#short shots

[xmalereader]

• MoonKnight Sugar Daddy AU •

You can also find more stories under the MKSugardaddy tag and more stories can be found on my Main Masterlist too!

『 Warnings: Sugar daddy au, reader is the daddy, main pair is with Steven, mentions of DID, short stories, fluff, angst, Egyptian gods, Khonshu and Anubis, Jake and Marc are around, power, money, nsfw 18+ 』

〈 l 〉~ 〈 ll 〉~〈 lll 〉

Summary: After the events in Cairo, Khonshu finally frees them (not really) and both Steven and Marc are back to having a normal life. Steven tries to get his job back at the museum but Isn’t succeeding. So, what happens when the owner of the museum takes in interest in Steven and not only gets his job back but spoils the man with riches.

〔 Short Story 〕

〈 l 〉

Summary: Reader travels to Gotham to meet an old family friend with Steven coming along. ( A short story of the sugar daddy AU series with a slight crossover between Bruce Wayne and Steven grant )

〈 ll 〉

Summary: Steven hasn’t heard from the reader in weeks due to his busy schedule. Once he returns back from his work trip he pays him a visit only to find the reader sick and alone.

〈 lll 〉

Summary: Steven finally tells reader about Marc after a few months into their relationship, no longer wanting to keep his alter a secret from the person they love and care.

〈 lV 〉

Summary: Reader meets Jake and shows him his work as the avatar of Anubis along with revealing further secrets and starting a new friendship.

Ongoing…

【 Headcanons 】

Private Time

[chappellrroan]

severance is like what if a show was made by people who love directing & storytelling. a very rare sighting these days

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐣𝐚𝐰

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Wc: 2k

Summary: A frustration fueled Joel comes back from scouting with a very prominent issue.

Warnings: PORN NO PLOT. Teasing, thigh riding, throat-fucking, oral m!receiving, Joel calls himself daddy (my bad 😵‍💫), pussy & dick pronouns my absolute love.

AN: this was all written within the span of an hour so my bad, this is what ovulation does to a bitch.

Home alone. For three whole hours.

Joel went out scouting.

Your eyes that whole time had been staring holes into the floral wallpaper of the flat, without much to do -or, more realistically without the man you’ve been thinking about doing all fuckin’ day. It was a draining experience. Your fingernails peeling up the flesh of your thighs as you sunk further, deeper into his living room couch. It smelled like him. The musky scent he wore all seeped into the upholster.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking once he had inserted the key made your ears perk, hours of listening to your own heartbeat the time you weren’t desperately trying to stimulate your accumulating thoughts about him. The touch, the feeling of his body that you’ve only felt one whole time in which you had never gotten it off your brain. Thick fingers running along the puffy, sopped folds of your pussy, stretching you. Running his free, spit slicked palm over and all the way down his cock to get himself ready. The feeling of his girth forcing into your hole.

You’d never forget.

The door would creak open before you locked onto him. A thick hand wrapped around one of the straps of his supply bag before he dropped it onto the ground next to the door, a long exasperated sigh escaping past his parted lips. Running thick fingers through the greying curls on his head.

“Fuck.”

Cursing, Joel would walk past you and to the kitchen, opening the first cupboard which to his luck had some booze in it. A stale, half empty bottle of said booze. Popping the cap off, taking a swig.

Finding it difficult to look away while the man did something as simple as drink, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as the bready liquid moved down the pharynx.

Satisfied from the liquid quenching his thirst he walked back over to the couch, sitting down directly next to you, his thigh touching yours. Hadn’t been able to notice earlier whether it was the angle or how fast he walked through the house, his cock was writhing tightly against his jeans. Sunrays shone through the windows, curtains open. Yellow hued light outlining the bulge. Clearly he had been like this for a while. His worn palms running down his face.

Your lips parted, tongue tied by the sight. It was a test, surely.

With little-to-none resistance your hand reached out to place on his thigh, one of your fingers would stretch to touch the curve sticking out in his jeans, the pad of your index hardly applying any pressure before tracing his dick, watching it jump before you felt Joel’s hand grab your wrist.

“All day- All fuckin’ mornin’, baby.”

Fingers twisting over the skin on your arm, another twitch from his cock would draw in your attention. He’s been waiting.

“You didn’t have to come all the way back here. You have a hand.”

Stating as if there wasn’t a pool of your own slick in the middle of the lace underwear you had only dug through your drawer to find earlier in the day. On your mind all day was this very moment, you had been counting every tick from the clock as you waited for him to walk into the room and fuck your face.

“I swear to fuckin’—“

His legs spread open over the cushion, tapping his boot against the hardwood. Impatient.

To reiterate again, waiting all fucking day. Now with you here the thought of waiting another second had him struggling. Wearing loose boyshorts around your hips as you sat there he’d lean over you, hooking his finger to the hem before yanking them off those pretty legs. A palm he had placed on your low stomach now sliding til his hand was underneath the white, lace panties he oh-so-loved. His tall finger slipped past your clit, into your swollen slit. You’d mewl.

Soaked.

“Knew it.”

He yanked you onto his thigh, moving his hand down to your ass, squeezing, fat spilling between his fingers. Luckily his second hand had been lazily resting at his side now had a purpose, up your back and to the back of your head to hold onto your hair. His lips slamming into yours. No mercy behind the kiss.

Your hips began rolling at a quick pace, your cunt slowly coming un-covered with every thrust down into his jean clad thigh. His tall finger finding his way back to your hole beneath your underwear, tracing it with his thick digit. Pulling his lips back from yours with a wet smack.

“She’s fuckin’ droolin’.”

He’d drawl, to no avail you’d try to force that finger into you by a buck of your hips downward. Thus, he’d withdraw. A reward game, you’ll earn his fingers later.

One more long grind down into his thigh that’d surely serve you a friction burn later and you were off his leg. Dropping onto your knees in front of his lap. You’d swear you’ve only dreamt of being in a position like this. Your smaller hands started at his calves before resting on his thighs. His coffee eyes staring into yours.

He wouldn’t waste precious time now, unbuckling his belt to toss it away. Unzipping his jeans to shove them to his upper thighs, the last article of suffrage being his boxers, a dark wet spot painfully obvious on the grey cotton. He’d tug on the elastic that rimmed the top before tugging his briefs to his upper thighs, with the quick pull his cock sprung up slapping against his tummy.

His shaft was turning red. Tip pulsating. His thumb ran down to spread the bead of precum over him, laminating the dark pink bulb til’ it looked like glass. A flutter in your stomach at the sight.

“Stick your tongue out.” He’d just barely manage to groan.

Control now gained with his fingers wrapped around his base. Your knees now hitting the base of the couch, it was as close as you could get. Obeying the commands you opened your mouth, your pink, saliva slicken tongue sticking out.

His cock slapped against your tongue, driving it into your wet hole with his free hand as his other worked into your hair, his fingers forming an O around your thick locks as a makeshift hair tie. Though, you’d find this was better.

He was fuckin’ big. Even taking him into your pussy didn’t do him justice, only truly able to fit him halfway into your small mouth.

It wouldn’t be enough for him.

His hips would buck forward, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat. Involuntarily your throat would clench - teetering the lines of a gag and a spasm of your muscles. Though, your eyes began to gloss over.

The knot in your pelvis tightened while Joel craned his neck back against the back of the couch letting out a long, rough groan. Such a tough girl, he’d figure a few good thrusts wouldn’t be the thing that’d ruin you.

Another buck of his hips sent a wrack through his body, fucking his thick cock into your throat. Your drool dribbling down his shaft. Your eyes hadn’t unlocked with his own ‘less they were going to roll back into your skull with every hit to the very back of your tongue. A moan bubbled up from your tightened throat, vibrating up the thick length of his dick. You could taste how his vein would throb and pulsate against your cheek. No doubt he was close.

With your mouth managing to take every. Last. Inch. Of him so deeply. There was no way he could last.

Your own thighs would clench together as your eyes finally took a break from straining upwards to now clenching shut. Your juices collecting all in the middle of your panties. Your clit throbbing excruciatingly hard. You knew better than to touch yourself. Focusing and giving your body up to the task at hand.

Joel’s breaths turning into deep pants. His balls tightening, drawing up. Though he had a better idea than just cumming straight on the spot despite that just being the thing he’s been pining for all fucking day. Tugging on the hair falling between his fist he pulled your head back, his cock extruding from your mouth with an audible, wet ‘pop!’ sound. Glossy eyes gazed into his as his flickered down to his cock, jumping straight up once released from your mouth one big mess of his precum mixing with your salivation.

“Makin’ such a mess of him, huh?” He’d grunt. Completely gawked by the sight. “Such a fuckin’ mess of daddy’s cock.”

You could’ve sworn this man was giving your pussy a heartbeat.

Before you could give any sort of catty response his cock was shoved back into your mouth, giving you no time to readjust, to get used to the feeling of his burning tip knocking at the back of your throat. Managing by the grace of God to stowaway your gag reflex seemingly just for the evening. His pace slowing, beginning to get sloppy quicker. You’d have a lot to say if you didn’t have a mouthful. Though, deep down you knew that your unhealthily cock-drunk brain would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. One with both sense and grace.

“Just. Like. That.” He punctuated.

Thrusting deeper til your nose was bobbing up and down against his pelvis. Nuzzling into the scent that came within the dense thicket of greying, wiry hairs. All curled around and crowing his base. You felt the thick vein that traveled all the way down the girth of his dick pulsate against your overstuffed cheek. A whine from you would only shake up his shaft. His tummy tightening up, hips spasming. Another violent thrust to the back of your tongue those built up tears to freely fall down your cheeks.

Again.

Sliding his cock from your lips to shove it back in again. Every time taking the split second to admire all that drool dripping down the line of his strained cock.

“Fuck! Baby—“ Absolutely strained.

He’d throw his head back, bumping it against the back of the couch as he let out a long, throaty moan. He pulled out of your mouth, the overused motion you’ve grown so very accustomed to, though this time your tongue stayed out, perfectly so as he was able to paint the pink muscle with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pumping his fist over his cock as ropes of semem shoot down your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. Painting his own perfect masterpiece on the fleshy canvas of your mouth.

Swallowing every last droplet as if it were liquid gold.

His stomach rose and fell heavily with each breath, his hand reached out to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your glossy bottom lip. Every. Last. Drop. Though, he just had to make sure.

“That’s what I like to see, babygirl.” He’d praise. Lazily tugging up his boxers so he could conceal his freshly mouth-fucked cock, concealing with another layer courtesy of his unzipped jeans. Sure, you finished him the fuck off but that didn’t mean he was gonna soften up anytime soon.

You’d just hardly make it back onto your trembling legs as you looked at him, panties slid to the side from unconsciously grinding against the cold, wooden floors. A droplet of that warm, glue-like slick trickling down your inner thigh once you stood up. Joel’s eyes followed the stray tear.

“Goddamn, baby. Lemme take care of that for you.”

That’s what you like to hear.

Standing up from the couch with a long grunt he’d lift you off of your feet, carrying you straight to his bed. Soon enough he’d be two knuckles deep into your aching pussy, giving you all that sweet pleasure you so deserved after earning it so fuckin’ well.

[sleepgarden]

Pupa ✢ The writing reads:

Time envelops and keeps me Not awake / Not asleep In this chrysalis / In this shroud I am stillborn / I am buried alive Yet I change / I am changing / And I ache Held still

I started this over a year ago and came back to it periodically, but I decided to just finally finish it. It’s morphed, undone itself, and transformed many times in the process of illustrating it. Sincerely, I considered giving up on the piece. I am glad I didn’t despite its awkwardness; I admit that it doesn’t sit in the eye well. But somehow I feel that it suits the piece and what it means.

I am, if anything, relieved to have finished an illustration finally. It’s been nearly eight months since my last. Prints are available in my shop. (I also have mini prints for $5cad/$3.40usd!)

[tartagliove]

tomorrow's catch-22 ✧ sylus

now you'll never fly away, my little bird.

[trashhearts67]

it is 5 am and one brother turns to the other, hope creeping in the space behind his teeth

but Fate has other plans-- whispers,"not yet," and forces him to swallow bitter disappointment

it's 6 am and one brother leaves the other, trailing a blood red thread that'll forever snag on everything

"give it a moment," is murmured from the footwell of a car, from the front door of a home, from the very atoms surrounding two brothers waiting for their story to begin

the clock is on fire, when it happens, but they're right on time anyway

- destined, a soul mates short shot

it's 5:20 am and dean literally looked at sam like he was about to make the worst mistake of his life by letting sam go back to stanford. but he was still going to do it

[gurugirl]

DILF [2] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ←

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again months later on Valentine's Day. It's unexpected, but very much welcome.

A/N: First part here! This isn't really super focused on Valentine's Day, it just happens to takes place on Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light), spanking, a touch of jealousrry

. .

Y/n wasn't big on Valentine's Day. She'd never dated anyone long enough for it to be of much importance. Though she did fondly remember the little heart-shaped candies and tiny Valentine's cards that would get shared in school when she was little, things were different as an adult.

So, instead of celebrating the holiday (if it could be called a holiday), she'd be going out with her single girlfriends and celebrating being a single girl instead. A single girl with a few drinks in her belly and a little dancing to get the blood flowing. Tara tried to do some kind of seductive dip to the beat of the song while Warren and Y/n laughed.

"This is how you do it!" Warren shouted over the loud club music and grooved her way down with the beat. She was the one with all the rhythm. Y/n and Tara were fighting for their lives to keep rhythm, but they were having fun, nonetheless.

"Priya commented on the post. Look…" Tara held her phone out to Y/n to look at the comment on her Instagram account.

"J said Y/n's looking yummy tonight!"

Y/n laughed and looked at Tara. "J? Oh my god, I haven't talked to him in ages. Let me respond!"

She took Tara's phone and typed a comment.

"You both should come out with us!"

After another round of drinks and dancing, Priya and J had joined the group at the club. Y/n wasn't necessarily interested in J. In fact, she hadn't really been interested in anyone since Harry. It'd been a couple of months since she'd seen him. Their night together was engraved under her skin and in her brain. She thought that with some time she'd forget about the older man, but her fingertips tingled and her chest grew tight whenever she thought about him, which was daily.

She didn't know why she had never called him. Maybe she was just stubborn, hoping he'd find her somehow and reach out himself. She had his number, but he didn't have hers. When he dropped her off at her place the morning after, he gave it to her and told her to call him.

And the more time that had passed, the more awkward it felt to randomly reach out to him. Now the window was surely closed, and she'd blown it. Which she regretted. She regretted that she was stubborn and wanted him to chase her that time. Wanted him to work to find her—which wouldn't have been all that hard. She had every social media account known to man, and everything was public. All he had to do was type her name into a Google search bar, and he'd find a dozen ways to contact her.

But she didn't call, and he didn't search her up, and that felt like the end of that. Unfortunately. It was unfortunate because he'd been so good. So exceptional compared to every other man she'd been with (if she could even call anyone who came before Harry a man). She was way more into him than she realized. Of course, by the time she realized it was too late, and now she was kicking herself.

"Hey, you here with us?" Tara took Y/n's hand and moved her away from the dance floor.

"Yeah. What do you mean?"

"You were zoned out there for a sec. Staring off toward the exit. You okay?"

Blinking her eyes and looking around, she nodded. "I'm good. Just started thinking. Sorry. Maybe I need a water. Probably should slow down a little anyway."

"Of course. Yeah, go get water. And stop thinking. I know who you're thinking about. He's in the past now. Okay?"

Tara knew that Y/n was kind of stuck on Harry. She'd confided in her a couple of weeks later. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was eating away at her.

"You're right. I'll be right back."

No sooner had she stepped away from Tara than J was on her heels. "I'll come with you!"

The oak bar was cast in reds and pinks for Valentine's Day. A sappy, upbeat song played loudly as she waved toward the bartender to order a water. J stood next to her, leaned into the veneered wood. "Just water?"

Yn nodded. "Need to cool off a little. Not interested in getting sloppy, ya know?"

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, turning her head to peer around the space and pretend she wasn't aware of where his eyes were wandering. She could deal with J. He was nice enough, and she knew he wouldn't push or anything. He was a bit too mild for that.

When her water was handed to her, the pink straw inside was tucked next to a stirrer with a heart at the top. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a drink as J slid in a little closer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She really didn't want to, not with him. It wasn't that he was ugly or unlikable or anything… she just didn't want to give him the wrong impression. Leading men on wasn't her style.

But before she even had the chance to tell him no, she saw a familiar hand attached to a familiar arm placed down on the bar next to her. She slowly turned, looking upward at the man whom she'd just been thinking about. He wasn't smiling as he leaned closer to speak. "You never called."

Turning so she could face him, she placed her elbows behind her on the bar top and lifted her brows in an attempt to feign complete control and calm. "Correct."

She watched as Harry looked past her to J and then back down at her. "Who's this?"

"A friend. Why? Jealous?"

She didn't know what angle she was going for with her hard-to-get act, but that's all it was—an act. Deep down, under her cool facade, she wanted to finish unbuttoning his shirt, the top three buttons already free, so anyone could see what he was working with underneath.

"Jealous of a boy? No."

Y/n reached for his button and pressed at it, her eyes on his. "Now, Harry. Honestly… He's my age. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to find someone my age. Thought you'd be happy for me."

"Thought you said he was just a friend."

She laughed and looked back at J, who was just standing by silently, looking between Harry and Y/n. Far too mild. She turned back to Harry. "See? You are jealous."

"Why didn't you call?"

Clearing her throat, she shifted her footing to get a little closer. "Because I wanted you to find me. I worked so hard to get you to crack that night we met and thought maybe you could put in a little effort if you were interested."

"That's not how it works," he spoke as he dipped his head closer, placing his other palm down on the edge of the bar to cage her in. "I gave you my number. You didn't give me any of your contact info. Didn't want to overstep. Ball was in your court."

"I'm easy to find, Harry. All you had to do was Google my name."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Saw your post on Instagram."

She lifted her brows, and a smile pulled at her mouth. "Is that so? And did you select this outfit just for me?" She reached again for his shirt, letting her pointer finger trail down the cotton edge along the button slits before she ran the pad of her finger on his warm skin.

Harry looked down at her hand and then back into her eyes. "Was gonna go on a date tonight. That's why I'm dressed like this."

She blinked, moving her hand away.

"Hey, uh… should we like… go back? Or, uh…" J spoke tentatively as he stepped closer.

"She's with me. You're welcome to go wherever you please, though," Harry responded, his gaze locked on Y/n's.

"I think—actually, um…" J stumbled on his words.

Y/n lifted her hand and looked over at J. "It's fine. Harry and I have a lot to discuss. You can go back to our table."

J opened his mouth and searched Harry's face, then looking back at Y/n and nodding, he scuttled away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She felt a little bad. Clearly, he thought he might have had a chance even though he never did.

"See? A boy. Couldn't even form a sentence. What are you doing with him anyway?"

"We were having fun is what we were doing. Hanging out with people my age. Why do you care anyway? You said you were gonna go on a date. Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Maybe at home. I didn't want to go out with her, so I cancelled."

"Then why did you plan a date?"

"So I could try and move on from you."

She hadn't expected that level of honesty from him, but his confession had her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Coming here to find me doesn't make it seem like you want to move on."

He shook his head, his eyes shifting downward over her dress before pinning them back on hers. "I didn't think we were done yet. Really expected you to call."

"And I really expected you to figure out how to find me. Should have been easy."

"You like the chase, then. Is that what you want? For me to chase you? Follow you around like a puppy dog?"

She laughed softly. "I don't think being a puppy is quite your style. But I do like that you came all this way just to see me."

He edged his hand toward her arm, running a thumb over her skin. "I'm too old to play games, Y/n. If you expect me to run after you, jump through hoops just to see you, and beg you for your time, then I'm not your guy."

"But you came here to see me."

"Yes, I did. Consider this your freebie cause I won't do something like this again. Ball's in your court now. What do you want? To go back and play with that little boy I sent away? Or to stop fucking around and come back home with me tonight again?"

Her lips parted as heat rose up her spine. A wanton need wrapped itself around her throat as she swallowed thickly. She enjoyed being the one with all the power and feeling like she was in charge. But it was different with Harry. Despite everything, he was the one calling the shots. And she wanted him so bad she could taste it. After all, he'd ditched a date so he could come find her.

"You like me." She grinned.

The tension outlining his posture softened as he rolled his eyes, and she watched as the edge of his lips turned upward. "What gave it away?"

"I like you, too. But my place is closer this time."

Y/n's friends were already watching the whole thing go down before she returned and told them she was heading out. Tara smiled. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Her apartment was only a few minutes' drive away. The small talk they'd been making before they stepped inside her place all but vanished the moment Harry pushed her to the wall and placed his knee between her thighs with a desperate kiss.

She even gasped in surprise when he moved her and she felt the plaster of her wall behind her back. He ran a rough palm up her bare thigh, the skirt of her dress shifting upward until the stretchy material was at her hips and he groped her ass.

"Wanted to do this the second I saw you standing at the bar. Show everyone who's taking you home…" he spoke against her mouth as his thumb caught on the slinky elastic string of her thong. She felt his thigh inching up between her legs as he moved in closer.

She was pinned to the wall as he worked his mouth down her neck and continued kneading at her ass. But then she felt the material of his pants against the crotch of her panties as his thigh pressed solidly into her.

A small, weak-sounding whimper fell from her mouth when he nudged against her, signaling for her to move her hips. The spot where his mouth kissed and sucked over her throat had her head spinning and it was almost involuntary as she began to rub herself on his thigh. She gripped onto his shoulders when he began to guide her hips.

It was kind of pathetic, the way they hadn't even made it into her bedroom. Barely'd made it past her door before they were all over one another. And now, there she was, grinding her pussy against his thigh like she was in some kind of dire need, a pitiful girl so wrapped up in desperation that she was reduced to humping his thigh like a pup in heat.

The most embarrassing thing was how good it felt. His lips on her skin, his thick thigh pressed against her, his hands on her ass. "Oh god…"

Harry moved his face and looked down at her with a smirk. "Making a mess, Y/n. Guess your tough girl act was all fake. Now look at you…"

Slowing her hips, she reached up to his face. "You started it."

A boyish dimple scored into his cheek as he lifted his brows. "Did I now? Clearly, you like it. Soaking right through my pants."

"Mmm… You like it too, though. Love how wet I get, don't you?"

He licked his lips and shook his head like he couldn't believe how tenacious she was, even when pinned against her wall. "So sure of yourself, Y/n. When my day started, I imagined I'd be doing this with someone else by the end of it. Bet she'd get just as wet for me."

Y/n let out a serrated breath, though she never stopped grinding over his thigh. "Doubtful. You wanted me. Practically dragged me out of the club 'cause you knew that other chick wouldn't do it for you like I can."

"Do what for me? Huh? Hump my thigh like a desperate, horny little girl?" He teased as she moaned at the way he nudged his leg up harder.

"You wanted me a little desperate, and that's what you got. You knew nothing was gonna feel as good as me. You missed it."

"Maybe. Maybe I kept imagining you every time I got off for the past two months. Maybe the only reason I agreed to a date with that other woman was because she kind of resembled you. Wanted to pretend I was fucking you again."

Y/n let out a moan. "I want you to fuck me."

"Do you deserve that, Y/n? After that little stunt you pulled? Huh? Leaving me high and dry like that? Wasn't nice."

"I wanted to call you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Hmm… but you wanted to play games. Not sure sorry cuts it."

He moved his leg away, and Y/n stumbled forward, her hands on his shoulders as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" She looked at him with rounded eyes, hoping that he wasn't changing his mind as he pushed away and took a step back.

"Not sure. Maybe that's something you're gonna have to have to figure out. This is a lot of work, you know? Telling you what to do and how to do it. Might be nice for you to try and use that brain of yours for once."

She scoffed as he grinned at her. She knew he was mocking her, and it was meant to be playful, but still. "For once? You don't think I use my brain?"

He shrugged as he paced into her living room, and she watched him look around like he was assessing. Following behind him, she kept her eyes on his strong build and turned a light on. It was clear he was sporting a thick erection under his pants at that point. She smiled when she stepped toward him.

Taking his belt, she gripped at the leather and pulled it through the buckle before she opened his pants and cupped around his length. "You can fuck my mouth. I won't even complain. I'll let you use me however you want."

She got onto her knees and kept her eyes on his as she peeled his underwear down. His big cock had been straining against the material of his boxers and it nearly hit her in the face when it was released. She cooed and gripped around the base of him to lift it upward and began kissing gently along the underside and down to his sac.

Harry stitched his brows together, and his lips parted as he watched her. He placed a hand at the back of her head and moaned. He didn't really care about an apology, but he was going to make damn sure she understood he wasn't into the little games. He'd had plenty of that kind of thing when he was younger. When he was closer to her age, and he'd never been a fan of it.

If she really did want to be with him, or at least date a while, she'd need to learn that he wanted things clear and well communicated. "That's a good girl. Keep going."

She stroked from root to tip as she tongued along his skin, making a wet path as she went. But suddenly, he grasped her chin and tilted her head back before he shoved his thick head past her lips and slid it down her tongue, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he went. She steadied herself, quickly, gripping his muscled thighs as he held the back of her head and worked himself in and out.

He was going easy on her, not pressing his full length down her throat. Not yet. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use. Show me you can work for it, yeah?"

Harry thrust in, his mushroomed crown glided over her tongue and back out to her soft lips before he did it again, a little deeper that time, the slit of his cock kissing the back of her mouth just before it curved into her throat. He kept his eyes on her face and the way her lips wrapped around him just right.

"Fuck you're so pretty, Y/n." He thumbed at the edge of her lip as he drove into her, feeling the saliva from her mouth coating his cock. He moaned when she blinked her eyes up at him. "Didn't want anyone else to suck my cock but you. Didn't want to even touch anyone else. Know that?"

She hummed over him in answer as he pushed deeper, making her gag lightly as the metal on his buckle clanked with his movements. "I know you know that. Proved it to you by making a fool of myself, stalking your Instagram so I knew where you were gonna be. Got me all wrapped up in you after just one goddamn night."

Y/n felt her eyes blur as tears roll down her cheeks when he nuzzled his dick in deeper and she swallowed around his tip with an embarrassing wet spluttering sound. She'd let him choke her with his cock if that's what it took. After hearing his confession, she only wanted to show him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not calling.

So, she leaned into him further, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to force the rest of him into her throat. The gagging and gargling noises she made were loud. It sounded like someone was being waterboarded.

"Fuck…" he gasped as she sputtered around him. He bent his knees the slightest as he let her suck and swallow around him. She was treating his cock so good he didn't know if he should just let her continue milking him like that until he was nutting down her throat or if he should reward her by returning the favor.

But damn did she feel good on his dick. She was giving it her all, and he'd decided she was forgiven.

Pulling her back, his wet dick slid past her lips and hung heavy in front of her face as he helped her stand up. She inhaled sharp breaths between little coughs as she wiped her face. "Was it okay?"

"Better than okay. You're a fuckin' star, Y/n. I need you in your bed, though. Got a condom?"

Knocking her head up and down affirmatively, she blinked her bleary eyes. Harry followed her to her bedroom and watched as she pulled a small box of condoms from her underwear drawer, and he took it from it before he pointed at her dress. "Clothes off. Then get your ass on the bed."

The thrill of having him there made her shaky. She yanked at her dress and removed the fabric before shedding the rest of her underthings.

Harry kicked his pants and his boxers off before his shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He watched her climb onto her bed and sit at the middle in wait. He tossed the box of condoms onto her mattress (secretly pleased it was unopened, unused) and crawled after her on the bed, adjusting her legs and pushing her thighs apart before he thumbed her clit smoothly.

"Do you deserve to come? Think you deserve my cock?"

Y/n blinked at him as she nodded. "Yes. I just want to be good. Make you come too. Please…"

He grinned as he let his eyes coast down her denuded body. She rolled into his thumb before he took his other hand and pressed his middle finger inside. Everything that touched her pussy was glistening wet. The gushy sound his finger made as he fucked into her was lewd. She spread her legs apart further for him and dropped her mouth open as she kept her eyes on his.

She was so pretty like that. Naked and spread apart for him, lusting for him, wanting him. He added another finger and pumped into her harder. Her tits swayed as her pussy swallowed his fingers whole. She was so confident and bold it had his insides pulsing with need.

With his eyes pinned to hers he dipped down to replace his thumb on her clit with his lips and his tongue. Y/n fell backward to her mattress and moaned from the pleasure. His tongue stroked her clit and pressed flat over it before he pulled at it and repeated all while he fucked her as deep as his fingers could reach.

He held her down as she arched her back. His chin and his nose were wet, slurping and groaning into her as he worked her so close to the edge she was already seeing stars. "Yes… right there… right there…"

But he suddenly moved away. His fingers, his mouth, his body. She sat up to look at him and watched in satisfaction as she saw him digging into the box of condoms. His face was flushed and matched the shade of heat on his heaving chest.

He rolled the tight rubber down his shaft and then looked at her with dark eyes. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

With a smirk, she got to her knees and made sure to let her eyes linger on his cock before she turned and placed her palms flat onto the mattress. "Like this?" She wiggled her ass at him.

Harry moaned deeply and placed his hands on the curve of her hips, smoothing his palms over every inch slowly. "Exactly like this."

She felt him lean over her back, his mouth at her ear as he palmed at her tit. "How do you feel about me spanking you a little?" His dick was warm between her thighs as she pushed back against him.

"Whatever you do, I'm gonna love." She reared back again and turned her face to look at him as he sat back. She watched him raise his arm before his palm struck her bum with a sting.

She keened sharply and jolted forward. He did it again in the same spot as he locked his irises with hers. "Other side now."

As promised, he landed his hand over the globe of her ass again, once and then twice, a burning sensation left behind making her inhale sharply.

Then he kneed in closer and she felt him line up his dick with her entrance, fitting himself into her slowly before he plowed in with one thick, harsh thud that had her bending forward face down.

She yelped into the soft comforter when he issued her another spanking, one to each side, as he began to thrust in and out of her, long and languid with heavy palms burning into her skin.

The bite of pain blossomed with heat and curled outward, spreading along her flesh until she could almost feel the detail of his fingerprints searing into her, marking her. He groaned as he drove in deep, glutes flexing as he forced his cock through her sensitive insides.

Her bottom was stinging, aching, burning with every smack of his hand… until it wasn't. Until the gooey, pleasurable warmth of her walls that stretched around his cock deliciously melded with the sharp barbed pain of his swats… That was—it felt like her body was thrumming with a lusty, satisfying ecstasy that sent liquid fire through her veins.

"Fuck, oh god, fuck…" she mumbled into the blankets as her body was spanked and fucked and swatted and pounded. She loved it.

Harry halted, planting his palms down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock buried whole into her. They were both panting, reeling… Y/n's muffled moans pulled a smile onto his lips.

"Apology accepted," he spoke quietly as he kissed the center of her back between her shoulder blades and then reached forward to gently wrap his big hand around the front of her neck to lift her head.

"Hear me?" His deep voice sounded in her ear.

She nodded, the column of her throat bobbing into his palm, eyes still closed as she let out a feminine grunt that was probably meant to mean yes.

"You okay?"

Again, she nodded slowly, this time her eyes fluttered open. "Mmhmm. Yes."

"Hurt?" He punctuated his question with a rock of his hips forward, nudging into the end of her sharply.

She hissed, and her spine bowed. "Yes."

Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding out and in when he felt her swallow thickly before her moans vibrated into his palm. She was dripping. Every time his hips met her skin, it wetted his lap and the front of his thighs.

She had been all he wanted. Ever since the morning he dropped her off. Thought for sure he'd hear from her by the way she was acting around him. All flustered and soft and dreamy-eyed as she looked at him. Pouted when he said he couldn't come in but gave her his number. And then she just never called.

That was a hit to his ego. That he thought he somehow had the upper hand with her. But now he had her drooling, moaning, and sobbing his name as he railed her deep. He would see to it that she didn't leave him hanging like that again. He'd give it to her so good she wouldn't be able to even think about another man. At least for a little while.

But Y/n was feeling the same kind of way about him. And now he was at her place, in her bed, fucking her with his big cock like he had something to prove.

"Mmm… Harry…"

"Yeah?" He pushed in firmly, swiveling his hips to let her feel all of him. "Is that good?"

"Fuck… it's deep—sh…shit!"

Letting go of her neck, Harry used both hands to guide her rhythm as he fucked into her, tilting her into an angle that had the big crown of his cock hitting a tender spot inside her. She tensed and clawed at the blankets in response to how he commanded her movements.

He loved watching her pussy slickly spread apart on his cock, how tight it wrapped around him, how wet she made everything, the way her ass wobbled. He was tempted to give her another swat but thought better of it, knowing that he'd already done a number on her backside. Her skin was raised just enough that he could feel the small welts from his hands. He didn't want to break the skin.

His abs clenched as he plowed his dick through her, their bodies clapping together, her bed wrenching under them from the force of his thrusts. She was mumbling nonsense, straining to keep herself steady as he worked her over him with his hands gripping the meat of her hips tight.

But he slowed his motions, loosening his hold on her as he pushed in deep and stilled. He stared down at the space where they were connected as he thumbed softly at the flesh of her ass. When he was buried in like that, he couldn't see the end of the condom at the base of his shaft, so it looked like he wasn't wearing one. The dirty thought trickled warm down his chest and made his cock throb before he pulled himself out.

He pulled her up and helped her turn before he positioned her flat on her back, her tits spreading softly as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. He sat back on his haunches. "Still okay?"

She nodded, a smile slowly turned her lips upward. "I'm fantastic."

"Good. Gonna pull you up like this…" He took her thighs and dragged her up so her hips were off the bed and the backs of her thighs were draped over the tops of his. "Fuck you nice and deep, work your clit til you come. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…" Y/n nodded and squeezed her tits as she bucked her hips upward. "Yes."

He grinned down at her. He loved how confident she was. How unashamed of her body she seemed to be. Liked the way she carried herself. It was sexy to see a woman happy in her own skin.

He reached down and slowly stroked her clit, eyes connected to hers to watch her expression soften and then her brows arch as she parted her lips and moaned. "Yeah?" He murmured with a grin.

"Yes… You're so good. Fuck…" she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, a soft gasp fell from her lips as he slid his fingers in circles on her clit and mushed into her swollen hood. She pushed her breasts together and arched her back before shifting her head to look back up at him. "Fuck me. Please."

"Want my cock, Y/n?" He nudged his hips forward, poking his condom-covered tip to the tight ring of muscle that would stretch nicely around him once he pushed his way back in.

"I need it," she pleaded in a breath, canting her hip toward him.

The harsh line of his brow as he took all of her in, spread out for him, was that of a man ready to devour. Y/n watched as he wrapped his long fingers around his base and shifted his pelvis, dipping his thick cock head just inside of her.

"Fffuck…" she stretched her neck and moaned as she took every inch he fed into her.

He slid deeper, taking his time as if he hadn't just been pounding into her and pushing her to her limit moments before. He moved his thumb over her bud as he went, her arousal smeared filthy on his fingers and all over her pussy lips.

Y/n shifted her sight to Harry's face, admiring his handsome features and the way his lips parted, how his muscles tensed as he rolled into her. He was enjoying her body, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. "Does it feel good? My pussy's good for you?"

"Your pussy feels incredible. Even with this fucking condom…" he laughed softly. "The kind of pussy I'd chase after and make a fool of myself for."

With their eyes connected, Y/n felt her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She understood what he meant. Because, while she didn't think he'd made a fool of himself, he had chased after her to find her at the club. And he said that wasn't something he normally did. She was grateful he had, though.

His rough palm pushed her hand to the side so he could grope her tit. He continued working at her clit as he stuffed himself in to the brim and they both panted hot breaths as their connected bodies throbbed in unison.

He pressed down as he circled her wet bud, and the extra friction had her skin buzzing, pulsing with desire. Heat stretched over her thighs and curled viciously through her insides.

Harry slowly inched back and then pushed in deeper, his thighs flexing as he plunged wetly, gently smacking into her. A breathless sob fell from her mouth as she took him to his root over and over again.

His slow thrusts were deliberate, calculated. Every stroke of his rigid cock through her soft walls, every press of his thumb on her sensitive clit, every brush of his fingertips on her nipple had her rippling around him, trembling. The luscious stretch of her pussy around him as he drove in and dragged out made his tip leak into his condom.

Y/n began circling her hips to press harder into his thumb, using her leverage to get him deeper, to feel the biting pressure of his thumbprint. The soft, wet spread of her pussy around his shaft ached and squeezed and slushed.

His moan vibrated deep from his chest as he felt his balls tighten when he buried in and pressed himself flush to her. The shadows in her bedroom cast a moody expression over his features. He tilted his neck back, angling his face toward her ceiling as if he were in ecstasy.

And the languid thrusting suddenly turned into a heated pace. Harry's eyes darkened on hers when he looked back down at the girl he was fucking. He stroked her clit and released her breast, yanking her hip to meet his powerful thrusts. He battered her tender insides with his brutally thick column of rigid flesh. The sounds of plapping skin, her mattress springs bouncing, Harry's rhythmic grunts and groans as he drove in faded to a white noise as Y/n realized she was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside her.

She cried his name and her body shivered with every harsh plunge of his cock, the orgasm dotting white stars behind her eyes. Harry's own desperate moans were a giveaway that he was about to come just as hard.

"Fuck!"

Her body bounced and gushed as he drove in and in. The deep, ragged sounds he made were erotic, and a convulsive shudder wracked his powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. His cock jerked inside her and then he was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into her clutching cunt.

Somehow, she'd found herself lying on top of him. He'd brought them to lie back together, and her chest was pressed to his. She felt his hand on her naked back, slowly caressing her skin as their hearts began to slow and calm.

"Mmm…" Y/n smiled as she nuzzled into his chest.

His hand drew down over her ass gently. "How's this feel?"

Lifting her head to press her chin into his pec, she raised her brows. "Sore. But that's what you wanted. To show me I was a bad girl. I deserved it."

Harry pushed a breath through his nose. "You're not a bad girl. Just stubborn. But now you know better than to play games."

Y/n shifted her gaze toward the edge of the room and pushed herself up from him as Harry watched her get off her bed and traipse to her dresser. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him and lifted her phone before pressing a few buttons, and then Harry's phone rang from his pants.

"There. Now you have my number, too. We've got no excuses anymore."

He reached his hand out toward her as she walked back to her bed and curled up next to him. "You shouldn't need an excuse. If you want to see me, then that should be enough."

She placed her palm on his chest and angled her head back to look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I mean it when I say that. I regretted not reaching out. I promise no more games."

"Mmm…" He ran his hand down the back of her head. "Sounds like I finally fucked some sense into you then."

Y/n laughed. "Guess I needed that, too."

"I think you did. So did I, to be honest."

"You needed some sense fucked into you?"

Harry chuckled, his handsome smile making her heart flutter as he shook his head. "No. I meant I needed to fuck some sense into you. I'm already chock full of good sense. Don't need any more."

"Can't argue with that. So what now? You gonna stay the night with me?"

"Yep. Then, tomorrow, we'll make plans for a date. A real one."

"Why not make plans now?"

"Because we're gonna do it tomorrow. Cause I said."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Y/n teased and bit her lip.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He grinned.

"Hmm… It looks like all my plans have suddenly been canceled. Guess I'm all yours."

. .

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[stylesonfilms]

drippin' down your body like gold [h.s]

word count: 7.1k

when harry performs in lisbon, he gets an idea to chug a beer on stage. what he doesn't know, is that the sight of his chest dripping makes you feral.

or the one that is based off a post long ago made by @hesbunnies!

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, blowjobs, fingering, daddy kink, slight possessiveness, dressing room smut, concert smut! 18+ only.

Your fingers glided over the sequins of his suit, the fabric shifting beneath your touch like liquid light, catching and reflecting the warm glow of the dressing room bulbs. Each stroke sent a mesmerizing ripple across the dark material, a shimmer of silver and blue dancing under your fingertips. Your gaze trailed downward, drinking in the expanse of his exposed chest, where inked stories curled over golden skin, each tattoo etched into him like constellations against a dusky sky. The faint scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, laced with something subtly sweet—mingled with the lingering notes of hairspray and fresh linen from his suit.

“Good luck,” you exhaled, the words floating between you like a prayer, your voice tinged with adoration as you tilted your head to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded against your ribs, swelling with something indescribable, eyes glossy with admiration. His responding chuckle was low, honeyed, and melted into the grin that spread across his face—dimples deep, eyes twinkling. His large, calloused hands rose to cup your jaw, warm and steady, thumbs brushing tenderly over your skin. Though he towered over you, nearly a foot taller, he always lowered himself to meet you, his lips finding yours with effortless devotion.

One kiss. Another. Then a longer one, deep and unhurried, the soft pressure igniting a heat in your chest. His lips were plush, intoxicating, leaving behind a warmth that lingered long after he pulled away. His hands dropped, curling around yours, anchoring you against the rapid heartbeat beneath his chest.

“Styles, two minutes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Beyond the dressing room walls, the world pulsed with electric anticipation. The steady thrum of stomping feet vibrated through the floors, a bassline of excitement shaking the very air around you. Cheers and whistles spiraled through the venue, blending into a symphony of pure, unfiltered devotion. The scent of fog machines and stage lights filtered in, mingling with the adrenaline buzzing through your veins.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fondness as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then brought your bundled hands to his lips, the heat of his breath spreading across your skin. A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold, but from the quiet intensity in his touch.

“See you out there?”

You beamed up at him, eyes glimmering. “You know it. Now go, go!”

With a parting squeeze of your hands, he turned, broad shoulders disappearing through the door. His jog down the long corridor was brisk, purposeful, the last glimpse of his silhouette swallowed by the glowing stage lights as he vanished beneath the arena.

The moment Harry disappeared down the hallway, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still fluttering from the warmth of his lips on your skin. But there was no time to linger in the feeling—he was about to step onto the stage, and you needed to get to your spot.

Slipping out of the dressing room, you navigated through the backstage halls, passing crew members who moved with practiced efficiency. The faint hum of in-ear monitors crackled through radio headsets, and the distant strumming of the band tuning up leaked through the heavy walls. With familiar ease, you found the staircase leading up to the private balcony, a space reserved for family and special guests—a safe haven away from the packed, pulsating crowd below.

As you stepped onto the balcony, the stadium came into full view, and the sheer magnitude of it stole your breath. Lisbon’s fans were nothing short of electric. The entire arena was alive—thousands of bodies swayed, neon signs flickered, and confetti cannons stood at the ready. The stomping of feet vibrated through the air, the deafening roar of the crowd swelling in waves as anticipation thickened.

And then, the lights dropped.

A collective scream pierced the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as the screen flashed his silhouette. The opening beat of his first song thundered through the speakers, and in an instant, Harry was launched onto the stage, his presence igniting the entire stadium like a bolt of lightning.

He moved effortlessly, energy radiating off him in golden bursts. His sequined suit glittered beneath the beams of colored lights, reflecting off his skin as he jumped, spun, and threw his arms up to hype the crowd. He belted out the first lines of the song, and the audience erupted, their voices merging with his in a harmony of pure devotion.

From your balcony, you watched, utterly mesmerized.

His voice was strong, unwavering, carrying through the vast space as if each note was stitched directly into the hearts of every person in attendance. He laughed between verses, flashing that devastatingly charming grin, occasionally reaching down to clasp the hands of fans pressed against the barricades.

Midway through a song, his eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a brightly colored sign that bounced excitedly in the air. Squinting, he leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Then, in between lyrics, he burst into laughter.

“Oh, hold on—what does that say?” he asked, pointing toward the sign, signaling for the camera to zoom in so the whole stadium could see.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, there it was: a massive sign scrawled in bold, glittery letters—

“HARRY, MY BOYFRIEND SAYS HE’LL PROPOSE IF YOU GIVE ME A THUMBS UP!!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in mock shock, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbled back dramatically. The band kept playing, but he milked the moment, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“Oh, this is serious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I mean… the pressure is on, innit?”

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers.

“Alright, alright. We need to do this properly,” he continued, pacing theatrically across the stage. “What’s his name?”

The girl in the crowd shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos.

Harry cupped his ear. “Sorry, love, I can’t hear a thing—are we calling him Tom? He looks like a Tom, yeah?”

The camera quickly panned to the guy standing beside her, his face burning red as he hid behind his hands.

“Oh, it is Tom!” Harry cackled. “Tom, mate, you’re in deep now. You’ve got about… five thousand witnesses expecting a ring soon.”

The crowd went wild, chanting “TOM! TOM! TOM!” as Harry finally lifted his hand and gave the biggest, most exaggerated thumbs-up imaginable.

“There you go, Tom. It’s out of my hands now, mate. Best of luck!”

He winked at the camera before launching back into the chorus, the moment immortalized in the hearts of everyone watching.

From the balcony, you shook your head, laughing to yourself. He had always had that magic—the ability to make a stadium feel like a living room, to make each person feel like they were the only one in the crowd.

And as you watched him move, effortless and free, you couldn’t help but feel it all over again.

That warm, unshakable feeling that he was yours.

From the balcony, you swayed to the music, singing along, your voice drowned out by the thousands of others filling the stadium. The energy in the air was intoxicating, a tangible force that pulsed through the crowd, through you. Every time Harry twirled across the stage, every playful grin he threw into the audience, every time he leaned into the mic and let his voice soar, pride swelled so fiercely in your chest that it almost hurt.

He was magic.

Your eyes followed him as he bounced from one side of the stage to the other, engaging with the fans, twirling his microphone, pointing to signs, blowing kisses. He was in his element—electric, untouchable, radiating nothing but joy.

Then, the song faded into a bridge, and he took the brief moment to jog over to the back of the stage, grabbing his black bottle for a quick sip of water. He tilted his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before lowering the bottle and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

But just as he turned back to the crowd, a security guard approached the edge of the stage, holding out two plastic cups of beer.

You sat up straighter, watching as Harry’s eyes lit up with mischief. A slow smirk curled his lips before he took a knee near the stage’s edge, reaching out to accept one of the cups. The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the foundation of the stadium as he stood, beer in hand.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he took two large gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The excess liquid spilled over, streaming down the corners of his mouth, tracing a slow, golden path down his chin and onto his bare chest. The sight did something to you—your stomach clenched, heat coiling low in your body as you watched, mesmerized. His skin glistened under the stage lights, damp with sweat and now streaked with droplets of beer, a sinful sheen against the inked canvas of his body.

Then, with a final gulp, he pulled the cup away, grinning devilishly before tilting his head back slightly. You knew what was coming before it even happened.

With perfect precision, he pursed his lips and spat the remaining beer into the air, misting it above him in a sparkling, golden arc—his signature ‘whale.’

The audience lost it. The screams were deafening, fists pumping, cameras flashing, the entire stadium roaring in approval.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Your grip tightened on the balcony railing, pulse hammering, unable to tear your gaze away from the sheer presence of him. He was completely in his element—wild, unrestrained, effortlessly captivating. The neon stage lights flickered in shifting hues of gold and blue, catching on the dampness of his skin, highlighting the defined planes of his chest where the beer had trickled down moments before.

Your breath hitched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the remnants of the stunt. His dimples popped, eyes alight with something wicked, something playful. He licked his lips, whether to rid himself of the lingering taste or just to tease the crowd, you didn’t know—but either way, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?” he laughed into the mic, voice slightly hoarse from singing, but no less charming. The crowd’s response was deafening, a sea of voices screaming in admiration, chanting his name, some in thick Portuguese accents that made his smile widen.

You found yourself laughing softly, shaking your head in both amusement and sheer disbelief. God, you loved him.

As he turned to move back across the stage, his gaze flickered toward the balcony—the private guest area you were in.

His eyes found yours instantly. And for a split second, despite the thousands of people around him, despite the chaos, the music, the flashing lights, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

His smirk deepened, something knowing and burning behind his gaze, and he lifted the beer cup in your direction, sending you a subtle wink before tossing it carelessly to the side and diving straight into the next song.

Your heart plummeted. Plummeted so far you could feel a heartbeat between your thighs as your panties remained soaked just from watching the scene unfold.

Gripping the railing even tighter, you bit your lip, feeling everything all at once—love, pride, amusement, and an undeniable heat curling deep within you. Oh, you were so in trouble.

The moment the final notes rang out and Harry took his last bow, you were already on the move. The stadium lights dimmed as the crowd's roaring applause echoed behind you, but your sole focus was on getting back to him—on being the first person he saw after stepping off that stage.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you hurried through the dimly lit backstage corridors, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The distant cheers from fans still pulsed through the walls, mixing with the hurried chatter of crew members and the occasional bursts of laughter from passing bandmates. But none of it mattered.

Because the only thing on your mind was him.

The ache between your thighs had been building all night, your body tense with anticipation, wound tight from watching him move the way he did. The way his body swayed and pulsed to the rhythm, how he played with the audience, how he laughed and winked and commanded the entire stadium like it was his playground. The sweat glistening on his golden skin, the way his shirt clung to his damp chest, the audacity of him drinking that beer with such effortless sensuality—it had all set your body ablaze.

By the time you pushed through the door to his dressing room, your breathing was shallow, and your fingers trembled with the need to touch. The space was dimly lit, the air still carrying remnants of his cologne, the warmth from the performance lingering as if the very walls had absorbed the night’s electricity. You paced the floor, your boots barely making a sound over the plush carpet, each passing second stretching unbearably.

Then—footsteps. Heavy, hurried.

The door swung open, and before you could even think, you were moving.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal, and he caught you effortlessly, strong arms locking around your waist like it was second nature. Your legs wrapped around his torso, the firm press of his hands digging into your thighs as he held you up, and you wasted no time—your lips immediately peppering kisses all over his flushed face. His jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose—anywhere you could reach.

"You were incredible!" you gasped between kisses, feeling the warmth of his laughter vibrate against your lips. "You owned that stage, Harry—God!"

His chuckle was breathless, deep, still high on adrenaline. "That good, huh?"

"That good," you confirmed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to take him in—the damp curls sticking to his forehead, the glow of his skin, the way his eyes burned with something dark, something wanting.

Then, you kissed him.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that left no room for teasing, no room for patience. You pressed yourself into him, your fingers tangling into his damp curls, tugging him closer as his mouth opened beneath yours, eager and hungry. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that made your head spin, the heat between your bodies dizzying.

The sticky remnants of beer and sweat clung between you, his chest still damp, hot beneath your palms as they roamed, exploring, claiming. Your sequined top shimmered under the dressing room light, catching against the heat of his skin, the contrast of rough and soft making him groan into your mouth.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the sound barely audible between fevered kisses, his hands shifting to your ass, kneading, gripping. "This what had you running back here so fast?"

You whimpered against his lips, rolling your hips instinctively, needing more, needing him.

"You have no idea what you did to me out there," you admitted, voice breathless, lips grazing along the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. "The beer—the sweat—Harry..."

He let out a deep, raspy chuckle, head tipping back slightly as your lips trailed down his throat. "Mm. So you liked that, then?"

"Liked it?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers dragging down his chest, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "It ruined me."

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "That so?"

Before you could answer, he was moving. Turning with you in his arms, his pace quick and determined as he pressed you up against the nearest wall. Your breath hitched as your back met the cool surface, your thighs tightening around his waist, your skirt riding up even further.

Harry’s lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath warm against your mouth. "Tell me, love," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement but laced with hunger. "What exactly did I do that got you so worked up?"

You let out a soft whine from the back of your throat, the tone of his voice shooting straight to your core. “You know what you did,” you huffed. 

The man had only chuckled in amusement as his fingers readjusted their hold on your thighs, squeezing into the plush flesh. “I believe I told you to tell me, Y/N.”

Your hands found the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through as you puffed out another breath. God, he smelled so good. His cologne still lingered, mixed with the tart scent of beer and sweat. You drew in a deep breath, feeling your back press firm against the wall as he shifted. 

“The beer…,” you murmured, eyes scanning over the features of his face. Deep green eyes, perfect red lips. 

“What about the beer, hm?”

You swallowed. “The… the way you drank it. How it spilt down your chin, your chest..” Your words trailed off as a hand left your boyfriend’s shoulder to slide over the firm curve of his chest, your thumb brushing down his sternum. 

You rolled your hips down to meet him and whined softly. The black mini skirt you wore hitched up over your thighs, bunching up just below your hips. Harry’s lips found yours in a flash. The groan he let out was quickly swallowed in your mouth and you couldn’t help but feel content. Feeling his bulge pressed up against you sent a thrill up your spine to know he felt this way, right now, too. That he needed you as much as you needed him.

Harry's kiss was all-consuming, his lips pressing firmly against yours, demanding more as his hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs. The heat between you two was palpable, thickening the air in the dressing room, mingling with the remnants of his cologne, sweat, and beer. Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, pulling just enough to elicit a low growl from his throat, the vibration traveling straight through your body.

His grip tightened on your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall, your chest molding against his as his vest gaped open, the sequins glimmering under the dim dressing room lights. The slight stickiness of his skin from the sweat and beer sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the intoxicating mixture of sensations.

His mouth left yours just long enough to ghost down the side of your jaw, lips brushing featherlight over your pulse before he licked a slow, deliberate path along the sensitive skin. The wet heat of his tongue, contrasted by the scrape of his stubble, sent a warm ache pooling in your lower stomach.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice husky, words fanning against your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, palms gliding over the bare expanse of your thighs before they gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, your hips instinctively rolling against his, chasing the friction that sent sparks dancing along your nerve endings. He groaned at the movement, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment as his fingers flexed into your skin, grounding himself.

"You drive me mad, darling," he rasped, before tilting his head back up, his darkened green eyes locking onto yours. The hunger in them made your breath hitch.

"Standing there in the balcony, looking like that. Wearing this—" his fingers tugged teasingly at the hem of your sparkly top, his knuckles grazing your stomach "—knowing I couldn’t touch you. And then you look at me like that when I’m on stage?"

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as your hands smoothed down his chest, nails trailing lightly over his heated skin. "Couldn't help myself," you whispered.

"You looked so good, so in your element. The way you moved, how you drank that beer…" Your words trailed off as you slid your palms lower, fingers grazing over the faint definition of his abs.

Harry’s chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing uneven. He let out a shaky chuckle, his lips quirking up in a smirk even as his jaw clenched with restraint. “That did something to you, huh?”

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his collarbone. His skin tasted of salt and something uniquely him, a flavor you could never tire of.

Your lips traveled downward, slow and deliberate, as your hands splayed over his stomach, fingertips pressing just enough to feel the taut muscles beneath.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as you let your tongue flick out against his sternum, tasting the remnants of the beer that had trickled down earlier. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, your expression coy as you dragged a slow, flat tongue down the center of his chest, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your thighs before they slid further under your skirt, his grip possessive. “Fuck, love,” he exhaled, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, the green almost swallowed by blown-out pupils.

His hand came up to cup the back of your head, not to stop you, but to feel you, to remind himself that this was real.

As you slowly sank to your knees before him, his grip tightened in your hair, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. Your fingers smoothed over the front of his sequined vest, pushing it further apart, exposing more of the golden skin that shimmered under the dressing room lights.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire, his thumb tracing over your cheek before resting against your bottom lip. His eyes darkened as you let out a soft hum, hands sliding up his sparkly trousers to slip your fingers inside the band of his pants.

Your fingers slid inward under they worked the clasp undone, the sound of Harry’s zipper filling the air. Harry pressed his hands flat against the wall that held you between him and the surface while his green eyes pierced a look of need through you.

You let out a small, innocent giggle before tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers curling around the inside of his briefs and the outside of his slacks as she tugged both the materials down his toned legs.

The tattoos he had on his thighs were canvassed beautifully on his toned, tan legs. The tiger taunted her from its hold on his skin, a reminder from all the times she spent with her pussy attached to it. Your eyes, doe and tainted with something teasing, looked up at him as his cock sprang to life and slapped onto his lower abdomen. You giggled once more to yourself at the blissful sight. 

Harry’s cock was big. Thick and wonderfully above the average that it took four sessions to fully get him inside of you. And the sex you two had that day? The bedroom was wrecked. You couldn’t stop begging for his ‘big, thick cock’ to rip you open, eyes rolling back at the feeling (finally) of his balls slapping against your clit with each giving thrust as you were bent over for him.

His tip was a roaring red, deep in color and a thick swole at the base of his tip. A cooler tone of that same color painted the rest of his dick. Your fingers fluttered down his toned thighs, your eyes too busy being wrapped around his beautiful cock to notice his stare. But you felt it.

After a few mutters of complaint from Harry from your featherlight teases, your dainty hand finally wrapped around the base of your cock. He was warm. Heavy in your hand as your thumb slipped along the underside of his cock to raise it to your lips. Your lips puckered and gave kitten-like kisses and licks from his fierce burnt tip down to his tightening balls.

“Baby, c’mon…” Harry spoke. His voice was tainted with rough edges, holding off using anything above a whisper since he had last spoken. The hand that remained in your hair carded through the soft locks, his nails slightly dragging along your scalp so he could get a soft hum from you when you tilted your head back.

You were under his control, the palms of his very hands. Anything he gave to you, you took like his good girl. “Good girl,” Harry then muttered as if on cue, fond but lust-filled eyes circling your face of content. His touch was always so welcoming, so soothing and it hit every right spot.

When you felt Harry’s hand tighten in your hair to form a proper grip, that's when your tongue gave a flat lick up the underside of his cock. You held his shaft upright, your eyes locked on his heavy green ones as your wet tongue glided over the vein and swirled around his tip. 

When it came to sucking your boyfriend off, you got to work. It was pure bliss for you. You shifted on your knees and felt the wet squelch between your thighs. You were a soaking mess for him and had been since he got on that stage. 

Lips engulfed around his cock, your jaw slacked as you pushed him further down. Once about halfway, you pulled up to wrap your hand around him, delivering strokes to his dick as your eyes scanned his face. Harry never really cared for head before. It was pish-posh to him, it wasn’t something he needed or wanted deeply with a woman.

But when you came along? When you took his cock so far down your throat that you both couldn’t breathe? Harry was whipped. He always voiced how lucky he was to have you on your knees for him, and you thrived on it. You thrived on being the only one he needed.

Your tongue found its place back over his tip, cradling the head of his shaft as your tongue swirled gracefully around. Harry’s brows were furrowed in pleasure, his plump lips wet with his spit from all the times he had licked over them.

“Y/n—”.

Your mouth fully engulfed him before another word left his lips. His dick was heavy on your tongue as it slid further back, hitting the back of your throat. His cock curved to slip down your throat and you moaned, the tip of your nose hitting the patch of hair Harry had kept. 

With a deep inhale through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut. His musk mixed with his cologne made you let out a moan around him. He smelled so damn good.

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, pinching his brows together as he felt the way your throat molded to his cock with tight ease. 

You continued to bob your head, tongue pressing along the vein on the underside of his cock while your hand worked the half that you didn’t take. Your eyes fluttered back up to him.

“Shit, baby,” The man moaned, shaking his head as his eyes shut in pleasure. His jaw was slack, you could tell by the way he tried to clench his teeth. His curls fell across his forehead and the hand at the back of your head encouraged you.

Removing your hand, your throat opened back up for Harry’s cock as he pushed your head further down. His hips stuttered slightly as a gasping moan left his mouth, jaw now completely slack as the tip of his cock felt your warm, fluttering throat.

Harry’s grip on your hair was firm as he yanked you off, pulling his hips back with a gasp. You let out a whine as your lips formed a pout.

“Fucking hell, Y/n,” The man licked his lips with a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Harry’s hand left your hair to card through his and push curls back, hissing slightly as you kissed and licked along his tip. 

He was so wrong to deprive you of his cock in your mouth. You just loved it so much. Who wouldn't? Especially when it came to Harry.

“You… fuck,” He hummed low, eyes closing and head tipping back as your hand cradled his balls and began slow massaging motions. Your tongue slipped between the slit at his tip and under the crown of his dick along with your motions. And just when you think you had him again…

Harry had to pull himself together, snapping his eyes open as he straightened back up. “No,” He hissed, yanking your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. Your lips were glossed with spit, eyes the same from the pressure in your throat, though a huff passed your lips.

“If you keep doing that, ‘M going to cum. And the only place I want to cum right now,” He grunted, a hand wrapping around your arm to lightly pull you up. As you rose to your feet, you kept your doe eyes on check. 

His green eyes scanned your features for a moment before he cursed under his breath, continuing what he was saying. “Is inside ‘f you. Understood?”

You nodded and bit back a smile as your thighs clenched. Fuck, please? “Yes sir.” 

With that, Harry turned you around in a sharp motion, turning you both. Harry walked you both towards the leather sofa in the middle of the dressing room, his hand landing flat on your back as he gave you an encouraging push.

Your knees hit the leather seat before your hands hit the back, fingers curling around the ledge as you felt your boyfriend press up behind you.

You loved it when he was like this. The manhandling, the telling you what to do. It drove you crazy. Your pussy pulsed between your clenched thighs. You needed him, his thick cock pounding you, bad.

Harry’s large hands landed on the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he pressed his cock up against you over the material of your skirt. “Tell me, sugar,” his hands danced their way to your skirt’s hem around your hips and yanked them down to your thighs in one, swift motion. “You’re so wet.” 

“Why?” You could feel Harry’s long fingers graze the inside of your thighs, feathering over where you needed them the most.

You swallowed, arching your back down against the sofa as you turned back to look at him. “You.”

Harry ‘tsk’ed, his green eyes looking up to meet yours as his pointer and middle finger slid between your folds. Thick and silky, wet and warm. You coated his fingers like your life depended on it. “Give me better than that, Peach.”

Peach. He tossed that nickname one random summer when you two went down to help your grandparents on their farm in Georgia. He held you on his shoulders almost the whole way until he collapsed (he says from the sun, you say it was from the two buckets of peaches in his hands) under a shady tree. You two spent the rest of the evening out there soaking in Georgia heat and feeding each other fruit until the sun went down. He carried you all the way back.

“Your cock,” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingers. “I love having your cock in my mouth and—.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, cutting you off as he dipped a finger slowly into you. “You do love having m’cock in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded between a split moan, pussy swallowing his finger with greed. “I do. I do. I do. I love the way it feels, I love the way it tastes, oh—!”

Another finger inside now, pumping at a teasing pace and curling as they stuffed inside of you. It was your turn to moan filth now. You could hear Harry’s fingers inside of you, pumping and curling. That’s how wet you had been for him.

“You’re so wet,” Harry cursed under his breath as he scissored his fingers, his eyes flickering between your blissed look and his fingers that worked between your wetness.

He always loved how wet you got. Not needing to buy lube was fantastic, but the way you tasted and smelled is what got Harry going. He loved watching your thighs string with slick substance, and he loved diving tongue first into your pussy to swallow down as much as he could.

“Is this what you needed? My attention? You’ve been wanting it, hm?”

You nodded with a whine. “Mhm, mhm. Please,” you whimpered, wiggling your ass against him as his fingers curled inside of you once more.

“Been such a good girl during m’show. Waited for me, and then surprised me with a soaked pussy,” Harry grinned, shaking his head to his own amusement as he slipped his long, thick digits out of you.

That same hand of Harry’s returned to your cunt, his fingers collecting the pool of arousal before he wrapped a slick hand around his cock. “Need t’be fucked? I think you do, don’t you? My sweet little girl,” he sighed dramatically, slicking his cock with your wet in careful strokes.

“Yes, yes, please, Harry, just please.” You whimpered in need, wiggling your ass back. You could almost cry at the emptiness inside of you, just wanted to be full of Harry.

You gasped high when a hand came down to smack against your ass. It jiggled from the collision and Harry’s rings left a burn in their place. 

“Try again.” Harry’s green eyes looked up through his lashes. “Not my name, doll.”

You huffed softly, shifting on your knees to spread your legs as you felt Harry’s tip graze along your pussylips. “Please give me your cock, Daddy. Please. I need it.” You begged, soft whimpers in your words as you batted doe eyes at him.

With one swift thrust, Harry’s tip broke past your tight entrance and paved way for his cock to fill you up. You both let out simultaneous gasps as he bottomed out, your ass pressed flush against his hips.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Harry gritted through clenched cheeks while his large hands worked over your hips to get a firm grip. 

He drew his hips back slowly, sinking back into you quickly. Your lips broke out in a moan as the burn of his cock melted into you. It took him three thrusts to balance out, pulling nearly all the way out of you before pounding back into you. 

He was slow at first. Careful and deep. Your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut as your lips parted, his cock shooting thrills of pleasure to your body. Your clit ached with need under his grasp and cock.

Then his pace quickened. His head spun with thoughts of you, how tight you were and how perfect your pussy engulfed him. “Shit,” Harry groaned as he grinded his hips into you, allowing his cock to shift inside before he went back to his quick, even, and hard thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Take this fucking cock, jus’ like you were made for.”

You were over the moon. Behind your shut eyes were visions of Harry and that beer spilling down his chest over and over and over again.

“Oh,” you whined, your toes curling in your heels as his fingers connected with your clit. “Oh my god, fuck, please, please.”

His two fingers worked your clit at a fast matched pace to his thrusts. Your stomach coiled as each rub and thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Harry’s thrusts turned relentless. The moment he got you up and pressed against his chest, his other hand was reaching down to hook around the back of your knee and pull your leg up. 

“Oh my fuck!,” you cried out in a moan, the new angle allowing his cock to reach deeper. 

“Yeah? Jesus,” Harry grunted as he shifted his hips and replanted his feet. “So damn tight, so wet. Taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“It was,” you whined and nodded quickly, your hands placed over his arm that had you pulled flush against his chest. “Was made just for you,” you slurred, eyes drooping in pleasure as you broke into another whiny moan. 

“That's right,” the man panted, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “Perfect fucking cunt, takes my cock so well— fuck!”

Harry’s jaw fell slack against your shoulder, curls brushing along the side of your neck when he felt your pussy contract around him. Harry’s fingers circled around your clit, pinching and rubbing in all of your wetness. 

The both of you couldn’t stop the rush of moans. You weren’t even sure if the door was locked, but all you could think about right now was Harry.

His eyes broke open, staring down at your chest as your breasts spilled from your loose top. Harry’s hand slid from your waist to the bottom of your tit, cupping the fleshy mound in his hand. “The most perfect fucking body,” he groaned, squeezing your breast as he dug his fingers into your leg from the open hold. 

Harry continued to pound your pussy until you were a screaming, soaked mess. Your chest rose and fell in quick and uneven breaths in between moans and begs. “Please let me cum, please, please, fuck. Please, Daddy,” you whimpered, swallowing thick as his fingers brushed along your nipple. 

Harry groaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh as he continued his deep thrusts inside of you. You could tell he was getting close with the way his thrusts went uneven.

“Yeah? Need t’cum?” Harry taunted, squeezing at your nipple once again before his fingers mound your clit to rub at a quick pace. “Cum f’me, pretty girl.”

His permission was all you needed before your orgasm hit you. You cried out his name, nails digging into his forearm as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock. You squirted into the open air, the filthy sounds of your liquid splattering onto the brown leather beneath you two. 

Harry choked out a moan at the sight, jaw falling slack and eyes pinching shut. His own orgasm hit him like a train three thrusts after, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of his cum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!,” the man gasped, whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you as he pumped the final spurts of his release inside of you.

Your body trembled as aftershocks rippled through you, every nerve alight with pleasure and exhaustion. Harry's hands were slow and reverent as they traced over your skin, smoothing over your thighs before sliding up to your waist, fingertips pressing gently into your overheated flesh. His touch grounded you, brought you back from the blissful haze that had left you weak-limbed and breathless.

"Good girl," he murmured again, voice deep and rough with the remnants of pleasure, lips grazing the damp skin of your shoulder as he let his forehead rest against your back for a fleeting moment.

The warmth of his breath fanned across your spine, making you shiver despite the heat still radiating between you.

With a soft groan, Harry straightened, slipping away just long enough to grab a few tissues from the nearby table. He moved with that signature confidence, even in his post-high daze, but there was a new tenderness in his actions as he carefully cleaned you both up. His hands, so capable of bringing you to ruin, were equally skilled in their gentleness now—warm, patient, and familiar.

Once satisfied, he tossed the used tissues aside and reached for his duffel bag near the couch, unzipping it to pull out a pair of his soft, worn-in sweats and a shirt for you. The fabric was well-loved, carrying his scent—fresh cedarwood and the faintest trace of lingering cologne, something comforting and inherently him. 

He passed them to you before grabbing his own spare clothes, rummaging until he found a plain black T-shirt and another pair of joggers.

Rolling his shoulders, he started removing the sequin suit still clinging to his skin, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “God, I’m sweaty as hell now,” he groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic grimace. “S’like I ran a bloody marathon.” (wink wink.)

You snorted, tugging his T-shirt over your head and shimmying into his sweatpants. They hung loose on your frame, but that only made them all the more comforting. “You were putting in some serious work there, Styles,” you teased, watching as he peeled off the glitzy fabric and tossed it onto the couch.

Harry scoffed but shot you a smug grin. “’Course I was. Can’t have my girl unsatisfied, now can I?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes to play off the effect he still had on you. “Yeah, yeah. Get dressed, loverboy.”

He huffed a small laugh but did as told, slipping into his fresh set of clothes before collapsing onto the couch with a content sigh. His curls were a mess, damp at the edges where sweat had gathered, and there was still a faint flush to his cheeks. He looked comfortable, utterly relaxed—and, as always, completely unfair in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

You stepped closer, nudging his thigh with your knee. “Scoot over.”

Harry cracked one eye open and grinned. “That’s not how you ask nicely.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Harry.”

Chuckling, he lifted his arm in invitation. “C’mere, then.”

That was all you needed. You climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against his chest as he pulled you in securely, arms looping around your waist with ease. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat filled your ears, a soothing rhythm beneath your cheek. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns along your back, the heat of his palm seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, wrapped in the afterglow of shared intimacy and the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted to move just yet. Outside the dressing room, the distant hum of activity from the crew still breaking down the concert setup could be heard, but it felt like another world entirely.

After a moment, Harry pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Y’good?” he murmured, voice thick with lingering exhaustion.

You hummed, nuzzling further into his chest. “Mhm. Perfect.”

He smiled against your hair, holding you a little tighter. “Good.”

“Harry?” You spoke.

“Mhm?”

“When we get back to the hotel,” you started, your finger tracing little circles into his shirt, “I want to be the next thing dripping down your chest.”

“Fucking hell, babe.”

[dootznbootz]

It saddens me that Helen of SPARTA is mostly known as Helen of TROY. As if she wasn't born, raised, and most likely, died in Sparta. Yes, she was of TROY for a while...But she was able to go back home to where she WANTED TO BE.

(Edit: Hating on Menelaus is illegal)

[lilacxquartz]

love you, need you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: although it couldn’t psychically happen, mr. crawling found himself obsessed with getting you pregnant — themes: smut, breeding kink, needy/clingy behaviour, no dialogue — a/n: via request for a breeding kink imagine with him, hope this is okay! — w.c: 700ish • ao3 • masterlist ♡

Mr. Crawling often doted on you like there was no tomorrow; often lingering in the depths of your shadow like a constantly looming presence. He was always there when you went to bed and was already tethered to your side by the time you woke up. At first, you had no idea what to think, but over time, you grew to love and even anticipate his company.

And lately, his hands kept running over to palm against your bare stomach with an almost thoughtful, wistful stare. He’d press his lips against the soft contours of your abdomen, his cold breath ghosting along your flesh—dreaming of everything could have been—had the two of you been alive.

Such spiralling thoughts left him nothing short of needy and he’d latch onto you with much more fervour than ever before, his touches becoming heated, almost scalding, if even worshipping.

Mr. Crawling subtly crept into such magnitudes of adoration though, starting off real slow and gentle with longing cuddles, pressing lazy kisses into your skin whenever he could. He’d then move on nipping down your collarbone, to your chest, to wherever he could—down to your stomach, to your hips—to the deep apex of your inner thighs.

Slowly, he surrendered himself to you like you were some sort of god, his intentions loud and clear. Nights of professed passion soon passed by on a nightly basis, finding himself pushing—rutting away almost like a man crazed into your core—wanting to experience you again and again.

His hands would drift back to your stomach after a while too, pretending that it all had worked, growing close to crazed at the idea of it somehow being possible. You didn’t mind too much whenever he got this way, though, loving it all the same. There was something special about the way he loved you, after all, and especially so in the way that he fucked you.

And as if right on clockwork, Mr. Crawling settled right beside you in bed, not wasting a single second before he moved to hover over you. His frame towered over yours, easily swallowing you whole with his presence and after a while, he was ready to try again.

His lips crashed against yours and the rest of him settled right into you; your lips shuddering out an anticipated gasp as he positioned the tip of his cock slick into your soaked sex, sliding right into you, thrusting forward as a strained, barely contained whimper choked out of him.

Mr. Crawling always had such a cutely flustered look of focus too, as he succumbed to the sensation of you. His lower lip quivered and his cheeks grew a warm blushed red, barely containing his composure as he drove himself into you. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean not to be gentle as this happened, but it was that you—your body—left him overwhelmed, so he simply just… lost himself in the moment, that was all. The idea in his mind was so intoxicating; the thought of seeing you so perfectly swollen with the aftermath of his love—the concept of what could have been—all pushed him to go harder than he had meant to.

And even though he loved you so, his guilt subsided whenever he caught wind of the pure and utter bliss written all over your face—of your pretty, breathless moans that rolled out in sharp, ragged gasps. As your hands searched for his, interlocking and squeezing hard. As your insides clenched around his girth, feeling yourself come undone all the while he rendered you into a sopping, equally whining mess.

At last, Mr. Crawling violently trembled above you, his body giving way into a brutally recoiled stutter, his moans growing just as loud as yours while riding out the end of a desperate climax. He grunted, squeezing you tight against his body, milking himself directly into your cunt, yet not quite leaving despite how spent he felt.

So obsessed with the thought of filling you up, Mr. Crawling couldn’t bring himself to leave—he loved you so much, after all.

Enough to imagine what could have been.

Enough to believe that it could actually happen.

[samaraxmorgan]

It seems like once again you’ve accidentally found a way to annoy the life out of your roommate Sukuna. You’ve been playing your favorite song on repeat, over and over and over again when you’re in the shower, cleaning up around the apartment, he’s even caught you humming it while cooking.

And maybe he wouldn’t be so frustrated with it if he liked the song, but he really truly doesn’t. Too much of a stubborn metal head to even give it a chance. Or at least that’s what you thought.

He swears up and down that he hates that stupid song, but when you come home early from work you can hear something up in his room, his guitar. You always assumed he only had that thing for decoration, shiny dark red and signed in black sharpie by him and his friends hanging up on the wall collecting dust, but it turns out he actually plays.

And what does he play in particular? Your favorite song when he thinks you can’t hear it. Now you just have to decide if you’re gonna have this knowledge be your little secret, or if you’re gonna embarrass him later when you tell him about the time you caught him being a little liar.

Your Roommate Sukuna series masterlist here!!

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!! Divider by @adornedwithlight

[pinkboaclub]

Playboy Brother

Summery: A peaceful spring break at your best friends vacation house was supposed to be a quiet escape, just swimming, sunbathing, and relaxation. But when her older brother, Harry, unexpectedly shows up, the trip takes an unexpected turn when Sofia’s out for the night.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: smut, sleeping with friends brother, dom!Harry, zero protection, mention of alcohol, fem!reader

"You know what, Y/N?" Sofia turned towards you as you hung out in her dorm. "Let's ditch the party scene and do something actually fun for spring break."

You raised an eyebrow, though you weren't stoked about it, you both had agreed to go to Florida with your friend group for spring break. "What do you mean?"

Sofia's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'm talking about my family's vacation house. We can swim, read books, maybe even go hiking. And it will just be us...very peaceful and relaxing"

You thought for a moment, the thought of crowded beaches and noisy parties fading away. The vacation house sounded like a breath of fresh air. "Alright, let's do it," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

As it was not near your University, Sofia's parents' vacation house felt like it was out of a dream, completely different from your concrete dorms. As you pulled into the driveway, the serene beauty of the surroundings captured you. The house itself was a cozy mansion that sat among tall, beautiful trees, with a beautiful pool. The moment you stepped out of the car, the sweet scent of the warm spring air hit you.

Inside, the house was exactly how you imagined a vacation house should be, with wooden floors, large windows looking out at the pool. The kitchen was stocked with all sorts of goodies, courtesy of Sofia's mom.

With the sun peeking through the windows, the temperature outside was perfect for a swim. You followed Sofia's lead and headed to the guest room where your bags where you placed your bag on your bed. You threw open her suitcase and pulled out a bikini.

You both immediately jumped in the pool after running down the stairs, letting the water cool you down.

"This is heaven, I haven't been in a pool in so long." you sighed as you floated on your back, your eyes closed.

A sudden ding from Sofia’s phone broke the moment. She climbed out, swiping at the screen. “Oh, my brother’s stopping by.”

You cracked an eye open. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, Harry. He’s just going to drop something off to store in the garage.” She tossed her phone onto a pool chair. You nodded, but a small part of you suddenly wished you’d packed a swimsuit with a little more coverage. Not that it mattered.

You and Sofia continued to lounge by the pool, letting the sun dry your skin, the warmth making you lazy. The sound of the backyard sliding door caught your attention, and instinctively, you lifted your sunglasses, eyes locking onto the man who stepped through.

He was tall, his broad shoulders were tanned from the sun, a sleeve of tattoos trailed down his muscular arm. Brown hair that was just messy enough to look effortless, and when his green eyes flicked to you, a jolt of something sharp and sudden shot through your chest.

“Sof,” he called, his voice deep and easy. “I’m just moving some stuff into the garage.”

"Okay, that's fine." She nonchalantly replied. Harry's eyes continued to glance at you. You caught his eyes wandering up and down your body multiple times. "Oh, Harry, this is Y/N."

Harry smiled and walked from the door over to where you were lounging. "Pleasure to meet you." He said, charisma shining through his words and smirk. He stuck out his hand and gave you a firm handshake. "I'm Harry."

You felt your cheeks warm up a little. "Nice to meet you too," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"So you two are gonna be here all week?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sofia nodded. "Yep, just us and the great outdoors. You're not staying, are you?" she said, hopefulness in her tone.

"Nah, I've got my own plans," Harry replied with a wink. "But I might drop by again if you don't mind."

As Harry disappeared into the garage, you couldn't help but steal glances as he left. His shorts were short enough to see the couple tattoos he had on his legs, his t-shirt was snug enough to reveal the outline of his abs. You quickly turned your gaze away, not wanting to be caught staring at him or Sofia.

“Sorry about that…he’s such a play boy. He flirts with anyone and everyone.”

You chuckled, suddenly feeling less special. “No worries.”

The next few days at the house were full of relaxation. You and Sofia swam in the pool, watched movies, and would only leave to go shopping. Harry did drop by a couple more times, mostly to grab or drop off stuff, but each time his visits grew longer. You found yourself looking forward to his visits, and he always made a point to sit and chat with you whenever he could.

Though, as Sofia made sure to remind you, you knew he was being as friendly and flirting as he would with any girl Sofia could have brought with her.

One evening, as the sun began to set, Sofia suggested a night out in the nearby town. "We should hit up the local bar," she said with excitement. "A couple of my friends from here want to meet up."

"I'm not sure, I'm pretty tired," you admitted, your voice a bit weak. "Don't let me stop you though."

"Are you sure? It's just going to be a casual hang out."

You nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll just chill here and catch up on some reading." You picked up the novel you had brought along. "You go have fun, I'll be fine."

"Alright, if you're sure," she said, squeezing your shoulder. "Text me if you need anything."

As the door closed behind her, you settled back into the plush sofa with your book. The lake house was so peaceful, and the thought of the noisy bar was less than appealing.

You had been reading for a few hours when your phone buzzed with a text from Sofia.

Hey, sorry to bother you but Harry's on his way again. He's got some more stuff to grab. I can come back if you want.

‘No worries! I don't mind.’ You replied, your mind wandering to Harry, and him being here with you...alone. You shook your head, trying to get rid of any inappropriate thoughts, that's your best friend's brother.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Harry's footsteps echoed through the house, and soon he was standing in the doorway of the living room. "Hey," he said, his eyes lit up immediately after finding you. "I didn't know you'd still be up."

"Couldn't resist the peace and quiet," you said, setting your book aside. "How's your night going?"

"It's been good," Harry replied, stepping into the room. He was dressed casually in a band tee and jeans that fit just right. "But I figured I'd come by and grab a couple more things before the weekend gets hectic."

You nodded, trying to ignore the way his voice made your heart flutter.

"How has your spring break been?" Harry asked, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's been pretty good, just relaxing mostly."

"That's the way to do it," Harry said, his eyes scanning the room before returning to you. "You know, it's funny, I'm surprised we haven't met before."

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I've met your parents...Sofia and I only met this year though." You shifted in your seat, your stomach turning in a knot. "I guess it was bound to happen eventually."

Harry chuckled, his eyes lingering on you. "I guess it was." He leaned closer, his gaze intense. "So, you're all alone here?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Sofia went out with some friends from around here."

"Ah, so it's just us then," Harry said, his voice dropping a notch. The air between you felt thick with something unspoken, and the room seemed to shrink with each passing second.

You nodded, feeling your pulse quicken. "Looks like it," you managed to murmur, your eyes flicking over to him.

The silence between you grew heavier, until Harry broke it with a smirk. "You know," he began, his eyes not leaving yours, "I've heard a lot about you."

Your heart raced as he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours. "Oh? Good things I hope." you asked, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting with you, or if that was his natural tone.

"Very good things," Harry said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt your heart flutter again, and a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Well, I hope I can live up to the hype."

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm sure you can." His hand reached over and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while now."

Your cheeks grew hotter and you swallowed, trying to find the right words. The chemistry between you was palpable, and it was getting harder to ignore. "Yeah? Did you have something in mind?" You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a mischievous grin, Harry leaned in closer. His eyes dropped to your lips.

"I have a few ideas," he murmured, his hand resting gently on the sofa beside you. His thumb brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, Harry leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His lips were firm and insistent, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he pulled you closer. You smelled his strong cologne, which caused you to melt into him. You felt your body react instinctively, leaning into him as his other arm wrapped around your waist.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue slipping between your lips to explore yours. He stood, pulling you to your feet, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss grew more intense.

"Come with me," Harry murmured against your mouth, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He led you through the house and up the stairs to a room you hadn't been in before. "This is my old room," he said, pushing it open.

The room was like a time capsule of Harry's youth, with posters of old rock bands on the walls and a queen bed covered in a plaid comforter. When you turned back to him, you picked up right where you left off.

Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid down to the small of your back, pressing you closer to his body. His dominance was surprising but thrilling, making your legs feel like jelly. You stumbled backward slightly, and he took it as an invitation, walking you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed. He leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress.

You felt the heat of him, his chest against yours, his thighs between your own. His hand trailed up your side, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin under your arm, sending goosebumps across your body. Harry's kiss grew more demanding, his tongue exploring yours with a passion that made you gasp for air. He took advantage of the moment, deepening the kiss even further.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Harry's hand began to travel upwards under your shirt, his fingers tracing the line of your ribs. You felt a thrill as he reached the clasp of your bra, flicking it open with surprising ease. His hand cupped your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. His kiss grew more insistent, his tongue dancing with yours as he explored your body.

You felt his body shift and before you knew it, your shirt was being pulled over your head. Harry's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your bare chest. He leaned down and kissed your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, arching your back to give him better access.

His hands slid over your body, sure and confident, as if he had done this a hundred times before. You couldn't deny that his experience was a turn on, and your body responded eagerly to his touch.

With a wicked smile, Harry kissed down your body, his mouth tracing a path from your neck to your navel, making you squirm with anticipation. You felt his hands slip down to the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs hooking into the fabric. He paused, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nodded immediately.

He kissed the skin just above the band of your shorts, his breath warm and teasing. His hands began to tug at the fabric, sliding it down over your hips, revealing your underwear. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Without wasting a moment, Harry pushed your legs up to your chest, his strong arms holding you in place as he leaned in. His mouth found the damp fabric between your legs, and he bit down lightly, making you gasp. You felt his tongue slip beneath the material, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was intense, and you squirmed, trying to get closer to him. His grip tightened, keeping you in place as his mouth moved in a rough, insistent rhythm. You felt a buildup of pleasure, your muscles tensing as he worked his magic.

He hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties and tugged them aside, revealing your wetness to the cool air. Harry groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, making your hips lift off the bed. He didn't hold back, his tongue plunging into you, stroking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him. You could feel his strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open to him as he feasted on you. You were lost in the feeling, your moans filling the room, your nails digging into the bed sheets.

Your body arched off the bed, but Harry's grip on your legs was firm, keeping you in place as he ate you out. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, making you squirm and gasp. He seemed to take delight in your reactions, his tongue becoming more demanding as he lapped at your clit, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs to keep you still. Your hand fell to his hair, tugging on it as he tongue continued to masterfully work over you. He groaned out at the harsh pull.

"Do you like that?" he murmured against you, his breath hot and his tongue continuing to dance against your sensitive flesh.

You could only nod, unable to form coherent words as his mouth worked its magic. His grip on your legs tightened, his thumbs digging into your inner thighs as he pushed them further apart. Harry's tongue grew rougher, his teeth grazing your skin as he devoured you with an animalistic hunger. You felt your body responding, your hips rocking up to meet his mouth.

He took two fingers, slowly sliding them into you before immediately pushing into your g-spot at a lightening fast pace.

Your moans grew louder, and you felt your body tightening around his digits. Harry's eyes watched you with a mix of pleasure and hunger, his strokes becoming more aggressive. He was in complete control, and the feeling was intoxicating. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But just as you were about to climax, Harry pulled away, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. You whimpered in protest, your body begging for release.

"Patience," he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs as he sat up and pulled off his shirt. His abs were defined, a sprinkling of hair leading down to his shorts, which were now tented with his arousal. You bit your lip, trying to control the desperate need pulsing through you

Harry noticed your gaze and smirked, unbuckling his belt.

"You wanna suck my cock, slutty girl?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You blinked, the vulgarity of his words a stark contrast to the sweetness of the moment. But the heat in his eyes and the hardness pressing against his shorts told you that he was dead serious. Your heart raced as you nodded, his dominance a surprising turn on. Harry smirked, his hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt and pull his shorts down.

As he revealed himself, you took a deep breath, your eyes widening at the sight of his large, thick cock. You slid off the bed, dropping to your knees and leaning in.. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling his pulse against your palm.

"That's it," Harry said, his voice a low growl of approval. "Suck it like you mean it."

You leaned in, taking him in your mouth, feeling the weight of his cock on your tongue. Harry's hand found your hair, his grip tightening as he guided your movements. He was not gentle, pushing deeper into your mouth with every thrust. You felt a mix of fear and excitement, his dominance making you wetter than you had ever been. You took a deep breath, focusing on pleasing him, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head.

"That's right," Harry groaned, his hand tightening in your hair. "Take it all." You could feel his muscles tensing, his thighs trembling with the effort to hold back. His eyes stared into yours, his gaze never leaving you as he watched you suck him off. You moaned around his cock, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through his body. He began to move his hips in a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with increasing force.

You felt your jaw ache, but the desperate need to please him overrode any discomfort. Harry's grip grew tighter, his hips moving faster as he approached climax. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. You nodded, eager to taste him, to feel him come in your mouth. With a final thrust, Harry's body stiffened and he released into your mouth. You swallowed, feeling the warmth of his cum slide down your throat.

Pulling away, you sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Harry leaned back, a smug smile on his face. "I want to see you on your hands and knees, on the bed, facing away from me," he said, his voice still rough with passion. He stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes, revealing his still fully erect cock.

You scurried to the bed, doing as he said. The mattress dipped as Harry climbed onto it behind you. Running a couple fingers up your slit, causing your whole body to shudder. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You liked sucking my cock, didn't you?"

"Uh, huh," you breathed, the only thing you were able to choke out, barely audible.

"Good," Harry said, his voice thick with desire. He positioned his cock at your entrance.

With a firm grip on your hips, Harry pushed into you, his size making you gasp. He didn't hold back, thrusting deep and hard, his cock filling you completely. Each stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the bed. His dominance was like a drug, and you found yourself craving more.

"Is this what you wanted?" Harry asked, his voice a low growl as he fucked you. "You want my cock deep inside, don't you?" You could only nod, your eyes screwed shut as you tried to process the intense feeling of fullness. He was so deep, his cock hitting places that no one else had ever reached.

"I could tell from the moment I first saw you the other day...your pretty eyes staring at me."

You felt his hand on the back of your neck, he kept fucking into you, relentlessly. The power play was something new, something that sent a thrill through you that you hadn't felt before.

"Show me how much you've been waiting for this," he murmured as he pulled out of you and lay against the headboard.

With trembling hands, you climbed onto him and reached between your legs, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You felt the tip brush against you, and he groaned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, his thick length filling you up, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. You threw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as you took all of him.

But as soon as you were fully seated, Harry's hands were on your hips, his grip tightening. He didn't let you set the pace, instead pulling you back down onto him before pushing you back up again. His strokes were powerful, his cock sliding up into you with a force that had you seeing stars. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but the pleasure was too intense, and they slammed shut as you threw your head back. He didn't even last one minute not being the one in control.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, his eyes locked onto the place where your bodies connected. You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held onto your hips, his thrusts becoming more erratic. You grabbed his arms to keep yourself steady, feeling his hard biceps.

Without warning, Harry's grip tightened, his hands moving to your waist. He lifted you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. His eyes never left yours, watching as your mouth formed a silent 'o' of pleasure with every impact. You could feel him swell even more inside you, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

"You're so fucking perfect," Harry murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Riding me like a good little slut." He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You like it when I use you like this, huh?"

You nodded, unable to form words as he continued to fill you completely with every stroke. The dirty talk was something you never knew you liked, but with Harry, it just felt right. You felt your cheeks flush with both pleasure and embarrassment, but you couldn't help but crave more.

But just as Harry's pace grew even more aggressive, he abruptly stopped, his hand coming up to cup your face, gently tilting it to look at him. His eyes searched yours, concern flashing across his features. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Is this too much?"

You took a moment to catch your breath, the intensity of the moment making your heart race. "No, no" you panted, nodding. "It's just...I've never...it's great." Harry chuckled with a smirk on his lips.

"I’m corrupting you ," Harry groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can't help it," he murmured, his voice strained.

"I need to see your face when I fuck your slutty pussy." He pushed you down onto the bed on your back, his hands moving to grip your thighs and roughly pull you to the end of your bed. The change in angle was intense, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

You couldn't help but whimper, your body reacting to his words and actions. You felt so exposed, so used, but in the best way possible. His strokes grew deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your toes curl. Harry's eyes searched yours, watching your reactions with a hunger that only grew with every moan that left your lips.

Your inner muscles started to pulse, your stomach started to churn, your orgasm was very close, and Harry's quick pace wasn't going to delay it.

"H–Harry." You stuttered quietly in an attempt to warn him of your nearing climax.

"Mm, I know," he murmured, his eyes dark with need. "I can feel you getting tighter around me." His thumb found your clit, circling it with the perfect amount of pressure to push you over the edge. "'Gonna scream my name? Let the neighbors know whose fucking you good?"

You screamed out his name over and over again, begging him not to stop. A smirk was painted on his face, his name continuously leaving your mouth inflating his ego.

You bit your lip to stifle the cry that wanted to escape as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. Harry's eyes never left yours, watching you fall apart beneath him with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

As the final waves of pleasure subsided, Harry leaned down, his body pressing you into the bed. His cock was still hard, still deep inside you, and he began to move again, slower now, savoring the feel of you around him. His kisses grew more gentle, his hands caressing your body as he whispered into your ear.

"Where can I cum, baby? Your tits? Your pretty face?"

"Inside me." Without thinking the words left your mouth, you froze in shock...you had just met this man days ago. For whatever reason his dominance made you think before speaking. "If-if you want to...I'm on birth control...you don't have to..."

He looked at you for a moment before a smug smirk grew on his face. "Here I was thinking you were a little innocent girl."

Without giving you time to process his words, Harry started to pick up his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with renewed vigor. You felt your body respond, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. The feeling of his bare cock inside of you was something new and thrilling, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You want it all, don't you? You want to feel me fill you up."

Your body responded with a desperate nod, your legs tightening around his waist. Harry chuckled darkly, his grip on your ankles never wavering. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumbs pressing into your hips. He began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The pleasure was almost unbearable, the friction of his bare cock against your sensitive walls making you scream his name.

With each stroke, Harry's eyes grew darker, his breaths more ragged. You could feel his muscles tensing, his body preparing for his release. The anticipation was exhilarating, and you found yourself giving him the sweet submissive look he was looking for, urging him to his release.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're gonna make me cum, baby."

You felt your walls tighten around him, the sensation of him getting closer to climax making you even wetter. You nodded eagerly, your voice breathy and needy. "Fuck, Harry," you encouraged, the words coming out in a rush. "Cum inside me."

Harry thrust one last time, his cock swelling and pulsing as he emptied himself into you. You felt the warmth of his release fill you up, the sensation of his hot cum sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body. He collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. The air was thick with the scent of sex, your bodies damp with sweat. Harry's heart pounded against your chest, and you could feel his breath against your neck as he kissed you softly.

He pulled out of you, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the gentle concern in them. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice tender. But even as he asked, there was a hint of the playboy in his tone...you could tell that was something he had asked plenty of girls before, a reminder of who he was and what this was.

"Yeah," there was an awkward silence between you. "We should get cleaned up...before Sofia gets home."

You felt Harry's weight shift as he stood up, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He offered you a hand, helping you to your feet. His gentleness was surprising after the raw passion you had just shared, and it left you feeling a little off-balance. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

He grabbed a towel from the floor, handing it to you before grabbing one for himself. Harry's gaze was still intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush hair from your face. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered, "You're something else."

The words hung in the air, leaving you feeling both flattered and a little unsure. He was still Harry, the playboy, but for a brief moment, you had seen a glimpse of something more vulnerable beneath the surface. He stepped back, the mask of nonchalance slipping back into place.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs jolted you back to reality. "Shit," you hissed, your eyes widening. "Sofia's home."

"Fuck," you whispered, your eyes darting around the room. You grabbed you clothes off the floor and began to quickly get dressed. "I better get back to my room." Before Harry could say anything, you left, peeking behind the door, before racing to your room when you saw the coast was clear.

You barely had time to sit down on the bed, your heart racing when you heard Harry's footsteps descending the stairs. His voice grew clearer as he approached the living room where you knew Sofia was waiting. "Hey," he called out, the sound of his voice so casual it was almost jarring after what had just happened. "Just dropping off some stuff in my old room."

Sofia's voice followed, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "Okay, where's Y/N?"

You could hear Harry's footsteps stop, the beat of his heart echoing in the silence. He took a moment before responding, "Oh, she went to bed like an hour ago."

You had just had sex with your best friend's brother, in the house where you both would be staying for the weekend. The gravity of the situation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick.

The sound of their conversation grew muffled as you lay back on the bed, trying to catch your breath. You had to play it cool, act like nothing had happened. You couldn't let this ruin your friendship with Sofia, or Harry's relationship with his sister.

tag list:

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞—𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids drabble

Synopsis: Look what wearing that little skirt got you to...

Warnings: SMUT🔞. Overstimulation, squirting, use of a vibrator, mean!Minho, pet names, slight choking(?), name calling (slut. But only once).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: Just a quick random drabble that came to my mind when I was bored in class. No plot really, just smut lmfao.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 0.8k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Lee Know has never questioned anything you do, especially your wardrobe. He lets you wear whatever you want because every time he says, “If anyone dares to look in your direction, I’ll make him regret his existence.” 

Which he has. 

But. Wearing that little skirt was a BIG mistake. Thinking that you could have him wrapped around your finger was another BIG mistake. And being stupid enough to show off that skirt as if you weren’t already owned by him—mind, body and soul—in front of his friends to make him a little jealous was the BIGGEST mistake of all.

Because now look at you, sitting with your back pressed flush against him, legs open, hands tied behind, his hand around your neck and your pussy being abused by your favourite vibrator.

Oh, and wearing nothing but that little skirt. 

“Minh— please—” you whined, trying to regain your lost voice while you were shaking, writhing, the intense buzzing of the vibrator only increasing by the second. 

But he didn’t care for your pleas or your cries. “If you’re gonna act like a bratty slut, I’ll treat you like one honeypie,” he cooed, the nickname falling out of his mouth teasingly.

He was mean and ruthless, letting the buzzing wand continue its assault while he stroked your swollen, tender clit with agonizing pressure that had you squealing. Your juices have soaked the sheets beneath you, he pulled one orgasm after another, without giving you time to breathe or process it, you even lost count of it. 

Your body trembled, pussy throbbing and thighs shaking against him as he kept you spread open, completely at his mercy.

A pleased hum rumbled against your ear, his breath warm as he pressed his lips to your flushed cheek. His fingers trailed up your belly, featherlight, teasing, setting every nerve on fire. “You wanted my attention so bad, and now you can’t even use your words?”

A strangled whimper left your lips, your wrists pulling helplessly against the restraints behind your back. His grip on your throat tightened just slightly, making your head spin. 

“You know, for someone who put on a whole show in this little skirt, you’re awfully quiet now,” he mused, his tone dripping with menace and pinched your peaking nipple. “Where’s that confidence, baby? Thought you could have me wrapped around your little finger?”

You shook your head rapidly, your back arching against him as another wave of pleasure hit you like a crashing tide. “I— I was wrong, Minho,” you gasped out, your voice wrecked.

Minho chuckled lowly, and the deep, indulgent sound made your toes curl. “Good girl. Have you learned your lesson?” he murmured, kissing the shell of your ear before biting down gently, making you shudder.

His hand skimmed down to your thigh after teasing your sensitive nipples, gripping it firmly as he finally—finally—turned the vibrator down just a fraction, letting you breathe. You sagged against him, your head falling back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering.

But the reprieve was brief.

With a flick of his wrist, the vibrations surged back to full intensity, making you jolt in his grasp, a sharp cry leaving your lips.

“Ah, ah, not yet,” he tutted, his fingers tightening and digging onto your soft skin as he kept you locked against him.

Tears leaked out of your eyes as you squirmed, his fingers pressing against your puffy clit in tight, deliberate circles. The pressure was unbearable, the dual stimulation sending shockwaves through you.

The overwhelming sensation tipped you over the edge again and again, yet left you teetering just out of reach. He was so mean, so unbearably cruel, but you couldn't have it any other way.

“m’sens—sensitive, Minho please—”

You sobbed his name, barely able to form words anymore, completely undone in his hold. 

A new wave of release climbed up your spine and left you reeling, your back arched when the knot snapped, the vibrator left your sloppy hole and a gush of liquid spasmed out of you. 

You couldn't hold back the loud cathartic cry and Minho's grip softened completely as he watched you come hard and crumble against him, so utterly spent, it felt like you had nothing more left in your body.

You fell limp over Minho, chest heaving and feeling a pulse beat everywhere. 

“Oh, honeypie,” he cooed, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his fingers stroking your swollen, pulsing pussy and then untied your wrists. 

“All that attitude, and now look at you. My poor, dumb baby.”

His arms wrapped around you securely, pulling you flush against his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles along your spine, his touch suddenly turning gentle and soothing. 

You whimpered softly, too exhausted to form words, only able to nuzzle deeper into his warmth.

Minho smirked, feeling the damp trails of tears still clinging to your cheeks. With a sigh, he tilted your chin up, pressing sweet, featherlight kisses along your temple, brushing away the tear stains on your cheeks and ghosted over your lips.

Your lashes fluttered as he wiped away the remnants of your tears with his thumb, his gaze hooded but affectionate.

“Next time,” he murmured, his lips curving into a lazy grin, “think twice before trying to make me jealous, yeah?”

You barely managed a weak nod, too lost in the warmth of his embrace and the lingering buzz between your legs, your limbs tangled with his.

Minho only chuckled, holding you closer. “That’s my girl.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this drabble? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

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xx,

Ivyy

[thecuriousbeauty]

Under His Watch-Part 1 (Harry Styles x reader)

Series synopsis: Y/N, an ambitious FBI intern, joins the homicide department, where she catches the eye of the brooding head detective, Harry Styles. As they tackle high-stakes cases together, Y/N uncovers a side of Harry no one else sees. Are they just boss and intern, or something more?

Word count: 9.1k

A/N:- Hello everyone, so sorry for being gone for a while, but I'm back with something new that I hope you guys will love! This is going to be a short, two part series so like it up and reblog so I can get the second part out soon!

Warnings: Talks of murder, drug dealings, killings, crime scenes, violence, usage of gun. No smut in this part, but definitely in the next;)

____________________________________________

The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden light through the open window. The air feels fresh, but with a touch of warmth that hints at the summer heat to come. Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a gentle reminder of the new day. A light breeze stirs the curtains, carrying the scent of flowers blooming outside.

In a small, cozy bedroom, y/n stands before her mirror. She fidgets with her clothes, unsure whether the outfit is too formal or too casual for her first day at work. She has seen agents usually wear suits, but she opted for a dark blue buttoned shirt and pants, because she was just starting as an intern. Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts her hair, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling inside her. Her heart races, each beat echoing the uncertainty of what’s to come.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The thought of the day ahead makes her stomach flutter—so many unknowns, so many new faces, and yet, the possibility of something great. She smiles at her reflection, trying to reassure herself. Beneath the jitters, there’s a spark—an energy that comes from stepping into something new, a sense of potential.

She checks the time and realizes she’s running a little late.The world outside is already awake, and so is she, ready to take on whatever her first day at work will bring.

Y/N doesn’t know when she decided to pursue a career as a detective. Maybe it was all the detective shows she used to watch with her father as a kid, or maybe it was the numerous novels she’d read. She loves the suspense, the mystery, and figuring out all the little clues. She loves the thrill of it. And now, as a result of her hard work and dedication, she has gotten into the FBI’s internship program.

The actual, Federal Bureau of Investigation. 

The FBI building looms like a fortress in the heart of the city, its imposing, angular structure made of dark granite and steel. The air is thick with history and authority, as if the walls themselves hold the secrets of countless investigations. As she takes her detective steps through the sliding glass doors, the buzz of activity inside is palpable. Agents in suits walk briskly through the sleek, modern lobby, while the hum of conversation fills the space with a sense of purpose.

The hallways are lined with framed photos of notable cases and agents, a constant reminder of the legacy the building holds. The lighting is stark, the floors polished to a mirror shine, and the walls adorned with maps and classified files that hint at the work being done behind closed doors. It’s both overwhelming and exhilarating—this is where the nation’s most pressing cases unfold.

“Oh, Miss y/l/n, right on time!”,  she hears before she sees none other than one of her superiors, part of the homicide department, Agent Eliza Carter. She had taken her interview. The woman held two coffees, and gave her the same kind smile she had given her that day.

“Good morning, Agent Carter!”

“Morning to you too. Sorry, I forgot to mention, you’ll be with homicide this month, probably another department for the next, and so on. Boss man’s just about to start the meeting, so come on quick!”

“Right. Do you know anything about the case?”

Her heels click behind her as she follows the agent, her eyes continuing to look around, absorbing everything around her. 

“Oh yeah, this is actually an old case. A really annoying one, you’ll see. Harry will brief us anyway.”

Harry. Detective Agent Harry Styles. 

Head of the homicide department, and one of the most renowned and respected figures in the field. His reputation precedes him: sharp, methodical, and almost legendary in his ability to solve cases that others can’t even begin to crack. She had heard stories about his brilliant mind, how he could piece together the smallest details that everyone else overlooked. The thought of getting to learn directly from him sends a rush of nervous energy through her veins.

“Can you get the door please?”, Eliza asks, and y/n quickly swings the glass door open for her, and then steps in herself, into the big room where there were around seven people gathered. All of them in matching suits, discussing amongst each other as they stared at the boards pinned with information about their cases. 

“Everyone, this is y/n y/l/n, our new intern, she’s gonna be with us for this month!”, Eliza introduces, handing one of the coffees to a man, who also gives y/n a smile. “Hello, I’m Ethan Grant.” 

The others also started introducing themselves, most of them friendly and smiling, two of them only giving her a nod, to which Eliza rolled her eyes. 

“Styles running late?”, Agent Cole Matthews asks as he looks at his watch. 

“I saw him getting a call, he had that face on.”, Nora says. She had short silver hair, and dark blue eyes, that looked like she would kill you if you pissed her off.

“Oh no, that can’t be good.”, Eliza shook her head.

“Face?”, y/n asks the girls who just smile at each other, Nora gives her a wink. “You’ll see.”

The door swings open with a quiet click, and Detective Harry Styles steps into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. Tall and impeccably dressed in a dark suit that fits just right, he exudes a quiet authority. His broad shoulders and confident stride catch the eye, but it’s his sharp jawline and the faint stubble along his chin that hint at a more rugged edge beneath his polished exterior.

His eyes—piercing, yet thoughtful—scan the room as he steps forward, his gaze pausing just long enough to meet each of their eyes, an unspoken understanding passing through the group. The way he moves is purposeful, the air around him almost charged with intensity, as if every step he takes is measured, calculated.

Then his eyes meet hers, eyebrows raising up in question. “New intern, boss.”, Ethan says. 

She acts quickly to introduce herself, “I’m y/n, it’s such a pleasure to-”

“We’re still talking interns?”, he rudely cuts her off, and her lips seal shut at his tone. 

“Yes we’re doing rotations this year, Harry, they must have given you a form to sign.”, Eliza said, and Harry let out a sigh, not even batting a single eye in y/n’s direction, turning around to the projector. 

“Whatever. Let’s get to work, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She’d imagined this moment so differently—she thought he’d at least say something encouraging, maybe give her a quick nod of acknowledgment. But instead, there’s only the cold, impersonal air of the office, and his complete disregard.

“We’re dealing with a 30-year-old man named Charles Russo. He's been on our radar before but slipped through the cracks. He’s involved in drug trafficking, but this isn’t just about drugs—it’s about control. He’s a key figure in a network that stretches across the city, and he’s responsible for at least three recent murders tied to his operations.”

A photograph of Russo appears on the projector screen—a mugshot from a previous arrest, his face hard and defiant, his eyes cold. Styles gestures to the image.

“This is our suspect. Russo has managed to stay under the radar for months, but he’s back in the game. We have intel from one of his associates that he’s been laying low, but now we’ve gotten wind of him resurfacing. We know he’s been making contact with his former contacts in the drug trade, and his movements have been tracked to the outskirts of the city.”

He pauses, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. The team leans forward, eyes narrowing as they take in every word.

“We can’t afford to let him slip away again,” Harry continues. “He’s ruthless. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. The last time he disappeared, it took months for us to get any leads. We’re not going to make that mistake again.”

“So what’s the plan?”, Nora asks.

Harry points to a map on the wall. The area surrounding an old industrial district near the city’s border is highlighted in red.

“We’ve got a lead. A tip from an anonymous source says Russo is meeting with one of his suppliers here,” Harry explains, tapping the map. “We’ll be setting up surveillance teams around this location. We’re going to hit him where we know he feels comfortable. His old contacts will be there, and that’s our chance to bring him in.”

He looks at his team, making sure they understand the stakes. "This won't be easy. Russo knows how to cover his tracks, and he won't hesitate to go violent if he thinks he's cornered. I want everyone to stay sharp, no mistakes. We’ll have undercover agents in place, and our best tech team will be monitoring the area for any sign of movement.”

He glances at y/n, the intern who’s been quietly taking notes in the back. His voice softens just slightly, but still firm.

“You’re going to work with Carter and Grant to run background checks on Russo’s known associates. I want every detail—every business transaction, every phone call, every scrap of information you can dig up. It could be the key to finding him faster. Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” She nods quickly, her mind racing. This is her chance to contribute, to prove herself, and she’s not about to let it slip away.

“Once we have enough intel, we move in. Fast, clean, and without hesitation. Our goal is to catch him off guard,” Harry finishes, his gaze sweeping over his team. “I expect everyone to be in sync. This guy has evaded us long enough. Let’s make sure it ends tonight.”

The room falls into a focused silence as everyone gets to work. The plan is set, and the wheels are already in motion. 

Eliza shows y/n her desk, and Ethan quickly shows her all the technology, y/n didn’t need much explaining, she was familiar with it all. She had even taken up courses in coding and hacking. 

Finally, it’s time to attack. Officers bustle around, adjusting their gear, making final checks on equipment, and running through last-minute details. The hum of radios, the clinking of handcuffs, and the soft rustling of jackets fill the air as the room feels like it’s on the verge of something big. y/n stands off to the side, a little on edge as she watches Harry gather the team for their final briefing. His green eyes scan the room with that characteristic sharpness, giving quick instructions to the officers heading to different positions. 

With a deep breath, she approaches Harry as he finishes talking to Detective Logan Pierce. Her pulse quickens, and she straightens her shoulders. This is it.

“Detective Styles,” she begins, trying to keep her voice steady, “I was wondering if—if I could come along. I know I’m new, but I’ve been following everything closely, and I’m ready. I can help in any way I can.”

Harry looks at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. There’s a brief silence before he responds, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not ready for this kind of field work. This operation is too high-risk, and it’s not something you should be thrown into on your first day. I need you back here, where you can handle communication, and make sure we stay on track. You’ll be a key part of this, just not in the way you expect.”

She feels a small pang of disappointment, but it’s quickly replaced by a sense of clarity. He’s right. She’s still learning the ropes. The reality of the danger in the field is something she can’t ignore. But at the same time, the disappointment doesn’t sting as much as she thought it would. She’s still going to play a crucial role.

“Understood,” she says, nodding as she pushes her feelings aside. She can feel a sense of purpose rising in her chest. “I’ll stay in touch with the agents, make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll be ready to react if anything goes wrong.”

A flicker of approval crosses Harry’s face, though he doesn't show it fully. “Good luck!”, she can’t help but call out as Harry reaches for his own bullet proof suit and a hint of a smirk crosses his lips. 

It was so brief, that she wondered if she had really seen it, or if she had imagined it.

The night is thick with tension as the operation unfolds, the air heavy with the weight of what’s at stake. Outside the industrial district, the team is in position, each agent hidden in shadows, waiting for the signal to move. Inside the precinct, y/n is stationed at her desk, headphones on, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she tracks the operation. Her eyes are focused on the live feeds from the surveillance cameras set up around the district, her mind sharp and alert.

The plan is simple—surround Russo and catch him in the act. The agents are ready, but they need to stay in constant contact. That’s where she comes in. She’s the lifeline,watching the feeds, listening to their transmissions, and keeping them updated. She had earpieces connected to Harry and Cole, who had teams on both doors of the warehouse.

Through the earpiece, the voice of Agent Logan Pierce crackles to life. “y/l/n,we’re about to move in on Russo. He’s on the move—heading toward the south side of the warehouse. We need a visual confirmation. Is he coming into our range?”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest, but she keeps her voice steady. “Got him. He’s moving east toward the rear entrance. You’ve got about thirty seconds before he reaches the blind spot. You need to move fast.”

“Copy that,” Pierce responds. “We’re moving in now.”

y/n watches the screen, heart racing as she tracks Russo’s every step, eyes darting between the surveillance feeds and the map on her screen. Every second feels like an eternity. She checks her watch, counts the seconds in her head. Then, suddenly, he disappeared.

“Shit.”, she says, trying to figure out where the piece of shit is headed now.

“I hope I didn’t just hear you say shit while monitoring one of the most important cases, newbie.”, she hears Agent Styles, and her cheeks redden a little bit, but she focuses on the task.

“Sorry, you need to wait, Agent Pierce, I’ve lost him.”

“You’ve lost him? What do you mean? He’s right here-”

“-No, I think..I think he’s coming around from the other door. Agent Styles?”

He answers immediately while y/n works on a way to monitor Russo again, “Yes, are you sure it’s not a connectivity problem or-.”

“I think he’s on your side.”

“Oh yeah? That mother fucker. Guys, close in.”

“Wait, y/n, are you sure? Cause this might be the last chance we have to get him and one mistake-”, Cole begins, a little unsure.

The image on the monitor shifts—Russo steps into the frame. 

“Agent Styles, he’s about to break through—wait for it—now!”

The moment she speaks, Harry and the rest of the team spring into action. They converge on Russo in a synchronized move, cutting off his escape route before he can even react. There’s a flurry of movement, the sound of boots pounding on the ground, and then, within seconds, Russo is tackled to the ground, handcuffed and subdued.

A burst of static fills her earpiece, followed by Harry’s voice. “We got him. He’s down. Nice work, y/n. You nailed it.”

He called her by her name for the first time and the compliment made her heart race in a way she hadn’t expected. She blinks, her breath catching in her throat. Styles—the man she had been eager to impress—had just complimented her, and it felt like everything she’d hoped for.

“Thanks,” she replies, trying to keep her composure. “I just did what I could.”

“Well you’re the first newbie to actually not piss me off on their first day. You can go home, y/n, enough for the day. We’ll bring him in.”

Y/N exhales slowly, a rush of adrenaline flooding her veins. Her hands shake just a little as she removes her headset, a smile creeping up her face. They did it. They caught Russo, and she was the one who helped make it happen. For the first time since walking into this precinct, she feels like she truly belongs.

___________________________________________________

Over the next few days, she really fit in with the team members. She especially loved talking with the girls, Nora and Eliza. They’re laughing about the latest office drama—how Agent Matthews accidentally spilled coffee all over Harry’s favorite jacket this morning.

“I swear, it’s like he doesn’t even notice how clumsy he is,” Nora says, shaking her head with a grin. “But Styles—he’s always so cool, never says a word. You’d think he’d be fuming after that.”

y/n chuckles, feeling more at ease in their company. "I bet he was just silently judging him in that typical Styles way. You know the look I'm talking about, right?"

Eliza laughs, leaning in. “Oh, absolutely. The silent judgment is his trademark. But I’m surprised he didn’t rip Pierce a new one.”

y/n finds herself grinning at the camaraderie, feeling like she’s starting to fit into the team’s dynamic. It’s easy, the way they talk, tease, and laugh together. 

She decides to stay back a little longer that day, her eyes skim through the pages—cold cases from years ago, some unsolved, others with only the vaguest of leads. She’s been digging into them to understand the bigger picture of how the team operates, trying to learn from the cases they’ve solved, and the ones they’ve left behind.

Her focus is interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She looks up to see Harry, his coat over his arm and his briefcase in hand. He stops a few steps away, his gaze lingering on the pile of files she’s working through.

Her gaze lingered on his arm, his sleeve rolled up enough for the ink on his forearm to peek through. She could see the dark outline of a tattoo—a design she’d never noticed before—curving around his wrist and disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt. The way the ink curled around his skin made her wonder how many more he had hidden beneath his clothes.

She couldn’t help but admire the way his sleeves clung to his muscular arms, the sharp lines of his body defining his form. His green eyes were a striking contrast to his skin, deep and captivating. They always seemed to hold a quiet storm, a vulnerability masked behind his professional exterior. The way his curls fell around his forehead, slightly unruly, added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished look.

There was something magnetic about his distinct features, something that caught her attention all the time.

“You’re still here?” he asks, voice quiet, as if genuinely surprised she hasn’t already left for the day. There’s something in his tone that feels different, not judgmental, but more... curious. Maybe even a little approving.

y/n clears her throat, trying not to seem too caught up in the files. “Yeah. Just trying to catch up on some of the old cases. Figured it’s a good way to learn how you all approach things.”

Harry studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before setting his briefcase down and taking a few steps closer. “You’ve got the right idea. We learn a lot from the cases we didn’t solve. The ones that slip through our fingers.”

She nods, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. “I’ve noticed that. Some of these cases... they’re so close to being solved, but there’s always one missing piece.” She pauses, flipping to a specific file that’s particularly puzzling. “What do you think about this one? A string of disappearances in a small town, no evidence left behind. It’s like they just vanished.”

Harry glances down at the file she’s holding, leaning over slightly, his voice low and contemplative. “Sometimes it’s not the evidence you’re looking for, but the pattern behind it. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks. But if you look at the people involved—especially the families, the connections between them—you might find something that doesn’t belong.”

“Thanks for that,” she says, her voice more sincere than usual. “I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking it.”

Harry gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “You’re thinking in the right direction. Just keep pushing yourself. That’s how we get better at this job.”

She smiles in return, feeling a little more confident in her approach. Harry glances at his watch, then looks back at her. “Well, if you’re going to keep at it, you’ll need a little company. I was planning to head out, but it’s quieter here than usual.”

y/n looks up in surprise. “You’re staying?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Not really,” he says, his tone dry, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Just thought I’d walk you out. It’s late. Wouldn’t want you to be walking to your car alone.”

Her surprise morphs into a small, grateful smile. “That’s... considerate of you. Thanks.”

He offers a slight nod, then gestures toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them walk out together, the quiet hum of the office behind them. Outside, the evening air is crisp, the sky darkening as they make their way across the parking lot.

As they approach their cars, y/n hesitates for a moment, then turns to him. “You’ve been doing this for a long time, huh? The whole... detective thing. How do you keep from getting burned out?”

Harry pauses, his hand resting on the door handle of his car. He looks at her, his expression momentarily distant, as if reflecting on the years of work behind him.

“It’s not about not getting burned out,” he says quietly, “It’s about finding what keeps you going. Whether it’s the people you work with or the cases that pull you in, you have to find something that reminds you why you do it.”

y/n nods, absorbing his words as they linger in the cool air between them.

With that, he starts his engine and pulls away, leaving y/n standing in the quiet parking lot for a moment. She watches his car disappear down the road, wondering what led him into pursuing this career.

___________________________________________

The next day, the guys are gathered around a table near the bullpen, eyes glued to a sports game playing on the office TV. The game is close, Ethan and Cole are already arguing over who’s going to win the match.

“Come on, you’re seriously betting on them?” Ethan snorts, shaking his head. “They’ve been playing like amateurs.”

y/n can’t help but overhear, the playful banter catching her attention. She’s not usually one for sports, but she’s been learning the ropes from her fellow agents. She knows enough to get by, and today, something about the challenge calls to her.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite,” she says, walking over with a raised eyebrow. “How much are we betting here?”

Ethan looks up, surprised, then grins. “Didn’t think you’d be interested, y/n. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

She smirks, her confidence growing. “I’m a quick learner. I’ll take your bet. I’m putting my money on the underdogs.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. This’ll be fun.”

As the game continues, the guys teasingly rib her for her risky bet, but y/n holds her ground, getting increasingly into the match. When the underdogs actually pull off the win, she’s the first one to stand up, pumping her fist in victory.

“Told you,” she says, beaming with pride as the guys groan good-naturedly. “Pay up, gentlemen.”

“Yes, we’ll be there soon, got it.” They all look up at the sound of their boss, who comes into the room, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Murder scene in Oak Drive, let’s go.”, Harry tells them, and everyone gets onto their feet, getting ready to go.

y/n goes to her desk as usual, knowing she’ll be given the duty of doing the background checks.

“Who’re you riding with Styles?”, Logan asks him.

Harry straps on his gun, and looks at y/n. “Can you drive?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Come on, then, newbie, let’s go to your first murder scene.”

y/n almost squealed with joy, jumping up in excitement, but then toned it down as Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

“Yes sir, right away.”

The car ride is quiet, with a subtle tension between them, an unspoken understanding, a quiet connection that neither has acknowledged. y/n's fingers tighten around the steering wheel as they approach the crime scene. He can’t help but steal a glance at y/n—she’s focused, eyes sharp, her thoughts clearly already at the scene ahead.

“You aren’t gonna faint, are you?”, Harry asks, breaking the silence. “Cause one of the interns did, seeing all the blood.”

She laughed lightly. “Nope, I’m excited, and I’m good with blood.”

“Good.”, Harry lets a small smile escape, and she pulls over to the crime scene. The other agents have already reached and are doing their allotted work. 

"Alright, you’ll handle the photos for now. We’ll take care of the rest."

Y/N nods, grabbing her camera from the seat beside her, trying to steady her nerves. She’s been given more responsibility lately, and with Harry’s subtle support, she’s been slowly gaining confidence.

 "Got it. I'll make sure to get everything."

As she moves closer to the crime scene, Y/N kneels by the body, snapping photos of the surroundings. Her heart beats a little faster as she works, but the adrenaline feels good. And while the scene before her is dark, there’s something about Harry’s quiet faith in her that makes her feel capable. She captures the details—each angle, each small clue—as if she’s been doing this for years. She steals a glance back at Harry, catching him watching her from a distance. For a moment, she wonders if he sees something more than just a hard-working intern.

As the team works around her, Harry steps away briefly to speak with the others, but his eyes flick back to her every so often. Y/N can feel it—his attention on her, the weight of it—but for now, she’s focused on her task. Still, there’s a strange pull between them, unspoken, but undeniable, lingering in the air like the tension of the scene itself.

Harry wants to leave soon, to talk to someone and take y/n with him, this time, he drives. As they pull away from the crime scene, Harry’s eyes are focused on the road, but his mind is already on the next step. Y/N’s still processing everything they’ve seen.

“So, what’s your take on this case so far?"

Y/N pauses, glancing up at him. She can tell he’s genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I think the victim knew the killer. Too many personal details for it to be random, but the motive’s still unclear."

Harry nods thoughtfully. "I agree. That’s why I’m going to talk to the first suspect now. Stay sharp—this could get tricky."

Y/N feels a small thrill at his trust in her judgment. It’s not just about the case anymore; it’s the way he values her input. As they drive toward the suspect’s location, she wonders if he’s giving her more responsibility on purpose, or if it’s just part of the job. Either way, it feels like a step forward.

After questioning the suspect, Harry and Y/N head back to the office, the car cutting through the quiet streets. Y/N’s mind is still on the conversation with the suspect, but then..her stomach growls loudly.

Harry glances over at her, his eyes sharp but gentle.

"Did you eat anything this morning?"

Y/N flushes slightly, trying to keep her cool, but the guilt is written all over her face.

"Yeah, I—"

"You didn’t eat, did you?"

Y/N shifts uncomfortably.

"I’m fine, really."

Harry sighs, shaking his head with a small smile."We’re making a stop. You’re getting something to eat. I know a good taco place.”

He turns the car off the main road, pulling into a small taco place. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh tortillas drifts through the air as they step out, and Harry opens the door for her, his usual professionalism replaced with a kind of care.

As they sit at a small booth, Y/N digs into her food, finally letting herself relax. Harry watches her for a moment, the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. After a few bites, she glances up at him.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you always so grumpy? You’re like... a walking storm cloud sometimes."

Harry chokes on his drink a little, caught off guard by her boldness. He laughs—genuinely, with a surprised smile that softens his usually serious face.

He chuckles and wipes his mouth. "Grumpy? I’m not grumpy. I’m just... focused."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Focused, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?"

Harry shrugs, his smirk turning wry, clearly amused by her bluntness."Okay, maybe I’m a little grumpy. But someone’s gotta keep this place in line. You can’t just go around smiling all the time like everything’s sunshine and rainbows."

Y/N laughs, and for a second, their eyes meet. There’s an ease between them now, something playful, yet still with an undercurrent of something deeper. Harry’s usual walls are lower, and Y/N’s teasing is making him more human in her eyes.

"I don’t know, sometimes I think it wouldn’t hurt to see you smile a little more. Just... not at the crime scene, please."

Harry chuckles again, and it’s the kind of laugh that feels lighter than usual—almost as if he doesn’t mind sharing this side of himself with her.

"I’ll try. But no promises.", he says with a soft smirk.Y/N found herself grinning as she saw his dimples poke out. She hadn’t realized how much she loved seeing that little dimple until now, how it made him look so much more... approachable.

After a few more bites, she glances up at him. "Why did you want to be a detective, Agent Styles?"

The question lingers in the air. Harry’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heaviness between them. "Because I lost someone who mattered. My sister... she was murdered by some people when we were younger. I couldn’t sit by, not after that."

Y/N’s breath catches, and she sees the pain flicker in his eyes—his calm demeanor betraying a history of loss that runs deep. It’s the first time she’s seen him so vulnerable, so open.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know.", she says quietly.

Harry shrugs, with a distant look in his eyes,"It’s alright. It’s been a long time... but it’s why I do this. It’s why I never give up on a case. To make sure no one else has to go through that."

There’s a pause, and Y/N feels the weight of his words sink in. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on his. The warmth of the moment takes them both by surprise. He appreciates the gesture, thumb ever so softly stroking a line on the back of her hand.

“You can call me Harry by the way, when we’re not at work.”, he says to lighten the air, and she smiles, drawing her hand back. “Okay.”

Little did she know that Harry had told her something that no one else knew about him. 

________________________________________________________

The precinct is buzzing with its usual morning chaos, the air thick with the noise of phones ringing, officers discussing cases, and the sound of feet shuffling across the floors. y/n is at her desk, flipping through some case files, trying to focus. She’s about to make another note, when she hears the unmistakable sound of Ethan and Eliza approaching her desk, their voices carrying through the room in a familiar, teasing tone.

“Well, well, y/n, looks like you’ve caught Styles’ attention,” Ethan says with a playful grin, sliding into the seat across from her. He leans back, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

y/n looks up, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Eliza raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, come on. We’ve all seen it. Harry doesn’t usually make time for anyone. But you—" she motions between the two of them, “—you got breakfast with him this morning. He doesn’t do that unless he’s got a soft spot.”

Eliza’s cheeks flush slightly. She opens her mouth to protest, but Ethan cuts her off.

“We’re just saying, Harry’s usually all business, right? But with you—” he gestures with a wink, “he’s practically a different guy. You must be special.”

y/n can’t help but laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off. Yes, they had eaten breakfast together that morning, because both of them happened to arrive early to the office. “You guys are ridiculous. We just had breakfast. He saw me sitting alone and he was just being... well, Harry.”

But they aren’t buying it. Eliza smirks, leaning forward. “Right, Harry just casually opens up to you about his deepest, darkest secrets over a bagel. We’re all jealous, you know.”

y/n shakes her head, a little embarrassed, but also secretly amused. “Okay, okay, I get it. He’s not a softie, I swear.”

Ethan grins, clearly enjoying teasing her. “Sure, sure. But just wait until the next big case. When he pulls you aside to give you a ‘confidential’ briefing, we’ll be here, dying of curiosity.”

y/n sighs, trying not to laugh as she adjusts the papers in front of her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m still the intern, remember?”

Eliza raises her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what we’re talking about. We all saw the way Harry looked at you when he was complimenting you yesterday. Like... he actually noticed your contribution for once.”

At that, y/n’s face goes a little redder, but she can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “He just—well, he just doesn’t say much. When he does, it’s kind of a big deal.”

Ethan chuckles, leaning in closer. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. Harry doesn’t exactly dish out compliments like candy. And if he says you’re doing good work? That’s... noteworthy.”

y/n laughs nervously, feeling a little overwhelmed by their teasing, but she’s also secretly flattered. She’s always admired Harry—his skill, his mind, the way he commands respect from everyone around him—and to hear that they’ve noticed the shift in his behavior, even in the smallest ways, makes her feel like she’s on the right track.

“Alright, alright, enough. You’ve got me all figured out,” y/n says, trying to play it off cool. “But don’t go getting any ideas. He’s still Harry Styles.”

“Sure, sure,” Eliza says, winking. “But we’ll be keeping an eye on you two.”

As they walk away, leaving her to her work, y/n smiles to herself, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. She wasn’t sure if Harry really had a soft spot for her, but just knowing that she’d earned a little of his respect—enough for the team to notice—felt like a win. Maybe she wasn’t just the intern anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to become something more.

______________________________________________

y/n has been busy lately. She passed her detective training exam but the theory exam wasn’t over yet, so she was preparing for that, along with managing the work she had been assigned at the FBI. It’s nearly midnight when Harry walks into the office, his eyes scanning the darkened room before landing on Y/N. He spots her hunched over her desk, staring at the screen, her tired eyes squinting in the dim light. By now he knows she’s a hard worker, but what really hits him is how late it’s gotten—and how she hasn’t stopped working.

Harry’s voice is tight with concern, trying to mask his frustration."Y/N, what the hell are you still doing here?"

Y/N looks up, startled, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard as she blinks at him, trying to hide the exhaustion on her face.

 "Just finishing up some things... It’s not that late."

He sternly walks closer. "It’s midnight. You should be home, resting. This can wait until tomorrow."

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops her. She’s used to his seriousness, but there’s something more here—something that’s not just about the case.

His voice softens, but still firm."You’re not invincible, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself."

Y/N sighs, glancing back at the stack of files on her desk, torn between wanting to finish everything and knowing she’s pushing herself too hard.

 "I’m fine, Harry. Really. I just want to get this done."

Harry’s frustration slips through as he says, "No, you’re not fine. You’ve been at this for hours, and you’re running on empty. I’m not leaving until you get some rest."

Y/N meets his eyes, seeing the genuine concern there, but also the subtle edge of worry in his features. She opens her mouth to protest again, but Harry doesn’t give her the chance.

Harry grabs her bag from the desk. "Come on. You’re getting in the car, and I’m taking you home."

She hesitates for a moment, but Harry’s serious enough that she knows there’s no point in arguing.

She grabs her things and follows him out of the office. The rain is coming down hard now, the city streets glistening under the dim streetlights. Harry opens the door for her, holding out an umbrella as they step out into the downpour.

They don’t speak at first, the quiet of the night surrounding them, just the soft patter of rain as they walk to his car. Once inside, the silence between them feels comfortable, but Harry keeps glancing at her, concern still etched on his face.

Harry breaks the silence."You sure you’re okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately."

“I’m fine, my detective exam is soon, I just really wanna make it.”

“You will, you’ve already passed the physical. Trust me, you don’t have to worry about making it, the exam’s gonna be very easy for you.”

She lets out a soft exhale, those words making her feel a little better. After all, he had gone through all of this. “Are you gonna apply to work here?”

“Yes, I think this is where I wanna work. Not sure about the department though, I still have other rotations. I’m going to be with foreign affairs next week.”

Harry gasps in hurt, glancing over at her. “You don’t wanna be in homicide? Is it because I’m grumpy?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s not you, Harry.. And I love homicide, the thrill is amazing! It’s just that I still have other departments to experience, you know, that’s what an internship is for.”

“Believe me, you aren’t gonna find any other department as interesting as this. But yes, you’re right. You have time to decide.”

The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, just the sound of the rain tapping on the windshield. When they finally reach her flat, Harry pulls up to the curb, parking the car in front of the building. He looks over at her, his voice quiet, with that same concern in it.

"You sure you’ll be okay getting inside? It’s late, and it’s still raining pretty bad."

Y/N nods, though she can’t hide the weariness in her eyes."Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, Harry."

He doesn’t move, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to say something more, but instead, he opens his door and steps out, walking around the car to open hers.

He holds the umbrella over her as they step out into the rain, his arm wrapping around her back and her arm as he keeps her close and they walk side by side toward her building. The air is cool, and the rain falls steadily, but there’s something about the closeness of the moment that makes it feel almost intimate.

When they reach her door, Harry stops, looking at her with that same quiet intensity. "You’re getting some sleep tonight. No excuses."

Y/N can’t help but smile at his persistence, the kind of care that’s always just under the surface of his gruff exterior."I promise. I’ll get some rest."

Harry doesn’t move immediately, his gaze lingering on her face. There’s an almost unspoken weight in the air now, a subtle shift between them. Without thinking, Y/N reaches out and touches his arm, her fingers brushing against his sleeve.

“Thanks for everything, Harry. Really."

His eyes flicker down to where her hand rests on his arm, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. Slowly, he lifts his free hand, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, and Y/N feels her heart race at the intimacy of it.

His voice is low, and a bit hoarse."Anytime. You don’t have to thank me."

The tension between them lingers in the rain-soaked air. Harry steps back, holding the umbrella just a little closer to her to shield her from the downpour. Then he whispers softly, "Sleep well, Y/N."

He gives her a soft smile before turning to leave. Y/N watches him walk away, her heart still fluttering from the small but meaningful moments they’ve shared. The rain still falls, but in that quiet moment, everything feels a little different—like they’ve crossed a line, even if just for a moment.

As she walks into her apartment, she can’t help but replay his words and the feeling of his touch, knowing that whatever happens next, something between them has changed.

_____________________________________________

Y/N enters the quarters, the soft click of the door barely audible as she steps inside. The usual hum of chatter and playful teasing is absent, replaced by an air of tension that hangs thick in the room. Her eyes quickly scan the group of agents—none of them in their usual good-natured moods, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Something’s off.

Her gaze lands on Harry, talking quietly with someone behind his glass office door. He looks serious, his posture rigid, eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in conversation about something important. Y/N walks to Nora who’s sitting at her desk, the usual casual grin replaced by a solemn expression.

"Hey, what’s going on? Why’s everyone so serious today?"

The agent looks up. "We got a lead on the Rotherl case. Word is, he has a fourth hostage with him. Cole and Eliza managed to track down where he should be right now and we’re just waiting on Harry’s word to go.”

“A fourth hostage?”, she gasps. She wasn’t part of the team during the investigation of the Rothel murders but she had read up all about it. He was one of the most wanted men, who kidnapped his victims before killing them. He had already killed three innocent people, leaving no traces behind him. If they had a lead on him, that was amazing.

She glances toward Harry’s office, where he’s still deep in conversation, his jaw clenched. Before she can ask more, the door opens, and Harry steps out, his sharp gaze scanning the room. “Let’s go, everyone. I’ve called for backup. Matthews, Carter, good job. Now let’s wrap this up.”

“This mother fucker has had enough of a run.”, Eliza mutters, strapping on her bullet proof west and tossing the other to her partner. 

Y/N’s been with the team for weeks now, and in that time, Harry’s allowed her to tag along when things got tense, letting her learn the ropes. She can’t imagine being left behind on something so big, not now.

She grabs her things, ready to move with the team, but Harry catches her before she gets too far, his lean fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Not this time, Y/N.", he says, his voice firm, with no room for negotiation.

Y/N freezes, her heart sinking at his words. She’s about to protest, but she catches the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and something else she can’t quite place. She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Come on, Harry. I’ve been with you through worse. You know I can handle it."

“It’s not about how much you can handle, y/n. This is a mad man, and you don’t even have a gun to defend yourself.”

“But I’m trained to fight, and I can use a gun if someone throws it to me-”

“-y/l/n.”, Harry cuts her off with his classic stern face. She hasn’t gotten her gun license yet, she’ll get that only after she becomes an agent after her exams, but she’s already done with all her training. He’s trying to protect her, she realizes. Still, she won’t back down so easily.

"You can’t keep me in the dark. I want to be there with you guys.”, she says firmly.

Harry stares at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if weighing the risk. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

He reluctantly agrees. "Fine. You can come. But you stay in the car. Understood?"

Y/N’s heart skips, but she hides her smile, knowing she’s won this small battle. She nods, her voice determined.

 "Understood.”

Harry studies her for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge if she’s really going to stick to her word. When he finally nods, there’s something like relief in his eyes, mixed with the ever-present worry that seems to linger with him.

"Good. But if you step one foot out of that car, I swear I’ll drag your ass back inside myself.”

Y/N chuckles lightly, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. “Got it, sir.”

As Harry turns to lead the team out, Y/N follows behind, a mixture of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. This was more than just another case. It was a dangerous one, and she was in it, even if only on the sidelines. 

“Here, y/n, put this on.”, Ethan comes to her with a bullet proof vest just like everyone else’s. She didn’t think she’d need one sitting in the car, but she put it on, not wanting to start another argument with an agent.

They pile into the cars, the tension in the air thick as they head toward the high-risk location. Y/N’s fingers tap nervously on her lap as she watches Harry in the rearview mirror, his eyes already set on the mission ahead, and she can’t help but feel, even in the midst of everything, that tonight could change something between them.

The car rolled to a stop a few blocks from the dilapidated building. The air outside felt damp from the rain that had just stopped falling, but the tension was thick, and the city streets seemed unusually silent, despite the flashing lights of squad cars surrounding the area.

Y/N leaned forward in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to the building in front of them. The usual lighthearted banter between the team was gone.She could see Harry’s figure through the windshield as he stepped out of the car, his dark coat flaring behind him like a shadow as he walked toward the rest of the team.

She saw the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his body was braced for the weight of what they were about to face. His focus was sharper tonight, sharper than usual. He was already in the thick of it, mentally preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the seat, but she stayed silent. Harry moved with precision, the rest of the team falling in behind him as they gathered around him. The air between them was charged, the kind of energy that only came when everything was on the line.

She heard Harry’s calm voice through his earpiece, “Position yourselves around the building. No one moves unless I give the word.”

Y/N nodded along with the rest of the team, even though Harry couldn’t see it. Her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze shifted from Harry to the building—dark and looming against the city skyline. She could barely make out the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Rothel. The man who had committed violent crimes. And now, he was holding someone else hostage.

Y/N exhaled slowly, gripping the seat tighter. The girl in the doorway, only a teenager by the looks of it, was standing frozen in place, her face pale with fear. Rothel had a gun to her forehead, and she heard him yell out something, but couldn’t make out what it was. Harry raised a hand to the rest of the team, signalling them to hold off.

She could hear Harry. “Rothel, listen to me. Let her go. We don’t need any more bloodshed. Just put the gun down.”

She couldn’t see Harry’s face from the car, but Y/N knew how carefully he must have been approaching the situation. His voice never cracked, but there was an undercurrent of urgency there—just enough to show he was trying to negotiate without pushing Rothel over the edge.

The earpiece crackled with static, and then Rothel’s voice, sharp and filled with fury, came through.

Rothel growled. “I don’t want to hear your deals. If you don’t back the fuck off, I’ll shoot her right here.”

Y/N’s hands went ice-cold. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. She swallowed hard, wishing there was something she could do, some way she could help, but all she could do was watch—wait—and pray that Harry could talk him down.

Harry’s voice came again, steady and unwavering.

“You don’t want to do this, Rothel. Let her go. We can work something out. Just... put the gun down. It’s not too late.”

Y/N’s eyes were fixed on the building as the tension in the air grew heavier. There was a shift, a subtle movement at one of the upper windows. She squinted, her heart dropping as she realized the figure there wasn’t just an observer—he was armed, and his sights were set on Harry.

Her breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she saw the man preparing to act. Without thinking twice, Y/N grabbed her earpiece, trying to warn the others, but there was no time for that. The danger was too immediate.

She threw open the car door, barely pausing before sprinting toward the building. Every step was fueled by a sense of urgency, her mind racing. She couldn’t let him hurt Harry.

Y/N reached the back of the building and found a staircase leading up. She didn’t hesitate as she ascended quickly, her heart thumping in her chest. At the top, she paused, ears straining for any sound—anything that would give away the shooter’s position.

There, at the far end of the hallway, the man stood, oblivious to Y/N’s approach. She didn’t think, she just moved. Silent and quick, she rushed toward him, tackling him off balance. They hit the ground, but the struggle wasn’t over.

“Move out of my way unless you want me to kill you, bitch.”, he growled.

“Oh you can try.”, she growled back.

The man pushed back, trying to regain his footing, but Y/N used every ounce of her strength to keep him down. He fought back, his hands grabbing at her, but she was faster—more determined.

In the chaos, she was struck hard, sending her crashing into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the growing pain. She couldn’t let him get to Harry. He needed to save that girl.

She heard gun shots from below and something that sounded like a cry of relief from the hostage, then she heard Harry’s voice through her fallen earpiece. “He’s down, great job team.” She made the mistake of letting her guard down for one second, in relief, and that’s when the man managed to rise to his feet and point the gun at her.

She heard Harry’s voice again, through her earpiece, now panicked. “Y/N, where are you? Answer me.”

Her vision swam from the dizziness, but she forced herself to focus. The man looked down and groaned in frustration. y/n laughed. “Guess your little plan didn’t work out, huh?”

“It was a good plan, now it’s all ruined because of you. Did you think I was joking when I said I’d kill you?”

“Y/N?”, she heard footsteps and Harry’s voice. 

“Harry!”, she called back, panic starting to rise in her chest. The gun was pointed at her, so she couldn’t risk moving. 

Harry points his own gun at the man. “Put it down right now, you sick bastard.”

y/n closed her eyes as she heard two shots fire at the same time. Then she heard a big thud. Suddenly, there was pain shooting through her body. The pain was overwhelming, but there was something else—disbelief, confusion, and the shock of what had just happened.

She had been shot.

She was brought back from her dazed state by Harry’s panicked, almost broken, voice, “Y/N, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay..don’t worry, o-okay?”

She could hear the crack in his voice, the fear that only came when someone was truly scared of losing someone they cared about. Her heart fluttered weakly in her chest at the realization. Her thoughts weren’t on the blood soaking her arm or the pain threatening to consume her. They were on Harry. He was here. He was with her. And as she fought to keep her eyes open, the last thing she heard was him calling her name, desperately holding onto her in the chaos of it all.

____________________________________________

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[killerplink]

🌃NIGHT RIDE🌃

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 8,4k

Plot: You can't sleep, so Dick takes you out for a late ride ✨ (a little makeup for yesterday's angst, besties 🙂‍↕️)

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, creampie, public sex, praise, aftercare, rough sex, fluff

You can't sleep.

It's too hot under the sheets, too cold without them, and no matter how much you shift, you can't seem to find a position that doesn't leave you feeling restless. Your body is wired, thoughts buzzing, keeping you stuck in that awful in-between state—too awake to drift off, too exhausted to do anything else.

And of course, Dick notices. He always does. Even half-asleep, he picks up on the way you toss and turn, the little huffs of frustration you let out when you can't get comfortable, the way your body shifts just a little too much, disturbing the stillness of the night. For a while, he lets you try, gives you space to settle, but when you roll over again with another sigh, he finally moves.

A warm hand slides over your waist, his voice low and heavy with sleep as he murmurs, "Baby, what's wrong?"

You exhale sharply, staring up at the ceiling. "I just... I can't sleep."

His nose nudges against your shoulder, lips brushing over your bare skin. "Mmm. Want me to help?"

And it's sweet, the way he asks, the way his fingers trace slow, absentminded circles against your stomach like he's already trying to soothe you, but you shake your head.

"I don't know. I don't think I can stay still."

Dick hums, his thumb sweeping over your skin. "Then let's go for a ride."

It takes you a second to process what he means, and when you do, you blink, surprised. "Right now?"

"Yeah," he breathes, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with a soft little grin, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. "Come on, pretty girl. You always like it."

And... yeah. He's right. There's something about riding with him that clears your head, that settles something deep inside you. The cool night air, the hum of the city passing by, the steady, solid warmth of him right in front of you—it always helps.

So you don't argue. You just nod, and in the next few minutes, you're slipping into clothes, following him down to the garage, watching as he swings one leg over his bike and settles onto the seat like he was born for it. Which, honestly, he kind of was.

Dick Grayson and motorcycles just make sense. The way his body moves with them, the way he handles them like they're an extension of himself. It's effortless. Fluid. And when he turns to look at you, offering his hand so you can climb on behind him, you don't hesitate.

You slide into place, pressing against his back, your arms wrapping around his waist, and the second he feels you holding onto him, he glances back again.

"You ready?"

You nod, and with that, he kicks up the stand, rolls out of the garage, and then, you're flying. The wind rushes past you as he speeds through the quiet, empty streets, the city still and half-asleep at this hour, Gotham's usual chaos simmered down to a rare kind of peace. Streetlights flicker past, casting long, golden streaks over the road, and the further he takes you from the towering skyline, the calmer you feel.

You press your cheek against his back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, and when he feels it, he squeezes your thigh gently, his voice warm, teasing.

"You fall asleep on me, baby?"

You smile, shaking your head. "No."

"Good." He speeds up a little, the deep purr of the engine vibrating beneath you, and it makes you hold onto him a little tighter, makes your fingers press a little firmer against his stomach. "Almost there."

You don't ask where—he always finds the best places. The hidden little spots tucked away from the city's noise, where the sky stretches wide and the night feels softer, quieter. And true to form, after a few more turns, he pulls onto a secluded overlook, the kind of place that feels secret, like it belongs only to the two of you.

When the bike rumbles to a stop, he kills the engine, kicking the stand down, and as the quiet settles, you take a slow breath, letting it fill your lungs. The air is cooler here, cleaner, untouched by Gotham's usual smog, and in the distance, the lights of the city twinkle faintly against the horizon. It's beautiful.

Dick shifts, glancing back at you with a small smile. "Better?"

You nod. "Yeah."

He watches you for a second, his gaze flicking over your face like he's making sure, like he's double-checking that the tension that had been keeping you up is really gone. And then, he turns fully, swinging his leg off the bike, reaching for you.

"C'mere, love."

You let him help you off, let him pull you close, his hands finding your waist as he leans back against the bike, guiding you between his legs. And for a moment, neither of you say anything. You just stand there, his warmth against you, your arms resting over his shoulders as the night stretches around you.

Then—softly, like it's instinct—he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You hum, tilting your head just slightly, teasing. "That's all?"

His hands tighten at your waist, just a little. "That depends."

"On?"

"If you want more."

And oh, you do. So you kiss him, deep and unhurried, sinking into the press of his lips, the slow drag of his mouth over yours. His hands move, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, while the other settles lower, gripping your hip, keeping you close.

You melt against him, letting your fingers scrape up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his body tensing under your touch. You don't miss the way his grip tightens on you, the way his fingers flex like he's trying to keep himself in check, trying not to pull you in even closer, trying not to let himself get too lost in you.

But you want him lost. So you shift, pressing yourself against him fully, pressing your thighs between his, pressing your chest to his, pressing your mouth harder against his until his restraint starts to slip, until that soft, teasing kiss turns into something else, something heavier.

And then—

Oh, then he's kissing you like he means it. Like he needs it. It's hungrier now, deeper, his tongue sliding past your lips, his hands tightening at your waist, his body shifting, pushing up against you like he can't help himself. And God, you feel it—the heat rolling off him, the way his breath comes a little faster, the way his hips shift ever so slightly against yours, slow, testing, like he's gauging your reaction.

And when you sigh against his lips, letting your nails drag down the back of his neck, he makes a low, rough sound in response, his grip on you tightening, his mouth pressing harder, deeper, hungrier. It's not enough. You need more.

And from the way his hands start to roam, the way his hips press forward just a little more insistently, the way he kisses you like he's about to devour you whole—

So does he. You feel him.

The thick press of him, hard and throbbing against you, even through the layers of clothes between you. The heat of his body, the way his hands slide lower, fingers gripping at your ass, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him. He groans when you grind against him, when your hips roll just slightly, when you suck on his tongue, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

It's messy, hot and wet, your mouth moving over his, his fingers flexing against you, like he's barely holding on, like he's losing himself in the way you kiss him, in the way you push against him, in the way you sigh into his mouth like you need this just as much as he does.

And then, he pulls back, just barely, just enough to catch his breath, his lips slick, his pupils blown wide, his voice a little hoarse as he murmurs, "Do you wanna turn back?"

You shake your head immediately. And really, he should've known.

Because you're his wild girl, his reckless girl, the one who never holds back when you want something, the one who doesn't care who might see when you're desperate for him, the one who looks at him like you could eat him whole and wouldn't even mind if someone caught you in the act.

And right now, looking at you, seeing the hunger in your eyes, the heat in your flushed cheeks, the way your lips are still parted, still slick from kissing him—

Who the fuck is he to say no to you?

So he doesn't. He just slides one hand down, slow and deliberate, slipping behind you, fingers brushing over the curve of your ass, then lower, between your legs.

A sharp, shallow breath leaves you when he finds your pussy, rubbing you through your leggings, pressing his fingers against the damp fabric, feeling just how fucking wet you already are.

"Shit," he exhales, low and rough, his forehead dropping against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth as he groans. "You're soaked, baby."

And you are. Just from kissing him.

Just from the way he touches you, the way he sounds, the way he looks at you like he's barely holding himself back. It should be embarrassing, how easy it is for him, how it doesn't matter that it's been years since you've been together, he still turns you on like crazy, still gets you dripping before he even really touches you, still makes your body react like it's the first time, every fucking time.

And when he presses his fingers a little firmer, rubbing you through the damp cotton, you can't help it—you moan softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt, your breath coming a little faster, a little heavier. Dick groans, his hips shifting, his cock pressing harder against your stomach, and fuck—you want him. You need him.

So you slip a hand between your bodies, pressing your palm against his dick through his sweatpants, rubbing him, feeling how thick and hard he is, how he twitches under your touch, how his breath shudders just slightly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing just a little.

A heavy sigh leaves him, low and throaty, his hips pushing into your hand, his fingers pressing harder against your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit.

Your breath shudders as he slides his hand into your leggings, slipping past the waistband, past the thin lace of your panties, straight to your dripping cunt. His fingers brush through the slick mess between your legs, slow and teasing, just barely grazing your entrance, just enough to have you gasping, to have your hips twitching forward, desperate for more.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice low and rough against your ear, fingers spreading through your wetness, gathering it up, smearing it over your clit in slow, lazy circles. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby."

You whimper, clutching at his arms, your legs going a little weak as he finally presses one thick finger inside you, sinking deep, curling just slightly.

"Jesus," he groans, his lips dragging over your cheek, over your jaw, his breath heavy, his cock twitching against your stomach. "You're fucking dripping."

And you are.

You're soaked, so wet he slides in easily, so turned on you can feel yourself squeezing around him already, so desperate you barely think before you murmur, "I need you inside me, baby."

That does it.

His breath hitches, his grip on you tightening for a split second before he snaps, voice rough as he growls, "Bend over the bike."

And you don't even hesitate. You turn, your body moving before your mind catches up, hands pressing against the seat as you arch your back, offering yourself up to him.

His breath shudders out, rough and uneven, and his hands are on you immediately—gripping your hips, smoothing up your sides.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. "Bend over a little more for me... yeah, just like that. Spread your legs, let me see you."

You do as he says without hesitation, shifting, arching deeper, pressing your palms against the seat as you widen your stance. His hands guide you, thumbs stroking over your skin, voice warm and approving.

"Perfect," he breathes, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pressing your legs open a little more. "Knew you'd listen so good for me, baby. Always so good."

But then—

Dick steps behind you, his fingers curling into the waistband of your leggings and panties, yanking them down to your knees in one smooth motion, exposing you to the cool night air. His hands slide up the back of your thighs, spreading your legs a little wider, guiding you, making sure you're exactly how he wants you.

And you expect him to fuck you. You expect him to grab your hips, line himself up, push inside you, give you exactly what you're aching for. But instead, he pauses, and you hear his breath hitch.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, voice strained, like he's just seen the most tempting thing in the world.

You shift slightly, glancing over your shoulder, lips parting to ask what's wrong, but—

"Dick..." you murmur.

"I wanna taste you, baby," he rasps.

And then, he's on his knees. Before you can say anything, before you can even process it, his hands are gripping your ass, spreading you open, and then his tongue is on you, hot and wet, licking straight through your folds.

"Oh—fuck," you gasp, your fingers clenching around the seat, your thighs trembling as he buries his face between your legs, licking deep, slow, dragging his tongue over your cunt like he's starving for it.

And he is. He's losing his fucking mind.

Because you're soaked, so warm, so fucking sweet on his tongue, and the way you moan, the way you arch into it, the way you give yourself to him so easily—

It drives him insane.

His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your ass, pulling you open even wider as he licks deeper, his tongue flicking against your clit, then dipping back up, fucking into your pussy, tasting everything you have to give him.

You're moaning, gasping, pushing back against his mouth, and he loves this.

Loves how desperate you sound, loves how your thighs tremble, loves how messy and filthy and fucking perfect you are like this.

And he's so good. Better than anyone you've ever had. Because he knows exactly how to eat pussy, knows exactly how to make you fall apart, knows exactly when to press his tongue against your clit, when to push it inside you, when to suck, when to go slow, when to speed up.

And right now? Right now, he's making you fucking lose it.

You can feel it, the heat coiling in your stomach, the tension winding tight, your body tensing up as his tongue moves over you, pushing deeper, licking faster, his hands gripping your hips, holding you still so you take it, so you let him ruin you.

And fuck, does he ruin you.

His tongue drags through your slick folds, savoring the taste of you, groaning like he's the one getting off on this. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, keeping you exactly where he wants you—right here, bent over for him, spread and dripping, his to devour.

"God, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing against your cunt, the heat of his breath making you shudder. "You taste so fucking good."

Then he's back on you, mouth hot, tongue relentless, flicking over your clit in quick, teasing strokes before dipping back down, fucking into you, pushing as deep as he can, like he's trying to pull your orgasm out with nothing but his mouth. And shit, it's working.

You moan, high and needy, your thighs trembling as he eats you out like he has all the time in the world. He hums against your cunt, the vibration sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you, and you jerk forward, almost losing your balance, but his hands are there, strong and steady, keeping you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he's burying his face even deeper, tongue working you open, licking into you like he's starving. Your body jerks again, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips, and he groans, loving it, loving how wrecked you are for him.

"That's it, baby," he mutters, voice rough, breathless. "Give me everything."

And you do. You can't help it. The pleasure is too much, winding tighter, burning hotter, your body teetering on the edge, your moans turning into frantic little gasps. He feels it, the way you're shaking, the way your body clenches, and he knows—he fucking knows.

"Cum for me," he rasps, sucking your clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking over it in tight, fast strokes, relentless. "Cum all over my tongue, baby, let me taste it."

And then, it snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and sharp and so fucking good, your body shaking, your moans breaking, your fingers clawing at the bike seat as he fucks you through it with his tongue, licking you like he needs it, like he lives for this, groaning against your pussy, his lips wet, his face buried between your legs as he drinks you down.

And all you can think, all you can fucking feel, is how much you love this, how much you love him, how no one has ever, ever made you cum like this, like they know your body inside and out, like they own it.

Like Dick does. And he's not even done yet.

He knows he should stop. He should give you a break, should let you catch your breath, should let the aftershocks of your orgasm fade before he touches you again.

But he can't.

Because you're so fucking pretty like this—your body still trembling, your pussy swollen and soaked, your thighs quivering as you try to come down. And he loves you so much, but he also loves the way you fall apart when he overstimulates you, loves the way you whimper when he keeps licking you, loves how you try to squirm away but don't really mean it.

So he doesn't let you.

His hands tighten around your thighs, his grip firm, holding you there, keeping you spread, keeping you open, keeping you exactly where he wants you. And then he licks you again. Slowly, softly, just a teasing flick of his tongue against your swollen little clit.

Then another, just as light, just as lazy. His breath is hot against your drenched cunt, and he hums like he's savoring the taste, like he's enjoying the way your hips twitch, the way your body reacts even before your mind can catch up. He drags his tongue lower, tracing the mess he's made of you, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, catching the slick, the warmth, the leftover pulse of your orgasm.

And then he moans against you, low and deep, the vibration sinking into your skin, making your legs jolt in his grip. He's drowning in it, in you, in the way your pussy is still fluttering, still so puffy and needy even after everything.

His mouth is hot and wet as he kisses your clit again, this time with more pressure, and when he flicks his tongue just right, he groans like he can't help himself, like he's the one getting wrecked from how fucking good you feel.

And you sob out his name. "Dick—fuck, please—"

But he doesn't stop. He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking slow, lazy circles, making sure you feel everything, making sure you take it, dragging his tongue through the mess he's made of you, humming as he laps at you, flicking his tongue just right.

Until you're whimpering. Until your thighs are shaking. Until you're trying to pull away, trying to lift yourself off the bike, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. But his hands hold you firm, keeping you there, making you feel all of it, until you're gasping, until you're pleading.

"Dick, please, I can't—I need you to fuck me, baby, please—"

That snaps him out of it.

His mouth leaves you with a final, wet kiss to your clit, his chest heaving as he presses one last, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Then he's nipping at your ass, kneading it, squeezing it, letting himself feel you, letting himself worship you. And then, he gets up. And fuck, he's so hard.

His dick aches, straining against his sweatpants, desperate to be inside you, to feel your tight little pussy squeezing around him, to fuck you the way he knows you need. He pulls himself out, his dick heavy in his hand, the head flushed, leaking precum. He groans softly as he slides it between your legs, pressing it against your soaked folds, sliding it through the slick mess, coating himself in your arousal.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters, watching the way his dick glides so easily through your wetness, watching how your slick clings to him in strings as he drags the tip through your folds, bumping against your swollen clit. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me."

And then, he pushes in. The head of his cock stretches you open, slow and deep, sinking inside your tight, drenched cunt, pressing in inch by inch, splitting you open around him. And you still struggle to take him, still stretch tight around his thick cock, still feel yourself pulse, struggling to accommodate him even after all this time.

But you love it.

You love how big he is, how good he feels, how he always makes you feel so fucking full, like you're made for him, like you need this, need him. And he loves it too.

Loves how tight you are, how needy, how your pussy clenches around him as he pushes deeper, struggling to take all of him, struggling to handle it but trying anyway, because you always do, because you always take him so fucking well.

"Jesus, baby," he groans, his head falling forward, his hands gripping your hips, his breath ragged as he bottoms out with a slick little squelch, his dick buried all the way inside you.

You shudder, your whole body trembling, your fingers gripping the seat, a broken whimper spilling from your lips. And he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, pressing his lips to your ear, his voice low, sweet, warm.

"You okay, pretty girl?"

You nod frantically. "Yes—yes, baby, please, move—"

And with a moan, he does. Slow, long thrusts, dragging his cock out almost all the way before pressing back inside, giving you everything, filling you completely, making sure you feel all of him with every deep, slow stroke.

And fuck, how can he not?

You're so good for him, so wet, so hot, squeezing his dick like you never want him to leave, and he needs to give you everything, has to make you feel good, has to let you feel how much he fucking loves you.

His hands slip under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, finding your tits, teasing your nipples as his cock thrusts into you, slow and deep, groaning into your ear, lost in the way your pussy grips him, lost in the way you moan for him, lost in the way you let him ruin you.

Dick groans against your ear, voice thick with arousal, breath hot against your skin as he keeps you right where he wants you—pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you, his cock buried deep inside your soaked little cunt.

And fuck, he can feel you.

The way your pussy clenches around him with every slow, deep thrust. The way your walls flutter when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you gasp. The way your slick coats his cock, dripping down his length, soaking him in your arousal.

"God, baby," he mutters, dragging his lips along your neck, licking, sucking, nipping, loving the way you shudder against him. "You feel so fucking good. Always so fucking tight for me."

His fingers slide over your tits, teasing your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he fucks you—slow, deep, shallow thrusts, grinding into you, making sure you feel it, making sure you take it all, making sure you know how much he loves this, how much he loves you.

And your little moans—fuck, they drive him crazy. So sweet. So needy. So fucking perfect.

"Love your pussy, baby," he breathes, dragging his tongue along your throat, nipping at your jaw, rolling his hips into you just right to make you whimper. "So wet for me. So fucking soft. Always take my dick so well, don't you?"

You moan, your hands gripping his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he grinds deeper, making your breath hitch, making your body tremble. And then, his hand slides lower. Fingers dipping between your thighs, finding your swollen little clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.

And God, your whole body shakes.

Your moan breaks into a whimper, your cunt clenching so tightly around his cock that he groans against your throat, his hips stuttering, his fingers pressing firmer against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your thighs quiver.

"Yeah, that's it," he breathes, kissing the corner of your jaw, murmuring soft little praises into your ear, words meant just for you. "Feels good, baby? Love when I fuck you like this? Love when I take my time with you?"

You nod frantically, gasping when his fingers press just right, rubbing you so perfectly in sync with his thrusts, fucking you so deep, so slow, like he's savoring every second. And he is.

Because you drive him crazy. Because he loves you more than anything. Because he loves the way you fall apart in his arms, the way your little gasps turn to soft, needy moans, the way you tremble when he whispers in your ear, the way you whimper when he tells you—

"So fucking pretty, baby." His lips brush your ear, voice sweet, voice filthy. "So good for me. Love you so much. Love this perfect little pussy, all wet and warm for me, squeezing me so tight. Made for me, huh?"

And you sob out a moan, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around his dick, making him groan, making his fingers work your clit just a little faster, making you whimper as he thrusts slow and deep, keeping you right on the edge, keeping you panting, trembling, desperate.

"C'mon, sweet girl," Dick murmurs, voice thick with want, slow and sweet and hot against your ear. "Wanna feel you cum on my dick, baby."

His fingers press down on your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make you whimper, that make your whole body tremble against him. And he knows—he knows you're close, knows exactly how to keep you there, hovering on that edge, making it last, making you feel everything.

And God, the way your pussy clenches around him, the way you squeeze all the precum from his dick, making every slow thrust sloppier, slicker—fuck, it drives him crazy.

"Feel that?" he breathes, rolling his hips slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch, making sure you feel how his dick drags inside you, stretching you open, making you shiver. "Feel how wet you are? Fuck, baby, you're dripping for me."

And you are. You can feel it—feel how your pussy grips him with every slow, deep thrust, feel how his dick slides against your walls, so slick, so fucking good, feel how his fingers rub your clit just right, how his body is solid and hot against yours, how he fucks you so good your thoughts scramble.

It's too much, it's not enough, you need more, you need him to ruin you.

"Dick," you gasp, clutching at his arms, nails digging into his skin, body shaking against his.

And he knows.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, his voice soothing, his fingers pressing a little firmer, rubbing a little faster, his dick grinding deep, grinding right against that spot that makes you sob. "You gonna cum for me?"

And well, you can't stop it. The thick stretch of him, the way he splits you open, the way you still struggle to take him, even after all this time, like your pussy was made for him, like it's still adjusting, still molding around his dick every time he fucks you.

And God, the curve of him—it drives you crazy. The way it presses against every sensitive spot inside you, the way it drags so deep, so perfect, the way he angles his hips just right, making you shudder, making your breath hitch, making you feel everything.

He knows exactly what he's doing, knows exactly how to fuck you, knows exactly how to make you fall apart, and he loves it.

Loves feeling your pussy squeeze around him, loves how wet you are, how slick and messy and slippery, loves how your little whimpers turn into breathless moans, how your whole body trembles against him, how you fucking lose yourself on his dick.

And God, he loves his girl. Loves how you take him, loves how you want him, loves the way you beg, the way you moan, the way you don't care where you are, don't care if anyone sees, don't care about anything except how good he makes you feel.

Your whole body shudders, your pussy pulses, squeezing his dick, making a mess, your slick coating him, soaking his thighs, your legs shaking as the pleasure crashes over you, deep and wet and sloppy, and Dick groans, because you feel so fucking good.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, groaning against your skin as he fucks you through it, slow and deep, letting you feel it, letting you ride it out, letting your cunt milk his dick, squeezing him tight, making him throb. "There we go, pretty girl. Just like that. Just like that, baby."

And you sob, your body wracked with pleasure, your pussy clenching around his dick, dragging out every slow, sweet second of your orgasm. But it's not enough.

Your whole body is still buzzing, your nerves lit up, your thighs shaking, your breath coming in gasps, your heart hammering, and you want more, you need more, you need him.

"More," you whimper, voice needy, breathless, head falling back against his shoulder as you beg, "I want more, please—"

And he gives it to you, no hesitation. Because he loves fucking you. Loves fucking you however you want, however you need. But like this? Slow and lazy, rolling his hips into you, feeling every little shiver, every little whimper, making sure you feel it, making sure you take it?

Yeah, this is his favorite.

Because God, you're so good for him. And he's gonna make sure you know it. And it's sloppy, messy and wet, the sounds of it obscene, your slick coating him, making every thrust loud, making his dick glisten every time he pulls back, only to sink back into you, thick and hot and deep.

And it's so good. Your body trembling, your legs weak, his arms strong around you, keeping you in place, keeping you right where he wants you, right where you need to be. And his voice—low and rough and wrecked against your ear, telling you how good you feel, how tight you are, how fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, sucking a mark into your throat, hand slipping down between your legs again, fingers teasing your clit, circling it slow, firm, right in time with the slow drag of his dick. "You're so wet, fuck—dripping all over me, you hear that?"

And God, you do. You hear everything.

The slick, obscene sounds of your pussy, the wet slap of his hips against your ass, the breathless little moans spilling from your lips, the low, deep groans of his own, rumbling through his chest, against your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

And he knows you're close again, knows your body too well, knows the way you tense, the way your walls flutter around his dick, knows the way your little gasps turn breathless, shaky—knows exactly how to push you over the edge.

"Cum for me, baby," he breathes, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit, just enough, just right, pressing harder, thrusting deeper, fucking you slow and deep and so, so good.

With a sharp, broken gasp, your whole body locks up, pussy tightening, squeezing down hard around him, and he groans, breath shuddering, arms tightening around you as he fucks you through it, lets you ride it out, lets you lose yourself on his dick, lets you drown in it. And God, you do.

The pleasure hitting you in waves, crashing over you, rolling through you, heat rushing down your spine, leaving you wrecked, leaving you gasping, shaking, still grinding back against him, because you need more, need him, need everything.

And he gives it to you. Because of course he does. He's a giver, always has been, always will be, and he's still so fucking hard inside you.

Still throbbing, still fucking you slow, dragging every last bit of pleasure out of you, making sure you feel everything.

Every inch of his dick, every curve, every ridge and vein, every pulse, every slow, deep thrust—

And you're still so needy.

Still desperate, still trembling, still aching for more, still chasing it, rolling your hips back against him, moaning softly, pleading without words. And fuck, he loves it. Loves how much you want him, how much you need him, loves how good you are for him, how perfect.

And God, he wants to cum inside you. Even though he always does, even though he always pumps you full, he still fucking wants it, still needs to hear you say it, and he knows you will. Because you love it.

So when he whispers, "You want my cum?"

You fucking whimper. Nod frantically, grinding back against him, breathless, desperate, murmuring, "Yes, baby, please, I need it."

That's all he needs. All he ever fucking needs. And then he gives it to you.

A little harder, a little faster, hips snapping against your ass, dick fucking into you, long and deep, chasing his release, groaning against your neck, panting against your skin, moaning your name.

And it wrecks you.

The way he moans for you, the way he fucks you so deep, the way his body tenses, muscles flexing, his arms strong around you, the way his hand stays between your legs, the way he presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, firm, so fucking good.

And you cum again. Sharp and sudden and overwhelming, moaning so loud, your whole body locking up, pussy pulsing, squeezing tight around his dick. And fuck, he loses it. Groaning loud, moaning into your neck, his hips stutter, slamming deep one last time as his body shudders against yours.

His dick throbs, pulsing, pumping thick, hot ropes of cum into your cunt, filling you up just the way you love. It's so much, so hot, spilling deep, coating your walls, and you whimper, arching against him, squeezing him tighter like you can't get enough.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, his breath ragged against your skin. "You feel that?"

You do. You feel every hot pulse, every slick, messy drip of his cum inside you. Your pussy flutters, clenching down on him, milking every last drop from his still-twitching dick, greedily keeping him inside.

His hands flex on your hips, keeping you steady, keeping you in place, and he swears under his breath as he feels you squeezing him like that, like you never want to let him go. His cum seeps out in slow, sticky dribbles, slicking your thighs, but he doesn't pull out, not yet.

He presses his body flush against yours, murmuring, "Fuck, I love filling you up, baby. Love keeping you full of me."

And God, you love it too. Love the heat of it, love the way it fills you up, love the way it spills out, love the way he gasps, the way his whole body shudders. Love how fucking wrecked he is, how fucking gone he is, how fucking perfect he makes you feel.

His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you back against him, his dick slipping deeper, pushing his cum further inside your pussy. His breath is hot against your skin as he groans, the sound rough and needy, matching the way his hands spread you open, watching the way your slick, mixed with his release, coats his length as he slides in and out.

"Fuck, baby, look at that," he murmurs, voice thick with lust, his thumbs digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock, each thrust just a little rougher, just a little filthier.

His eyes are locked on the way your cunt clenches around him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. "You love this, don't you?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers up your spine, making you arch for him. "Love when I fuck you full, keep you dripping, keep you messy for me."

Your moans are desperate, hands gripping onto the cool metal of his bike as he pounds into you, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

The way he stretches you open, the thick curve of his dick hitting deep, brushing against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you over and over, has your mind spinning. Every time he moves, you feel him pressing against your walls, filling you so completely, so perfectly, you can barely breathe. His hands slide up your waist, one reaching between your legs to rub slow, teasing circles against your swollen clit.

"Gotta make you cum again, baby," he groans, his thrusts getting rougher, his fingers pressing just right, his name tumbling from your lips in breathless moans.

Your pussy tightens around him, your walls fluttering, the pleasure building so fast it makes you dizzy. You whimper his name, your legs shaking, pleasure curling deep in your belly as he fucks you through it, his voice coaxing you over the edge.

"That's it, pretty girl. Give it to me. Show me how good it feels."

Your orgasm crashes over you, and he doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps fucking you through it, his fingers still rubbing, his dick still stretching you, filling you, making it last until you can't take it. Your body trembles, your voice breaking as you gasp for air, the pleasure so intense you can barely hold yourself up.

Your pussy clenches tight around him, throbbing, squeezing, so slick and swollen, overstimulated, every nerve sparking like a live wire. Your whole body quivers, and you let out a desperate, broken whimper, feeling the wet, messy squelch of his dick sliding in and out, pushing his own cum even deeper. It's too much, too good, your thighs shaking, your breath catching, your skin hot and damp.

And he still isn't done.

He grips your hips, fucking into you deeper, his pace relentless, chasing another release. "Gonna fill you up again, baby," he groans, his voice thick with lust, his body tense against yours. "Gonna pump you so full you feel me dripping down your thighs. You want that, don't you?"

You nod frantically, moaning, begging, "Yes, baby, please, I need it."

That's all it takes.

He groans, deep and raw, his pace getting erratic, desperate. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you onto his cock, thrusting deep, fast, his breath ragged, moans spilling into your ear as he finally snaps, spilling inside you with a low, filthy groan.

You shudder as the heat of it spreads through you, the way he throbs inside making you whimper, your walls fluttering around him, milking every last drop. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your skin, his hands smoothing over your waist, your stomach, possessive and tender.

"Fuck," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his hands still gripping you tight. "You take it so good, baby. So fucking good for me."

And even as he catches his breath, he rocks into you just a little more, just to feel how perfectly you fit around him, how fucking good you feel when you're full of his cum.

Your whole body shudders, wrecked from the pleasure, from the way he's fucked you so good and so deep, left you trembling, sobbing, barely able to keep yourself standing. Your knees threaten to buckle, but you don't fall—because he's there.

Strong and steady behind you, his chest warm against your back, his hands firm as they hold you up, keeping you in place while his dick still pulses faintly inside you. He's still so deep, still stretching you out, his cum thick and leaking from where he’s buried, seeping out slow, messy, coating your inner thighs in sticky warmth.

"Shhh, I've got you, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing against the back of your neck as he presses soft kisses there, slow and sweet, shushing you gently while his hands smooth over your waist. His thumbs rub comforting circles into your overheated skin, grounding you, letting you come back to yourself. "Breathe for me, love. You okay?"

You sniffle, body still shaking as you nod, and he lets out a quiet little chuckle, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, the damp curve of your cheek.

"So good for me," he praises, his voice all soft and warm, wrapping around you like something safe.

He stays like that, just holding you, keeping you steady while your heart slows, while your body catches up to itself, while your mind drifts back from the haze of pleasure. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, and he sighs, deep and content, letting his hands settle at your hips, thumbs stroking lazy, soothing lines over your skin.

After a while, he murmurs, "Ready to head back home and let me clean you up, baby?"

You hum, nodding sluggishly, all soft and spent, and the sound you make when he finally—finally—pulls out is a wrecked little whimper, a shuddering gasp as you feel the way he leaves you empty.

He kisses your cheek, murmuring, "I'm sorry, my love," because he knows how sensitive you are, how raw and used you feel, even as his cum spills out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs in thick, messy trails.

And the sight of it nearly ruins him.

His hands flex at your hips, and he has to force himself not to do it—not to spread you open and push it back inside, because that's exactly where it belongs, inside your pretty little pussy, keeping you full, making sure it stays. He bites his lip, exhaling hard, but then you shiver, and he blinks out of it, groaning softly as he tucks himself back into his sweatpants before sliding your panties and leggings back up.

You turn in his arms, sluggish, needy, clinging to him with tired limbs, and he lets you. He wraps you up tight, tucks you against his chest, his chin resting against the top of your head as he whispers, "I've got you, baby. It's okay. We'll be home soon, yeah?"

You nod, nuzzling against him, eyes heavy, body still trembling faintly in the aftermath, and he smiles, cupping the back of your head, stroking his fingers through your hair before he helps you back onto his bike. He makes sure you're settled, hands firm at your waist as you swing your leg over, and he knows.

He knows exactly what you feel when your panties, full of his cum, press up against your still-sensitive cunt, the slick warmth rubbing against you, making you suck in a sharp little breath as you shift against the seat.

His fingers squeeze at your hips, and his voice is low, teasing as he murmurs, "Feel that, baby?"

You bite your lip, nodding, and his grin turns wicked, but he doesn't push, doesn't tease you any more than that. He just pulls your arms around his waist, making sure you're snug against him, and then he starts the bike, the low rumble vibrating through you as he takes off, heading home.

And the whole way back, he's thinking about the mess between your legs, about the way you feel pressed up against him, warm and soft and still twitching slightly with aftershocks. His grip tightens on the handlebars, and he exhales hard through his nose, resisting the urge to push the speed higher, to get home faster, to lay you out and do it all over again.

But tonight—tonight he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in one of his t-shirts, and kiss your pretty face. By the time you make it home, you're already half-asleep against his back, your arms slack around his waist, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

He smiles as he parks, turning the engine off before squeezing your thigh, murmuring, "Baby, we're home."

You make a soft, sleepy sound, nuzzling against him, and his heart clenches at how sweet you are. He doesn't even make you move, just swings off the bike before helping you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. You blink up at him, dazed and adorable, and he can't help himself—he cups your face in both hands and kisses you, soft and lingering, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones.

"Let's get you inside, love," he murmurs against your lips.

But as soon as you take a step, your legs nearly give out, and he's got you before you can even think about falling. A small chuckle rumbles from his chest, warm and fond.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Without another word, he bends slightly and scoops you up into his arms, holding you close as he carries you inside. You don't protest, just tuck your face against his neck, breathing him in, the heat of his skin, the lingering scent of leather and the night air. He walks up the stairs effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, like holding you is the most natural thing in the world.

In the bathroom, he sets you down gently, keeping his hands on your waist until he’s sure you're steady. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby," he says, voice soft as he reaches in to turn on the shower, letting the water warm up.

Then he's undressing you, peeling away your clothes with slow, careful hands, pressing kisses to each inch of skin he reveals. You're already blinking sleepily at him, and that little pout he loves so much starts to form on your lips—unconscious, drowsy, so sweet it makes his chest ache. He smiles, running his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss it.

"My sweet, pouty girl," he murmurs against your mouth, teasing but impossibly fond.

He undresses too before stepping into the shower with you, guiding you under the warm spray. You sigh at the heat, your body melting against his as you press close, clinging to him with sleepy hands. He chuckles, smoothing his hands down your back, keeping you steady against him.

"You're so cute like this," he says, pressing a kiss to your damp hair.

He washes you both with slow, careful hands, massaging the shampoo into your scalp, rubbing gentle circles along your body, making sure to clean every inch of you. You hum softly as his fingers trace along your skin, your arms still wrapped around him, like you don't want to let go even for a second. Not that he minds—he loves when you get clingy like this, all warm and soft in his arms.

Once you're both clean, he turns the water off and grabs a towel, wrapping you up before lifting you into his arms again. You make a tiny noise of protest, burying your face in his chest, and he laughs, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

"I know, baby. I've got you."

He dries you off gently, warm towel brushing over your skin as he murmurs quiet, loving words—praises, reassurances, things he knows will soothe you further. Once you're warm and dry, he tugs one of his t-shirts over your head, letting it swallow you up, before guiding a clean pair of panties up your legs.

He loves you in his clothes—loves how small you look in them, how the fabric drapes over you, hanging loose on your frame. There's something about it, about you wrapped up in something that's his, that makes his chest ache, that makes him want to pull you close and never let go.

"There we go," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "All set, my love."

Then he's picking you up again, carrying you into the bedroom, and laying you down in bed before sliding in beside you. You immediately curl into him, nuzzling into his chest, your legs tangling with his, your body molding against him like you were made to fit right there. His arms come around you, holding you close, one hand smoothing over your back, the other rubbing gentle circles into your hip.

He kisses your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the soft curve of your jaw—until he feels your body fully relax against him, your breathing slowing, your fingers stilling where they'd been tracing over his skin.

"Sleep, sweet girl," he whispers, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

You sigh softly, nuzzling closer, your body warm and pliant in his arms. Your voice is barely more than a whisper, drowsy and sweet, as you murmur, "Love you so much, baby."

His chest tightens at how soft you sound, how utterly at peace you are in his arms. He tucks the blankets around you, making sure you're wrapped up and comfortable, then presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment.

"I love you too," he whispers against your skin, his voice low, full of warmth, full of everything he feels for you.

You hum in response, already slipping deeper into sleep, your breath warm against his chest. He watches you for a few moments longer, running his fingers gently through your hair, before closing his eyes and letting himself relax too, holding you close through the night.

[yangjeongin]

HYUNJIN |＜ATE＞ UNVEIL : TRACK "STRAY KIDS"