love on his mum’s and Gemma’s were burned into the backs of his eyelids. 

A baby girl. She was having a baby girl. 

And all Harry could think about was what if it was his? 

It had hit him at that moment, just how much he’d already missed. 

He’d never wanted to be a father, had never even imagined himself as one until he’d found out Alena was pregnant. And then he’d gone out Olivia and her kids for some ice cream after filming and all he could think was this was something he could be doing with his own kid in the future. 

His mind had been jumbled ever since with what if, what if, what if this baby was half him? 

And he was starting to think that maybe it - she- was his. 

Jeff had been avoiding all his probing questions, encouraging him to distance himself from his family until ‘they could sort things out’ and to ‘take out a restraining order’ against Alena. That he shouldn’t focus on anything but his career as it took off. But all Harry could think about was the little ultrasound pictures he couldn’t bring himself to throw away, sitting on the dresser in his bedroom.

He ran a hand through his hair as he replayed the dreams that had been haunting him for the last week. 

Images of curly hair, green eyes and dimples running around with toothless smiles as laughter filled his mothers house. 

A family. 

Something he’d never really imagined having beyond his mum and sister and friends. But then there was Alena. 

Harry didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do. 

He pulled out his phone for the tenth time and opened Alena’s contact, looking at the unsent text burning through his screen. 

Can we talk?

Three words. He hated how cliche they were, but every time he’d erased them to type something else, nothing had felt right. 

He sighed, clicked his phone shut and threw it onto the coffee table. 

“What do I do?” he groaned into his hands, rubbing his eyes. “Everything is a mess.” 

Great, now he was talking to himself. 

He was at war with himself. He knew he was wrong. Knew he’d been an absolute twat but he’d been so shocked - so was Alena, his conscious whispered back. 

But he’d just not expected it - and neither had she, it continued. 

But Jeff had told him it wasn’t his and he’d never lied to Harry before - and Alena had?. 

But…but…but…

But there was no excuse for his behaviour. 

Harry deflated, collapsing on the couch and grabbing his phone and once more opening his texts. He hit send before he could talk himself out of it again and then spiralled into a million different thoughts as he waited for Alena’s reply. 

-

Alena had just walked out of another doctor's appointment with Gemma when her phone buzzed. 

She pulled it out, and did a double take at the name on the screen. 

“What is it?” Gemma asked when Alena froze, jaw slackened in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Alena turned her phone towards Gemma showing her the message on the screen. She made a face and scoffed. “What the hell does he want?” she rolled her eyes. “Bit late to be reaching out now.” 

Alena allowed a small smile to grace her lips, even as her insides twisted together at the words on her phone. 

Can we talk? 

“You don’t think he’s sent someone to spy on you, do you?” Gemma asked as they started walking again, the text remaining unanswered. 

Alena shrugged, “I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind,” she replied, forcing herself to remain unaffected. “It’s pretty suspicious timing.” 

“Yeah, but also kinda convenient?” Gemma posed it as a question. “‘Cause now you don’t have to contact him first.” 

“Yeah,” Alena agreed, a little part of the anxiety that had wrapped itself around her heart unraveling at the thought. “Yeah,” she said again, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “What should I say?” 

Gemma shrugged. “I don’t think I’m the best person to ask,” she admitted. “I’ve got a lot of pent up frustration towards Harry - not that you don’t,” she was quick to add. “But you’re a lot more patient with him than I am.” 

“I don’t know how true that is,” Alena said. “I had to do some pretty strong practiced breathing Sunday night.” 

Gemma snorted, “like I said, you’re a lot more patient than I am. I would have knocked his teeth out,” she made some mock fists with her arms. Alena laughed before the two of them sobered up and Gemma said, “I don’t know, Lena. Maybe just tell him the truth.”

“Ugh, can’t you just sneak into his house and steal his saliva for me?” Alena asked and this time Gemma was the one laughing. 

“Ew.” 

“Yeah, fair.” 

“Says the girl who swapped spit with him. Too soon?” she grinned when Alena grimaced. 

“When you say it like that it’s always too soon.” She took a breath. “Ok, fine. Wish me luck.”

They stopped under the shade of a tree, Alena’s heart pounding nervously as she typed out a response, hit send before she could overthink it and shoved her phone into Gemma’s hands. 

Yeah, let me know when you’re free. My doctor said we can do a prenatal paternity test before the baby is born.  

-

We can do a prenatal paternity test before the baby is born.  

Harry read the text over and over again, his heart pounding loudly and ears ringing. 

He didn’t know how to respond. 

Part of him was relieved that he’d finally have answers, but he was terrified of what those answers would mean for him. 

He typed and retyped and typed a text again before giving up and dialling Alena’s number. It would be easier to do this over the phone and it had been hours since Alena had replied to his  message.

“Harry?” she picked up, just as he was about to end the call. Her voice was soft and breathy and Harry felt a pang shoot through him as he remembered nights they’d spent together, whispering in the dark, under his bed sheets trying not to wake anyone while his mum and sister slept down the hall. 

“Lena,” he swallowed the tightness away in his chest. “I - uh - I was hoping we can organise when to catch up.” 

He made a fist and raised it to his forehead, hating how awkward things were between them now, and realising for the first time just how much he really missed her. It hit him like a truck, the yearning for things to be easy again between them. 

He really fucking missed his best friend. 

“Yeah, good idea,” she spoke, voice crackling down the speaker as he heard a car door open and close. “When are you free?” 

Harry ignored her, checking his wrist for the time and frowning. It was late. “Are you driving?” he asked instead. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” she answered, and he thought he could hear the car’s blinker in the background. “I’m heading home from the hospital.” 

“What? Why? Is everything ok? What’s wrong?” Harry rushed out the questions, sitting up straighter and getting ready to rush over to her apartment. 

“Yeah, fine. So, when are you free?” she asked, and Harry noticed she didn’t bother to share any details with him. He hated it. The realisation hit him then, regardless of everything else he still wanted her in his life. 

Alena continued, unaware of his sudden epiphany. “My doctor said all we need is a saliva sample and she gave me the kit. I already sent in my blood work so all we need is your DNA and then you’ll finally have answers.”  

“Alena, can we just,” he sighed a loud breath. “Can we just please talk for a minute?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Harry.” 

“There’s everything to talk about!” Harry insisted. “I miss you,” he admitted, wishing he could see her face. “Please.” 

He could hear her breathing loudly down the line and when she didn’t reply, he wished he could swallow those words back, save them for another time. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to drop that on her the way he did. “Sorry,” he finally broke the silence. “I shouldn’t have -” 

Alena cut him off. “I’ll leave the test kit in your mailbox,” she told him, voice cold. “It has an instruction sheet in it. When you’re done, give it Gemma and she’ll give it to me. Please don’t contact me until we have the results back. Bye, Harry.” 

And she didn't give him a chance to respond before she hung up. 

“Fuck!” he cursed, slumping back in his seat, feeling defeated but knowing it was what he deserved. 

-

I miss you.  

Alena was furious. How dare Harry. How dare he! 

What right did he have to say those words to her after everything he’d done and said over the last few months. 

She hated him. 

She sighed. She didn’t hate him. 

But she wished she did. She really wished she did. It would have made things so much easier if she could just hate him. 

That way she wouldn’t be so affected when he seemed to crawl out of the woodworks every couple of months just to break her heart with words and an overwhelming presence. 

She huffed, collapsing back into her bed and staring off at the ceiling. It had been almost two weeks since she’d dropped off the DNA kit in Harry’s mailbox the same night he’d called her as she drove back from the hospital. 

She’d rushed herself to A&E with stomach cramps, panicked after she’d gotten home from the doctor’s appointment earlier in the day with Gemma. She’d seen the midwife who had been very kind to her, checked the baby and sent her back home again with the all clear. But Alena had still been frazzled and needed someone familiar as she’d answered the phone, forgetting for a microsecond that she and Harry weren’t friends anymore, weren’t anything anymore. So she’d answered the phone, feeling a little bit of relief at hearing his voice before she remembered the tatters their relationship was in at the moment. 

And then he’d said those stupid three words that had made her heart seize in her chest and then race like she’d just run a marathon. And while she didn’t hate him, she hated the way her heart still reacted to him, and she was worried it would never stop. 

Gemma had told her she needed to put herself out there again, get herself a quote-on-quote hot date. Alena had brushed her off and laughed. She was about to be a mum, who would want to date her? 

But now Alena was considering it. Maybe she just needed to get him out of her system, and the only way to do that might be to get herself back out there. 

She picked up her phone and dialled Gemma’s number. 

“Hey, Lena,” Gemma chirped down the phone. 

“Gemma. I’m ready.” 

“Ready?” Gemma asked, a confused question in her voice. 

“I’m ready to be set up with someone,” Alena swallowed back the little whisper in her mind telling her to stop talking. 

“No way,” Gemma all but squealed down the line. “What’s brought this on? Actually, I don’t care. I have this friend, James, he’s a single dad with a two year old daughter and I think you guys would get along like a house on fire - and not because you’re both parents,” she added. “I tried to set you up last year, but unbeknownst to the rest of us you were busy with He Who Must Not Be Named.” 

Alena laughed, “sorry to have ruined your plans.” 

“It’s ok, I got a niece out of it. Ok, so, I’ll send James your details and he’ll text you.”

“Thanks, Gem. Even if it goes nowhere, I think I need this.”

“It will go somewhere,” she said confidently. “But either way, let me know when you guys go out, I want all the juicy juice,” Gemma’s voice crinkled down the line, before she heard some shuffling on the other end. “Sorry, Lee, I gotta go. As much as I love talking to you, errands await.” 

“Go, go. And thank you. I’m getting another call anyway,” she said, pulling her phone back as the receiver beeped in her ear to indicate someone else was trying to reach her. “Bye, love you.” 

“Love you, too!”

“Hello?” Alena answered, not immediately recognising the number on her screen. “This is Alena.” 

“Hi, Alena. This is Dr Brenna’s room’s calling to let you know your test results are in. We have them at the front desk if you’d like to come and pick them up.” 

“Um, yeah, ok. Do I, um, can I just - I, uh, can I just come pick it up whenever?” she asked, mouth feeling a little dry, trying to ignore the ringing in her ears. 

“Yeah, as long as it’s during office hours,” the friendly voice joked. 

“Ok, thank you. Um, bye.”

“No problem. We’ll see you soon, bye.” 

And then she hung up, took a breath and let her brain race. 

She was expecting this call any day now, and had struggled with sleep for the last couple of weeks because of it - well, because of it and because of Harry’s three little words - I miss you - they still echoed in her head, suffocating her with their meaning.  

She was still stewing in her thoughts when her phone pinged, once then twice then a third time. 

She picked it up mindlessly, glancing at the three texts on her screen. 

Two from a number she didn’t recognise - Hi, this is James. Gemma sent me your number telling me I was to text you straight away lol. The first text read, followed by a second one asking her out. Are you free this weekend? 

She tried to compartmentalise, typing up a response before she allowed herself to think about the third text. Hi, James. This is Alena lol. Yes, I’m free this weekend. What did you have in mind?

She sent the texts off and then took a deep breath opening up the text from Harry. 

Did you get the call? 

She watched the screen for a couple of seconds, reading the five words over and over until three little bubbles popped up on her screen again. 

When did you want to pick it up?

Alena turned and screamed into her pillow, picked her phone up again and texted back: Tomorrow. 

The sooner they did this, the better.

-

Please leave me a comment/ask/anything regarding what you think! Also prepare yourselves. Major angst is coming your way as we start to wrap up!

The more feedback I get the more I write, I feed off positivity and hype hahaha

Let me know what you think should happen!

[gurugirl]

It's Good to Be King |Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Requested by @tobegoodisgood

Note: 18+ only!! Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible. READ THE WARNINGS! SOME OF YOU WON'T LIKE THIS SERIES! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CONSUME. xoxo

Series Warnings: Smut, manipulation, coercion, corruption kink, humiliation, pregnancy, angst, health scare, aggressive behavior, jealousy, misogynistic views, class discrimination, descriptions of poverty. (may add more to this list as the story progresses)

Chapter 1 (8.3k)

Chapter 2 (8.7k)

Chapter 3 (to come)

>>>

mean king!harry tags: @matildasatellite @harrystyleshotwife @stylesftcher @goldensunflowerssss-blog @hinnyrx

@eversincehs1 @sunshinemoonsposts @iheartnostalgia @whoreonmondays @ijinii

@archerxnn @daphnesutton @termsandcondi-blog

(let me know if I forgot to add you!)

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

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.

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.

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.”

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What starts as a sweet and innocent crush ends with you finally getting your hands on the guys you've been eyeing for months.

Paring: Frat!Harry X (Fem)Reader

Tags: @sassamanda77 @loverofhsandallthings1d @styless-syndrome @carolinaastyles

Word Count: 10K

A/N: This was based on this CONCEPT<- from the wonderful @hesbunnies This a bit of a slow burn but so worth the finish!

Warnings: 18+FLUFF/SMUT(Language, alcohol use, light peer pressure, light public humiliation, size kink, talks of oral sex/ oral sex (m) receiving, brief spit talk, light Dom Frat!Harry behavior, protected sex, hair-pulling...) I think that's it. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

It started as innocent. 

Sweet.

A playground crush, the kind you held like a treasure.

A glimpse from across the room, the cute boy you have that one class with.

Tuesday and Thursday.

All it took was one glance to lock that secret inside. You held it near like you were waiting for a rainy day, the chance to hold out your tongue and pray that tiny gumdrops would fall from the sky. 

That day, you took your seat, setting yourself up for that morning’s lecture, slightly hungover from the night before. You knew that you had dealt with worse, that you could push through it, but that didn’t stop you from forcing your headphones into your ears and putting your head down to rest your cheek against the cool surface of the desk. 

As the song changed, you caught the pitch of the professor’s voice, and you lifted your head just as Harry walked in, barely making it to class on time, the two of you locking eyes immediately. The second you made the connection, his presence stole your focus, the song pouring into your ears ushering him in like it was meant for this very moment, your gaze following as he found a seat. 

When he didn’t look away, neither did you because with a face like that, how could you? 

Especially once you noticed that slight little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he had you captivated, and that’s when you realized you were smiling, your eyes darting away as fast as you could, but it was too late because just as your eyes moved away, you caught a glimpse of the smile that little smirk had turned into.

 You knew you were screwed.

So fucking screwed.

It was like once you saw him, you saw him everywhere. 

The campus coffee shop was your favorite place to glimpse him, see him out in the wild, in the untamed setting that didn’t confine you both to a classroom. He had just started working there, a startling site to see the first time you saw him behind the counter. 

That’s where you noticed his dimples for the first time, his green eyes, the rasp in his voice when he called out your drink, and you had to suffer your way to the counter, too shy to meet his eyes, just bold enough to mutter “Thanks,” because him taking your order at the register was all you could handle, and as you pushed through the door, you peeked over your shoulder, Harry’s eyes on you, and you were grateful for the chill of the day, the cold air settling over your flushed face. 

You were already hooked, and you knew it.

The dining hall was fun; those were the times you got to see him come alive. When he was no longer in a role but hanging with his friends, not a care in the world but eating—He was silly, boyish in the way he shoveled food in his mouth as a laugh spilled out, mouthful conversations, jokes being passed around, a pat on the back here and there—boys, being boys, but not in the barbaric way you pictured, just having a good time. 

And god, there were so many glances, the stolen glance from across the class, Harry never sitting in one spot, but always in your line of sight somehow, the back of his head, a side profile, sometimes at the end of your row, only capturing a glimpse of him from your peripheral view, and if you dared to sneak a peek, of course, his eyes would catch you, and you would have to play it off like you weren’t seeking those green eyes out.

You swore your eyes were magnets for his, like he was seeking yours, too. This gut-deep feeling, sickly sweet, that churned deep in the boom of your belly, always leaving you wanting more.

The more details you gathered from afar, the more you picked up on his charm, and dammit, it was so effortless, his presence sugary sweet, coating your insides like cotton candy fluff, each sugary layer dissolving on the tip of your tongue, the moment it came in contact because with the charm came the girls, and fuck, there were so many girls vying for his attention, the girls just as consumed by the tattoos and skinny jeans.

You realized this made you no different than the girls huddled close in the library watching him walk by, you snagging fragments of their hushed conversation, the topic of his hidden tattoos, that so and so had hooked up with him last week, and he was even hotter in bed.

The thought instantly consumed you and sent you reeling—adding yet another hopeless layer to dissect.

Luckily for you, your roommate Lena seemed to be hitting it off with one of his best buddies, which gave you an in because that was the first time he gave you a nod of recognition—a sweet little morsel you almost missed because you were so caught up in the words drifting behind you that you barely caught the smile he left you with as he shoved a hand in his pocket and strolled out of the library.

For days, you sat floating on a fluffy pastel daydream, his smile the only thing you could see, and that’s when your looks became intentional, not just a hopeful glance, but a direct line of sight.

For months, you spun the idea of Harry in your mind, each thought starting off sweet, sometimes heating up—a low simmer, a carmelized daydream spinning into thin strands of candied floss, a clouded haze of fluff you were dying to devour. 

And he never let you down because there he was feeding you those tiny morsels, like sucking on a lemon drop—sweet and sour—a treat that took its time to melt in your mouth. A “Hi” here, an “I’ll see you around” there—the art of Lena now dating his friend paying off when you found Harry sitting on your couch one day after class. You remembered this because the vision would haunt you for days to come as you felt his eyes follow you to your room. Harry was still in sight when you reached for the door, and as you turned the knob and stepped inside, you stole one last look, his gaze still trained on you, then he disappeared as you entered your room, his curious glance making your heart pound in your chest. 

And when the early evening turned to night. You stayed in your room because you knew you wouldn’t be able to play it cool, and as the noise picked up down the hallway, you laid there in bed, memorizing the way his deep voice echoed in your tiny apartment, and swore one day he would be in your bed.

Another night, you found yourself in the backseat with Harry, him grabbing a ride with his buddy, and Lena, dragging you along, and although you put on a show of not wanting to join, deep down, you knew Harry would be there. 

 This was another memorable night, playing out in your head so fucking clear because you were so nervous. You remembered sliding into the backseat, thinking Lena would be joining you, but then Harry made it a point to give Lena the front seat, and the second he slid in, it was like he stole the oxygen straight from your lungs. 

This was the closest you guys had ever been, only a shallow gap sitting between you both. You felt yourself straightening in your seat, lengthening your spine so you could take a decent breath, a silent intake of air that you held in your lungs as your body went still, your heart hammering in your chest after you muttered a quick “Hey.” 

And there was silence until there was music. 

The car ride was long, and no one wanted to play DJ, so Lena made you plug in your phone. Lena had put you on the spot, exposing you like a gutted fish. At least, that’s what it felt like, so you chose a recent playlist you had just made—later you would learn that this was also the night something shifted between you and Harry.

You kept overthinking every song that came on, a true act of vulnerability as each song came and went, and then there was that one song, the song you had been playing on a loop, the song that made you think of Harry, an upbeat tune with lyrics that made you melt at the idea of him, and out of nowhere, Harry asks:

“What’s the name of this song?” His voice woody as he cleared his throat, the silence taking its toll.

You pretended you didn’t know, even though you felt the title at the tip of your tongue as soon as he asked. Once you swiped open the screen, the title was there. You watched Harry pull out his phone and enter it into his search, adding it to his favorites. Then, he asked if he could look through the list, so you gently handed him your phone, your hand shaky, trying not to unplug the aux it was attached to. 

Giving him your phone was like giving him an extension of yourself, and there it was in his hands.

All you could do was watch, holding your breath until you decided to let it go; you falling back into your seat as he scrolled through the list, the blue light of the screen glowing over his face. You observed a smile ghost over his lips, making your chest tight with excitement, and you had to turn away as you exhaled a weighted breath, the tension tight in your body, your phone in his hands now a tether between you both.

The next time you saw him in class, he sat right next to you.

You were stunned, a slow smile spreading across your face as he dropped his bag onto the table, and you looked up at him. You knew you must have had a strange expression because he asked, “What? Is it not cool if I sit here?” And he smiled, that smile when both dimples show, and you nod your head, his green eyes searching your face, leaving you with nothing to do but smile.

From then on, he sat next to you every Tuesday and Thursday, always something to look forward to, that crush even more persistent the closer you got to him—a low whisper in your ear when he leaned over to crack a joke about something the professor said, or the times his arm would graze yours. Another memory to add to the collection—the first time it happened, you subtly pulled away, his touch sending a jolt up your spine, a running chill over your skin as the tingle remained the longer you kept your focus on the touch. 

On another occasion, when it happened again, you waited to see if he would pull away, but he never did. As you slowly drew your arm away, you held your breath, and the feeling of your skin dragging against his heated you from within, sending a fluttering bloom to the depths of your belly.

Your resolve was starting to waver, and you knew it.

Your face had to be giving you away, the warmth filling your cheeks, burning as you tucked your hands into your lap, and you sat there perfectly still, leaning back into your chair like you were completely unphased by it all. You slowed your breath then, in through your nose, an even slower release, and you wondered how long you could go on like this, the room narrowing, Harry’s close proximity stirring the atmosphere of the room.

You were only aware of him and his every movement.

And when his knee knocked into yours, you bit down on your lower lip, your eyes flicking to his knee, now pressed against yours, and with every ounce of bravery you had, you chanced the smallest of looks at Harry—there he was, smiling the faintest of smiles down at his paper, his pen moving as if nothing was happening, even though your whole body was buzzing with it, and then you did something crazy, something completely out of character. You lean forward, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, elbow pressing into the desk, and you look him dead in the eye, sending him a playful smirk, and your hand smoothes over his knee, the move undetectable to those around you, but you knew, and you let your hand rest, the bold move sending a spark between your legs, that tension a growing knot in the pit of your stomach. 

What you weren’t expecting was for Harry to grasp hold of your hand, a quick squeeze, and then he was slowly dragging your hand up his inner thigh, stopping right before the crotch of his jeans, but you felt the warmth, the shock running through you like electricity, your head spinning as he flattened your hand against the top of his thigh, the tips of your fingers grazing near the mound between his legs, giving his inner thigh a light squeeze, and Harry pushed out a low laugh, his eyes flicking to yours, and you couldn’t stop the smile rising as you gazed back at him,

That’s when you knew you wanted him, no matter what it took.

Then, the professor was ending the lecture, the class beginning to stir, but neither of you moved, and when people began to stand around you, you gave his thigh one last squeeze, moving your grip deeper, your pinky brushing the inner seam of his jeans, and Harry sucked in a quick breath, a wide smile on his face as his hand grasped hold of yours and he squeezed your hand hard, pulling it away, and he bit down on his lower lip, scooting his chair back.

“Soon…” He whispers.

That was Thursday.

So on Saturday, when Lena asked if you wanted to go to the guy’s house for a little get together, you knew that was your chance; you knew this night would be different because Harry wanted it too. 

“Soon,” He said; the low tone of his voice dripped down your spine like a sugary glaze that you had to live with for almost two whole days with no plan. A single word looming over your candied haze, your mouth going dry at the thought. You kept thinking of that look, him biting down on his lip, the vision caking your mind, and now every passing thought was honeyed with his intentions.

You felt the pull deep in your body, a dull throb between your legs as you stood there, eyeing Harry from across the room, but you didn’t want to look desperate, so you kept yourself busy, thankful that Lena made you guys pregame before you came because it didn’t take long for your drink to start catching up, and it was welcomed because you needed the delusional courage the alcohol would bring.

There were more people than Lena put on. You stood there thinking you would never get your chance with Harry, and it was understandable, but you couldn’t go one more day without a definite green light, without at least the taste of those heart-shaped lips pressed to yours, and you waited, so patient, so calm, so fucking unbothered by the many girls, flitting around, trying to capture his attention. 

How many times was he going to catch your eye and not make a move because you knew without a doubt you weren’t going to be the one? 

You were technically the one who made the first move, so he was going to have to give. So what’s another round of cat and mouse? You thought, taking another drink, Harry still eyeing you at every chance, ignoring the girl talking at him with desperation every time she flipped her hair over her shoulder, then you smiled into your cup, taking one more drink before you turned away, knowing Harry had his eyes on you no matter where you roamed around the room.

You liked this, this subtle power you knew you had over him; you had what he wanted, that much was clear, and when he finally made his way to you, you felt it.

His eyes traveling down your body spoke volumes, that cocky grin lingering as he took your drink from your hand, and he started toward the drinks, that invisible tether back, pulling from within as you felt the longing stretch through your entire body.

This was it,

this was going to happen.

 But how do you get there?

“So you’re not going to talk to me, huh?” Harry asked, handing you a full cup of something red, swishing around in your cup, and when you brought it to your mouth. Harry watched you, waiting for an answer as you shrugged your shoulders, the sweet taste of punch coating your tongue, spurring that cotton candy daydream to life as you gazed into his eyes.

“I was waiting for you to talk to me, sir,” You tell him, nudging his arm as your eyes flit over his top, a sheer material, leaving nothing to the imagination, and when you peep the vailed butterfly at the center of his chest, your eyes dart to his, then back, and you poke a lazy finger into the center of his shirt, and he laughs, taking hold of the tip of your finger. 

Just then, Lena calls your name from across the room, ripping your attention from Harry, and you pull your finger from his grasp, feeling like you just got caught doing something naughty, and even if you weren’t, you knew you wanted to, and your cheeks burned with it.

“You guys…” Lena shouts, “You too, Harry…” and when you look to Harry, he too is like a deer in headlights, pointing to himself like he has no idea what his name is.

“Come play guys…” Harry’s buddy yells, pulling Lena onto his lap, and the shame of your thoughts has you moving, not wanting to draw any more attention to you and Harry.

 What the both of you didn’t know was that they were playing Truth or Dare, and you had that sinking feeling already that you knew you were screwed because you guys weren’t kids anymore, and now there was alcohol involved. 

The first couple of rounds weren’t bad; you chose Dare right off the bat, thinking a bold move would mean they would go easy, and that they did. The dare was to take a shot; that was easy. Harry, on the other hand, was playing it safe; while you chose Dare three times, he chose truth, uttering things from his mouth that made you blush because, of course, each question was loaded.

 Who didn’t like a good dirty secret? 

By the fifth round, it was Harry’s turn again, and when he chose Truth, his buddy interjected and told him he had to choose Dare. When Harry smiled, your stomach dropped because his friend wasn’t budging, and so he took it, eyes flitting past you as they moved to his friend—it just took that split second of attention to rally every nerve in your body because, let’s face it…you were tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunkenness, and so was he. 

You could see it in his glossy green eyes, that lazy smirk that hadn’t left his mouth, the way he kept getting closer, the two of you shoulder to shoulder, even though there was plenty of space on either side of you both, that innocent touch making the room vibrate, buzz with the anticipation of how you wanted this night to end—it had to be with him, it had to be underneath, on top of him, his face between your legs, it didn’t matter, at this point you would even drop to your knees for him

But what do they say? Be careful what you wish for. Because the next thing you know, Harry’s buddy is giving the dare, telling Harry to pick someone to waterfall a can of beer into their mouth, and you’re so caught up in the idea of beer being a shit choice that you don’t even realize everyone is staring at you until you see that cunning smile Harry is giving you, and when your eyes flick to Lena she’s nodding her head, one of those, yeah you looks, then Harry grabs your arm, your whole body heating as your eyes dart around the circle of people staring back at you.

Your legs are stiff as Harry pulls you near, his buddy handing him a cold beer, your gaze trained on the can now in Harry’s hands. It’s all moving so fast, catcalls ringing around you, the energy of everyone picking up, gearing up to watch the show you’re about to put on for them because it’s fight or flight, and you’re sticking to it.

When Harry drops your arm, it’s like lightning tearing through your body, your eyes darting to his as the crisp sound of the tab bursts open, the cream-colored froth spilling over the edge of the can. You both glance down, Harry extending it further away so he doesn’t get any on his boots. Even though you’re not a fan of the taste of beer, you know the ice-cold liquid would cool you down because your body is on fire, heat creeping through you—should you be mortified? You’re not sure, but when Harry’s eyes return to yours, you swallow hard, your heartbeat pounding in your throat. 

You’re willing your nerves not to show as your eyes sweep over Harry’s face. Then he leans in and says, “I’ll go slow…don’t worry…”

You let out a small laugh, your hand finding his wrist as he pushes his hand into your waist, sending a raspy laugh into your ear while the tip of his nose brushes against your earlobe, and it’s dizzying. The only thing keeping you balanced is your grip on his wrist because, holy shit, you’re really going to follow through with it, and just as you tip your head back, Lena yells, “On your knees, bitch—” your eyes go wide, and Harry gives your waist a little squeeze as he pushes you back, opening up space for you to kneel before him.

His smile is teasing, spurring you on, keeping that flame burning within, but little does he know you’re about to make him pay, make him suffer, make him weak—water the seed you planted that day in class—leave him wanting more because isn’t that what this is, and so you play into it, a sly grin playing at the corner of your mouth as you lock eyes.

You release his wrist, then lock your focus on Harry as you begin to kneel, slow and precise, lowering until one knee hits the ground, then the other. You sit back on your heels, only breaking eye contact to place both palms neatly on your thighs, straightening your spine and rising up like the dutiful girl you’re about to become. Once your gaze moves back to Harry, he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the effort, and you know you’ve got him that easily, and you haven’t even opened your mouth.

He steps in front of you then, his smile fading, and he leans over you, his dick inches from your face, and he gathers a handful of your hair with one hand, a makeshift ponytail, adding to the list of unexpected acts, and when he gives your head a gentle nudge, you have to force your eyes away from the obvious bump in his pants because there’s no way this dude isn’t packing some serious heat, and your dying to know, and maybe, just maybe you’ll find out.

You comply when he gives your hair another little tug, your head falling back as your eyes meet his, “Now open that sexy little mouth,” Lena shouts, playing into the bit. She’s like the best wingman without even realizing it, and your lips part, your mouth rounding into an “O,” and you widen your mouth, opening your jaw, and you give Harry one last look before your eyes flit shut.

“That’s so hot,” someone says, and you smile. Harry presses the cold can to your bottom lip, and your heart picks up as the chill runs through your chest, a sudden thrill.

He’s playful at first, a quick glug of beer spilling into your mouth, and the second it spills out, the crisp cold carbonation washes over your tongue like water leaving the stale taste of sour yeast running over your taste buds, cheap beer of course, and you feel your throat seize, overwhelmed, the feeling intensified by your lack of visual clues, then you lap your tongue over your bottom lip licking a stray drop that just hit the surface.

As you open your eyes, you take a moment to straighten your posture, preparing yourself for what’s next. Leaning back again, you feel Harry starting to pour, the can hovering just above your bottom lip. As your mouth widens in anticipation, he carefully lifts the can, his grip on your hair gentle yet firm, slowly guiding your head back. The beer flows steadily, and with each widening of your mouth, your jaw relaxes a bit more. Your gaze is fixed on the stream, and you engage your core muscles to maintain your straight posture. Like a little bird being fed, you take in the first gulp effortlessly. 

There’s a slight strain, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

Like he promised, his pour was slow, and this time, you let your mouth fill more, thinking it would be easier. Your eyes flicked to Harry, a small grin peeking at the corner of his mouth as the stream got higher—tiny specks of droplets hitting your face as it splashed into your mouth, and you closed your eyes, stretching your spine to guzzle your next mouthful, now weighing down the back of your tongue, and you gulp, a loud gurgle coming from your throat as you hold steady trying not to move any other muscle but your throat, then someone yells, “I bet she’s good at giving blow jobs—” 

Hearing Harry’s raspy laugh, your eyes open, and you look him dead in the eye, opening your mouth as wide as you can, your jaw relaxing into the stretch. That’s when Harry decides to quicken the pour—the beer halfway gone, you hope— and he pulls at your ponytail with his firm grip, inching your head back further; and Harry takes control of the whole situation as panic rises up, your mouth filling faster this time, and you know you have to swallow.

 Then he’s pouring faster.

The new angle of your neck has made the strain harder, stretching the muscles in your neck taut, giving you less control, and you open the back of your throat as liquid spills down, fast, heavy as it gushes past the barrier you were holding, the choke down louder this time, a strained glug as you puff out your cheeks trying not to cough, and your eyes widen flicking to Harry who is biting back his smile, his chin rising as the pour speeds down into your mouth, and when his lips part, you choke down another gulp, eyes never leaving his.

He licks his lips then, and you do it again, just to see his reaction. As he licks his lips, a flying droplet hits your eye, then another, and you have to force your eyes shut, “Dump the rest in her mouth,” some dude says.

“Make her really choke on it!” another adds, and Harry grips the makeshift ponytail hard, and you open your eyes as the can comes down closer to your mouth. Harry tilts the can, emptying it out into your mouth, and you gasp down the beer, liquid spilling out the sides of your mouth, and there you are, squirming under Harry’s hold as you force the liquid down your throat, coughing in a gulp of air, once it’s completely down. 

As quickly as Harry grabbed hold of your hair, he released it, and you sucked in a breath, grasping at your neck with one hand, reaching for Harry with the other, and he pulls you to your feet and past the people flooding your hazy vision, your head spinning as a rush of oxygen fills your lungs, and it feels like your floating on a cloud, every limb on your body numb, heavy, yet weightless because you think you could do anything, yeah, you could do anything.

Then Harry pulls you through a doorway to a bedroom, your whole world coming to a hurried halt, you standing there trying to play catch up with a scene of events that just unfolded. Harry, in perpetual motion, moves way too fast, in a frantic rush, a hasty pace, as he walks over to his desk, grabs hold of a wooden chair, walks back to his door, and he jams the back of the chair under the handle, pulling on the knob to make sure it’s secure. 

And then he just stops, standing there looking at the door, and you don’t know what to do; the reality that you must be in his room setting in, yet Harry is unmoving. Standing there in some sort of contemplation, and you wonder if he forgot that you were here, and when he runs a flustered hand down his face, you listen to him exhale, putting a hand on his hip as he pivots to face you, “That damn lock is broken on my door,” he confesses, his smile suddenly shy.

“Yeah?” you breathe, unsure what to say.

“Yeah…” He says, his green eyes searching your face, and now you were dizzy with the vision of him before you, that shitty beer trying to show its face.

You had no idea what you looked like in that moment; Harry just stood there, rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, that boyish charm thing he does, another little cork you had picked up on over the months—was he nervous? You couldn’t tell with his furrowed brows, so serious, his tall stature seeming to consume the room because he was all you could focus on. 

“Was it weird that I brought you to my room?” He speaks up, and then he moves past you to turn on a lamp next to his bed.

Your response isn’t quick; it takes until he moves past you again to turn off his overhead light, a change in mood, the atmosphere shifting in a tipsy state, every subtle change amplified, “No…” is what you tell him because it isn’t weird, but getting to this point was overwhelming, 

“We don’t have to do anything…” He says, kicking a boot off, and you follow suit, peering down at your feet as one shoe comes off, then the next.

“But you want to, right?” You ask him, picking up your shoes and placing them by the door, and when you look back, you catch a hint of a smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth, a flutter building, and you bite the edge of your tongue to keep your smile at bay.

“I just wanted to get away from all those people…couldn’t think with all of that noise…” Harry tells you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It was so fucking loud…” you agree, eyes roaming his room, your obsessive little mind already at work.

“Yeah…” He says, and when your eyes shift to him, he’s leaning back into his arm, breathing an air of casualness into the room, and you rake your eyes down his body.

You give him a small smile, eyes moving away, “So you couldn’t hear yourself think, huh?” You ask, his room oddly sobering because how many times had you thought about it, wondered what it looked like? Imagined yourself in it, and who cares if you had been a tad bit obsessive? You never forced the idea on anyone or him; it was your sweet little innocent secret to keep, and look at what it got you: a front-row seat to your favorite show, so why not take it? 

“Yeah…a bit overwhelming…” he laughs, his tongue lazily stretching out that last word, his British drawl heavy.

You look over your shoulder, “Overwhelming?” You smile again, matching Harry’s smile, and your eyes dart to his books lined across a shelf. 

“What was there to think about?” you question, dragging a slow finger down the spine of an old book, taking in the faded colors, and you turn just in time to glimpse that cocky grin rising, Harry’s mouth corking to one side, mischievous is all you can think. 

“You—” He says, plain and simple, the word falling out of his mouth like a hopeful gumdrop falling from the sky, something you never imagined happening, and you felt your body buzzing with it, a slow hum vibrating deep in your belly, your pussy waking with it, and you knew this was it—You were going to get what you wanted.

“Tell me more…” You push, moving over to him, and Harry falls back into his other hand, his body now a long, lean line in front of you.

He pushes out a throaty laugh, eyes moving down your body, and you try to relax, let the alcohol work its magic, “I’ve noticed you blush easily…I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Hmm…” you hum.

“They’re a bit naughty…these thoughts—” He starts, sending a pulse straight to your clit as your heart begins to race, and you lean forward, placing a hand on each of his knees, looking him directly in the eyes, and you nod your head for him to continue. 

“You started it, you know…” and this makes you laugh, “When you put your hand on my knee…”

“But did I start it?” You asked, feeling playful, “You’re the one who knocked my knee…” you tell him.

“Okay…I did do that…but you actually started this whole thing?”

“This whole thing?” you repeat, eyes moving to his mouth.

He licks his lips then, well aware of your eyes, “Yeah,” he says, smoothing his lips together, “When you smiled at me…that day in class…I saw you…”

“What? How do you know I was smiling at you? I could have been smiling at anyone…” you lie, trying to sidetrack him, and he was right about the blushing; you could feel the heat rising, your brain stumbling over the fact that he even remembered that.

He rasps out a laugh, leaning up to rest his hands on yours, his face only inches away, and the light catches the glint of his green eyes, leaving you in awe. “No…I saw it…there’s no fooling me, miss.”

“Fooling you?” you ask, smoothing your hands up his legs a few inches, and Harry grabs hold of your wrists, stopping them, his eyes sweeping down to your hands.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you—” and you force your face forward then, your mouth knocking against his, and you couldn’t help it, that persistent thought of him making you spiral, and when he doesn’t hesitate, you begin to move your mouth.

Harry deepens the kiss as his hands move up to your face, and you propel the both of you into action when you bring a knee to the edge of the bed. Then Harry breaks the kiss, reality hitting like a tidal wave, one big rush of awareness, knocking the air from your lungs, and you realize you should have asked. 

“Is this okay?” He questions, his hot breath fanning over your lips, your face still in his hands.

You laugh, “I probably should be the one asking you, right? sorry…”

“No—I should have asked before I locked you in my room…” He forces, eyes darting over your face, but you’re watching the rise and fall of his chest, both of you winded from the sudden change of possibilities. 

Staring down at his shirt, you say, “I want it…if you want it…” and you give his shirt a longing tug, your whole body aching for him, like even just rubbing your body against his would be enough, yearning like an adolescent dying to be touched for the first time.

“I’ve wanted you so fucking bad—” He tells you, forcing the words into your ear as a hand reaches for the button of your jeans, and it pops open in one swift move, then you lean forward, beginning to push them down, Harry lending his hands as you move in to kiss him.

You pull away then, fighting with the leg of your pants as you watch Harry yank his shirt over his head, the sight momentarily stunning you when you spot the tattoo at the center of his chest that you glimpsed earlier. 

When Harry reaches for his jeans, you stop what you’re doing, “Please…give me the honor…” you joke, your hands moving with a need to the button of his jeans, and your mouth is already watering, excited when you spot the outline of his growing bulge taunting you.

Harry grabs hold of the top of his boxers as you shimmy his pants down his hips, lifting, then helping once they reach his ankles, “Skinny jeans will be the death of me…” He laughs out, ripping his ankle free, and then they’re off, Harry leaning back slightly to adjust himself in his Calvin Kline boxers, so fucking sexy, and your eyes feast on the sight of his abs, the tight muscles bending and flexing, and what a fucking sight to behold. 

But he doesn’t give you much time because he snags the hem of your shirt and pulls it up, standing to lift it over your head, and just as your sucking in a breath, his mouth moves to yours, grabbing you by the waist to shift you onto the bed as you try to drag a quick breath through your nose.

His hands are everywhere—your face, your neck, your stomach, gliding up the curve of your waist, gently cupping a handful of boob, hungry, but you’re just as hungry, gripping and smoothing your hands over his muscles, hands roaming down the plains of his back, grabbing his ass to press him into you. 

It’s all fast, every breath short and desperate, as desperate as you both were to spur this on.

And your legs are spreading, inviting him in, and when you grab his ass again, your shoving him into you, a slow grind into his hard bulge, and you gasp at the relief, the sensation, the air heavy, a narrowing focus that nothing else exists except this, and when Harry takes the lead pressing into you again, you arch your back, lifting your hips up to meet his, until you’re finding a rhythm, Harry just as involved, needy, forcing out moans, each one a low simmer, a slow burn, both your bodies heating with it.

Weak.

That’s what you are weak for him, a heady rush stealing every thought because all you can feel is him, his body, his slow grind between your legs, pressing into you hard, like he too is aching, longing, and it’s one long stroke, his dick so hard that you can make out the head hitting you right at your center, gliding up your panties until you feel the base of his cock, and he groans out your name, stilling his body.

“I’ll fucking come if we keep this up—” he tells you.

And you nod, planting a kiss on his lips, “I want you to fuck me…” you force, grinding your hips into his.

“Is that what you want?” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your neck, his words catching in the shell of your ear.

“So fucking bad…” you laugh, nipping at his shoulder, and he pushes himself up then, crawling back on the bed, the warmth of his body leaving you, making you even needier for him.

Harry reaches into his bedside table and mulls around, the sound of clutter filling the silence, and you draw your knees up, lifting yourself onto your elbows. “Sorry…I only have one condom left…”

And you laugh, “Damn, I guess we’ll have to make it count...”

With a smile, Harry brings the foiled wrapper to his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth, your heart pounding in your chest as you hold your breath, a sliver of the wrapper holding by a thread at the edge, and you scoot forward on the bed, beating him before his hands can even reach for his boxers.

You look up then, “You have a big dick, don’t you?” you smile, giddy almost, thrilled at the notion of him being inside you.

“I guess to some…yeah…does that make you change your mind?”

He had you from the moment he walked into that class, but he’s about to have to figure out a way to rid himself of you because once you tug down his boxers, your eyes go wide, your hand like a magnet to his hard dick springing before you, and you’re already climbing off the bed, his warm dick in your hands, and your down on your knees before he can even say another word.

“I want to do something first,” You tell him, wrapping your hand around the back of his leg to bring him closer.

Harry lets out a breathy laugh and covers his face, letting his head fall back like the sight of you on your knees is too much, and he puffs out a loud sigh, dragging his hands down his face, “I can’t watch…” He tells you, pushing his words to the ceiling with a smile, and he laces his hands behind his head, letting the weight of his neck fall into his hands, and your eyes move down his body, traveling down his flexed stomach until you spot the tattoo, and you laugh, gripping his swelling dick in your hand.

“Oh my god, Harry—” and you peer up at him. He’s probably heard it all before, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing. 

The excitement sends a pulse through his dick, and it bounces in your loose grip, “I can’t look down…I already told you…”

You focus on the words inked into his skin, bringing his thick dick to your lips, the head of his cock, perfectly round like every candy-coated daydream you’ve ever had of him—a fucking treat, a lollipop earned, you think, already on your knees for him because those have been the daydreams you wanted to act out, put on a show that would drive him wild for you, but that was you on your knees tonight for him already, when you were that dutiful girl choking down beer for him, now you wanted to choke on him, fill the back of your throat until you were gagging on his big dick.

It started with a bounce against your mouth, the heavy head of his penis rippling across your lips; another bounce and you were lining your bottom lip with the ridge of his head, bounce, bounce, bounce, the weight of him hitting your mouth waking your senses, and then your lips were parting, a warm breath fanning over his dick, and your eyes flick up to Harry, watching him suck in a shallow breath.

“Might as well,” the tattoo says.

 So you open your mouth, flattening your tongue, your hand guiding his head into your mouth, and you open wider as you slowly drag him past the tip of your tongue, and you listen as Harry drags in a sharp breath through his teeth.

You like this; you like his reaction, and when you close your mouth around him, your tongue flattens against his dick, working his head, your hand moving down his shaft, giving you more of him to take in; a couple of bobs and you hear him rasp out a low moan, throaty like he’s trying to control himself. When you pull him from your mouth, you gasp in a breath, gearing up to take on more, knowing you need to loosen your jaw. Then you’re diving for more, shoving him in further, and Harry forces out, “Oh, God—”

The encouragement provokes you further, ripping his dick from your mouth, and you spit down his shaft, working it down the base—a little extra help; then you’re bobbing your head, your hand moving with your mouth in unison, synchronized as your throat opens for him.

 “Shit—” Harry breathes when you give his head a little extra attention, and he meets your eyes then, your gaze unmoving when you puff out your cheeks and force his dick to the back of your throat and the thick head of his penis hits your gag reflex hard, making your throat close around him, constricting as you force him back further, and you grip the base, readying yourself to do it again, then Harry tears his cock from your mouth, your throat seizing as you choke in a breath, the abrupt movement snatching the air from your lungs, and you gasp in a fast breath.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry…I didn’t mean for it to be that forceful.” Harry blurts, leaning down to hook a finger under your chin, and you rise to your feet, wiping at the corner of your mouth. 

“Oh my god—” you say, trying to keep a straight face, falling back onto the bed, turning the dramatics up when you clutch your throat. “I could have died—”

“I swear I didn’t mean to—” he tries.

You push yourself up on your elbows, “Now you owe me,” you tell him, feeling the corner of your mouth rise, and you narrow your eyes, bringing your foot up to the middle of his chest when he tries to climb on top of you. 

That’s when Harry realizes you’re joking, and he wraps a hand around your ankle, straightening his torso with a smile, “I know just how to repay you—” he tells you, gently lowering your leg to the bed. 

His large palms come down to the tops of your thighs, giving you a light squeeze before they drag down your skin and hook behind your knees as you watch that smile widen on his face, and with one quick tug, he tugs you to the edge of the bed, a faint gasp leaving your mouth and you bite down on your lower lip, watching as he reaches for your underwear. 

When his fingers hook under the top of your panties, you suck in a quick breath, drawing your tummy in as he starts to pull, and you fall back onto the bed again, bringing your feet up on the edge of the bed to lift your hips as your close eyes focusing on the way Harry slowly drags the material down your thighs, and you lengthen your leg as he pulls them past your ankles. 

That’s when you lean up, eyes meeting his as he drops to his knees. A flutter of excitement runs between your legs, and your heart races with anticipation. “Since you were such a good girl…” He starts his hands on your waist now, and his thumbs caress the skin of your hip bones, gripping the meat at your sides to drag you closer.

You can’t help but squeeze your leg shut. “You’ll have to open those legs so I can give you your treat, darling. “ and you laugh, his British accent making you giddy, and you press your thighs together harder. 

You speak up then, “I kinda want you to just fuck me…” you tell him, your voice coming off more timid than you’d like, and Harry lets out a laugh, brings his mouth to the top of your knee, and presses a kiss into your skin, making your pussy pulse. 

“But I really—” he says, placing another kiss on the other knee, “want to return the favor—” 

“How about next time?” you answer, your clit starting to ache for his dick to fill you up. 

“You promise?” he asks, resting his chin on your knee, his green eyes almost pleading like a cute little puppy begging for scraps.

And you reach forward, running a hand through his hair, giving it a light tussle, and Harry closes his eyes, relishing the feeling, “Next time…I promise—”

“But right now—” you force, and Harry’s eyes flit open, meeting yours, “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes go wide then, his brows lifting, and he swallows hard, his chin digging into the top of your thigh as a playful smirk appears, “Yeah?”

“Please—” you push. 

He reaches for the condom he placed on the bedside table and stands to his feet, his large dick coming back into view, and you clench your thighs tighter, feeling the slickness between them spread every time you move.

You watch him pull the condom from the wrapper, his dick in one hand, slowly smoothing up and down his shaft, his eyes trained on you, “You want or need me to fuck you?”

You choke on a laugh then, your mouth going dry at the sight, and you lick your lips, “Both—” and you smile.

“Mmm…” he hums, concentration etching into his brow, “Take your bra off,” he tells you, and you push yourself up, your hands shaking with adrenaline as your heart picks up, and you unclasp your bra and toss it to the ground. 

This brings a smirk to his face as his eyes flit over your naked body on his bed, “I liked the way you grabbed my hair earlier… that was hot,” you tell him…” and he licks his lips, biting down on his lower lip to control the smile that’s dying to rise.

“Is that how you want it?” he asks, his deep voice humming through your body.

The smiles are gone, a new energy creeping into the room, something heavy and charged with a new demand, “That’s how I want it…” you tell him.

“Scoot up on the bed.” He instructs, making your whole body go numb, the excitement overwhelming your nerves, and as you scoot your way back onto the bed, your legs spread, bringing awareness to your wet pussy as a gust of air rushes over your skin.

When you look back up, Harry is rolling the condom down his dick, stopping once he hits the base, and you both lock eyes, “All fours—” he says.

“Turn around and get on all fours,” and you give him one last look and silently flip over, your heart beating in your chest.

“Good—just like that—face down—” he tells you, “ass up—” he demands as you press your face into the bed, and you extend your arms straight, feeling the edge of the bed under your palms. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks one more time, “ Is there anything you don’t want to do?”

“No anal…” you tell him, peeking over your shoulder, “I don’t think I could handle that on the first go.” 

Harry laughs then raises his brows, “Noted—” he answers, leaning forward to grab hold of your hips, and just as you plant your cheek to the comforter, he rips you back to the edge of the bed, no warning as your cheek drags across the blanket, and you gasp, the quick motion stealing your breath, and when you lift your cheek from the bed to readjust yourself, there’s a slight burn from the fabric grazing your skin. 

“Changed my mind…I want you on the edge…in case you try and squirm—”

And you swallow, pressing your forehead to the comforter, and lengthen your spine as Harry adjusts your hips, stretching your arms across the bed; no safety of the ledge, just the grasp of the fabric lightly bunching under your palms. 

When Harry presses a knee into the bed, you feel his flattened palm press into your upper back, trying to flatten you more, and you turn your face, trying to stretch further, the tips of your fingers now at the edge of the side, and you close your eyes.

Harry drags a finger down your lengthened spine, then, starting at the base of your neck, a slow drag gliding down your smooth skin, making you curve your back like a cat as a shiver runs down your spine at the very thought of his touch, and you arch your back, letting your ass come down to your heels, completely taken by the sensation shuttering through you. 

And all you hear is the tisk of Harry’s tongue, “Ass up—” Harry commands, jerking your hips back into place, and suddenly you’re scared out of your fucking mind, yet lost in the trance he’s put you in because you are so turned on, even more, turned on by his commands—You’ve never let a guy just take you like this, given him the control.

When you feel the pad of Harry’s thumb smooth over your slick entrance, you let out a soft moan, the feeling making your clit pulse as he spreads the wetness over the lips of your pussy, the cold air mingling with your wet skin and you suck in an audible breath, and Harry dips a finger inside, getting you ready for him, and you feel yourself opening, melding into the bed as his finger dips further, and when he adds the motion of his thumb over your clit, you hold your breath, a slow circle beginning to take way.

“Oh—that—” you breathe, pushing out a heavy breath, a knot already forming deep inside.

“So fucking wet for me—tight,” he coos, the pressure on your clit deepening, and you moan out a loud sigh of satisfaction, raising your ass higher, growing needy for him, and then he slips another finger inside you, a light stretch as he sinks his fingers deeper this time, paving a slick way for his dick to fill you.

Harry dips his fingers one more time and then pulls them away, “Tastes good—” he says, and you lift your head just as he shoves his fingers into his mouth, his lips curving around them, and you have to look away, another shudder moving down your spine at the absence of his hands, and you almost want to beg, but then harry is grabbing hold of your hips again, a knee pushing back into the bed, and your ready, so ready, ass perfectly lifted, spine just how he wants it.

He brushes his thumb over your opening one more time, and he presses your hip into his inner thigh, you spreading slightly to give him more access, and you feel the firm head of his cock streak down your entrance, then again, making you draw in a slow breath, and your whole body tenses as he sinks in a little further, a groan leaving his mouth once the tip pushes past your entrance.

This is happening, his dick inching in more, and you moan out, pushing your forehead into the bed, gripping the blanket under your palms as if they could save you because then he’s pushing into you more, with a little force, your neck lifting to push out a low whimper.

It’s everything you pictured the stretch would be, a painful beginning, the delicate skin at your entrance on fire as your walls clench around him, and Harry forces himself deeper, stretching his way until he’s completely inside you, splitting his way past the point of no return, and you gasp out, “Fuck—” louder when he pulls your hips into him, your ass pressed to his pelvis, and Harry groans out, “So fucking tight—” a breathy laugh leaving his mouth as he leans forward to press a kiss into the center of your back, and the new angle has him pushing deeper.

“Mmmm,” you force, pushing your hips into him, trying to move past the pain, and he is so fucking deep, pressing into the pit of your stomach; at least that’s what it feels like because you’ve never been filled like this, every muscle lining the walls inside your pussy straining against his large mass, and you know what this can be, and when he slowly inches his dick back, you feel the gap he leaves, your body already desperate to be filled again, and he thrusts back inside you, slow and rhythmic, the stretch evening out with every stroke.

“Is that good?” He asks, giving your hips a squeeze, and you drag your forearm down to your forehead and rest your head, trying to focus on every breath in and out, breathing in tandem with his strokes.

“Don’t stop, okay?” you force on an exhale, and you hear the rasp of Harry’s laugh as you slam your eyes shut, his thrust harder this time.

Harry’s grip tightens on your hips, and when he pushes inside you again, it’s one long, slowed thrust, and he drives himself inside you deeper, the pressure hitting your lower belly again, and you moan out, forcing in a sharp breath.

“You like that dick, don’t you?” He asks, but you don’t lift your head; you just nod. Harry pulls back again, and you grip the comforter, gearing up for his next thrust as they begin to pick up.

“I like—” you try as Harry hits that spot again.

“You like what—?” he huffs, pulling all the way out.

“So fucking big…” you tell him, and he shoves his thick cock deep inside you, pushing past your walls as a new layer of stretch burns like a line of fire inside you, and you force yourself up, reaching behind you to force his hips back as a pained moan leaves your mouth.

Harry knocks your hand away, “No—this is what you wanted, right?” he laughs, that dimpled smile beaming down at you, “You’re doing so well…I know you can take me.” and it’s like his words ignite the challenge aching in your bones, that longing for him, all those months of being so fucking patient, pining for this very moment.

And so you seize it, giving him one last look before you plant your hand back down on the bed, and Harry grasps a handful of your hair, just like you asked, slowly pulling your head back as he drives his dick back inside you, and you draw out your moan, the slow thrust in, stirring that knot in your belly.

In and out, slow at first, his grip on your hair light, your neck comfortably positioned as the pleasure begins to roll in, and you push back into him and lower onto your elbow, ready to let your lower half do all the work.

When he pulls back out, you chase his dick back to keep the same pace, rolling your hips back until your ass is flush with his body, and you arch your spine, your hair beginning to pull at your scalp from the new position, and you lift your hips, dropping back down as harry pushed in, the two of you finding a new cadence, spurring each other on as pleasure completely takes over.

“Mmmm—I like that—” he moans as you move up his dick, catching the head of his cock on your entrance; you dip back down, gasping when you hit that spot inside you, and it feels so good, a bittersweet edge as the pain dulls, and you do it again. This time, with more force, and Harry lets you take control, taking more hair into his grip, the reign between you both shortening.

“Those hips are magic—” Harry praises you, and you want more, so you pick up your pace, drawing your hips up, a light swirl at the tip, bringing them back down hard and fast, Harry tugging your head back until you do it again, and again until he’s pulling your hair so tight that every muscle in your neck is straining to catch a decent breath, a new facet of control you’ve never explored taking hold of your whole body, and you give in, Harry plowing his dick in and out of you like the gallop of a horse, your ass bouncing back against him as he tugs your hair, both of your words filthy, flying out of your mouths as you both act out in desperation.

“More—” you cry out.

And he does it, releasing your hair and pushing you to the bed as he grabs your hips and slams into you with such force that you yell out his name, the whole room spinning as you drop your cheek to the bed, and you tuck a hand between your legs, spreading until you reach your clit

That’s all it takes, your fingers moving between your legs, Harry’s hard thrusts in and out of you, and as you feel your orgasm about to mount, you dip your back, arching your ass out as far as you can, sending his dick deeper inside you, and you come, a hard tremble ripping through your body, so hard that it steals your words, your body going slack, a hard gasp in, your lungs seizing with the effort, and your whole body shudders, your walls clamping around his dick as Harry slams one last thrust into you and his entire body stills, arching around you as he comes, his sweaty torso, sticking to your skin as you fall into the bed, the world going silent around you both.

“It’s a shame you only had one condom,” You laugh, your body shaky as you stir back to life, and Harry plants a lazy kiss on your shoulder as he pushes himself up, his dick pulling out of you, leaving you hollow, and you cross your arms under your cheek, and lay there.

“Are you already wanting more?” and you lift your head and watch that charming little smile turn up at the corners of his mouth, drawing you in as you lay here in the sticky sweet aftermath of every candied daydream you’ve ever had of him, and it’s better, better than you could have ever envisioned, and when you lower your cheek back down to your arm, the air is light, your head clouding into that cotton candy haze, and your lost in him, lost in the feeling, and you know you’ll be forever wanting more because if that was just a tiny little morsel you want more and then you tell him:

“I have more condoms at my place…”

A/N: Well, that was a bit of a rollercoaster...what did you think??

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[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 32 *

word count: 6.7k

full of first time smut overload! not proofread, whoops!

Harry wasn't sure how they got here. Neither was Aspen. 

After Aspen crawled into bed with Harry, he peppered soft kisses over her face, muttering on and on about how she was his forever girl. She cradled his face and they kissed until her chapstick smeared away, his hands snug and warm under her shirt.

Maybe it was the look in Aspen's eyes when she brushed her thumb under his brow, eyeing the piercing that drove Harry's cock to spring up. Maybe it was the draw of breath Harry let out when her nails ran through his scalp that made her thighs press together. Maybe it was the shudder she let out when his kisses trailed their familiar path down to her jaw that made his brain switch a flip.

Whatever it was, they were both insanely okay with it happening again.

His lips latched onto her neck in need, his teeth grazing over the skin until the layer broke, deep purples and reds blooming to life. Aspen whimpered into his curls as her fingers fisted the shoulders of his hoodie. 

Harry let out a soft grunt as he rolled off his side and pushed up, slipping himself between Aspen's thighs. His large hands took ahold of her hips, sliding down her thighs before hooking onto the back of her knees to draw her legs around him. 

He leaned back down, sighing contently as their lips connected in a slow kiss. He caressed the sides of her thighs over her leggings. Aspen slipped her fingers behind his neck as her fingers twirled the curls that rested at the nape of his neck as she parted her lips to allow his tongue to slip between them.

She tasted heavenly. She always did. Harry let a groan slip from his mouth into hers while his tongue swirled around, brushing along the roof of her mouth before slipping along hers. 

Aspen loved when he kissed her like this. She loved when he switched from soft kisses to needy ones, prying her mouth open with a flick of his tongue, only to draw away and pepper kisses down her jaw. She loved having the taste of him on her, the subtle hint of whiskey and mint from his gum flooded her mouth each time and she loved it.

As her hands tangled up in his curls, he lifted a hand off the bed that was propping him up to slide onto her hip and up the hem of her shirt to her bare waist. The contact made Aspen shudder, though the squeeze he gave made her melt.

"Missed this, missed you," He muttered against her lips before hr broke away to look down at her.

She cracked a smile, a pink tint glazing her cheeks. "I missed you, too, H. So much."

Harry returned the smile before he dipped down to nudge her chin with his nose, pressing  open mouthed kisses along her bared neck. The girl hummed contently and swallowed, letting out a small gasp when his mouth latched behind her ear.

"Harry," She whispered, drawing out a small moan as he began to suck over the area. Her legs wrapped around his loosely, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as he sucked harder. Her brows furrowed as another whine slipped from her lips, followed by a breathy 'oh'.

Harry was feral. He was a complete goner with how she sounded beneath him. Her sounds only spurred him on as he took a hold of the bottom hem of her shirt, sitting back up. 

"Can I?" He asked, his other hand coming to rest on her hip.

"Harry..."

"Aspen," He breathed out, giving her a look. Not just any look, but the look. The look that told her how bad he needed her and she would be lying if she didn't need him just as bad.

"But... Zayn, and Iz." She muttered, her hands now resting against his chest. 

He shook his head. "They left after I came up," he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, "they hate being in the middle of things like this," He laughed softly, giving her hip a squeeze.

He was probably right. They did seem like the type to scurry away to avoid overhearing awkward conversations. 

 She huffed softly and nodded, and Harry didn't need more than that. His hands tugged the material up her body, tossing it to her side. His green eyes swept over her, a smirk tugging onto his lips before he pressed forward and attached his lips to the center of her chest. 

Harry sighed against her skin, warm breath fanning over her as his lips moved languidly across her chest. He kissed the valley between her breasts, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the feel of her all over again. His hands splayed over her ribs, holding her steady beneath him as he trailed open-mouthed kisses lower, tasting every inch of soft skin he could reach.

Aspen’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching against his shoulders as a warmth spread through her chest. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way— his lips, his hands, the way he held her like she was something sacred, something meant to be cherished.

Harry hummed, dragging his nose along her skin as he worked his way down, eyes fluttering shut as he savored her scent— something sweet and familiar, something he could never forget. His lips pressed to her sternum before gliding lower, over the curve of her ribs, down to her stomach.

Aspen shivered at the sensation, her hands threading into his curls as he kissed over her navel. His stubble scratched against her skin, a contrast to the softness of his lips, and she exhaled shakily, her fingers gripping just a little tighter.

“Harry…” she whispered, the sound barely there, but he heard it— felt it in the way she trembled beneath him.

His hands traced along her sides, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into her skin. He glanced up, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, filled with something deep, something she could drown in if she let herself. Harry let his hands crawl up to her breasts, cupping them in his large hands and squeezed. 

“Love the way you say my name,” he murmured, his voice thick, before pressing another kiss just above the waistband of her leggings.

Aspen bit down on her lip, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. He had always been like this— intense, consuming, making her feel things so deeply it nearly scared her. But she loved it. She loved him.

Harry groaned softly, lips brushing featherlight against the soft skin of her stomach. He rested his forehead against her for a moment, exhaling like he was steadying himself, like he needed her just as much as she needed him.

“Missed this,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss just below her navel. “Need t'have you, baby.”

Aspen’s chest ached at the rawness in his voice, at the unspoken plea woven into his words. She brushed her fingers through his curls, cradling the back of his head as he nuzzled against her. 

Harry's teeth slowly grazed bellow her navel, nipping slightly at the skin there before his mouth latched on more while his fingers carefully tucked under the band of her leggings. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, silently asking for permission. 

When she nodded, Harry pulled the material down her legs in a swift motion, sitting back up to pull the cuffs off her ankles. He groaned at the sight of her, pulling her closer by her hips as his hands sprawled and wandered around her bare skin. 

Aspen’s fingers trembled slightly as they traced the hem of his hoodie, eager yet hesitant, the fabric bunched between her hands as she let out a small, needy whine. “Off,” she murmured, her voice soft but insistent.

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, his lips curling into an amused smirk. “So impatient,” he teased, but there was no resistance in his movements. In one swift motion, he reached behind his neck and tugged the hoodie over his head, tossing it carelessly to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

The moment the fabric was gone, Aspen sucked in a quiet breath. Her gaze raked over him, drinking him in like she had never seen him like this before, like she hadn’t already memorized every ridge and dip of his toned stomach, every intricate tattoo that marked his skin.

Her eyes trailed from the defined lines of his abs, up to the butterfly inked at the center of his stomach, her lips parting slightly as the silver cross necklace that hung from his neck swung gently before settling back against his chest.

God, how badly she wanted to take that necklace between her teeth and—.

"You look so fucking beautiful, lookin’ at me like that,” Harry’s voice broke through her daze, deep and rough, dripping with desire.

Aspen blinked, startled, her cheeks instantly warming as she met his gaze. His green eyes were heavy-lidded, darkened with something unspoken, something that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I—” she stammered, swallowing hard as she tried to look anywhere but the sharp lines of his torso, but it was impossible. He was right there and her body burned with the awareness of it.

Harry smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. His fingers brushed along her hip before gripping gently, pulling her closer as he leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“Didn’t know my girl had such a filthy little mind,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Tell me, love, what were you thinkin’ about, huh?”

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling against his forearm. “Nothing,” she mumbled weakly, though the blush that deepened across her cheeks betrayed her.

Harry chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “S’that right?” he hummed, pressing a lingering kiss just beneath her jaw, trailing his lips down to the pulse point on her neck. He sucked softly, just enough to pull a tiny whimper from her lips. “Liar.”

Her body tensed, then melted in the same breath. She hated how easily he could unravel her with just his words, just the heat of his touch.

Before she could form a response, he was moving lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down her collarbone, over the swell of her chest, pausing to flick his tongue against a sensitive spot near her sternum. His large hands splayed over her waist, his grip firm but gentle, grounding her as he continued his descent.

Aspen bit her lip, anticipation pooling deep in her stomach as he scooted further down, his breath hot as it ghosted over her stomach, down to her hips. He settled between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs, his thumbs pressing slow, teasing circles into the soft skin as he spread them apart.

A shiver coursed through her when his lips brushed along the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate. He kissed once, twice, sucking lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue, dragging his mouth down until he reached the hem of her panties.

Aspen let out a soft, shaky exhale, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her. She was blushing fiercely, shyness creeping in, but it was overshadowed by the heat pooling in her core, by the need that pulsed through every inch of her body.

Harry smirked against her skin, breathing her in, reveling in the way she trembled beneath him. “What’s wrong, baby?” he murmured, his lips brushing over the fabric covering her, teasing but gentle. “You shy?”

Aspen whimpered in response, her thighs twitching beneath his touch.

Harry hummed, his fingers tracing up and down her legs soothingly before he pressed a kiss right over where she needed him most, just barely there, just enough to make her gasp.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “S’just me, love. Always just me.”

He mouthed over her clothed clit, flattening his tongue. The girl gasped below him, her hips twitching beneath his touch.

Harry's arms came to wrap around her thighs, tugging her closer as he laid flat on his stomach. "Gonna let me taste you, yeah?" One of his hands unraveled from its hold to hook his fingers on her panties, pulling them to the side. 

His lips parted in awe as he stared at her slick folds, bubbling with need. "God," Harry groaned as he used his index and middle fingers to spread her lips open slowly, "deprived me of this for too long."

With that, his tongue dove in. He collected her wet on his tongue as he dragged at her fluttering hole over her clit, swirling along the sensitive bud before latching on, swallowing the sweet taste in his mouth.

"Harry!" Aspen cried out, choking out a gasp as her thighs threatened to clamp around his head from the sudden feeling. Her fingers curled in his hair harshly, fingers relaxing as her hips drove down onto his tongue.

"Fuck," Harry grunted against her, swirling his tongue over her once more before his tongue flattened, shaking his head a bit. She bucked her hips with another moan of his name getting caught in her throat. "Give it t'me, doll," he slipped his tongue before her folds once again, brushing over her entrance and prodded his tongue.

He didn't have time for slow. He needed her with everything in his being, he missed every part of her, especially the way she tasted. He'd never get over it.

Between the laps of his tongue and the sounds spilling from Aspen, Harry's head was spinning. 

His tongue danced between her slick folds, swallowing every bit that she gave to him. He let out a groan as his tongue pushed through, parting his lips fully until his teeth grazed over her skin. He lapped at her insides with ease, desperate to have her on his tongue. 

"Oh, God," Aspen choked out, her back lifting off the bed. He was so fucking insane. "Please, please, please," she trailed along breathy pleas, her grip in his hair tightening as she felt his tongue swirl inside of her before he pulled back to lap up the mess of saliva and slick that dripped between her thighs.

The man lifted his hand, wasting no time to press his middle finger into her. She gasped at the feeling and clenched around his finger almost immediately. His face broke out in a stupid grin as he watched his finger sink into her, pumping a few times before a second one slid in.

"God," she gasped, drawing in deep breaths as she opened her eyes to look down at him.

Amused, he chuckled. "'M flattered at the new name," he teased, flicking his tongue over her clit as he pumped his fingers at a comfortable pace.

His own cock was unbearably aching in his pants. His hips pressed into the bed in search of some sort of relief while his fingers curling up into her.

"Oh!" She squeaked out in a surprised moan as his fingers brushed along that special spot nestled inside her. 

"Yeah?" He egged, repeating the same motion as his eyes locked on her face. "Found m'girl's spot, huh?"

"I-I think so—," her words were cut off when he fucked his fingers up into them again. Her face fell in complete pleasure as she clenched around his digits, a loud whimper escaping. 

Just as that feeling in her stomach creeped up quick, his fingers were gone. 

She let a long whine draw out of her mouth, tossing her arm over her eyes in defeat, a blush tinting her embarrassed expression. 

He smirked as his eyes traced over her frame while he sat up, lingering on her needy hole clenching around air, before his eyes met her face.

"Harry," she breathed out, swallowing as her lips parted, but no words came out.

"Hm?" He licked his lips, his hands sprawling over her thighs before slipping his fingers under the string of her panties and yanked them free.

"Wanna... wanna help you," she peeked out at him from under his arm, and when he tilted his head with a growing smirk, she whined and covered her face.

"How so?"

"You know how so," she huffed.

"I don't think I do," Harry tutted, sliding off the bed to stand against the edge, his knees pressed against the mattress, "wanna come 'n show me?"

Aspen caught her breath, her body still tingling from the way Harry had just touched and teased her. But something in her shifted, something bold and warm and needy as she blinked up at him through heavy lashes.

Slowly, she sat up, her movements deliberate as she crawled toward him, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Harry’s breath hitched, his throat bobbing as his eyes trailed over her every movement— how her hair cascaded over her shoulders, how her flushed skin glowed in the dim light, how her lips, slightly swollen from his kisses, parted just enough to make his stomach clench.

His hands curled into the posts at his sides, trying to ground himself as she reached him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, watching as she settled on her knees before him, her fingers brushing feather-light over his stomach, tracing along the lines of ink that painted his tanned skin.

Aspen swallowed hard, her own breathing unsteady as her hands traveled lower, barely grazing over the waistband of his sweats. She could feel how tense he was beneath her touch, the way his muscles twitched, the way his breath grew heavier.

Her fingers danced over the fabric that covered his hard cock, teasing, pressing just enough to make him groan low in his throat. She glanced up, and when she saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his lips parted as he watched her with dark, hooded eyes, she felt a spark of confidence bloom in her chest.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband, tugging just slightly before she smirked, deciding to push herself further. She gently brushed her nose along the light patch of hair that trailed up, humming contently.

She leaned down, pressing the softest of kisses along his lower abdomen, her lips brushing over the tattoos inked there.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers twitching against the sheets. “Jesus, fuckin’ Christ,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely hanging onto his composure.

Aspen let out a quiet, shaky giggle against his skin, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath her lips.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” Harry gritted out, his hands twitching like he wanted to grab hold of her, but he didn’t. He let her take control, let her explore, let her do whatever the hell she wanted because he was too far gone to stop her.

She pressed another kiss, this time just a little lower, just enough to make him curse under his breath. Her shyness flickered for a second, a small hesitation, but she pushed it aside, her pulse pounding in her ears as she tilted her head slightly and let her teeth graze over the band of his boxers, tugging lightly.

Harry groaned, his head falling back for a second before he looked back down at her, his eyes dark and blown out, his hands shaking as they hovered over her. “Aspen,” he warned, but it was weak, breathless.

She glanced up at him, her lips curving into the tiniest smirk. “Thought you wanted me to show you?” she murmured, her voice sweet, teasing.

Harry let out a low chuckle, but it came out strained, full of tension, full of need. “Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, his fingers finally reaching for her, running through her hair before cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

Aspen kissed the pad of his thumb softly, her heart racing, her confidence blooming, and then she tugged his boxers down just a little more, her breath warm against his skin.

Harry exhaled sharply, his other hand curling into the back of her hair, his head swimming, his self-control slipping between his fingers.

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he muttered, half in awe, half in agony.

With one last final tug, his cock sprang free. She couldn't help but stare, before she broke out in a fit of giggles.

"What?" He quirked a brow, huffing as she flickered her eyes from his shaft to his face. 

"Nothing, sorry," she giggled, using the back of her hand to stifle her laughter, "I just, I can't believe I did that."

Harry fondly rolled his eyes, sucking in a breath when her small hand came to curl around the base of his cock. She kept her eyes locked on her hand as she gave his cock a tug, swiping her thumb over his tip.

He hissed out at the sudden touch, bucking his hips lightly. She smeared the dribble of precum around his sensitive tip, her tongue poking out as she cleaned over to kitten lick his slit. her hand traveled back down carefully, giving him a gentle squeeze as her lips latched onto the head of his cock.

"Baby," Harry groaned, his brows furrowing in pleasure. Aspen hummed around him, flickering her eyes to meet his, and he near lost it.

He gasped lowly as she sunk down as far as she could, his tip hitting the back of her throat until she pulled up halfway, starting a slow pace of bobbing her head.

"Shit," He groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he tilted his head back. Aspen built a steady pace, humming around him every so often as her hand moved to cover what her mouth couldn't.

With every stroke and bob of her head, Harry's stomach coiled. His abdomen tensed each time she sunk further, the head of his cock brushing the back of her throat as a moan slipped past his lips each time.

Aspen pulled off momentarily for a breath, sucking in air as her hand took over. Her hand swept around the tip of his cock before down his shaft, pressing her thumb along the vein that run on the underside of his cock with each stroke.

Her mouth quickly attached to him once more, her needing it just as bad as he did. The weight of his cock on her tongue, the feeling of him threatening to break through her throat, it made her moan around him as she sunk as far as she could.

That's when it happened. His knees buckled and he let out a string of curses and louder groans, face contorted in pleasure as she gagged around him. 

"Fuck!" He cursed out, his hand slipping into her hair. He bundled up the girl's loose curls with shaky hands and wrapped the length around his fist as he began to guide her throat lightly. 

When she moaned around him, giving him those glassy eyes that pleaded, he took it as a sign to guide her back down until she gagged once more. His jaw dropped, a low moan falling from the pit of his chest as he watched her eyes roll back and spit push past the corner of her wide open mouth around his cock.

Harry yanked her up carefully, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips in need. They both laughed softly as their teeth clashed inside, muttering a soft apology as he slotted their lips together. His free hand came to rest along her jaw, slowly sliding down to cup her neck. 

"Gonna train this throat sometime soon," He muttered along her lips, sliding his tongue along her parted lips before kissing her deeply. The man gave a gentle squeeze, tugging on her hair to tilt her head up as he pulled off her mouth. "Make my cock fit all the way."

Aspen nodded, almost too eagerly for her liking, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yes, please, Daddy."

Harry took ahold of his cock, slapping his swollen tip along her glossy, red lips. 

"Fuckin' hell," He muttered, panting unevenly. 

Harry let go of her hair, carding his fingers through before cupping her jaw and connected their lips. As they worked together, he worked her back onto the bed to lay on her back, settling between her thighs once he kicked his legs free from his sweats.

His hands slipped down to her back, unhooking her bra with professional ease, one that she made mental note of to pick on him for later. He slipped the cotton off her body and tossed it aside, hands flying to cup and grope at her breasts.

Aspen shuddered and whined when he pinched her nipples, gasping at the pleasurable feeling.

His lips lifted off her to lock onto her now bare chest, tongue diving over the peaks of her chest as his hands worked. He rolled each bud between his fingers and groaned with every roll of her hips she gave in utter need.

Harry's head dropped with another groan. The head of his cock collided with her clit as she shifted up, Harry unable to control the buck of his hips.

"Aspen," he croaked out, slipping a hand down between them to brush his fingers over her clit once more. "Baby, please don't do tha' t'me."

She whimpered softly. "D-do what?" Her hips rolled into his hand as he cupped her mound, fingers prodding at her needy hole.

"Can't let my cock feel your cunt 'f I can't have it," he mumbled, taking her nipple between his teeth as he sank two fingers back into her. Aspen's jaw fell slack a bit as her head spun, clenching around his fingers and pressing her chest up into him.

"Who...," she gasped and moaned when he rolled the bud between his teeth, soothing the feeling with his tongue and a kiss, "who says you can't?"

Harry lifted his head, breathing heavy. "Fuck. Yeah?"

Aspen licked her lips slowly. It was bound to happen, and she herself wasn't sure if she could wait any longer. It was going to be him, it always was going to be him, and right now, she needed it.

"Yeah." 

Harry couldn't help but groan. "Are you sure? Right now?"

The girl could only nod, but remembered her words when he gave her a look. 

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. I promise, H, just... please?"

He nodded, curling and pumping his fingers at an unbearably slow pace as he slotted their lips together.

Harry pulled back just slightly, breath uneven, eyes searching hers. “You sure?” he asked again, voice low and strained.

Aspen huffed, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Harry, either do it or get off,” she teased, though the way her voice wavered gave away just how much she wanted him.

A slow, lazy grin spread across his lips before he chuckled, the sound deep and warm, making her stomach flip. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he mused before dipping down to kiss her again, slow and lingering, fingers caressing the soft skin of her thighs, tracing little patterns that sent a shiver down her spine.

He was so lost in her, in the way she tasted, the way she responded to every touch, every kiss, that he almost missed the thought creeping into his mind. Almost.

“Fuck,” he muttered suddenly against her lips, pulling back. His brows furrowed, a bit of frustration seeping into his voice. “I don’t have a condom.”

Aspen blinked up at him, dazed and breathless. Then, to his surprise, she bit her lip before mumbling, “There are some in the drawer.”

Harry pulled back even further, staring at her, confused. “In the drawer?”

She nodded.

His brows lifted. “And how exactly do you know that?”

Aspen hesitated for a moment before letting out a quiet giggle, her cheeks flushing. “I may have done a little… snooping,” she admitted shyly.

Harry’s mouth parted in disbelief before he let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “You were looking through Zayn’s shit?”

She pressed her hands to her face. “I got curious!”

He shook his head, amused. “You’re fuckin’ somethin’ else, baby.” But then the realization hit him, and his nose scrunched up. “Hold on— why the hell does Zayn have condoms in the spare bedroom?”

Aspen giggled again, peeking at him through her fingers. “I don’t know, but are you really gonna question it right now?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, rolling his eyes before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Alright, alright. Stay put.” He pushed off the bed and made his way to the dresser, pulling open the drawer with a low grumble.

A beat of silence passed before—.

“Oh, no fuckin’ way,” Harry snickered.

Aspen sat up on her elbows, tilting her head. “What?”

He turned to her, holding up the box and pointing to the size. “Large? Please. I doubt it.”

Aspen gasped, playfully swatting at him. “Harry!”

He only smirked, ripping one from the box and opening it as he made his way back to her, settling between her thighs again. “I’m just sayin’,” he teased, eyes glinting with mischief.

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks still tinged pink as he took her hands in his, guiding them gently.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave as he placed the condom in her hands. “Lemme show you.”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she nodded, letting him lead her movements. His touch was patient, his voice soft as he guided her fingers, watching her closely, completely and utterly captivated by her.

And Aspen? She had never felt so wanted, so adored, so his.

Aspen sat up as Harry's hands guided her to place the rubber material on the head of his cock, unrolling it carefully to cover his length. Her heart beat quick in her chest, threatening to pound out and buzz off as the reality of what was happening settled in once he led her back to lie down.

"Good job, baby," he praised, holding her knees apart as he shuffled closer. "Tell me if I need to stop, okay? We'll go slow. 'S about you right now," he promised.

Aspen nodded, her fingers curling into the sheets under her as she took a heavy breath. When she felt Harry line himself up with her hole, she sucked in a deep breath and braced herself.

"Oh, God," she squeaked out as he began to push in. Harry's lips parted in awe, brows twisted in pleasure as he inched his tip in, halting. He drew in heavy breaths as Aspen tried to catch hers, feeling the burn of the stretch.

Harry wasn't exactly small. She knew that since she first felt it in her hands. Since she came eye to eye with it in the bathroom. There was no way in Hell she could take him in her tiny body.

"You're doing so good," his voice wavered as he gave her a minute to adjust before tilting in an inch more, his eyes flickering from where their bodies met to her face.

She was incredibly tight. So fucking warm and slick around his cock, he thought he was in the bets dream of his life. 

"Wait! Wait," She gasped, clenching her eyes at the intense burn that spilled through her. Harry stilled his hips, fighting the urge to drive into her. 

"Are you okay?"

Aspen winced, tears brimming her eyes. A tear spilled down the side of her temple and she sniffled, breathing shakily. "I-I don't know."

Harry sucked in a breath, swallowing. "We... we can stop, baby."

But he didn't want to. He needed to feel her wrapped around him completely. He wanted to shove himself in and get it over with, to make love to her and hold her and then fuck her until her legs shook. His fingers tightened on her knees, grounding himself.

"No!" she pleaded, shaking her head as she exhaled shakily. "Just need a moment."

Harry knew he should feel worse about it, but he didn't. Secretly, his chest burned in desire and pride that she could only take the tip of his cock. That she was already falling apart. She looked so tiny beneath him, so smooth and so stretched out.

"You're doing so, so good," Harry continued his praise. When she nodded, he sunk in further, just halfway now. "Such a good girl f'me," Harry groaned as he felt her engulf his cock more.

Harry's hand dropped to the apex of her thighs, thumb pressing and circling her clit. After giving her another moment, Harry took a breath and pushed himself in completely with one quick motion.

Aspen cried out, gasping in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Figured it would be easier down the line," he apologized, continuing to swirl her clit as his other hand came to cup her jaw. He shuddered out a low moan.

"You— fuck." Harry swallowed as he shifted on his knees, aching to draw back and push into her. Her breathing gradually evened out, replaced with whimpers from his touches as the pain subsided. 

"Move, please," she whispered, "think I'm ready."

Harry nodded, pulling his hands away to take hers, intertwining their fingers with both of their hands. Carefully, he drew his hips back and eased back in, watching her face. He did it again, and again, until a moan finally slipped past her lips.

"Harry," she shuddered, whimpering softly as he built a steady pace.

"Such a good girl, 'm so proud of you," Harry whispered as he brought her hands to his lips, scattering kisses as he moved his hips. 

The room filled with even paced sounds of skin slapping, her breathy moans and whines complimenting his gruff groans and low groans. The pleasure coursed through her body, a new feeling she didn't know she could feel. This is what she missed out on with Harry? 

"You're so god damn tight," he grunted, locking his eyes on where his cock slipped in and out of her pussy with ease, her skin stretching around each time he pulled back. 

"Feels so fucking good," he breathed out, face twisting in absolute pleasure.

His hands gave hers a squeeze. The moment was theirs. With each thrust was a saying of their shared love, their trust in each other. Her legs wrapped around him as she mewled out his name, whimpering softly.

"Harry," she panted, locking her eyes on his.

"I know," he grunted, shifting on his knees again as he let go of one of her hands to pull her leg up and over his shoulder. "Trust me?"

She nodded, "Always."

He smiled warmly down at her, twisting his lip ring between his teeth as the pace of his hips picked back up. He thrusted into her with care and need, kissing along her calf as he moaned out praises.

It didn't take long for her chest to swell, back arching off the bed slightly as she grew closer and closer.

He felt it. Felt the way she pulsed around him and saw how her pussy dripped with need, clit practically throbbing from her long overdue climax. Poor baby, he thought. She'd never go that long again without one. He was always going to take care of her.

"'M close," he grunted, stomach coiling in its need for release. His thrusts got a bit sloppy, but still carried care between the two. His hand on her leg squeezed her knee, sinking his teeth into a love bite on her calf as he caressed her hand with the pad of his thumb. 

"Please, please Daddy," she breathily moaned, her eyes drooped in pleasure. Aspen fluttered them closed as her own high crept up on her quick, threatening to spill over the edge.

He groaned at the name. Even in such soft and sweet moments, his ears rang and head spun with AspenAspenAspen, knowing how to hit every spot within him.

"C'mon," he coaxed, kissing his her leg before groaning, the side of his face slightly smushed as he pressed against her, tilting his hips to hit that special spot inside of her once more. "Cum for me, give it to me."

Aspen lost it at that. Her back arched off the bed with a cry of his name as her hand gripped his. Her pussy clenched around his cock, making him choke out his own moan before he hunched over, releasing into the condom as his hips stuttered.

"Fuck!" He panted, squeezing his eyes shut.

They stayed like that for a minute or two, coming down from their highs. Harry sat back up slowly, licking his lips before pressing sloppy and loving kisses to her calf and up to the side of her ankle, caressing her leg.

Aspen let out a breathy giggle, still dazed, her limbs feeling like liquid beneath his touch. Harry's lips trailed slowly up her leg, soft and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He wasn’t in a rush to move, wasn’t in a rush to let go of her. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

His hands smoothed over her thighs, grounding and warm, before he finally hovered back over her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "You okay?" he whispered, brushing his nose against her temple.

Aspen hummed, her fingers sliding up his back, tracing along the ridges of his spine. "Mhm," she murmured, voice still laced with that post-bliss haze. "More than okay."

Harry smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple before nudging her nose with his. "Good. You did so well for me, baby," he murmured against her lips. "So perfect."

Her face burned at the praise, and she buried it into his shoulder, making him chuckle. "Don't get all shy on me now," he teased, smoothing his hand down her side. "Wanna take care of you, yeah?"

She peeked up at him, brown eyes soft and filled with so much trust that it made his chest ache. She nodded, and that was all he needed. Harry carefully pulled out, both of them wincing from the lack of each other as he whispered an apology.

Harry rolled off the bed, stretching briefly he ran a hand through his curls, stepping into the adjoining bathroom to wet a clean cloth with warm water.

Aspen watched him through lidded eyes, her heart swelling at the sight of him moving around with such care. He didn’t just see this as something casual. He wanted to make sure she was comfortable, wanted her to feel safe, wanted her to know that this meant something to him, because it did.

He returned with the warm cloth, sitting beside her on the bed. "This might be a little cold now, love," he murmured, brushing her hair from her face.

She bit her lip, nodding. "I trust you."

Harry swallowed, that simple statement sending a different kind of warmth through his chest. He cleaned her up gently, being as careful as possible. Every now and then, he’d press a kiss to her shoulder or whisper quiet words of reassurance.

"Still doin’ okay?"

She nodded, sleep creeping into her features. "Yeah."

Harry smiled, tossing the cloth into the laundry bin before pulling the covers up over her body. But Aspen reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"Don’t go," she mumbled.

His brows pulled together, and he shook his head. "Wouldn’t dream of it, angel," he reassured, leaning down to kiss her softly before moving to grab a the pair of his boxers from the floor, knowing she wouldn't be comfortable in her leggings.

"Here, let’s get you dressed," he murmured, sliding them up her legs before grabbing the hoodie from the floor. "Arms up, baby."

Aspen blinked sleepily but obeyed, lifting her arms so he could slide the hoodie over her head. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves too long, the hem falling past her thighs. The smell of him engulfed her with a sweet welcome, making her chest swarm in warmth.

Harry’s lips curled into a fond smile as he took in the sight of her. "Fuck, you’re cute," he muttered, pulling the covers up once more and sliding in beside her.

Aspen immediately curled into him, nuzzling her face against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. He ran his fingers through her hair, pressing lazy kisses along her forehead, her temple, her cheek.

"So proud of you," he whispered against her skin. "So fucking proud."

Aspen swallowed, her heart squeezing. "Mhm?"

Harry pulled back slightly, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "'F course. You let me love you," he murmured. "You let m'have you. You… you’re everything, Aspen. You always have been."

Her breath hitched, and she felt that familiar burn behind her eyes. But she didn’t want to cry. Not right now. Not when she was wrapped up in his warmth, in his words, in his love.

She lifted her chin slightly, pressing a small, soft kiss to his lips. "I love you," she whispered, the words slipping out naturally.

Harry's fingers tightened around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. "I love you more," he murmured, pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

And as Aspen melted into him, her body relaxing completely, she realized that this, falling asleep in his arms, safe, loved, whole, was exactly where she was meant to be.

[harryssyndrome]

Hoax | h.s

summery: “don’t want no other shade blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do…”

based off this request. Thank you so much anon for this idea, this was so fun writing and I hope it’s something you were looking for. I tried to be as angsty as possible with a blend of cutesy sweet, hope it’s a perfect mix. Let me know in the comments? [thank you! mwah mwah mwah 💋]

Posted on: November 26th, 2024. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM. Like, comment & reblog are appreciated 💓Italics are past memories. Hope you lovelies enjoy this little big piece.

wc: 6.6k (oops🤭) || Masterlist 🤍

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @wheredidmyeyesgo @cherryloveshs | TAGLIST IS OPEN! || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! 💌

The morning had started just like any other, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over everything, but YN barely noticed. She sat at the counter, her hands curled around a coffee mug, its warmth barely a match for the cold ache building inside her. The apartment felt empty, despite the soft hum of the city just outside the window. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, a silence that had grown more oppressive over the past few weeks.

Harry had been on tour for what seemed like forever now, and their communication had dwindled. What had once been late-night calls and stolen moments between sound checks had turned into rushed, distracted conversations, where he was either too busy or too tired to give her his full attention. YN had always known the demands of his career, had always been willing to share him with the world, but it was starting to feel like he was slipping further away from her.

She had tried to be understanding, tried to remind herself that this was just a phase—that he was only gone for a while, and they would find their way back to each other. But today felt different. Something in the air was charged with tension, a sense of dread that hung around her like a cloud. Harry had promised to call her during his break between rehearsals, and as the minutes ticked by, that sense of unease only grew. She hadn’t heard from him, not even a text to explain why.

When the phone finally rang, she grabbed it with an anxious breath, hoping for the reassurance she so desperately needed.

“Hey, babe,” Harry’s voice crackled through the phone, distant and strained. There was a tiredness in his voice that made her heart ache even more.

“Hi,” she replied softly, trying to keep her tone light, but the worry slipped out anyway. “I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me.”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, and YN could feel him shifting on the other end, perhaps looking for the right words, or maybe just gathering the energy to engage with her. “I didn’t forget,” he said after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically flat. “It’s just… things are hectic right now. You know how it is.”

YN frowned, her fingers tightening around her mug. She knew how it was. She knew that Harry’s tour schedule was demanding, that he barely had time to breathe, let alone talk to her. But it was different now. It had been different for weeks, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“I get it, Harry,” she said softly, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “But it feels like we haven’t really talked in days. I feel like I’m losing you.”

The words hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken emotions. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to accuse him of pulling away, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening anymore. She missed him. She missed the way they used to connect, how they’d stay up all night talking about their dreams and fears, how they’d laugh until their stomachs ached. Now, it felt like all they did was talk about logistics and time zones. She wanted more than that.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, she thought he was going to apologize, that he would offer the comfort she so desperately needed. But instead, his voice grew colder, his words sharper. “You miss me? Maybe you miss the version of me that you had before all of this. But I’m not the same person anymore, YNN. I’m just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m constantly being pulled in a million directions.”

Her heart sank at his words, the finality in them hitting her harder than she had expected. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s words came out in a rush, almost like he couldn’t stop them, as if they were coming from a place deeper than he intended. “It means that I don’t have the energy for this right now. I don’t have the energy to keep pretending that everything is fine when it’s not. And maybe I’m just tired of pretending that you’re not asking for more than I can give. Maybe I need space. Maybe we both need space.”

The words stabbed her. She felt them deep in her chest, each one like a dagger, twisting further with every breath. “Space?” she echoed, barely able to form the word, the hurt creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to hold it back. “I’m not asking for space, Harry. I’m just asking for you. For the person you promised me you’d always be.”

Harry didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was tight, defensive. “Maybe that person isn’t here anymore, YNN. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. YN could hear the faint rustling of something on his end of the phone, the noise of people moving in the background, but it didn’t matter. The emptiness between them felt so loud, so unbearable. The connection that once held them together was fraying, thread by thread.

She swallowed hard, the tears welling in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I’ll leave.”

The words came out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. But the damage was done. The silence that followed was deafening, and the weight of Harry’s absence felt so heavy, so crushing, that she could barely breathe. The person she loved, the person she had given everything to, had just told her he was done. He was tired of her.

Before she could say another word, she ended the call. The click of the phone disconnecting felt like the final nail in the coffin, sealing whatever it was that they had left.

YN sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand as if it were some foreign object. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her mind was numb, her thoughts tangled in confusion and hurt. The apartment, their shared space, felt so small now. It felt suffocating. Every corner of the place was a reminder of everything that had once been good, everything that was now falling apart.

Tears blurred her vision as she stood up from the counter. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. But she couldn’t stay there. Not with him, not with the words he had just said. The love they had built felt like ashes, and she couldn’t breathe in the smoke any longer.

She started packing her things, her movements automatic, like she was on autopilot. Her hands shook as she threw clothes into a bag, not caring if they matched or if they were folded neatly. Nothing mattered in that moment except the urgent need to get away from the place that had once been home. She ignored the phone buzzing with messages, messages from Harry, apologizing, pleading with her to call him back. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after the things he had said.

When she finished packing, she grabbed her bags and walked out the door. The apartment felt even emptier as she closed the door behind her. There were no more goodbyes, no more promises. Just the echo of his hurtful words ringing in her ears.

YN drove to her parents’ house in a daze, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened, about how quickly their love had unraveled. She needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out how to move on from this. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t just a fight. It was something deeper. Something that couldn’t be fixed with apologies.

When she pulled into the driveway, she didn’t feel the relief she thought she would. Instead, the silence that had followed her from their apartment seemed to follow her here. Even the familiar sight of her childhood home didn’t offer the comfort it once had. It all felt distant. Empty. Just like her heart.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she walked up to the front door, her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She couldn’t bear to see his name flashing on the screen. The man she loved had just shattered her heart into a million pieces, and she didn’t know how to pick them up.

The night had been a blur for Harry. The anger, the disappointment, the gnawing guilt in his chest from the argument with YN—it was all too much to bear. In the solitude of his hotel room, far from her, he drowned out the pain with alcohol. He knew he had messed up, knew he had hurt her with his words, but the overwhelming pressure of being on tour, the constant demand of being a public figure, and the exhaustion had driven him to the brink. He had never intended for it to escalate the way it did, but in his drunken haze, it all came crashing down.

Somewhere between the blurry shots and the endless stream of drinks, he found himself in a bar, surrounded by strangers, feeling more alone than he had in a long time. His phone was buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up with YN’s name flashing, but he didn’t pick it up. The coldness in his heart had become too unbearable, and he pushed her away instead of confronting the hurt he had caused. He just wanted the world to stop spinning for a moment. He wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong.

And that was when Emily Ratajkowski had walked in.

They had known each other for years, casually friendly in the way celebrities often are when their circles overlap. Emily, ever the charmer, had greeted Harry with a friendly smile. They sat and talked, their conversation casual at first, just the usual small talk about work and life. But Harry, caught in his haze of regret, had let his guard down. The more they talked, the more the words flowed. In some strange way, it felt easy to talk to her—like she was a stranger he could confide in, someone who didn’t carry the same weight of their past, the years of intimacy and history he shared with YN.

It didn’t take long before the alcohol took its toll. Emily’s laughter had filled the air, and Harry had found himself leaning closer, her presence soothing in a way that made him forget the ache in his chest. Before he knew it, they were kissing. His mind screamed for him to stop, to think about YN, to remember everything he stood to lose. But in that moment, he didn’t. The guilt had been smothered by the fleeting comfort of the kiss, the escape from his spiraling thoughts.

He didn’t remember much after that. The night blurred into incoherence, a jumble of laughter, flashes, and fleeting touches. Harry woke up the next morning, disoriented and groggy, the light filtering through the hotel room window far too bright. His phone was buzzing incessantly, and his stomach churned when he saw the series of missed calls and messages from YN. The weight of it all hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memories.

Then, his phone lit up with an alert—a notification from a gossip website, and his heart dropped into his stomach. There, in front of him, were pictures of him and Emily Ratajkowski, the kind of photos Harry had spent years avoiding. They were kissing, their lips pressed together, captured in a moment of reckless abandon that Harry didn’t even fully remember. The headline was cruel: Harry Styles and Emily Ratajkowski—A New Romance in the Making?

His throat tightened as he scrolled through the photos, his mind racing. He didn’t remember kissing her. He didn’t remember anything about that night except the overwhelming sense of regret that now gripped him. He had ruined everything. The fragile thread holding him together seemed to snap in that moment. He had lost YN, and now the media would make sure the world knew it. His personal life was on full display, and all he could think about was how much he had fucked it all up.

Desperation began to rise in his chest, and without thinking, he began sending text after text to YN, each one filled with apologies, regret, and pleas for her to talk to him. But she didn’t answer. The silence on the other end was deafening.

Meanwhile, YN was in her parents’ house, sitting in the living room with the muted glow of the television casting long shadows across the room. The house, once a place of comfort and warmth, now felt suffocating. Her mother had been quiet ever since YN arrived, sensing the heavy tension in the air. She tried to comfort her daughter, offering tea, but YN couldn’t bring herself to care. The weight of the argument, of the harsh words Harry had said, sat heavily in her chest, gnawing at her.

But when the photos surfaced—when she saw Harry with Emily, their lips locked, the headlines flashing across her phone—her world shattered all over again. The room spun around her, and she felt like she was suffocating. The love she had poured into her relationship with Harry now felt like a cruel joke. She had trusted him. She had believed in him. And now this—this betrayal was too much to bear.

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly turned away from her phone. Her mother noticed the change in her expression and asked softly, “YN, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, choking on her tears. “I can’t keep doing this. I thought he loved me… but now… now I don’t know who he is anymore. It didn’t even take him a night to move on?”

Her mother hugged her tightly, murmuring comforting words, but YN couldn’t hear them. The pain of what she had seen—the public humiliation of it all—felt like a physical weight on her chest. She needed to get away. She needed to clear her head.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking to herself rather than her mother.

Her mother nodded, understanding the need for space, and watched as YN stepped outside, the cool evening air wrapping around her like a blanket.

The lake stretched out before her, calm and unbothered by the storm raging inside her. Its surface shimmered faintly under the overcast sky, the golden light of the fading afternoon barely breaking through the thick clouds. The familiar sight of it— the way the trees reflected on the water, the distant sound of birds, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore-should have brought YN the comfort she was seeking. But all it did was make her chest tighten with a suffocating ache.

She had always come to this place for solace, even as a child. The lake by her parents' house was her sanctuary, a space where the noise of the world couldn't touch her. But now, as she stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself against the crisp autumn air, the silence was deafening. It wasn't peace she found here today. It was the echo of memories she had desperately tried to bury since she walked out of the home she had once shared with Harry.

Her boots crunched softly against the earth as she made her way closer to the water's edge, the damp grass soaking the hem of her dress. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and earth. But YN didn't notice. Her mind was far away, replaying a reel of memories she wished she could turn off. No matter how much she tried to focus on the present, her past with Harry came rushing back to her, vivid and bittersweet.

She crouched down near the shore, her fingertips brushing against the cool surface of the water. As ripples spread outward, her thoughts drifted to another time, another version of herself-a happier one. She closed her eyes, and it all came rushing back as if she were still there.

It had been a summer evening, the sun setting in brilliant hues of orange and pink.

Harry had been sitting on the dock, legs stretched out, his feet just barely skimming the water. YN had been lying beside him, her head resting on his thigh as they shared a bottle of wine they had stolen from her parents' pantry. The lake had been their escape that summer, a place where the chaos of Harry's career and the pressures of the world seemed to melt away.

"This place is magic," Harry had murmured, running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. His voice had been low, almost reverent, as he looked out at the water.

YN had tilted her head to glance up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You always say that," she teased. "But you're not wrong."

He grinned, his dimple deepening as he looked down at her. "It's true, though. Don't you feel it? It's like... time stops here. Like nothing bad can touch us."

She had laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle rustle of the trees.

"That's what l've always loved about this place. It's quiet. Peaceful. Away from everything."

Harry had hummed in agreement, his gaze softening as he studied her. "One day, YNN... one day l'd love to settle down somewhere like this. Away from the noise. Just us."

Her breath had caught at his words, her heart skipping a beat. "Just us?" she'd asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," he'd added, his lips twitching into a playful smile, "maybe not just us. I'm thinking a couple of little ones running around, maybe a dog... or two."

YN's heart skipped at his words, her stomach flipping in that way it always did when he hinted at their future. She laughed, nudging him playfully. "Little ones, huh? You planning on starting a family with me already, Styles?"

Harry grinned, his dimple showing as he leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something deeper. "Why not? I mean it, YNN. I'd love that. A house by the lake. Waking up every morning with you by my side. Teaching our kids how to fish or swim or whatever it is people do out here. It sounds perfect."

Her breath caught as she looked at him, the sincerity in his words tugging at something deep within her. "It does," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It sounds perfect."

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "You're perfect," he murmured, and before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

The world had faded away then, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and possibility.

“I wouldn’t want anything less than forever when it comes to you.”

His words had settled into her heart like a warm glow, and she had leaned in to kiss him, the taste of wine still lingering on his lips. In that moment, with the sun setting and the world quiet around them, she had believed him. She had believed in forever.

YN blinked, the memory dissolving as the present came crashing back. The lake was still, the air cold, and Harry wasn't there. Her chest ached as she stared at the dock, the image of them sitting there overlaying the reality of its emptiness. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his hand in hers, but it was all in her mind.

The betrayal burned anew, the image of him with Emily flashing behind her eyes.

How could he have said those things, painted that picture of their future, and then so carelessly let it all fall apart? How could he kiss someone else after everything they had shared?

How had they gone from that to this? How had the man who once promised her forever ended up kissing someone else? The image of Harry and Emily flashed in her mind again, sharper this time, and her stomach twisted. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of her heart that felt like they were falling apart.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything she had lost. The life she had envisioned with Harry-the house by the lake, the little ones running around, the forever they had dreamed of-felt like a distant, unattainable dream. And yet, no matter how much she wanted to hate him, to shut him out completely, her heart wouldn't let her. She still loved him, even now, even after everything.

YN sank down onto the grass, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaming freely now. She thought of the countless nights they had spent talking about their dreams, their plans. The way Harry had once made her feel so safe, so sure of their love. And now, it all felt like a cruel joke, a dream turned nightmare.

"Why, Harry?" she whispered into the stillness. "Why did you have to ruin everything?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.

She let herself cry then, the sobs wracking her body as she finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of her heartbreak. The lake bore silent witness to her pain, its surface rippling gently as if trying to offer her some semblance of comfort.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a graveyard for their love.

When she returned to the house, her heart felt heavy, each step laden with the weight of everything she was feeling. But it wasn't the emptiness of the house that grabbed her attention; it was the faint sound-the small, deliberate taps against the window. At first, she thought it was the rain playing tricks on her, the gentle taps against the glass. But when she heard it again-sharp and insistent-her breath caught in her throat.

Her mind didn't even have time to process it fully. She spun toward the window, her heart pounding in her chest. And there he was.

Harry.

He stood in the pouring rain, his face pale, his hair clinging to his skin. His clothes were soaked through, and his hands trembled slightly as he threw small pebbles at the window, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare she couldn't escape. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was this real? Was this the same man who had hurt her so badly?

But then, she saw it in his eyes-the desperation. The raw vulnerability. The silent plea for forgiveness that spoke louder than words ever could. He was standing there, drenched, with nothing left to lose. He was a broken man, and in that moment, she could see that he knew he had ruined everything.

Before she could stop herself, she ran to the down to the front door, threw it open, and without thinking, rushed outside into the rain.

The rain fell in torrents, its relentless downpour drowning out all sound except for the beat of water against the ground. Harry stood before YN, drenched, his eyes wide with desperate urgency, a look of raw pain etched into every line of his face. His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside of him.

“YN…” His voice broke, as if the weight of her name was too much to bear. His hand reached out shakily, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but she pulled away slightly. He flinched, not from her rejection, but from the weight of his own guilt that seemed to pull him lower with every passing second.

“I—” He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but his words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant to hurt you, YNN. I swear, I never thought—God, I was so drunk, so damn stupid. I don’t even remember what happened, but I know I messed up. I know I messed everything up.”

YN’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her, how much his words still stung like a constant ache in her soul. But instead, she stood there, her breath coming in ragged bursts, staring at him as he trembled in the rain. She wasn’t sure whether it was the cold of the storm or the pain inside him that made him shudder, but it was impossible to ignore the depth of his regret.

“You do remember, Harry,” she finally spoke, her voice shaking but strong. “You remember everything, even if you don’t remember that moment. You remember the things you said to me. You remember how you treated me. How you—” She stopped herself, not wanting to continue with the painful words. But the memory of his cutting tone, his dismissive words, echoed in her mind, taunting her, making her question everything they had ever shared. “I trusted you. I loved you. And you—you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes welled with unshed tears as he took a step toward her, this time not caring if she pulled away. He was beyond caring about the rain, beyond caring about anything except for the woman standing before him, the one person who had always been his everything.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, and she could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I know I broke you. And that’s the worst part of it. I never wanted to hurt you. Not in a million years. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, YNN. You’re it for me, you always have been.” He reached for her again, but this time she didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against hers, a tentative touch, as if he were afraid she might vanish the moment he let go.

“But I let my stupid insecurities, my stupid mistakes, cloud everything,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been more scared of losing someone than I am of losing you, and I couldn’t see that until now. I couldn’t see that you are the one I need. That it’s not the fame, it’s not the tour, it’s not anyone or anything else—it’s you, YN. You’re the only thing that matters.”

The words hung in the air like fragile threads, each one trembling with a rawness that made YN’s heart ache in ways she didn’t think possible. The anger, the hurt—it was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all lost.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She wanted to push him away, wanted to shout at him for what he had done, but when she looked at him—really looked at him—there was something so devastatingly human about him, standing there, shaking in the rain. He was broken, but there was sincerity in his apology, a plea that reached her heart in ways his words never had before.

“You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me, Harry,” she said, her voice quivering as she took a step back. “You think it’s just about what happened with her, with Emily? It’s not. It’s about everything that led up to that moment. It’s about the words you said to me, the way you dismissed everything we had, everything I gave you. It’s about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

Harry closed his eyes, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, YNN. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I know I’ve hurt you, but please… don’t let this be the end for us. I can’t lose you. I just can’t… live without you. I can’t.”

The storm raged around them, but the silence between them felt deafening, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved. YN could feel the anger still bubbling inside her, but she also felt the pull of something deeper—the love she had for him, the love that she had thought was gone, but now seemed to flicker in her chest like a fragile flame.

She wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the hurt, but something inside her was giving way.

“Harry, I…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as her chest tightened painfully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you right now. I need time. I need space to figure this out.” She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes as the tears finally spilled over, mingling with the rain. “I don’t know if I can go back to who we were. You hurt me too much.”

He stepped forward again, his hand reaching for her, trembling with the force of his desperation. “Please, YN. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you all the space you need. I’ll be patient, I swear. I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t walk away from me. Please.”

She didn’t respond immediately. The storm had drowned out every thought, every hesitation in her mind, but there was still one thing she knew for certain: she couldn’t let him go. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. Not when her heart was still so tangled up in him, so unable to let go of the person he had once been to her.

“I need time,” she repeated softly, her voice barely audible against the pounding rain. “I need to think, Harry. Please, just… just go inside. I can’t—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, not without breaking apart completely.

Harry nodded, his face a picture of heartbreaking understanding. His heart was in pieces, but he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to prove that he could make things right. Without another word, he turned toward the house, slowly, unwilling to leave her in the storm but knowing that he had to respect her need for space.

YN watched him go, her heart heavy in her chest, torn between love and hurt, between forgiveness and anger. The rain continued to pour, and as she stood there, feeling the cold seep into her bones, she wondered if they would ever find their way back to each other—or if this was the beginning of the end.

The night had felt like an eternity. Each minute stretched on, filled with haunting thoughts and the pounding rhythm of YNs heart. Her mind was tangled in knots, the anger still burning bright, but beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t deny: the love she still had for Harry. It was the kind of love that had once felt so pure, so easy, but now felt fractured, jagged, like trying to hold onto a shattered glass piece that was bleeding into her heart.

She hadn’t been able to sleep. The past few days, the pain, the betrayal, the anger—it all swirled together in a mess that made her restless. Harry’s words from the night before—the desperate, raw apology—replayed over and over again in her mind, like a broken record. And yet, each time she thought of it, the hurt crept back in. She had tried to push it away, tried to convince herself that she could ignore it, but the reality was that she couldn’t. Not when the memories of their love, of their happy moments, still clung to her like the scent of his cologne.

But it wasn’t just the hurt she was feeling. There was something else, something deeper, something that felt too real to ignore. She couldn’t escape the way her heart still responded to Harry, no matter how hard she tried.

As the morning light began to filter through the windows, YN could no longer stay in the silence of her room. She had to see him. She had to confront everything that had happened and, maybe—just maybe—find a way to heal. But even as the desire to see him grew stronger, there was still that gnawing uncertainty. Could she really trust him again? Could she really forgive him for what had happened?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the stairs, the soft creak of the wooden steps echoing in the otherwise still air. The soft hum of the morning felt foreign against the heaviness that weighed on her shoulders, but she ignored it, pushing forward. When she stepped outside, the cold hit her like a rush, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.

The lake was quiet, still as glass, the air thick with the faint scent of damp earth and fresh water. And there, sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake, was Harry. His posture was slumped, his shoulders drooped, as though the weight of the world was resting on him. The sight of him in this state, so broken and vulnerable, pulled at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

He looked so small, so lost.

For a moment, YN stood there, watching him. She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. But as she watched him, she realized that she couldn’t stay away. Not anymore. She had to speak. She had to let him know how much he had hurt her, but also how much she still cared, despite everything.

Her footsteps were quiet on the soft earth as she made her way toward him. Harry didn’t look up immediately, but she could see the slight twitch of his head as if he felt her presence. His face was blank, his eyes staring out at the water, but there was something in the way he held himself that spoke volumes.

YN stopped just a few feet away, standing still as the silence stretched between them. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. The tension was thick, palpable, like a heavy fog.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. The silence, the uncertainty. She had to break it.

“I don’t even know where to start, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself from the rawness of the moment. “You hurt me. You really hurt me. And I don’t know if I can ever forget what you said to me. What you did to us.”

Harry flinched, as if each word she spoke cut through him. He finally lifted his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting hers. There was guilt in those eyes, raw and undeniable. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, YNN. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to explain how much I regret everything. I was angry, and I was drunk, and I didn’t—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. “I never meant to hurt you. Not like that. You’re everything to me, YNN. You always have been.”

YN took a deep breath, her chest tight with the conflicting emotions. She wanted to stay angry, to protect herself from the pain he’d caused, but she couldn’t deny that his words, his remorse, were hitting something deep inside her. It wasn’t enough to erase the hurt, but it was a start. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw how broken he was. He was a man who had made a mistake, but he was also a man who still cared for her.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to live in the hurt and the anger. I want to move past this, but I need to know that you’ll never do this again. I need to know that you’re willing to fight for us.”

Harry’s eyes welled up, the emotion overwhelming him. He reached out then, taking her hand gently, almost like he was afraid she might pull away. “I swear to you, YNN. I’ll fight for us. I’ll fight for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I’ll spend every single day proving to you that you’re worth more than anything, more than the stupid mistakes I’ve made. You mean everything to me.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to ignore the depth of his words, the rawness in his voice. But it wasn’t just the words that got to her; it was the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he rarely showed anyone, let alone her.

She stepped closer to him, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She had been so angry, so broken, but looking at him now, she realized that she couldn’t just walk away.

“I want to believe you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I really do. But I need time. I need time to heal, to trust you again.”

Harry’s face softened, relief flooding through him. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, every step of the way. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it. That we’re worth it.”

And in that moment, everything felt a little bit clearer. The storm inside her had not fully subsided, but the clouds were beginning to part, and the sun was starting to peek through. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and in one slow, careful motion, she placed her hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her palm was a reminder of how much he still cared.

“I’m willing to try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m willing to try if you promise me that you’ll never let me go again.”

Harry’s eyes shone with tears, and he pulled her into his arms, his hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her forehead, his lips brushing softly over her skin. “I promise you, YNN. I’ll never let you go. You’re my everything. I love you.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She hadn’t been sure if she could forgive him, if she could ever move past the hurt. But standing here in his arms, feeling his heart beat against hers, she realized that love wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t always simple. But it was worth fighting for.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain. The future was still unclear, but for the first time in a long time, they both had hope.

They’ll be alright.

[nickistuffs]

Almost, Maybe

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: Harry struggles with his growing feelings for Y/N as an evening with their close friend Sam makes it difficult for him to navigate

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None. It's Angsty

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry didn’t know why he agreed to this.

Well, he did. It was because you asked. And how could he say no when you had looked up at him with that hopeful smile, your hand lightly tugging on his sleeve as you said, “I want you to meet Sam properly.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He wasn’t even sure why it did. You and he had been spending so much time together lately—dinners that stretched late into the evening and walks through the park that felt stolen from a different lifetime, conversations that made the world outside seem a little quieter. It was easy and natural, and he liked to think that it meant something.

But now, sitting across from you and Sam in a small café, he felt completely and utterly out of place.

The two of you were seated next to each other in the booth, your bodies angled ever so slightly inward. The air between you was filled with a kind of familiarity that made his stomach twist—like he was intruding on something he didn’t quite understand.

You were laughing at something Sam had said, your hand brushing against theirs as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. But Harry had never seen you like this before—not with him.

"She wasn’t like this with me."

Not the casual touches, not the way her head leaned on Sam’s shoulder as it had always belonged there, not the way her eyes softened when she looked at them.

Harry shifted in his seat, forcing himself to tear his gaze away before the bitterness in his chest made its way to his expression. He wasn’t stupid. He knew he had no claim over you, no right to feel this slow-burning jealousy creeping up his spine.

Calm down. Sam is the best friend. Nothing else. Right?

He picked up his cup, letting the warmth seep into his palms before speaking, keeping his tone as level as possible.

"So, how do you two know each other?"

The question came out smoother than he expected as if his emotions weren’t threatening to spill over.

Sam took a sip of their coffee before leaning back against the seat, completely at ease.

"We had a technical drawing class, and I was a hopeless case. Y/n, being the nicest person alive, saw my suffering and helped me get a passing grade."

You giggled, nudging Sam playfully. "Hey, you were great."

"Yeah, between the two of us, your grades were better," Sam shot back with a smirk.

Harry’s grip on his coffee cup tightened.

The way you laughed with Sam—it was different. The two of you shared a history, a connection that didn’t need words. You had always been warm, always kind, but with Sam, it was something else entirely.

Something he wasn’t a part of.

Something he wasn’t sure he could ever have.

The café buzzed softly around him, the scent of coffee lingering in the air, the sound of distant conversations filling the spaces between your laughter. But to Harry, everything else felt muted.

His thoughts were drowning in the realization that maybe—just maybe—he had been fooling himself.

That all those stolen moments, the quiet smiles, the lingering glances… they had meant something to him.

But had they meant something to you?

Harry swallowed thickly, setting his cup down a little too carefully. If you noticed the tension creeping into his shoulders, you didn’t say anything.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Harry blinked, pulled from his thoughts as Sam’s question settled between them.

"I mean, I knew I gave her the gig for your pop-up shop last month," Sam added, stirring his coffee. "But how did you two meet?"

You turned to Harry, waiting for his answer with an easy smile, but he hesitated for just a second too long.

Finally, he exhaled and leaned back in his chair. "It was at an art market near my place," he said, fingers drumming lightly against the table. "I was just passing through, wasn’t planning on staying long, but—"

"But you did," you chimed in, tilting your head playfully.

Harry’s lips quirked up at the memory. "Yeah. I saw your work, and got curious." He paused, then, with a small smirk, added, "And you wouldn’t stop talking about the piece I was looking at."

You laughed. "Because you were staring at it for way too long! I had to check if you were okay."

Sam chuckled. "Let me guess—he brooded over it like it held the meaning of life?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Something like that."

"And he even complimented my artwork," you added, nudging him slightly.

Harry met your gaze, something unspoken passing between you. "I meant it."

The words came out softer than he intended. And for a second, the rest of the café faded into the background.

Sam, oblivious, simply grinned. "Well, guess I have you to thank for finally getting her to work with you, then."

Harry forced a chuckle, tearing his eyes away. But as the conversation continued, he found himself stuck in that moment—back at the art market, where he first saw you.

And back to now, where he realized that maybe he had never really looked away.

The conversation continued as Harry, Sam, and you swapped stories, but your phone buzzed in your pocket just as the mood started to settle into a comfortable rhythm.

You looked at it and saw the name flashing across the screen. A quick, apologetic smile passed your lips as you reached for your phone.

"Sorry, guys, I have to take this," you said, standing up. "I'll be right back."

Harry tried to mask his curiosity, but the furrow of his brows betrayed him.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice a little tighter than usual.

You nodded, though there was a slight hesitation in your gaze. "Yeah, just my mum," you assured him, offering him a smile before stepping away to take the call.

Sam shot Harry a curious look as you walked off, phone pressed to your ear.

"So..." Sam began, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "You two seem pretty close. How long has this been going on?"

Harry stiffened, unsure how to answer. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight in his chair. "We’ve known each other for a while," he said, keeping it vague. He didn’t want to give too much away—especially not with him, all too aware of the tension brewing beneath the surface.

Sam raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smile. "I can see that. But I guess I’m curious... is there more to this?"

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his gaze fixed on his coffee, trying to maintain his composure.

"I’m not sure what you mean," he said, though his voice was laced with uncertainty.

Sam chuckled as if he could sense Harry’s discomfort. "I’m just saying, it’s pretty clear you two have something going on. Don’t try to act like I don’t see the way you look at her."

Harry’s pulse quickened, his mind racing for the right words

"I’m not sure what you mean," he said, though his voice was laced with uncertainty.

His throat tightened. "She’s just… a good friend," he muttered, even though it didn’t feel entirely true anymore.

Sam’s smirk faded into something a little more thoughtful. His voice lowered again as if the shift in mood had made him reconsider his words. "You know," Sam said, glancing over at you talking to your phone, "back in uni, I had feelings for Y/n. We were close… but it wasn’t the right time. She never really felt the same way. I could tell."

Harry looked at Sam, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected confession. Sam had always been friendly with you, but hearing him talk about this other side made Harry pause.

Sam continued, his tone softer now, more serious. "She wears her heart on her sleeve, you know? She tried to love before, really tried, but after that... she closed herself off for a while. It took a long time for her to open up to people again."

Harry felt a pang in his chest, the words echoing in his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder about the past you hadn’t shared with him, the part of you that had been guarded for so long. Was it something he could ever break through?

Sam caught Harry’s gaze, his eyes a mixture of sincerity and something like brotherly concern. "So... just be gentle with her, alright? She’s been through enough. And if you care, don’t rush things. Let her take the lead on this one."

The weight of Sam’s words hung in the air, and Harry found himself swallowing down the lump in his throat. He glanced at you again, his gaze softening as he noticed how relaxed you were, and how easy you made everything look.

You weren’t the same as the person Sam had known in university. You were different, stronger now—but Harry could see that same vulnerability beneath the surface, the one Sam had been talking about. And maybe... just maybe, he had a chance to be part of the one who helped you heal.

Before he could say anything, Sam’s tone shifted, more lighthearted again. "But don’t worry, mate. You’ve got a good chance." He winked at Harry and took another sip of his coffee.

You, meanwhile, had finished your phone call, your focus back on the table. Your smile flickered in Harry’s direction once more, and though it was soft, it was enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

He wanted to be gentle with you. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to make you feel safe again. Safe enough to open up, to trust him.

...

You smiled apologetically as you sat back down, tucking your phone into your bag. "Sorry guys, my mum just wanted to greet me. So, what did you guys talk about?"

Sam, always quick with his teasing, smirked and looked at Harry before turning his attention back to you. "You, duh, what else?" he said playfully, raising an eyebrow as if daring Harry to say something.

Harry froze for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly around his coffee cup. Sam’s words weren’t helping with the tension that had been building up between them. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh it off or just brush it aside, but the way Sam was looking at him made it hard to ignore.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Really?" you chuckled, glancing between the two of them. "Come on, you’re not trying to make him uncomfortable, are you, Sam?"

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I’m just saying, Harry’s been quiet. I was making sure he was still awake."

Harry couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, trying to ease the awkwardness. "Yeah, I’m here. Just... listening."

You smiled, clearly relieved by his response, but Sam’s teasing wasn’t letting up. He shifted in his seat, looking at Harry with a knowing grin. "Sure you are, mate. Just listening, huh? Or were you too busy thinking about something else?"

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks again, but he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. "Alright, alright, I get it," he said, trying to play it off as casually as possible. "You both have no shame."

You rolled your eyes at Sam, but there was a softness in your expression as you turned back to Harry. "Honestly, don’t mind him. He’s always like this. Sometimes I wonder how I put up with him."

"Hey, hey," Sam protested, raising his hands defensively. "I’m just looking out for you, Harry. Gotta make sure you’re up to speed, you know?"

The tension between the two of them was starting to ease, but Harry’s mind kept drifting back to what Sam had said earlier. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was more going on between him and you than he’d originally thought. But for now, he let it go, deciding to enjoy the evening.

And for a moment, all the awkwardness between Harry and Sam seemed to disappear as the conversation shifted to lighter topics, with you guiding them through the evening. Still, Harry couldn’t help but wonder where things might go from here—especially now that Sam’s comments had planted a seed in his mind.

...

As the evening stretched on, the café’s soft hum settled into something quieter, more intimate. The three of you had been talking for over an hour now, but eventually, Sam glanced at their watch and let out a sigh.

"Well, this has been fun," Sam said, stretching their arms lazily. "But I should probably get going. Got an early start tomorrow."

You pouted playfully. "Already? You barely even finished your coffee."

Sam smirked. "I was too busy entertaining you two to drink it properly."

Harry chuckled, but a strange relief settled in his chest. Sam had been nothing but friendly, but their presence had been a quiet weight pressing down on him, an unspoken reminder of something he couldn’t quite name. Now, with Sam leaving, the air between you and Harry felt suddenly charged, a thread of something unspoken stretching between you both.

Sam slid out of the booth, grabbing their jacket. "You two enjoy the rest of your night. And Harry?" They clapped a hand on his shoulder, voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. "Don’t overthink too much, alright?"

Harry blinked, but before he could respond, Sam was already turning back to you with a grin. "Text me later, yeah?"

"Of course," you said easily, standing to give Sam a quick hug before they waved and disappeared through the café doors, leaving behind only the soft jingle of the bell.

And just like that, you and Harry were alone.

The absence of a third voice made it impossible to ignore the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface all evening. You shifted in your seat, looking at him with a small smile, but Harry couldn’t miss the way your fingers toyed with the rim of your cup—a nervous habit he had come to recognize.

"So," you said, breaking the silence first. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No. Not at all."

You tilted your head, watching him curiously. "You were quiet, though. Everything alright?"

For a moment, he considered brushing it off. But then he met your gaze—open, expectant, and far too easy to get lost in—and found himself saying, "It was just... different. Seeing you with Sam."

You frowned slightly. "Different how?"

Harry hesitated, drumming his fingers against the table. "I don’t know. You seemed—comfortable. Close. Like you two had this whole history I wasn’t a part of."

Your expression softened, something flickering behind your eyes. "Sam is... well, they’ve been around for a long time. But that doesn’t mean you’re not important, too."

His heart did something strange at that. He looked down at his hands, trying to find the right words, but before he could speak, you reached across the table, your fingers brushing his lightly. It was brief, fleeting, but enough to make him look up again.

"Harry," you said gently, "you don’t have to feel like an outsider."

His breath caught slightly. "It’s hard not to, sometimes."

You sighed as if debating something internally, before giving his hand a small squeeze. "You mean a lot to me. I hope you know that."

The words sent a rush of warmth through his chest, but they also left him aching for something more. Still, he forced himself to nod, offering you a small smile. "Yeah. I know."

For now, that was enough. But as he looked at you, taking in the quiet sincerity in your eyes, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe—just maybe—there was still more waiting to be said.

...

My first angst fic. I hope you all like it hehe <3