Here are my favourites fan works based on Harry :)
I don’t wanna hear about him - itslottiehere
Categories: Angst, Friendship, Jealousy
Summary: Based on “Him” the song. It’s a greatly written story about two best friends having feelings for one another but in different periods of time. One of them has already figured out that the best she could do is to move on, and the other is just comprehending that he is in love with her. They’re both challenged by their own perspective of the relationship, trying to do what is best for the other and for themselves.
The silent type - purplecoffee13
Categories : Smut, Office Sex
Summary : Y/n made it her mission to get Harry, her discret and quiet colleague to warm up toward her. On her last night at the office, she make an unexpected move on him that is going to offer her exactly what she wants and more.
You’re so golden - midnightloversmusic
Categories : Smut, Outdoor sex
Summary : The temperature being absolutely unbearable, Y/n and Harry spend the day around the pool hoping to cool off. Sadly, they end up making each other feel even hotter.
Just like the movies - purplecoffee13
Categories : Smut, Best Friends
Summary : Y/n accidentally rented adult movies for one of her traditional movie night with her best friend Harry. If it seems to really amuse him, it provokes something completely different in Y/n.
Nanny makes three - harryhitties
Categories : Smut, Threesome
Summary : Harry and his wife Ava want to give a new mission to their nanny and it as nothing to do with the kids.
Flower 1,2 - jarofstyles
Categories : Friends to Lovers
Summary : A friend of Y/n makes her see harry real intentions and it change everything between them.
Favor 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8 - jarofstyles
Categories : Smut, Forbidden relationship
Summary : Y/N has an itch she can’t scratch, one that her boyfriend refuses to touch- so he calls in someone who knows what he’s doing. Harry is a seasoned player of kink, a man of many talents and the perfect person to teach her all about the intricacies and dynamics of the world she had been denied by her lover.
Thirst Unleashed - cherryblossomwriting
Categories : Smut, Lactation kink
Summary : After having their baby, Y/N’s breasts are bursting with milk and Harry helps her relieve some of the pain.
Something Unholy ( Sex club owner) - erodasfishtacos
Categories : Smut, Dom Harry
Summary : YN and Arthur have to adjust their arrangement. The first scene leaves YN hopeless and wondering if she should even come back to the club.
Summary : Harry is your professor and he's been fucking you since the beginning of the semester but tonight, he's invited another girl to play with you.
Far from sober 1 , 2 - eveningepiphany
Categories : Brother’s best friend
Summary : you’re incredibly drunk, and when you are it comes with you having an obscene lack of a filter. harry being the sweetheart he is, is trying to get you back into your hotel room in one piece. he was not ready for you to be so touchy.
NFWMB 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, - purplecoffee13
Categories : Smut
Summary : Harry is a retired boxer who owns a gym and teaches self-defense classes. He considers himself a strong man, but when a gorgeous innocent woman attends a try-out class, she manages to leave him weak in the knees…
Wet dreams just dangling - swiftmendeshoran
Categories : Teasing, Pre-smut
Summary : Y/n decided to go for a swim after suffering from the heat all day, that’s when she meet Harry, her lounge chair neighbour.
She likes to watch - gurugirl
Categories : Married Harry, Smut, Sharing partners
Summary : Harry and his wife have an interesting lifestyle but when they invite you over for a night of fun you realize you're more into it than you thought you'd be.
Nerdy H - purplecoffe13
Categories : Office crush
Summary : Harry have a crush on Y/n, his co worker, and he’s not necessarily “smooth” but she finds it charming and sweet.
Stay - jarofstyles
Categories : Angst, Fuck buddies
Summary : Harry and Y/n are fuck buddies but he catches feelings and don’t know how to act around her.
Through my eyes - jarofstyles
Categories : Smut, Photograph Harry
Summary : Y/n and Harry are assigned a project together and it takes an interesting turn.
Selfish 1 , 2 - jarofstyles
Categories : Friends to lovers, Angst
Summary : Harry has feelings for his best friend Y/n, but he convinced himself that she’s too good for him. He start giving all his attention to other girls to distract himself but he broke Y/n’s heart on the way.
Thigh riding - swiftmendeshoran
Categories : Mean dom / Smut
Summary : Y/n rides Harry’s thigh and he’s just watching.
Pretty - harstyle
Categories : Friends to Lovers, Angst
Summary : Your best friend might just be the hottest, most gentleman-liest guy you‘ve ever laid eyes on, so it’s a real shame you‘re not “his type of pretty”.
Slip-Up - heartateasee
Categories : Angst, Friends to Lovers, Smut
Summary : It's your birthday, and you and your roommate, Harry, are meant to be going out with friends. However, when you arrive home from work, you discover Harry is otherwise... preoccupied.
Casual - jarofstyles
Categories : Smut
Summary : Harry playing with his lovie's pussy, like caressing her lips and rubbing her clit here and there while they're watching a movie or reading and it's just so casual…
Lessons - eveningepiphany
Categories : Smut, friends to lovers
Summary : Sitting on harry’s couch, he gets it out of you that you have never intimately touched someone else, and he offers straight up for you to learn off him.
Baby Daddy - gurugirl
Categories : Friends to Lovers
Summary : After you have a one-night stand with your good friend Harry and become pregnant he doesn't know for certain that the baby is his, but he has his suspicions.
Piercing - harryhitties
Categories : Smut, Piercer Harry
Summary : You go to get your clit pierced and harry styles is your piercer.
Busy - purplecoffe13
Categories : Smut, Teasing
Summary : Harry has to work on a Saturday, and it leaves you quite frustrated. You settle on a compromise…
Role call - temptress-writes
Categories : Smut, Tension
Summary : Y/n and her history professor.
Intimacy - goldengalore
Categories : Smut, Soft dom!harry
Summary : Y/N hasn't been intimate with someone in a long time, which makes her nervous about having sex with Harry for the first time.
Dilf - gurugirl
Categories : Smut, Age gap
Summary : Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.
Wedding Band Cuts - erodasfishtacos
Categories : Established relationship, Smut
Summary : YN goes into a massage and things go haywire quickly.
You became his sugar baby to survive, but Harry’s possessiveness soon turns into something softer. The black card pays the bills, but it’s the unexpected love that threatens to ruin you both.
TITLE: Baby
PAIRING: Harry Styles x Reader
RATING: Explicit (18+)
STATUS: 10 Parts (Completed only on Patreon)
WORD COUNT: > 25,000 words
TROPES: Corporate Sugar Daddy / University Student Sugar Baby , Age Gap (45 & 21) , Forced Closeness (The 40-Hour Weekend Rule) , Strict Contracts / NDAs , Size Difference , Wealth Gap , Dominant/Submissive Dynamic , Academic Mentorship
THE VIBE:
Signing a strict NDA for a £15,000 monthly allowance.
"In the bedroom, I want to be obeyed.".
Getting a MacBook Pro because your broken Dell offends him.
Terrifying public jealousy over a young waiter.
Skipping an Aspen ski trip for a vintage typewriter.
Obliterating his elite ex-wife at an art gallery.
Maliciously complying with the contract until he snaps.
"Do you want to get what you paid for?".
A billionaire hiding in Soho out of pure jealousy.
Watching her graduation from a parked Range Rover.
Dropping the penthouse key and shattering a crystal bow
EXCERPT:
"Do you want to talk about poetry, Harry?" she asked, tilting her head. "Or do you want to get what you paid for?"
The words were a slap in the face.
Harry stopped moving. He looked at her naked body, and for the first time in his life, his desire warred with a crushing sense of shame.
"Don't say it like that," he said roughly.
"Like what?" She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. Her palm was warm, but her touch felt mechanical. She began to undo his buttons. "You were very clear, Harry. You pay for my time. You pay for my company. I'm just trying to be... efficient."
She pushed his shirt open and leaned in to kiss his neck. It was a practiced move. A move a courtesan would make.
"Y/N, stop," he said, grabbing her wrists.
She looked up, her eyes wide and innocent. "Stop? Is something wrong? Do you want me to do something else?"
"I want you to stop acting like an employee!" he shouted, the frustration finally boiling over.
Y/N didn't flinch. She just looked at him, and a small, sad smile touched her lips.
"But I am an employee, Harry," she whispered. "You fired the girlfriend. Remember?"
Harry stared at her, his chest heaving. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to scream that he hadn't fired the girlfriend, he had just panicked. He wanted to drag her downstairs and make her pasta and dance in the kitchen.
But the ghost of his own words hung between them. I am not your boyfriend.
He couldn't take them back. Not without admitting he was wrong. And Harry Styles did not admit he was wrong.
Summary: y/n spends too much time in her own head without her dominant and harry's worried he might scare her off if he professes what he's so dying to say | dom!harry , angst , smut , fluff
A/N: thank you all for being patient with me. i can't believe it has been so long without an update but i am SO happy to be posting for my babies again!! the last part will be out next week, hope you enjoy <3
Words: 9.7k
Harry’s slacks are being fiddled with. Threads starting to fray from the incessant tugging of nervous fingertips.
And normally—normally—Harry wouldn’t have a problem with Y/N needing to keep her hands busy, or attempting to enmesh herself into his side. But today is different. And today, Harry’s patience is wearing thin.
He almost feels guilty. He knows Y/N doesn’t enjoy these situations, this atmosphere. He knows she was being kind when she said she’d like to come with him. He knows she’s been anxious since he asked her.
But the frustration is winning tonight—the silent wish that she’d just stayed at home bouncing around the inside of his skull. It makes him feel mean; intolerant. And Harry is neither mean nor intolerant. Ever.
He doesn’t like to think it but… something isn’t working. Something is slowly turning into everything—and it sits heavy in his gut—heavy and foreign.
“Darlin’, hands in your lap, please.” His breath dances across Y/N’s temple and she shivers slightly; only enough for Harry to notice. It’s quiet, his voice, and she nods to herself—the tiniest jerk of her head—a silent apology as she smooths her clammy palms down her own thighs.
The dinner is boring—he’ll admit. But Harry isn’t one to let apathy show on his face when it matters and… right now, it matters. The business partners sitting before him, a husband and his wife, are perhaps two of the most important people Harry has had the displeasure of dealing with during his time as CEO. They’re more passionate than him, and loud when it matters—they’re determined and distinguished in the financial scene—and can have their voices be the only ones heard when they want them to be.
But regardless of how much his eyes are rolling on the inside, Harry’s face presents complete and utter professionalism besides his less than enthusiastic partner, who—bless her—had tried. She had. She’d been polite smiles, and firm handshakes, and straightened posture. She’d been silently engaged, and spoke when addressed. She’d been perfect. But that was an hour and a half ago—and if Harry had been feeling any other way, he’d be much more forgiving than he is right now.
Because Y/N’s face is starting to lose its civility, and her eyes are starting to gloss over, and her posture is starting to slump, and her composure is starting to slip. And that’s okay. It is. It should be. But Harry’s anxious too; he’s worried, he’ll admit. He’s choosing his every word with precision, he’s using words and phrases not in his everyday vocabulary in an attempt to write himself into Mr. and Mrs. Pierson’s good books.
So the nerves are getting the better of him. And it’s an ugly feeling. He hates feeling the control slip from his hands, hates feeling as though he is not the one in charge of his emotions, hates letting the anxiety treat Y/N as his asset as opposed to his other half.
And Harry doesn’t like to disrespect the ones he loves.
Such a thought may seem sudden. But he’s loved her for a while now—it doesn’t scare him. But if Y/N were anyone else, he wouldn’t even have to question whether she returns his feelings. Because it should be obvious by this point.
But this is Y/N. The woman he loves, sure, but also the woman who has required Harry to adopt a new way of communication—for the better—without a doubt. Yet still, what he doesn’t know is how the fuck he’s going to tell her. How he’s going to say anything without overwhelming her. He likes to think that, by now, he’s got a pretty good understanding of how Y/N’s brain works—which is why (and it feels cruel to even venture down this neural pathway but) he’s nearly one-hundred-percent sure that she has convinced herself that he could never love her.
Which is absurd. It’s so absurd that Harry would be more likely to believe the Earth is flat than to encourage the notion that Y/N is unloveable. He would rather voluntarily get an intrusive operation or lose all of his personal belongings. But how does one convince another that they are worthy of love? If they don’t believe it themself.
And, undoubtedly, her behaviour is still off. Despite their recent conversation—despite Y/N’s tears and Harry’s reassurance—she’s still fighting the submission. And it’s draining her. Harry can see it. She wants nothing more than to give in but she just won’t let herself and it’s weighing heavier and heavier on Harry’s heart. As though she’s scared, or creating enough distance to build a wall—brick by brick—Y/N hesitates, Y/N ignores, Y/N diverts.
The dominant in him thinks she should be punished. For countlessly testing his patience. But it doesn’t feel right—the possibility that Harry might make her cry for any reason that is not good makes his bones ache—and Y/N is on the brink of tears a lot these days. Harry doesn’t know what to do. How to approach what’s going on—when they’ve already had some kind of conversation surrounding Y/N’s difficulties with accepting his care—and seeing that nothing has changed. He understands that he needs to ask her to make a decision—to stop working or to stop trying to maintain his home, as well as her own; she cannot continue to do both and preserve any sort of mental stability.
But he suspects that she may not choose the thing they both want the most.
And when Harry is letting his impatience overpower him then how can she be blamed at all?
She’s tired when they get in the car—back moulding into the seat as she gives a relieved sigh. And relief—relief is something that releases countless endorphins, something that can have Y/N do a complete one-eighty in personality and demeanour. Relief makes her chatty, and it makes her fidgety.
“They were a bit uppity.” The words are carried in a manic sort of lilt.
“Mhm,” Harry hums, paying attention to the road as he pulls out of the car park and into the throng of vehicles. The headlights pierce right into his eye sockets as they speed past. Spending an evening with The Pierson’s has inflicted the most terrible of headaches—but he’s relieved too—at the prospect of not having to deal with them again for a long while.
Y/N scratches at her knuckles for a second too long—Harry has to ignore the urge to cover her hands with his own—as she admits, “I don’t think they liked me very much.”
And maybe his first port of call should’ve been reassurance, but he says, “Who cares what they think?” The line of irritation might start to blur in his voice, Harry can’t tell.
“Me, obviously.”
He spares her a glance out of the corner of his eye to see she’s already looking at him, shy but cheeky smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She does that sometimes. When she says something bratty but wants to stay in his good books. It usually works.
Harry says nothing, turning his attention back to the blinding road before he can see that smile disappearing. Y/N shuffles in her seat next to him, looking out of her window with a little sigh. It’s times like these that she worries. Worries about being too much to handle. And right now her anxieties manifest quickly—insecurities bubbling to the surface and lodging themselves in her throat. One tiny action, or a handful of even smaller ones, changing the course of her pattern of thinking.
It feels rude to ask, each syllable falling off her tongue with a clatter. She almost wants to flinch. “Can you take me home, please? As in… my home.”
This has Harry attentive, granting her more than a single peek from the corner of his eye. He looks over for a second or two, asking, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she nods, and the confession comes easily now, anxiety and relief coalescing into a chaotic swirl, “I’m tired,” harsh knuckles nudge at eye sockets. “It was really loud in there… and those lights were awful… and… I just need a night alone, I think.” She doesn’t say what she’s really believing—I think you need a night alone from me.
But Harry doesn’t argue. Harry never argues. He never usually has to; things just go his way. He’s resigned as he sighs, before nodding quickly, tersely, eyes fixated on the road. “Okay, darling, if you’re sure.”
“Sorry,” Y/N finds herself saying, guilt swarming in her gut despite believing it’s for the best. But it seems nothing she says ever feels right.
Harry reaches over to squeeze her thigh, warm and encompassing, a silent reassurance that she needn’t apologise. And then he verbally reassures her too, “Don’t be silly, you’re allowed to miss home comforts,” he squeezes again, and flits his eyes over with a small smile, “especially when you’ve got such a cute bedroom.”
Y/N can’t help but mirror his expression, a giddy giggle bubbling out of her throat. “It is pretty cute.” Cuter with her beautifully broad dominant decorating her frilly bedspread, but she doesn’t have the confidence to specify so.
Harry keeps the weight of his hand on her thigh for as long as he possibly can, lifting it only when crucial to the safety of his driving. When he pulls up outside Y/N’s building and turns off the ignition, neither of the pair move. She asked to go home but she doesn’t want to be here. She wants Harry to turn the car back on and take her to his home whether she may pretend to protest or not.
But all she does is angle her body towards Harry’s and peek up at him from under her lashes. He’s already looking at her, of course, a tired smile on his handsome face.
“Come here,” he brings his hand up and threads his fingers through her hair, scratching soothingly. Y/N’s eyes flutter shut, unable to resist the way she gravitates towards him. She doesn’t see the worry in Harry’s eyes.
He kisses her. And she kisses him back. A soft sponging of lips warmed by the gentle exhalations from their noses. It’s nothing indecent, but any passerby would be sure to read the signs; there’s no other way to interpret such a kiss other than with deeply rooted affection. More than just a brief goodbye between casual lovers.
Harry pulls away first, letting his lips tingle against Y/N’s cupid’s bow. “I—” I love you. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” Her eyes stay shut, frozen in Harry’s hold, wishing to stay in his car indefinitely.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, slowly untangling his fingers and swiping down the bridge of her nose with his knuckle to make her smile, “go and get some rest.”
As soon as she’s disappeared behind her front door, turning around to give Harry a little wave to send him off with one final pretty picture, he lets his posture slump. He lets the worry carve lines along his face, and he lets his lungs heave a tired sigh.
Harry doesn’t much like his house anymore—not without Y/N in it—it feels double its already gargantuan size and the hues she’s painted across every surface fade back to white. But, when he gets home, the remnants of her follow him from room to room. An almost painful reminder. And Harry has to shake some sense into himself; she’s not dead. She’s fine, she’s asleep in her bed, safe in her house, but… it’s not that he’s worried about.
He sits in his kitchen alone, stabbing pitifully at his fruit for one. He’s not hungry, but Y/N never turns down a fresh bowlful at any time of the day, so it seems his brain insists that now would be the best occasion. And it’s not like they’ve never spent nights apart but this one feels different, this one feels forced—tense—unravelling.
Mugs scatter the draining board, vibrant in colour and pattern; one small example of Harry seeing something—anything—and feeling compelled to buy it for Y/N. To watch her face light up over whichever cutesy thing he’s presented her with. They fill his cupboards (the mugs) pushing his old, plain, white ones to the back where they gather dust. He should put the clean ones away but he doesn’t. Instead his viridescent eyes trail across to the fridge, lettered magnets untouched from their formation that Y/N had ordered them in earlier that day.
PRUNE
Harry can’t help but smile despite how heavy his face feels—unable to ignore the idiosyncrasies of Y/N. There was nothing inherently funny about the word but for her to deem it a bizarre enough move to play as her hand… that’s what makes him smile. That in their silent, little game of who can spell out the most peculiar of words with their limited letters, her brain will always go somewhere he never expects.
He feels an immense weight swirling around in his gut; for not being with her now, for not making sure she’s okay. Regardless of her wish to be alone, Harry should know when to overrule her decisions if he believes he knows best. He’s become responsible for Y/N’s wellbeing—a true joy in his life but it doesn’t come without its challenges. It’s difficult to remind himself that she coped on her own for a long time, but he doesn’t think it's unfair to describe her attempts at self care as poor. And just because she survived on her own, that doesn’t mean she was okay—Harry has a pretty clear picture of that now.
Moping doesn’t tend to be an attractive look but… it doesn’t matter much, Harry considers, when he’s on his own. He mopes—from the kitchen and up the stairs, to his bedroom that he frowns at upon entering. Full of Y/N. He misses her so potently and he doesn’t understand why.
The guilt gnaws away at him as he gets ready for bed, alone. As he strips from his uncomfortable suit, alone. As he brushes his teeth, alone, staring dismally at his tired face. Y/N’s products scatter the counter, unmoved from where she left them this morning. Her exfoliator narrows its beady eyes at him as he splashes his face with water, patting himself dry, alone—trudging back to his bed, alone. Cold and empty, bigger than it’s ever been before and dull without the mound of his lover curled within, sheets unloving as they lay leaden on his lone body.
He can smell her, he can see her things, her clothes, her personality—everywhere. So potent and yet so hollow, so ghostly. Harry groans, smothering his face into his pillow, but the force in which his head presses in only expels more of what he’s trying not to inhale.
Sleep doesn’t introduce itself; Harry doesn’t even let it. He’s up and out of bed before he can let his thoughts drift further, and out into his garden where he lets the midnight chill kiss his cheeks, nursing a caffeinated tea—sure to paint the sullen unders of his eyes a dusty mauve in the morning.
Y/N sleeps surprisingly well. And it is surprising, because before the unconsciousness had taken over, she’d tossed and turned for at least an hour. She’d even cried for a while when unable to stop her mind from wandering into dark hallways and even darker prison cells.
But then again, a good headache inducing cry always was the best medicine.
She turns down Harry when he phones her at eleven fifty-two the next morning. To go and get breakfast at The Little Snail Café, a usual occasion for them on a Saturday.
I don’t really feel like going out—I’m sorry. No… no, thank you. I’m still a little out of it from last night. …No, I’m okay. Really, ‘m okay. Yes, I promise. Okay… Okay, bye.
It feels wrong, it itches somewhere she cannot reach—it lines her bones and aches and aches. She spends most of that day sitting and staring, at nothing in particular. A whole chunk of her day just zoned out in the direction of her wall. But it wouldn’t have mattered had her vision been aimed at white plaster or a menagerie of the world’s most exotic animals—her eyes still would have glossed over, blurred by a sheen of vacancy.
By the time the sun sets and the moon casts its chilling glow, Y/N can recount eating one full meal and going to the bathroom twice, maybe three times—the rest of the hours lost in a haze.
It doesn’t feel particularly good to get out of the house—and face Sunday morning head on—but Y/N forces herself to regardless. Whether she has or has not run out of milk is entirely unrelated. There were no plans to stop for anything else, to become waylaid or distracted by bookstores, or the smells of deliciously fatty breakfast foods frying, or even to bump into her dear friend. Her dear friend who she has neglected for so long that, embarrassingly, Y/N will admit, she’s been avoiding out of shame.
And Niall is feeling neglected. Which Y/N knows, not from assumption but because he tells her as such.
“Never see you anymore, do I?” He nurses the steaming mug between his palms, the searing ceramic bringing feeling back into his iced fingertips. “Have to bump into you at the bleedin’ shops, beg you to get a coffee, and you still won’t tell me how you are,” he swallows. “And you hate going shopping alone!” His jewellery clatters against the mug as he gesticulates wildly. “We always did that together,” pausing to take a sip, sighing when Y/N doesn’t take the opportunity to fill his silence. “You’re breaking my heart here, Y/N.”
The two friends work in the same building—and that is the fact that is silently ignored by either party. It’s awkward, and it’s sad, to admit out loud that they don’t even cross paths at work.
She sighs, hoping the swirling, spiralling liquid of her latte might just hypnotise her. “I’m sorry.”
Another resigned exhale, “Yes, well. I know y’are. You’re always bloody sorry. Too bloody sorry, if y’ask me.”
“You’re being mean,” she frowns, unused to the lack of frivolity coming from the usually maddeningly overjoyed half of their duo.
“Mean?” He’s incredulous. “I’m grumpy, aren’t I! Because I miss my best friend and she’s gone radio silent on me.”
Yeah. She can’t deny that—already admitted it, in fact. “I didn’t mean to, I— I forget. I—”
“You forgot about me.” His voice is perfectly steady. Nearly disbelieving but still and stoic.
“I did not! I…” she swallows around a scratch in her throat, trying so hard to ignore the uncomfortable wash of heat over her forehead. “I’ve never had more than one person to focus on before. And I’ve been so busy, I just— I get overwhelmed, and I panic, and I… You never even texted me.”
Niall huffs, grumbling, “Was waiting for you to text me.”
“Well,” Y/N exhales, tempted to laugh, all of a sudden, “it’s just as much your fault then. You know I’m not good at it. Texting and whatever.”
And then a telling vibration rumbles through her bag, loud enough for both bickering friends to stop and catch one another’s eyes. Y/N tries to play it off, tries to ignore it but Niall rolls his eyes.
“Answer him.”
She scoffs, “It could be anyone.”
“Oh, give over. Answer him.”
She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth nervously, a murky guilt swimming around her insides as she pulls out her phone.
Harry
Hi darling, missed you yesterday. Hope you’re having a nice day. X
And suddenly the remorse is filling her lungs like water. Her heart dips inside her ribs, pounding alarmingly, lips pulling down into a frown she doesn’t realise is visible. She types out a reply automatically, autopilot taking over—declaring she’s out with Niall and that she misses him too—maybe a tad overeager with the exclamation marks.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes stay locked onto the little keyboard at the bottom of her screen. “Hm? Nothing.”
“Right,” Niall mutters, unconvinced. When she puts the phone down, he catches her off guard, and Y/N hadn’t adequately prepared for her day to go this way at all. She’d just needed some bloody milk!
“We’re going out. T’dinner or something—”
The telltale signs of a migraine tease the backs of her eye sockets. “Oh—Niall, no—”
“—Mhm, yes we are. Bring Harry,” he nods, “I’ll bring… m’self, invite some guys from work.”
“Niall—”
“—Y/N.”
They stare at one another, Niall’s gaze firm and Y/N’s pleading. There’s nothing she hates more than social gatherings, let alone awkwardly unfamiliar ones with coworkers she only speaks to when they absolutely demand her attention, for Christ’s sake. But her friend doesn’t give—and Y/N can’t really blame him. She’s been a shoddy friend, after all, the least she can do is spend an evening with him.
“Boyfriend can hold your hand,” he teases and Y/N frowns exaggeratedly, a warmth seeping out over her face.
“Shut up,” her bottom lip protrudes and she brings her steaming mug up to her face to distract from her incessant embarrassment. She doesn’t want to correct him about the boyfriend thing. Y/N comes across juvenile enough without having the ‘I don’t know what we are’ conversation. Besides, Niall would only dismiss her queries—quite rightly too. Of course, they’re dating; what else would it be? Harry had specified anyway. She was his, and he was hers.
“Please no dinner.”
Niall says nothing. And then he nods, “Okay, fine. No dinner. A long weekend, me and you, somewhere with wifi.”
“That sounds nice,” Y/N smiles. It’s small, a little nervous, but it’s genuine. She hasn’t spent proper time with her friend in so long that she’s worried she might have forgotten how. But it’s Niall, and she knows those anxieties will melt away near instantaneously.
“But just to remind you, if I hadn’t taken you out all those months ago, you never would’ve met Harry so maybe you should reconsider your stance on socialising.”
“That’s not fair—Wait, that’s not even true, you set us up on a bloody date, you arse. Surprise attacked me.”
He smiles. “Semantics.”
Y/N goes home on her own to wallow without Harry—knowing too well she could be in his bed instead of hers. And she spends the rest of her day similarly to the one before it—only now she’s got the dread of Sunday blues setting in. She starts to think, and overthink, and overthink her overthinking. She analyses everything about her relationship with Harry.
Their routine is—was—ordinary. Harry worked, Y/N worked, they met back at Harry’s home in which Y/N spent more time than her own, they ate dinner, they went to sleep. Rinse and repeat. It felt solid despite previous teething problems. But slowly, slowly but surely, things changed. So gradually that you wouldn’t notice straight away.
Now, Harry works, Y/N works, Harry texts Y/N to make sure she’s still coming over, Y/N says yes most of the time, she defies him more than she ever has done before, they play it off as bratty behaviour and the rest remains the same. Neither of them particularly like this fact, but Y/N is convinced of her own self-sabotage and Harry is practically terrified he’ll scare her off. So they stay at this impasse, waiting for what won’t come.
And Y/N only reaches her breaking point quicker, and quicker. It’s why she lies to him the next day. She regrets it as soon as the decision is made because Y/N has never been a good liar, but it turns out she’s practically incapable of it when Harry is involved. If it weren’t for the fact his voice crackled down the phone line and he wasn’t staring into her anxious eyes, then she’s certain she wouldn’t have even tried to fib in the first place.
She’d glanced around an empty reception and moused over the five unread emails in her inbox as she informed Harry she was just too swamped to go out for lunch. The phones are ringing off the hooks, she’d said, staring at the empty chair behind her shared desk that was hardly ever preoccupied by two receptionists at once. Y/N had always been grateful for her shifts, but in that moment she’d almost wished there were fifty of them behind the bloody desk—phones ringing and keyboards clicking—just to compensate for the deceit.
And her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest as she lied to him, clenching her eyes shut as if it wouldn’t just amplify the disappointment funnelling into her ear. With no vision, her mind could only wander from room to room, happening upon an easel and starting to paint the perfect depiction of personified emotions. Harry with frown lines and sad eyes, clutching at his heart as though someone had tried to forcibly remove it.
The piece would hang in the Louvre, titled something like The Fatal Lie or She Who Breaks Hearts or He Does Everything for Her and She Fucking Lies to Him What A Fucking Bitc—
She didn’t open her eyes until the line went dead.
In truth, Y/N can’t exactly explain why she thinks this is necessary. If someone were to ask her to be logical about it all; to present her ideas as though they were a brand new theory or hypothesis, she would be entirely stumped.
Because there is no logic to it—but she fears she’s spiralling a little bit and she’s never known how to stop. Like one big DNA strand, Y/N can spiral forever. She feels as though she’s stuck inside her own personalised riddle. Why won’t the submissive let her dominant take care of her? And the answer is staring her right in the face but she can’t figure it out. Everyone is screaming at her inside of their heads but Y/N remains clueless.
It seems karma has a lovely big handful in store for her, however. And from an outsider’s perspective, Y/N might be more relieved that she is immediately punished for lying to Harry. But as it all happens, justice is the last thing on her mind.
Y/N has had more bad days than she’s had hot dinners. (Considering her eating habits are hardly healthy, that makes such an idiom somewhat disturbing.) Most days, she rolls out of bed expecting the following twelve hours to pour litre upon litre into her stress bucket—one so butchered and beaten that there are holes in the tin, leaking droplets steadily, and its contents are sloshed about with no poise.
As a result, she’s become fairly skilled at hiding her bubbling emotions under the surface; putting a lid on them until she’s somewhere safe to implode. To let them tip over the edge and sear the ground beneath her.
So what on Earth was compelling her eyes to start filling with no regard for her current environment? A professional setting, Y/N. Your workplace. Impatient men demanding things she cannot help them with may as well be included in the job description; Y/N knows how to deal with them—recites the sickeningly polite script memorised within the overwhelmed organ inside her skull. Tells them that this week is fully booked, Sir… and would they like to hear next week’s availability?
She knows what to do. So why is it so hard today? Why do their bitter tones and probing questions drill so pointedly into her temples? She knows the answers to those riddles but a stubborn refusal to accept them makes her all the more frustrated.
It is so sorely reminiscent of the first time Harry had shown up at her door, faced with Y/N’s smeared mascara and crinkled work clothes. He’d bought her flowers, and he cooked her dinner, and he made her forget all about her day. Since then, Y/N thinks she’s forced his hand on too many occasions to be able to forgive herself. How many more times can she come home crying before he decides he’s had enough? The thought only makes her sniffle louder.
By the time her workday comes to a close, Y/N is ready to crawl into the nearest gutter and start her decomposing process sixty decades early. She takes herself to her preferred bathroom stall—the one with the wall on her right hand side—and dials Harry’s number before she has the chance to change her mind. If this is the last time he can handle her then so be it.
He picks up too quickly for Y/N to figure out what she’s going to say, his name in a frail whimper the only thing that comes out. “Harry?” She does try to school her tone but to no avail. Her voice totters about all over the place.
Immediately, Y/N hears shuffling on Harry’s end. A hasty sit-up, or a scattering of papers, the scraping of a chair pushing back from his desk in a panic. “Baby? What’s th’matter?”
And really, it’s Harry’s own fault for the clumsy sniffle that perforates his ears—how could Y/N not cry harder to the sound of his worried timbre? He calls her baby and she turns into one; helpless and desperate for care.
“Nothing, ‘m—I’m okay.”
Harry gives an exasperated huff, “Darlin’, I can hear you crying,” he smiles slightly through the phone but he’s not happy. “What’s wrong—?”
“—Sorry.”
Their voices overlap and there’s a pregnant pause. “Y/N.”
“Can—Can I come over?”
“Of course you can, sweetheart, why are you asking me?” She hears the scratching of stubble and it tickles her ears as if Harry is right next to her. “Never have to ask.”
“Okay,” she lets out a relieved sigh. He doesn’t sound annoyed, or exhausted, or fed up; it starts to thaw at the tensions in her body already. “Sorry.”
“S’okay, come home, alright?” Another pause where, presumably, he checks his watch, “Your shift’s over.”
“Mhm.” She hums so she doesn’t speak in wails. Shame slicks up and down her arms. It’s unbearably hot. It pecks at her skin and boils her from the inside out.
“I’ll see you in a bit, yeah, darlin’? Working from home today, I’ll put the kettle on f’ya.”
“Okay…” there’s a pause where a certain phrase feels appropriate, and then, “bye.”
Y/N dabs pathetically at her sodden cheeks, and blows her nose into a tissue. She tries to take slow, deep breaths but her airways are all congested and it must make for a sorry sight.
But her shift is over. And Harry is waiting for her at home.
“There she is,” his voice practically carries her over the threshold of the front door. Harry’s holding a hot cup of tea and rubbing a socked foot along his calf to soothe an itch. He leans so effortlessly against the kitchen door frame.
He walks over, practically cooing, “Oh, Y/N. What are we g’na do with you, hm?” It’s almost patronising—if not for Y/N’s fondness for submission. For Harry’s dominance. She nuzzles her nose into his chest, soothed by every warm, heavy stroke of his palm up and down her back (he makes good heed to hold the steaming mug away from their embrace).
Y/N must look a mess—all sticky faced and wet eyes. Harry doesn’t say a thing—simply ushers her into the living room with a guiding palm melting into her lower back.
She exclaims suddenly, “My shoes—!” and it doesn’t matter how comfortable Y/N may be in Harry’s home, she’ll never feel polite wandering around in outdoor footwear. But he shushes her, forces her gently onto the sofa with a nudge and places her drink on the side table. He kneels down, taking care of her bothersome loafers that still rub against her heels no matter how broken in they may be. Nurturing digits squeeze and knead the sensitive flesh, almost eliciting a peal of shrieks and writhing, before they smooth up the backs of her calves—nylon course against soft palms.
The shaggy rug that Y/N over-familiarised herself with, all those months ago, cradles her feet—her socks, however cute they may be with frills around the ankles, prohibiting her from burying her toes despite her best attempts. Harry looks up at her from the floor, worry still ever present in his expression. He’d hidden it well, greeting her with a smile, as he always tends to do, but now she’s sat in front of him, sofa swallowing her up, and he lets the fuss tug at his brows.
“Wanna talk to me?”
It’s soft and unassuming, but Y/N still looks upset to be asked. She sniffs, “Just another bad day,” weak smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. Her voice is all thick and sluggish; Harry wishes he could personally caress her larynx, however disturbed that may be. He doesn’t care.
He won’t nag about quitting her job—he won’t. Not out loud anyway. But it’s hard when there’s an absolute certainty of someone’s happiness increasing tenfold… but they won’t allow it. Harry can’t bear seeing her like this so often—not when he’s sure it could all be fixed.
Especially after the plate debacle.
I’m not happy—her words echo around his skull like a reverberating clang to the head. The words escaped during a moment of vulnerability, an admission never likely to be reiterated under more controlled circumstances. But Y/N had reached the end of her tether, her ability to cope tested beyond its capabilities, and Harry has become aware that she’s never really, truly comfortable within her own skin; living, working, existing the way she does.
They’d half discussed it, a few weeks ago, and Y/N had been better immediately afterwards but then… as time passed and her insecurities remained festering, their conversation may as well have never happened.
“I’m sorry,” he presses a kiss to her knee, “wish I could make it all better.” Wish you would let me.
“You do.” It makes her smile—albeit, sadly—to see Harry so dedicated to the way he sponges his mouth against her body. Over her knee, up her thigh, along the wrist that sits heavily in her lap.
“Let me take proper care of you tonight.” A verbal switch that turns Y/N’s brain to mush the moment Harry flicks it. “Get you out of that cruel head of yours.” As he dots kisses across the palm of her hand and he whispers against the sensitive skin. “Pretty, but cruel.”
“Mm,” Y/N quivers against his touch, overwhelmed by the heat that flushes her cheeks. “Need you.” It almost comes out as a sob, eyes filling with desperation as Harry’s kisses send lightning strikes down her spine, standing the hairs of her arms on end.
He pushes up a little, gaining enough height to look into her eyes as he shushes her gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” The sofa cushions give way as Harry takes Y/N’s spot, manoeuvring her onto his lap and coaxing her face into his neck. “You’ve got me.” Feeling the slope of her nose press so solidly makes Harry feel incomplete without it—like her weight is always meant to be glued to him this way.
He gives her a moment, a cuddle that he knows she’s needed, whispering promises of a good, good night. “Make you feel light as a feather, yeah?” But when it’s time to pry her away from the security of his hold, she grumbles and whines—unable to see the whole picture when life is so warm and cosy like this.
Harry’s not harsh with her; it’s not the time, but he still knows best. “Come on, baby, you know how this goes,” cupping his hands underneath her armpits as though she’s a big toddler and guiding her down to the floor—to the rug she loves so much.
“That’s it—kneel down, f’me.” His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek, smoothing over the skin with adoration. “Such a good girl,” he smiles, lips stretching softly. Y/N leans into his palm, gentle breaths funnelling through her nostrils and into his lap. Her body relaxes, slumping unconsciously to lean against Harry’s knees as the weight of her head begs to be supported by his thighs.
“You trust me, don’t you?” The words dance their way into Y/N’s ears, slowly; unhurried. She takes a moment to register, but when she does, she nods—movements lagging and heavy.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, unaware of her own volition—seemingly out of control but content to cling onto the feeling.
Harry’s lips quirk, top teeth rolling his bottom lip into his mouth to curb a grin. He’s missed her—this submission; the ease in which their hearts settle into when they both fulfil their respective roles. He’s unsure, right now, why Y/N is giving in tonight—when she’s been hellbent on pretending Harry’s control doesn’t smooth every worry line from her pretty face—when she’s been denying it to herself despite the truth lingering murkily between them; unacknowledged. He supposes her day really must have been bad.
But he won’t question it yet, not when the opportunity lies so openly in front of him. To make her happy again, if just for an evening. To prove to himself that the issue doesn’t lie within a place he’s found himself worrying about recently—a more vain, shallow insecurity that he’s admittedly never pondered upon before.
He hums, thumb dipping lower to tease across her plush bottom lip, back up to her cheek, and down again. Y/N wants to open her mouth, tongue lingering just behind her lips evidently. She’s waiting to be told, waiting to be allowed—it stirs up something thick in Harry’s abdomen. He dips his digit past her eager mouth, pressing down on her tongue with intention. Her breath hits him heavily, a sigh of relief and of placidity.
“Just need something to suck on, I think.”
It’s a connection he’s made—like handing a lollipop to a child to make them smile—that if Y/N could permanently have him in her mouth… she probably would. Not too dissimilar to a candied treat, in her eyes. Something to concentrate on, to feel fill her mouth, to be forced to focus on her breathing and forget about the world around her.
She nods into his hand, smaller fingers trying to burrow into the skin just above his knees. He’s wearing loose athletic shorts—comfortably manspreading—the feel of his little hairs and the warmth of his body keeping Y/N tethered to the ground.
Harry covers one of her hands with his free one, squeezing gently to convey an unspoken semblance of priority. Of his desire to only do what will make her feel better. And of his appreciation of her trust; believing so deeply in him to do what’s best for her.
It’s why he feels happy to pull his thumb from Y/N’s mouth and tug the elastic waistband of his shorts down. To let his hardening cock fatten up for her, eager to guide it past her awaiting lips as he smooths over her brow.
“Precious doll. Stop thinking, yeah? Let Daddy keep you safe.”
Her breaths hit his velvety skin, warm through her nostrils as she sighs an exhale of relief. Harry’s lashes flutter when she rolls her tongue along the underside of him, making all the effort to not twitch his hips up and into her mouth. He smooths a hand over her crown, heavy lids fighting to stay open as he admires the softness of her own as they rest shut.
Y/N’s movements are sluggish—minimal—as her cheek smushes into the meat of Harry’s thigh, still half-concealed by his shorts. A light hand wraps around his cock, smaller digits and tired state of mind failing to provide much pressure but Harry doesn’t care. Harry thinks Y/N could blow streams of air on him and he’d still be besotted.
She’s falling asleep—usually nothing to be proud of—but the lax of her limbs is precisely her dominant’s greatest achievement. “Are you tired, baby?” Y/N shakes her head but Harry exhales a laugh. “Yes, you are,” he murmurs. “It’s okay, you can sleep,” lips forming around the permissions gently, large palm flattening over the top of her head, sending tiny sparks down her spine. She wants to nuzzle into him like a dog receiving scratches, being loved on and handled with care.
“You wanna stay down there?” Not for his own pleasure but for hers. Her contentment. Y/N nods, lips wet and swollen around him. “S’it comfy for you? Okay on your knees?”
“Mhm,” she hums, shuffling in even closer, free hand looping around the back of his calf. Harry finds himself swallowing a yawn at the sight of her so peaceful below him, finger dancing across her hairline and rubbing along the shell of her earlobe.
Eventually his eyes close too, his hands comfortable in her hair, as they give their consciousness up for a moment of rest.
It’s no more than an hour later when Harry lets the responsibility wake him back up. He tucks himself away from where he’s slipped from Y/N’s pouty mouth; her back is slumped so dreadfully that Harry immediately curses himself for letting her stay on the wretched floor.
It disturbs Y/N, hauling her into his arms, but Harry rubs magical circles into her back—wondrous enough to elicit purrs out of her if she were capable of making such sounds. But she’s hardly opened her eyes before Harry decides to blow cool air across her face, completely unprovoked in his mischief.
“Hey!” It comes out as a girlish grunt, a discombobulated huff. Harry’s grinning at the sight of her chin trying to crawl into her neck. And it only entertains him further to curl his fingers into her sides and squeeze mercilessly.
“Ah–ah! Ha—Harry!” Cartoonishly, her eyes bulge out of her head, any last traces of sleep dispersing completely as Y/N’s body goes into flight mode—or attempts to, at least. Harry’s got her firmly stuck atop his lap, wriggling digits for his squirming girl. “St—op!”
“Ahh,” the bastard sounds reminiscent, ceasing his movements to bask in the glow of her giggles, “missed my smiley girl.”
But the smile disappears… and a frown replaces it, suddenly aimed towards his lap.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry dips down, index finger resting beneath her chin to coax it up and level with his own.
Y/N’s eyes are dull in colour, lacking their usual charm. “I’m sorry for being miserable all the time.”
“Oh—no, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, darling. Don’t apologise for having emotions, that’s silly,” and he squeezes her again, perhaps somewhat cruelly, just to see her teeth behind her lips as she yelps involuntarily.
It is silly, but Y/N forever holds an awareness of how much she may be burdening a person. “Just like making you smile… s’my job.” He bites his lip to hide his own smile, and it has the desired effect—Y/N’s own face copying him perfectly—only far cuter, in Harry’s eyes.
Then he dances his fingers up her side with pretend innocence, “Didn’t get to fuck you proper ‘cause you fell asleep on me.”
Her smile vanishes again but for a much better reason. And, yeah, she would like that—she really would—despite her demeanour suggesting she might rather be mauled to death by wild cats. Still so shy, Harry must think.
“Think I’d like to spread you out on the rug, hm? How’s that sound?”
It sounds like bliss. It sounds like her cunt cries out in pleasure, completely untouched, just from the idea. “Yeah,” she breathes, nodding.
Lips curl like devil’s horns, “Yeah? Wha’s that mean, dummy?”
“Dummy?!” It comes out squeaky, and a little petulant, if the way she thuds her fists against Harry’s chest is anything to go by. He raises his eyebrows at her, somewhat surprised, if not slightly impassive, at the way she talks back to him.
“Yeah, dummy,” taking her wrists and decorating them with his fingers as they curl all the way around. He pulls them off of his body and holds them by her shoulders. “Dumb for my cock and I haven’t even put it in you yet.”
Her hips grind down without her permission—the slightest rut fuelled by habit—one she never wishes to kick. “Harry—”
“—Nope,” he cuts off her whine, pulling her arms behind her back like he’s done it a thousand times before—he has.
“Sir,” it falls too quietly from her lips, and it’s not really the word he wanted but he’ll let it slide.
“What? What could my darling possibly want? Hm?”
He’s being mean now. He was so sweet earlier but now he’s just mean. It makes her feel deliciously delirious but still Y/N wants to act out just on principle. But she doesn’t, because she’s a good girl, and she’s been bad enough as of late. “Please, make it better. Need you to make it better, Sir.”
“Yeah, you do. Need me,” his voice is gruff, a terse exhale as he stands up with Y/N’s thighs wrapped around his waist and lowers them both down onto the shaggy rug. It brushes against her clothes, all soft and fluffy—he can’t wait to see it swallow her naked skin. All they’re missing is a roaring fireplace.
“Need you,” she nods, agreeing, echoing his words. The heat that started to bubble up before their spontaneous nap roils fervently in her abdomen once more, crashing wave after wave against her cunt—her clit, where she’s sure she can feel her heart beating.
Harry grunts, voice deep with anticipation, “Let’s get these clothes off,” murmuring more to himself than anyone else, deft fingers already undoing the buttons of Y/N’s blouse—faster than she ever can. Her body feels heavy with fatigue, the cushioning of the rug coaxing her up and away into that fuzzy space alarmingly fast, as she watches the beautiful man above her take care over the state of her undress. He doesn’t rip and tear, he smooths and folds, kind enough to rub her arms and legs as he goes.
Y/N almost wishes he’d run ladders through her tights—though she’d be grateful he doesn’t the next day—to speed the process up and get him all pretty leaning over her. Her bare shoulders are stroked by the rug; closing her eyes almost lets her imagine she’s laying in a meadow, grass kissing her skin. And when her legs are made bare too, that’s when she remembers where she really is, and knocks her knees together like something bashful. Harry folds her tights, and her socks, and Y/N wishes she could push herself up and kiss him for it.
But then he rests his palms atop the curving joints, pulling them back open slowly to admire the sit of her knickers, pressing tight against her pussy, lips so clearly soft and swollen even through the cotton. He pushes her knees up and his grip slips down to the underside, simply looking at her for a moment or two. Y/N whines, lying there in her bra and panties and being ogled at.
“Needy, needy,” Harry tuts, dropping his hands on either side of her head and letting her knees sling over his shoulders. “Needy girl with a fussy pussy, is that right?” She stares at him dumbly, only really able to process how pretty he looks. His words pass straight through her. So he dances a hand down her chest, her stomach, palm pressing into her mound as his thumb swipes over her covered clit.
“I said, is that right?” he goads over Y/N’s gasp.
“Ye—yes. Always right, y’always right,” she babbles, cheek turning into the rug. The weight of his thumb and that tiny flick is enough to make her clit throb.
“Mm, Daddy’s always right, you’re so smart, baby.” He taps so lightly, so mockingly, with the pad of his thumb—simply feeling. It makes her jolt anyhow, so pent up—at Harry’s complete disposal like his mere presence turns her into one of Pavlov’s dogs… and it’s not her mouth that drools.
“Let me have a good look at you,” his tone doesn’t leave room for interpretation. He will have a good look at her. “Fuckin’ missed you, gorgeous’,” as he tugs the gusset of her panties to the side—hardly patient enough to remove her legs from his shoulders and spend all that time wriggling the material down. Y/N isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or her cunt. “Been hiding from me.” Harry’s eyes flit up to hers and despite the thick layer of fog that floats around her brain, Y/N still has the mind to avert her gaze—embarrassed.
She’s not been hiding. That would be childish.
“I want you to come for me, okay?” Head dipping lower and lower until Y/N can feel his breaths tickling her bare skin. “I don’t want you to stop coming.” And then he meets her cunt, tongue laving over her drippy hole but not dipping inside, dragging her arousal up and over her clit one long, big swipe. Y/N makes a much louder noise than she’d be happy about in any other circumstance, with any sense of control over her actions. But she has no power over her mouth as it cries out, legs tightening around Harry’s head already and he’s barely started a thing.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks it unwise to come quickly, considering Harry’s insatiable humming against her cunt, and his unlikely proclivity to want to stop. But he’s always unravelled her overwhelmingly fast—always managed to pull an orgasm out of her without even trying.
Sweat beads at the base of her spine, hands struggling to know what to do with themselves. She rests them either side of her head, and then they flinch up and off the floor when Harry sucks her clit into his mouth, the crude sounds making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She wants to bury her digits into his soft hair and tug for stability, but she sobs out at the suction, and the pressure of a finger circling her hole, and her arms fall heavy above her head.
Her back arches, body writhing far too much for Harry to focus as his forearm falls heavily over her stomach, fingertips mindlessly rooting under the wire of her bra. He pushes the cups up and over her tits, squeezing a palmful as he goes. His right hand concentrates where it matters, middle and ring fingers nestling inside of her easily and curling just right.
Y/N sobs, hand clambering to thud over Harry’s own that plays with her breasts. She squeezes him, mouth lagging behind her brain as her orgasm races towards her. “Harry!” Head thrown back against the rug, cushioned by the soft strands. He hums, and Y/N can’t see his face but she knows he looks smug. He hums and it tips her over the edge, vibrations sizzling off of his tongue and through her clit that he sucks and drools over as his fingers pump steadily.
And he doesn’t stop—not that Y/N had expected him to but it’s suddenly a lot harder to deal with as her cunt clenches and throbs, resigned already under his intense ministrations. “Oh my god!” Too weak to lift her head up but she tries, only to be met with Harry’s devastating, smiling eyes tracking her every movement. She falls back again, frantic hands pushing at his forehead. “Please.”
He lifts up, chin glistening and mouth a pretty pink, “Mm.” Even gulping down oxygen looks sexy when he does it. Perfectly composed, lips curled up in satisfaction. “Not done, baby. W’na make you fucking gush,” and Y/N’s face curls up in a preemptive cry as Harry hauls himself up to her and smears a dismantling kiss. Her noises are muffled, turned into new ones with the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste on his tongue that he so generously shares, rubbing against hers like it might make her orgasm again.
A creeping hand wraps around her throat, the other still dedicated to the slick place between her thighs and the pressure makes Y/N’s lashes flutter, brows tugging towards the centre of her face. Harry smiles above her, serious about his word—he wants to make her gush around him, his index finger teasing the side of his middle that rubs so deliciously against the front of Y/N’s walls—pinky slapping lewdly in the crease of her thigh with every thrust in and out.
“I can’t,” she swallows, tough to talk with the weight of Harry’s palm against her neck.
“Yeahhh, you can,” he’s sure of it. Too cocky but Y/N’s cunt doesn’t seem to mind, clenching as though it wants to keep Harry’s fingers inside of her forever. “My good girl, yeah? Gonna get me all wet, aren’t ya.” Her jaw slackens, trembling fingers curling around his wrist as he digs into the sides of her neck and his fingers work tirelessly.
“Daddy! Pl—ple—oh!” Nothing very intelligible tumbles from her lips, mouth wide with eyes to match, rendered statuesquely still with the pleasure that overwhelms. And then she starts trembling, every curl of Harry’s fingers making her abdomen coil tighter and tighter. “Ah—I—” Every pulse makes him all the more confident, unfurling his hand from around her neck to trail southwards and rub disrespectfully across her clit.
Y/N doesn’t know what to do—the pressure builds—it’s all consuming and overpowering, she wants to thrash and scream and run from the feeling. But she also wants to dive head first into it and spend the rest of her days there.
“Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweetheart—good girl,” their eyes lock and it makes it so much worse. He pushes into her button with tantalising precision, circling and pinching, leaning over to spit a filthy string of saliva onto the mess she’s already made. “Come, baby. Make a mess all over me,” his green eyes are so void of iris, black pupils large enough to reflect Y/N’s own image as he groans, “You can do that, can’t you?”
Everything’s upside down, she shakes her head when she should be nodding because it’s all too much and she’s crying as it happens, a tiny gush pushing out from around Harry’s fingers as he fucks her through it, moaning alongside her sobs. She soaks his shorts and drips down the insides of her thighs—shaking with enough force to displace Harry’s hand as her orgasm lingers for longer than she’s ever known.
Harry dips down and mouths over her empty hole, desperate to make her even wetter, lapping at her arousal like he may never get the chance to do so again. “Atta—fucking—girl,” not moving back for a second, words muffled. “Did so well. I knew you would.”
And he doesn’t fucking stop.
Y/N’s body aches lusciously when she gets up. She feels heavy and thick like honeycomb, and waking up with Harry’s thick biceps caging her in—the rise and fall of his chest against her back serving as the perfect metronome—had been so sorely missed she could’ve cried tears of relief.
In her delirium of the night previous, she’d failed to process the sounds of Harry on the phone, making the executive decision that she was too sick to come in. He only reminded her when she tried to wriggle out of his immovable grip to get ready. But then Harry’s own alarm had gone off and she was trailing behind him to the bathroom anyway, eyes shaped like hearts and her invisible tail curling around his legs.
Despite her best attempts, he hadn’t let her wrap her silky palms around him whilst they showered—endeared smile making her flush irregardless of their bare skin brushing against one another.
She watches him get dressed, and watches each chew and swallow of his breakfast, resting her head in the palm of her hand like a true renaissance vision. And then she remembers something she’s been meaning to let him know, foggy head stumbling over a few words as she tries to piece them together.
“Um, Harry?”
He smiles to himself at the sound of her ambivalence. She sits next to him at the kitchen island with the most adorable crinkle in her nose. “Yes?”
“Uhh…” apparently her fingers are suddenly extremely fascinating. “I’m going on a long weekend trip with Niall on Friday. Is… is that okay?”
“Yeah, yes, of course that’s okay.” He frowns, “Have I ever made you feel like it wasn’t?”
She jumps, twitching on her stool like a fretful mouse. “No! No, I’m sorry, no you haven’t. I don’t know why—”
“You’re alright,” he knocks his knuckle under her chin affectionately. “You want some help packing?”
God, yes. “Would you mind?” She hates packing.
Harry could already make that assumption for himself—starting to imagine a scene of her sitting pretty on her bed, cross-legged, whilst he does it all for her. “Not at all,” tipping his head back to swig the rest of his coffee before leaning over to press a wet kiss to her cheek.
Y/N can’t help but giggle. “Thanks,” and then she starts twitching again, with giddiness this time, hands coming out in front of her as she gestures. “I’ll make you that curry you like for dinner. Ready for you when you walk through the door, I promise!” She grins all beautifully and it makes Harry’s heart stutter in his chest—the elation on her face, the excitement. He kisses her again, pasting a few pecks to the corner of her mouth. “I promise,” as she turns to catch his lips with a smile, hands clenching into happy fists against his warm chest.
“Have a good day, sweetheart. No tears, yeah?”
She nods bashfully, following him to the front door. “No tears.”
there’s something so quietly beautiful about this era… like it’s not trying to be loud or overwhelming, it just *is*. honest, intentional and completely rooted in the music itself.watching harry at funkhaus felt like witnessing something almost sacred.
the way he chose to come back, so focused on the essence of it all: the connection, the freedom, the joy, the longing, every feeling in between - it’s not just performance, it’s expression in its purest form.
every live moment feels like watching a painter at work, like each note is a brushstroke and you can *feel* the emotion as it’s being created in real time. there’s something deeply human about it, something that pulls you in without even trying.
and seeing him grow like this, so present and so sure of his artistry, is genuinely endearing. it makes you appreciate not just the music, but the intention behind it - the way he sees the world and chooses to share that with us.
i don’t know… i just feel really lucky to be here for it. to experience his art like this, to witness this version of him. it feels special in a way that’s hard to put into words, but you can feel it anyway.
hiiii can u write a headcanon about olderry when his gf is being very clingy like always asking him for kissy and such
age gaprry headcanon pt.5
author's note: hi my sweet angel! tysm for the request! i hope you like it, i did my best <3 -hattie
being with harry, especially in the late hours of the night was a bit hard
you couldn't leave him alone! not that he'd complain of course
it was odd how quick the switch could flip
you'd get out of the shower, change into your tiny barely there pajamas that consisted of a cute lace cami with shorts (that seemed to be almost underwear) and a pink lace pair of panties
and suddenly you were straddling his lap, face smushed in the crook of his neck
sometimes it was while he was doing some work on his laptop like responding to emails or whatever it was that he did
you never really paid attention, too focused on him
his smell, the feeling of his muscles underneath you, and his strong hands as they rubbed small circles into your back or played with your hair
you were like a purring cat in harry's lap
sometimes your neediness came at very inconvenient times, but you couldn't help it!
once, you were out at the shops because he wanted to find some utensils for his kitchen or whatever
you were all over him the entire time
you'd wrap your arms around his waist from behind him, nibbling kissed onto his neck, wanting to practically be in his skin if you could
and harry eats it up every. single. time
he fucking loves it
the idea of his little baby always ready and wanting him? yeah it drove him insane
at events you're often sitting in his lap (because where else would you sit?)
most of the time with his lips entwined with yours, tasting each others mouths
you have to be careful to not take it too far
and it's not your fault you cant help that there's that achy damp spot in your center
always ready for harry to do whatever he sees fit.
From Me/Warnings: Tiny bit of a filler episode but. I noticed a lot of the previous parts were heavy on Harry’s POV so I wanted to even the score a little bit. (Especially knowing Part VII is pretty heavily Harry’s POV as well) which truthfully I don’t mind at all/love writing BUT. There is a tiny bit of Harry’s POV, hopefully it’s not too distracting that it’s so uneven. Warnings: vomit and some minor scrapes and cuts
Summary: He may as well have undressed her right there in entryway of Kingsley Place. Her stomach was competing with her heart to do as many backflips as possible. They could have had their own spots in the Olympics.
Harry was standing at the main door when she returned to Kingsley Place. She was pretty good at imagining things when it came to Harry these days. It was almost akin to coming home to him and being greeted by a doting husband.
Her cheeks warmed at the sight of his sweet half smile. “Good morning.”
“Hi Harry.”
“Y’look a lot more rested this morning, how are y’feeling?” He asked.
Her heart was doing backflips as he gazed at her. So, she was fine but overwhelmed still. “Much better, thank you. They were doing some special and I got to go to the spa for free,” she glanced at the ground. “I’ve never done that before,” she scuffed her shoe against the sidewalk. “It felt really extravagant and lavish. It was nice. I cried,” she admitted and she could feel more tears filling her eyes at the memory and just how overwhelmed she was yesterday.
The small smile stayed in place on his undeniably pretty mouth. “S’nice, darling. Y’deserved it. How did y’sleep?”
“Really good,” she nodded. “If I was able to carry it, I would have stolen that bed right from the hotel.”
He chuckled quietly under his breath. “Noted,” he nodded. “I called your mattress company and told them t’refund you immediately. Will y’keep an eye on y’statement t’make sure it happens?”
Her jaw fell slack. “You did?”
“Yeah, I know I probably shouldn’t, but I throw around some of the names around here,” he shrugged and looked away sheepishly. “I know Arthur wouldn’t mind,” he explained. “If y’have any problems ordering a new bed let me know.”
It felt intimate in a way she couldn’t describe. Maybe because it was a bed and it was inherently an intimate thing. After her visit to the spa, she lied on that luxurious mattress and thought about Harry in a way that she definitely shouldn’t have. Was it extra warm out today? She thought to herself. Hopefully her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Thank you, that was very kind of you. I’ve been putting that off for way too long.”
“Happy t’help,” he nodded softly. “Let me know when y’order a new mattress so I can make sure s’delivered on time,” he looked at her pointedly. “Y’should’ve said something when y’moved in,” he reminded her.
She almost felt like she was in trouble. Disappointing Harry made her stomach knot uneasily. “Sorry,” she looked away embarrassedly. “It just didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, and I got so tired and overwhelmed settling in and getting routines—”
“S’quite literally part of m’job, love,” he stated. That simply didn’t seem true, but she wasn’t going to argue with him because she rather enjoyed the way he took charge of things and took care of something for her.
“Have you heard from Aurelia and her mother?” She asked. “I realized as I was falling asleep, I didn’t even follow up—”
He shook his head to interrupt her. “Mrs. Higgins and Aurelia are fine,” he assured her. “They came back late last night. I’m sure they’ll be by to thank you themselves.”
She felt warmth flooding her cheeks again and she shifted her bag on her shoulder. For a one-night stay, she sure knew how to pack a lot of stuff. Or maybe it was all the free samples that Raleigh gave her at the spa. It seemed like a crazy waste of resources even if there was some promotion. No way was it sustainable for multiple guests. But it really did make her shitty day so much better getting the luxurious spa treatment. The samples were a sweet bonus.
Harry’s eyes dropped to the bag strap, and he reached for it at the same time as she settled it on her other shoulder. His fingers brushed her collarbone as he took hold of it, then he slid the strap down her arm. He grabbed the door almost in the same movement and tilted his head for her to enter. “After you.”
He may as well have undressed her right there in entryway of Kingsley Place. Her stomach was competing with her heart to do as many backflips as possible. They could have had their own spots in the Olympics. She moved past him and bit the inside of her lip. They quietly walked through the silent lobby. No excitement compared to the day before. Harry pressed the elevator button and waited patiently for its arrival. “Are you going for a run tonight?” She asked once it arrived. Practically blurted it. She felt unbelievably awkward with the silence as comfortable as it was. Maybe because she worried she was going to beg Harry to kiss her or something. She stepped on the elevator and Harry joined her, still holding her bag and pressing the number 12 button.
“As long as the rain holds out. D’you want me t’wait for you?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” he answered quickly.
She felt a relieved smile spread across her lips and she nodded again. “Okay, I’ll be ready at the usual time?” She asked. Did Harry have even the smallest concept of how much she liked a usual anything with him?
“Sounds good, darling.”
Good God, she was going to melt into a puddle on the floor of the elevator and Mrs. Wentworth would probably call for her execution. Harry pressed his hand to the elevator door sliding within the wall and gestured for her to exit. She took the keys from her raincoat pocket and unlocked her door. Harry pushed the door open and set her bag inside the entryway before stepping back from her apartment. “Do y’want me t’send coffee up? Or do you need anything else?” He asked.
She shook her head. “I’m good, Harry. Thank you,” she said gratefully.
“Of course. Have a nice day, Miss. See you later.”
“Have a nice day, Harry.”
*
Harry was in the lobby, but he was sitting in the seat near the fireplace that she quite honestly designated as her seat. Which made no sense at all, but she couldn’t help it. She also couldn’t help Harry looked undeniably hot sitting there and she was thinking of all the things she shouldn’t when she was about to spend at least forty-five minutes running around their city with him. It was warmer today since spring was approaching quickly. He had bright red shorts on and a long-sleeved black shirt that looked like it would wick all the sweat away.
It was the first time she’d seen his thighs ever and she realized her imagination that ran wild in her hotel bed the night before didn’t compare to reality. There was this small voice in her head that sounded downright deranged, begging her to bite his thigh. “Hi,” she greeted. He smiled, his signature half-grin and stood up from his seat.
“Hi,” he answered. “Y’have a nice day?”
“Got caught up on a few things.”
“Did y’look for a new mattress?” He asked.
She felt guilty she hadn’t; it didn’t even cross her mind because she was trying to catch up on all the other little plans and things she needed to get done. She was planning a visit to her family, and it was exhausting just thinking about it and maybe a bed would help. “I’m still comparing some options,” she explained fibbing only slightly. It wasn’t a bad lie or an over-the-top one. It was kind of true. She just didn’t have a lot to compare. “I have to call the hotel and ask what kind of bed they have.”
He chuckled. “I can find out for you. If y’want.”
She felt her body throb all over. It was a simple favor, a small offer and it still made her entire body freak out. But Harry already did so much for her, and she didn’t know if she could ever repay him for how nice he was to her and asking him to do one more thing might make her a little insane. “I can do it,” she swallowed. “I appreciate it.”
They walked toward the exit and Harry held the door open for her. She wondered if he got tired of doing that or if he would have done it whether he was the doorman or not. (She kind of figured he’d do it anyway but still.) They jogged slowly at first as they always did. Harry often ran ahead of her because he was better and faster than her. She looked opposite of him today, long pants and a sleeveless tank top. Even if spring was approaching and it was much warmer than it had been, the pressure of the cold air felt good on her arms. She tried not to breathe like she was dying as she listened to Harry’s steady footfalls ahead of her.
She also tried not to stare at his cute butt the entire time, but she was only human.
Harry slowed just a bit and she wondered what for. But swiftly without breaking stride, he pulled his shirt over his head. The muscles in his back contracted with the movement and the deranged little voice in her head asked her to not only bite his thigh (and biceps and calves) but now it asked to lick up and down his sweaty spine.
So of course she tripped.
She skidded ungracefully and she was so thankful that Harry was in front of her and didn’t witness her fall. Like a child, the knee of her pants ripped a bit. She got matching scrapes on her kneecaps and palms from the sidewalk as she caught herself. “Fuck,” she whispered gasping at the sting in her skin.
“Are you alright?” Harry turned back quickly from a few paces ahead of her, probably hearing her missteps and subsequent fall.
As he turned back for her, she realized it was actually really good that she had fallen before he turned around. It was very probable that she would have fallen into the street then hit by a car or something, if she had witnessed the front of his body beneath his shirt before she saw his back. This was the least of the two injuries she could have suffered, for sure.
Her mind went blank for a moment as she tried to process what Harry was asking her. She most certainly was not alright. How could she be? His abs and tattoos were on full display, and it was wildly unfair that all that was hiding under his black shirts and suits all day every day. Was she drooling? It was possible. “Darling?” He asked crouching in front of her. His eyebrows pinched together in worry, and he was still breathing a little unevenly from the whole exercise thing.
Meanwhile her lack of air had nothing to do with running. Well, not her running. She caught sight of the sweat that rolled down his body. She swore she saw a droplet travel over each ridge of his individual ab muscles like water flowing over freshly dug trenches in a garden bed. She blinked and shook her head. “I’m alright,” she said quickly. “Just tripped like an idiot,” she looked away embarrassed. Also, she needed a reprieve from how hot he looked because the deranged little voice in her head was starting to sound an awful lot like her own inner monologue voice. “I think I’ll head back and clean up my scrapes,” she smiled awkwardly. “But you should finish your run,” she bit her lip. “Sorry to interrupt as is.”
He stood up and reached for her hands at the same time helping her to her feet carefully avoiding the scrapes on her skin. “Lemme see,” he murmured and cradled one hand in his palm up. He inspected it quickly, then softly brushed his discarded shirt over her hand ridding it of any large dirt particles. Without asking, he did the same with her other hand; carefully cradled it in his and brushed his shirt over it.
Good God.
Harry leaned down a bit and brushed her knees as well. He stood to his full height and tilted his head in the direction they came. “Let’s head back then and get y’cleaned up.”
Since Harry’s body clearly was some sort of personal torture device, she made some insane sound. A cross between a scoff, a snort, and a gasp. “Harry, I don’t want to—”
“S’okay,” he shrugged. “We can jus’ go for another run tomorrow. Y’wouldn’t let me run if I got hurt, m’sure, Dr. Alden,” his half smile and the sweat in his hair was all too much for her. What the fuck was happening to her?
It had to be the hotel bed and that spa. She was too relaxed. Too overwhelmed. Plus, there was the whole thing where Harry held her yesterday to comfort her that was still a very happy memory despite how sad she had been at the time. Holy shit she touched those muscles and she didn’t even know the half of what he was hiding.
His hand gently touched her lower back to get her moving. He draped his shirt over his shoulder, and they walked almost silently for a couple blocks. When they went through a busy crosswalk, Harry’s hand pressed to the middle of her back, and it nearly sent her right back to the ground.
“Did you have a nice day?” She asked suddenly. It was so random but clearly the brain that got her through med school was no longer party to her body. Fortunately, Harry must not have noticed nor cared.
“It was alright,” he shrugged. “Saturdays are kind of boring. Everyone’s usually out and about for a while or holed up in their places after the work week.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Mrs. Wentworth has been on another level this week,” he shook his head opting for some small talk over the din of the city sounds around them.
“I know,” she rolled her eyes. “The scuffing the elevator floor might have been what set me over the edge yesterday.”
He smirked almost sadly. “Y’didn’t even scuff it. I checked.”
“Why’s she so crotchety anyway?”
Harry sighed and shrugged. “All the money in the world can’t buy happiness, you know?”
She nodded knowingly. “I agree completely.”
“Do y’have any plans for the next couple days?” He asked.
The walk back took twice as long as the run, which was great because she genuinely loved spending time with Harry and it was rare they had long lengths of time together when he was working or there was always something else to deal with. “Not really. Hopefully I’ll finish painting finally. Every time I start a new project, another thing pops up.”
“Do y’need help?”
That very well could have been the sexiest thing any man, but especially Harry, had ever said to her. “Uh…” she shrugged one shoulder. “I think I’m okay.”
“Well… let me know if y’need help. Niall’s better than me, but m’pretty handy overall,” he smirked.
Jesus Christ she was going to trip again. “Thank you. I’ll let you know,” she assured him. “I’m going to visit my family next time I’m off—the whole weekend doesn’t always line up you know? My short shift is on Saturday so I’m thinking I’ll leave right from work.”
“S’nice. Special occasion?” He asked.
“Um…” she bit the inside of her lip and looked away shyly. “It’s my birthday actually.”
“Oh?” He grinned a bit brighter. “Y’were jus’ gonna leave town and not tell me?”
“I don’t really make my birthday a thing. I’ve been so busy for like the last ten years it’s almost impossible to celebrate it. Honestly, the idea of traveling all that way for a short weekend seems tiring as well… But…I don’t know. I… I just miss my mom,” she swallowed around the lump of emotion that lodged itself awkwardly in her throat. “They’re busy too and stuff,” she explained. “But I don’t need a lot.”
“Jus’ cause y’don’t need a lot doesn’t mean y’shouldn’t get the bare minimum,” he said gently.
It was already hard not to embarrass herself because of his abs and tattoos having a staring contest with her that they were undoubtedly winning. His soft and vulnerable words made her feel like she was going to cry so she shook her head quickly and shrugged one shoulder once more. “I guess it’s a lot easier for one person to travel to all of them than trying to gather all of them to come to me.”
He hummed quietly. “S’your birthday. They should come to you,” he stated quietly. As they approached Kingsley Place Harry slipped his shirt back over his torso which was completely not what she wanted but a blessing really. There was no way she could get her brain to make grilled cheese without burning her apartment down and she would have hated it if Harry had to file more paperwork because of her.
Of course, Harry held the door open for her. She noted he picked up his pace just a hair through the lobby as they approached the elevator. “Embarrassed to be seen with me?” She joked as they got on the lift.
He rolled his eyes at her as he pressed the button for her floor. “Not even a little. M’embarrassed t’be seen… out of uniform.”
She bit her tongue hard enough to draw a bit of blood to keep herself from saying he looked pretty good out of uniform. “No one would expect you to be all proper all the time,” she stated. “You’re a person and whatnot.”
A really hot—almost too hot to be real—person.
He shrugged. “Mrs. Wentworth kind of scares me.”
“You can’t let a mean old lady scare you, Harry,” she giggled.
“M’pretty sure she wants me fired because I tipped her package upside down by accident.”
“Did you break it?”
“No, it was like a box of office supplies,” he shook his head.
She sighed heavily. “Uncle Henry never mentioned her.”
“Probably for good reason.”
She bent to untie her key from her laces and winced in pain at the stretch of the cut on her skinned knee. “I’ll grab it,” he offered quickly.
Then Harry was kneeling. At her feet. Untying her shoe.
If he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her before, she was certain he would be soon. She might imagine this moment in bed for the rest of her life, and she was almost sure he’d be able to see it on her face if he looked up at her any time soon. He opened her door like this was the most normal occurrence. Like he lived there. It felt very nice to think of it that way.
They went to the kitchen first and she immediately washed her hands. She ignored the sting from the water and enjoyed the soothing feeling of the soap and clean water almost instantly. Harry headed for the bathroom and returned in a minute with a small first aid kit. “How’d you know I had that?” She wondered as she patted her hands dry and gathered the ingredients for grilled cheese.
He smirked. “Uh… you’re a doctor,” he reminded her with a tilt of his head. “Remember?”
Right. Not really. Clearly.
A picture of his abs would be great in torture room. Hard to lie about anything with them on the brain. She was certain she’d trade government secrets for just a look at them. “Sit,” he nodded to the stool.
She snorted. “Harry, they’re just little cuts and whatnot, I don’t need—”
“Humor me, darling. M’not a doctor. But I can make sure y’cuts don’t get infected,” he placed the small kit on the island counter and flipped open the lid to reveal a variety of items for small cuts and scrapes such as hers. “I know those scrapes sting like crazy, so let me cover them so y’don’t hurt them a bunch making our snack.”
So of course, she had no choice but to sit down and let him fawn over her. He was very gentle and thorough. Like he really was concerned she’d get an infection like gangrene or something. “You have a very nice bedside manner,” she stated.
He snorted, smirking in such a way and so close to her she was absolutely riveted by the dimple in his cheek that the little voice in her head (the one that was hers and not some obscure sound that wormed its way into her head) asked her to stick her tongue in it. He patted the bandage on her palm after he completed the second hand. “All set. I’ll leave this out so y’can tend t’your other cuts later.”
You could take your pants off right now! The voice in her head was getting almost belligerent.
Shut. Up.
“Thank you, Dr. Styles,” she giggled.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome. I can make the grilled cheese for you, too,” he stated opening the bag for the loaf of bread. “How many slices of cheese do y’want?”
It was possible he knocked his own earlier sentence out of the top spot for the sexiest thing ever said. “I can do it,” she protested weakly because the thought of Harry’s insanely hot body and his very sweet words and actions were making her brain very foggy that she wondered if she had hit her head in her tumble. She stood and moved around the island, but Harry shook his head.
“M’sure y’can, darling. Sit.”
Was she supposed to say no to him?
“You’re kind of bossy,” she said knowingly. It was a lot safer on her heart and head to tease him.
“Seems t’be the only way t’get you t’relax for half a second,” he quirked an eyebrow at her as he put some butter in the frying pan.
God, she wished she was staying in that hotel bed another night. She had a lot more things to add to her imagination.
*
Harry didn’t tell Niall about how much time they spent together over the last forty-eight hours. Nor that he got to hold her while she cried, or that he tended to her wounds, and fed her a post-run snack. It seemed special and private, and he wanted to keep it that way.
There was a small ache starting behind Harry’s eye, and he didn’t pay too much attention to it. Eye strain and tiredness were likely the culprits. He wanted to deal with his morning routines first. Mr. Langley was already out the door, and he’d already suffered his five-minute conversation with Mrs. Wentworth. Mr. and Mrs. Keningston were out for breakfast and Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair would be back from brunch after church. He made sure the lobby looked clean before he stepped out briefly and hurried up the street to deal with his most pressing and important morning routine he developed in the last few months.
He exited the elevator holding a coffee in hand and knocked on her door firmly. Within ten seconds he heard her quick footfalls behind the door. He realized his mistake as she pulled the door out of the way. She scanned him quickly and then the tension in her body sagged. The anxiety left her instantly and Harry felt bad he made her worry.
He knew that Mrs. Higgins knocked on her door the day before and it was probably likely she would always answer her door in the same worried manner for a very long time. “Oh, m’sorry,” he frowned. “Did I wake you?” He asked.
She was wearing shorts. If you could call them that. She tugged the hem of her T-shirt by her extremely pretty thighs (was she not wearing a bra?) oh God. Harry messed up, royally. He kept his eyes on her sleepy face and tried not to think about the way her T-shirt took top position for the prettiest outfit he’d ever seen her in.
“No, I was… lounging, I’m sorry I thought there was an emergency—can you… give me like one minute?” She asked realizing there was no immediate emergency. She slowly inched halfway behind the door. Her cheeks flushed the prettiest color of red—a red that matched the small shorts just beneath the hem of—
“Yeah, of course, m’sorry,” he repeated apologetically keeping his eyes focused on her very pretty face.
She closed the door. Harry noted the pain in his head amplified tenderly and he thought maybe if he bashed his head repeatedly into the frame around the door, he wouldn’t feel as stupid as he did. God she was pretty.
The door opened again and she was wearing actual shorts now, which meant Harry had seen her in underwear. He was glad he did all his tasks for the morning because he wasn’t sure how productive he’d be having the knowledge of her pretty thighs and small shorts in his aching head.
Harry held the coffee out instantly and tried not to think about how she was definitely not wearing a bra. Jesus, fuck, this was a bad idea. “I jus’ wanted t’get this for you. I should have jus’ kept it downstairs but thought y’might want t’hang in your place and I guess I didn’t think ‘bout how—”
“Thank you,” she interrupted and the kindness in her voice was so sweet. “That’s very thoughtful.”
He breathed out in relief and the pain in his head subsided a bit. “I uh… I’ll get out of your hair,” he rubbed the back of his neck and bit the inside of his lip. “Have a nice day, Miss.”
“Have a nice day, Harry,” she grinned, sipped her coffee, and sighed. “Perfect.”
She really was.
*
It was too late by the time Harry realized what was happening. He sat in his office with the lights off and the door shut hoping that no one would really need him until after he left at the end of his shift. It was wishful thinking, however. Because why would that happen when he needed it to?
He moved much too slowly as the knock on his office door sounded like cannon balls directly inside his temples. He blinked wearily against the light from the lobby. Was the sun suddenly inside the lobby?
“Harry,” Sloane asked. “Can you call us a cab? We have to get to this new restaurant to review it,” she explained at lightning speed.
Did he nod? He thought he did. Slowly he turned back to the dark office and grabbed his phone off the desk. He was definitely moving at a glacial pace. But to answer his own question, no; the sun was not in the lobby. It was in his phone. The bright screen made him drop it on the desk which was almost as loud as the cannons that happened when Sloane knocked on his office door.
The pain in his head was making his stomach ache; and he was fairly certain he might pass out at any moment. Or throw up. All of which was not a good move in front of Sloane and Hailey.
“Are you alright?” Sloane asked. Too loudly. But it was quite perceptive to think of someone other than herself, he thought.
“Fine,” he murmured. But the effort to say the word made his jaw hurt and consequently amplified the pain in his temple. The medicine he took did nothing and he knew it might—probably—not help, but he really hoped that it would. It was just a couple more hours and then he could go. “I’ll call; they’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Harry closed the door and promptly threw up in the trashcan. Maybe that would help. But after moment it was clear, if anything, the throbbing in his temples only worsened. He managed to dial the cab number that worked almost exclusively with the building. He spoke as quickly as he possibly could pained by having to repeat himself because the company’s answering service was definitely struggling to understand his mumbled words before he threw up again. Once seated behind the desk, he pressed his face to the cool wood and silently prayed the pain would stop.
However, the smell of his own vomit made him more nauseous. It was just vicious. Unfair. Cruel. He had such a nice evening with the pretty girl and saw her pretty thighs this morning and now he was just—
“Have you seen Harry?”
No, no, no. He did not want her to see him like this. “He’s in his office,” Hailey said and he could almost hear her eyeroll in disgust. “He’s being weird and not doing his job. Our cab is late.”
“Would you like me to call the cab for you?” She asked kindly. “If Harry can do it, I’m sure I can as well.” “It’s really unlike him to not do something we ask. I sure hope he’s okay,” she stated both sweetly and bitingly. He really was in love with her. It was quite embarrassing.
Almost as embarrassing as her knocking softly on the door (much softer than Sloane had, may he add). “Harry?” She asked softly. He couldn’t answer and then her voice turned away from the door as she spoke again. “I think your cab is right outside.”
Sloane mumbled a thank you and the sound of high heels clicked away across the lobby.
For a moment, Harry hoped she had left. But instead, the door quietly clicked open. “Whoa,” she whispered. He was sure she could smell that he was sick and incapable of cleaning it up or dealing with it for the moment. Pure embarrassment washed over him and if he wasn’t feeling so weak, he might have told her to leave. “Harry?” She asked, closing the door behind her with another very soft click. It was clear she knew almost instinctively what was going on. The way she was speaking so softly, how she tried her best to keep the light from the lobby out of the office. If he wasn’t feeling so poorly already, his stomach might have flipped at the kind gesture. But she was also closing herself in with the smell of him being sick and pathetic. He simply couldn’t have that.
“Go away,” he moaned exhaustedly.
“Oh goodness,” she whispered. “Come with me.”
“M’working,” he groaned. “Jus’ go away,” he was in so much pain he practically slurred his words.
She somehow managed to keep her voice below a whisper. “Not happening. Keep your eyes closed. I’ll guide you,” she offered and gently touched his shoulders. It hurt, but also felt very soothing. It was hard to describe.
“I can’t,” he repeated. “Money.”
She sighed very quietly. “I’m sorry Harry, I don’t care. You need to take care of yourself right now,” tugged very gently on him to get out of his seat.
Harry was exhausted. Run down. Sick.
This was miserable and he didn’t want this pretty angel to have to take care of him. But he was really not himself, out of his element, and simply too ill to care much more or longer. He stood slowly; each step and movement felt like knives drilling into his brain and skull at the same time. She grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers.
“I’m gonna open the door. Keep your eyes shut,” her voice was melodic and beautiful, and he wished he could tell her. He could see the change in lights through his eyelids, and he tilted his head down. The smell of his own vomit followed him, and he felt disgusted with himself and his predicament. He hoped she wouldn’t think too poorly of him.
The ping of the elevator felt like an electric shock through his whole body. “Sorry,” she whispered seeing him wince further in pain.
The movement of the elevator as they started moving up, topped with his aching head, and already queasy stomach meant only one thing. “M’gonna be sick,” he warned.
“Go ahead,” she whispered and something pressed to the front of his chest just in time for him to be sick again.
For someone with a horrible migraine he had way too much clarity of what it meant. She carried his vomit trashcan through the lobby for him.
He groaned quietly. “Almost there,” she continued to whisper as if he hadn’t just embarrassed himself in front of her. When the elevator stopped another wave of nausea flowed over him, but he refused to make this any worse than it was regardless of how gross he felt and he was not going to throw up again.
He heard the small click of her lock turning and the way she quieted the turn of her doorknob as well. She grabbed his hand again and guided him inside her entry way.
Usually too much of any smell made Harry feel worse. But the only thing he could recognize was how good it smelled in her place. Like fresh laundry. It was the first reprieve he had in hours. She gently tugged him forward, going at the same speed he set (glacial, once more). He couldn’t believe how terrible he felt and how kind and gentle she was being. After what felt like a ten-minute walk across her place she stopped. She put the trash can down and softly touched his shoulder. “Sit.”
They were quiet commands, but Harry knew she was trying to use less words if she could help it. His eyes were still closed so he was only vaguely aware of her movement. He sensed her presence moved elsewhere in the room. All of his senses were heightened so he swore he could hear everything. Even though she was moving quietly and almost soundlessly, he could still make out the slide of the curtain across the rod by the window. After a few silent seconds (where she must have made her way actually without sound) he heard her fridge open followed by a cabinet and then a drawer. His mind was only half working but the half that was functioning knew this was the most mortifying moment of his life. He would have been content with dying if it meant he didn’t embarrass himself any further in front of the pretty doctor.
Fortunately, the non-functioning portion of his brain was taking more residency in his head. He was a slave to the pain and nothing else. He quietly hoped she wouldn’t think he was as embarrassing as he felt after all this was over.
*
Harry leaned forward again without much warning and vomited again into the trashcan. She slowly padded across the room holding a glass of water and a cold compress. She kept the compress for her own headaches and while she knew this was no ordinary headache, she hoped it would help him feel better. And she really wished she could take the pain from Harry.
He moaned softly and she tilted his chin up gently from hovering over the trashcan. “Sip, swish, spit,” she placed the straw between his lips. He did as she asked. Once she placed the trashcan to the side, she held the straw out again. “Drink,” she ordered. He took a few big gulps, and she was relieved he was thirsty. “Open,” she placed two pills on his tongue and then put the straw back at his lips. She had some heavier pain relief for some intense menstrual cramping she used to get more frequently but still kept the medicine on hand just in case they ever cropped up again. Hopefully the stronger dose would make him feel better. She saw the small bottle of pills in the mostly dark office, and she was very thankful it was a different class of medication than the one she was offering him now. “Drink.”
Once the medicine was done, she set the plastic cup on the coffee table. She knelt in front of him and untied his shoes and pulled them off as slowly as she could. Next, she unbuttoned his suit coat and slid it off his shoulders then undid his black button-down. She was fortunate he had a fitted black T-shirt beneath it. Mostly because she felt it would be extremely unfair to Harry if she ogled his abs without his consent or knowing.
She managed to get his belt off but wouldn’t be going further to get him out of his pants. “Lay.”
He slowly laid back onto the sofa. When his head touched the cushion he breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling confident he would be okay for a minute, she grabbed the trash can and headed to the bathroom. She closed the door quietly, hoping to add another layer to block out the sound from him. She flushed and rinsed the trashcan out as best she could in the shower. Knowing how heavy scents could really ruin his progress, she then sprayed it down with a scentless cleaning product. Anything to keep the stimulation of senses to the most minimum.
She returned to the living room and Harry looked like he might have fallen asleep. It was hard to tell because his pretty green eyes had been closed since she told him to close them down in his office. Softly, she stroked the back of her fingers across his forehead then gently laid the cold compress across it. She replaced the trashcan beside his head. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be sick again; not that it mattered if he did get sick, but mostly because she just felt so bad it was happening to him.
“M’sorry, darling,” he managed to croak.
“Shh,” she hushed. “Drink,” she held the straw to his lips again and he took a few more gulps. “Sleep.”
*
While Harry slept, she dug in his pocket for his work phone. She brought his clothes to the end of her apartment where she threw them in the wash hoping Harry wouldn’t mind. She turned off anything she thought might have a chance of making noise in her place. She dialed Niall on his phone from her bedroom and explained the situation.
“Thanks, Dr. Alden,” he chuckled. “I’ll call Nick t’get down there. Poor guy.”
She frowned to herself and nodded. “Yeah, I feel terrible,” she sighed. “Can you grab some comfier clothes for him? You can leave them outside my apartment. Just in case he wants them when he wakes up.”
“Sure, darling,” there was a massive smile in his voice, and she felt herself blushing. Did Niall know how ridiculously infatuated she was with his best friend? Surely, he knew from the tamer instances when she first moved in—the donuts, the coffees, and other treats. But now Harry was asleep and ill in her apartment, and she could have helped him to his place. She didn’t need to bring him. She didn’t even have a bed for him to sleep on. “Thanks for taking care of him, darling. Not a lot of people do,” he said knowingly.
A painful ache pressed against her ribcage. Break my heart, why don’t you?
She hung up with Niall and returned to the living room. She hoped that sleeping on the sofa didn’t make it too uncomfortable for him. But he was probably feeling so ill that sleeping on the coffee table would have made him feel better.
It looked like he hadn’t moved an inch. She grabbed a blanket and cozied up in the oversized chair with her book and monitored his breathing every now and again while he slept the pain away.
*
“Drink,” she whispered. Each time Harry stirred and sounded a little more awake she offered him water which he greedily took when he was awake. If he didn’t, then she just put the water aside again and waited until his next wakeful moment.
Poor Harry slept for hours. She changed his cold compress every hour or so. She made good headway on her book and enjoyed the sound of Harry’s soft breathing as background noise. Her apartment was too quiet on a regular day. Even with her intention of staying near silent, it was nice to have his quiet in her place.
Eventually with her book almost finished Harry stirred a little more prominently. She settled the book on the coffee table opened so as not to lose her page. Then grabbed his water. “Drink,” she ordered holding the straw to his lips. This time, he slowly sat up. Gently, he cupped his hands around hers. She was lucky she was so focused on caring for him because if he wasn’t ill there was a very good chance she would have dropped the water on him.
Once he drank most of the glass, she set it down again and grabbed the cold compress that slid off his head when he sat up. She grabbed the other one from the freezer. She returned, holding it out for him to take. This time he placed it behind his head at the base of his skull and sighed deeply. “Feels better back here,” he murmured.
She pouted. “Oh, I’m sorry… I was doing your foreh—”
“Do not apologize,” he gave his head the smallest little wiggle as he murmured slowly. “M’sorry y’had t’see this—”
“It was nothing,” she assured him quickly, softly.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How long—”
“Don’t worry about it, you can sleep some more if you want.”
He glanced at her. “Isn’t this your bed?”
She blushed. “I have an air mattress.”
“If it wouldn’t break m’brain, I’d roll m’eyes,” he mumbled.
She smirked and watched him. “Do you need anything?” She asked.
“No, you’ve done enough. M’gonna head back to m’apartment.”
“You can stay here, I don’t mind,” she offered.
“No, I jus’ keep thinking that y’took this trash can with you and it makes me want t’jump out a window,” he hung his head low.
“Harry, I’m a doctor. Moreover, a medical examiner. A little throw up isn’t going to scare me.”
He sighed. “M’very embarrassed. I should have left work sooner t’deal with it. But I…I don’t know. The money and stuff.”
“I get it,” she assured him. “I’m sorry you felt so poorly. Please stay here, Niall brought you some comfier clothes. If you change into them I can wash your whole outfit.”
“S’really too much.”
“It’s not, I really haven’t done much at all. Being quiet like this meant I could read my whole book,” she smiled. “So thank you.”
He huffed a little. She could see he was trying not to agitate the pain anymore. “Yeah, sure. Welcome,” he mumbled.
“I’m sorry you’re not having a nice day,” she whispered.
Harry looked up and met her gaze. It was the first time she got to see the pretty green irises that matched her bedroom walls since this morning when he caught her in just her underwear. Just with him looking at her made her blush. Softly the corner of his mouth pulled up just so.
God he was pretty.
“Despite everything, darling… m’having a pretty nice day.”
--
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Summary: It's almost the anniversary of starting your mission but Harry wants to celebrate a different anniversary
8.4k words (<- who let this happen)
A/N: this took forever to get to 😅 thank you for all your patience i hope this was worth the wait
C/W: light cursing, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, a little heated make out, references to old missions and family trauma, this is the safest chapter so far, enjoy the peace it won't last
Sweat drips down your forehead and your breaths labor harshly as you slow the treadmill to a crawl, reducing the speed from your harsh sprint down to an easy walk. Your earbuds hang precariously in your ear, threatening to expose the Kool & The Gang song you’ve been listening to. Almost a week after the island, and you still felt the grime of the night clinging to your skin. No matter how many showers you took, the filth feels embedded into your skin, another mission that would become permanently ingrained into your soul. Every mission left scars, some deeper than others. Resting your hands atop your head, you let your body ease down from your intense workout, watching yourself in the mirror. Upon inspection, you looked fine.
You wish that were true.
Upstairs, you’d have to dive back into your agency’s database, using the footage from the island to try to match faces with names. Scouring through missing kid files has become your new pastime. Rewatching the footage of that night was necessary but you could feel the familiar bile in your throat rising, threatening to escape your mouth and splash across your laptop screen with every frame. A whole wall in the office had been transformed into a collage of blurry photos, as many leads as you could print out, tied together with bits of multi-colored yarn Harry had picked up from Michael's. He said that red string was too cliche.
Harry had become especially attentive ever since you got back, and you found yourself allowing it. You didn’t shake off his hand when he rested it on your shoulder, checking in on how you were doing and you listened when he asked you to take a break. Before, you would’ve fought back against his kindness, would’ve been suspicious of his attempts to get closer, but now you were inviting him into the greenhouse, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts. As if overnight, the presence that once irritated every nerve had become comforting, a source of peace.
Not that it made opening up to him any easier. It wasn’t through lack of trying, you allowed little tidbits about your life to trickle out of you, sharing the most basic parts of you, but it wasn’t easy. Instinctually, you wanted to repair your crumbling walls, not keep breaking them down.
Trudging up the basement steps, you skip the shower, the slick of sweat masking the underlying filth you couldn’t wash off. Besides, your stomach is growling louder and the leftover Chinese food from last night sounds like the perfect breakfast.
Instead of eating sweet and sour pork and chow mein, though, when you reach the main floor, resting on the kitchen island is a pink cardboard box, brimming with donuts and pastries, next to a pot of yellow orchids, and a small booklet with a handmade cover, each page decorated with a small drawing and text like “Spend this coupon to receive one (1) full uninterrupted hour of gardening time” or “Spend this coupon to receive breakfast in bed (please use the night before)”. The coffee pot was still steaming with warmth, a mug sat nearby with a note underneath.
“Happy Anniversary, love,” read the note, Harry’s messy handwriting looping across the page, “Thank you for putting up with me for a whole year! Take the day off from work, and text me what you want for dinner. Have a fantastic day, honey!” In the corner, he had drawn a rudimentary flower and a tiny smiley face, another little doodle covered by big, thick inky marks. Holding the note up against the light, you can just barely make out its shape.
A heart.
Your face distorts itself, trying to make sense of the spread of gifts. Anniversary? What anniversary? Not that he was here to offer you any answers, he was away at his fake job, pretending to be Sam Thompson. Pulling your phone out, you snap a photo of the assortment of presents and send it to Harry, inputting a series of question marks in the text box. You go to set your phone down, but the vibration stops you, his response coming in quickly.
You: ?????
Husband: Happy Anniversary!! x
You: Yeah, I read the card. What anniversary?
Husband: Ours x
You: Our anniversary of what?
Husband: Of being together
Thinking back on the past year, you count up the days, tracing back through the past 365 days before your thumbs tap against the screen, typing in a response.
You: No, we didn’t get our assignment until the next day, the anniversary would be tomorrow
Husband: Sure, but I wasn’t celebrating our mission’s anniversary. I was celebrating ours x
Involuntarily, your head shakes with confusion, trying to make sense of what Harry is talking about.
You: Do you mean it’s been a year since we first met?
Husband: It’s kinda like an anniversary
You: No it’s not
Husband: An annual celebration?
You: NO
Husband: A yearly tradition?
A groan rumbles in your throat before you input a response.
You: Fine.
You: What do I need to get you?
You: To make this even.
Husband: I'd like to spend the night getting to know my wife x
Slamming the phone face down onto the counter, you take several steps away, needing to put physical distance between yourself and that message. You can feel your defenses hardening, your fortifications bolstered by the threat. A night, an entire night, dedicated to sharing personal information, opening about past traumas, exposing your family history, revealing your past… Flashing through your mind is every single moment of embarrassment and shame you’ve ever felt. Did he expect you to reveal that time you cried at the talent show in fifth grade, or the time you spilled fish food into your dad’s aquarium and accidentally killed everything? Would he expect you to reenact the playground insults kids used to hurl at you? What about the time, early in your career, when you’d caught the wrong criminal and the Governor of California was nearly assassinated? Just how much of yourself did you have to give away? Would you be left with any privacy, any dignity?
Before you can let your anxious thoughts overwhelm you, dragging you into a cyclone of despair, you walk away, leaving your phone with the rest of his gifts. You needed a clear head before you could fathom an appropriate response, and your skin was starting to stick together with your drying sweat, becoming overly aware of how gross your body felt.
Underneath the pelting water, each drop pounding against your skull, you let it wash away the past hour, the past day, the past week. Maybe if you kept turning the dial up, until the water turned to steam, you could burn away your imperfections, flushing them down the drain along with the dirty water.
The tile is cool against you back as you sink down to the shower floor, too tired to hold yourself up anymore. You understand what Harry was asking of you, you just didn't believe you could give it to him. Nobody had asked this of you before, no one had wanted to know you the way Harry wanted to. That information had only belonged to you, and it felt like you were conceding a part of yourself, losing pieces of you by uncovering them. You knew of the KGB tactic where spies were less likely to turn on a partner they were intimately close with, it made sense, but that was for spies working within the same agency. At the end of the day, you were loyal to your company more so than to a rival.
But your agency wasn't here. They weren't helping you with the mission, they didn't care about your safety, they didn't care to know you.
Sitting in the shower, water pouring over your head, you find yourself coming around to his invasive request. Harry wasn't unreasonable, he wouldn't pry needlessly, and there were plenty of questions you wanted to know about your husband.
Resolved to see this bullshit through, you take your time in the shower, thoroughly cleaning every inch of yourself. For the first time in a while, you felt actually clean. With your hair tied up in your towel and a robe tied around your body, you head back into the kitchen. Arming yourself with a full cup of still steaming coffee and taking a bite from one of the maple donuts, you flip over your phone screen.
Husband: It doesn't have to be a big deal darling, I just wanna spend the night with you and hang out x
You: I'll agree so long as you buy one of those extra large cookie pies from Romeo's
Husband: It takes half a cookie pie to get you to open up?
You: Bold of you to assume I was going to share
Husband: You're right, my bad x
Husband: Margarita pizza too? x
You: And the cheesy garlic bread?
Husband: Of course x
Husband: Thank you for agreeing to do this x
Your mouth quirks up at his gratitude. Who knows, maybe you’d enjoy yourself tonight.
“How’d you get your agent name?”
Blinking back your surprise, you hold up your wine glass for Harry to fill as you deliberate on how to answer. “We’re starting with the spy stuff?”
Pouring his own glass, Harry offers you a shrug. “Figured it’d be easier than the family stuff.”
The takeout boxes sit on the coffee table between you both, filling the room with the delicious smell of garlic, roasted tomato, and cheese. You’re already a few bites in on your first slice, preparing the food while Harry went to find the perfect wine to compliment your dinner. Before tonight, you’d avoided any alcohol, purging your system of everything you consumed on the island, but you were looking forward to a night of debauchery.
You grimace but nod along with his assumption, taking your time to sip on the wine. “It was given to me after I passed the initiation.” Shifting in your spot on the floor, you untuck your legs from underneath yourself, bending your knee so you could rest your elbow upon it. “Usually, you have a year to meet the job requirements or they let you go, but…” you trail off, unsure of how much you really need to share. “I had a lot of free time and I did everything they asked in half a year. Then, in the interview, they said- God, it was so stupid, I stormed through the challenges? So, Agent Storm was born,” you cheer dryly, lifting your glass marginally.
Harry nods, picking up on your tone. “You don’t like it?”
“Fuck no, it sounds like a twelve year old’s Xbox account.” Harry snorts, the sound echoing into the wine glass, creating ripples in the drink. His ease is infectious, or the wine is already taking effect, because you can feel yourself slipping easily into the comfort he oozed. “What about you, Agent Gold? Do you like your designation?”
He contemplates your question before shrugging. “I guess. I mean, it could’ve been a lot worse, so I’m grateful it wasn’t like… Agent Aquamarine or something.”
“Does your agency only use colors?”
“Yeah, they um,” he clears his throat, and scrunches his eyebrows, waving his hand around as he tries to find the right words. It’s the first time he seems uncertain about opening up. “They have us visit this… psychic and she reads our aura, and that becomes our alias.”
The wine glass in your hand wavers near your lips as you absorb his words before bursting into laughter. Even Harry, with pink creeping up his cheeks, lets out a half-hearted chuckle as he shakes his head.
“Jesus Christ, a golden aura. Are you also immaculately conceived?” you tease him, taking another sip of wine.
“Technically,” he interjects, “I had a yellow aura, but Agent Yellow was already taken.”
Coughing out the remains of your laughter, you ask before taking another bite of pizza, “How long ago was that?”
“You mean how long have I been a spy?” Shrugging, you just keep chewing your pizza at his question. Harry sighs as he does the math in his head. “About seven years now, including the six months of training I had to do. And you?”
“Five years,” you speak around your food. Swallowing down your bite, you hold up a finger, correcting yourself. “No, actually six, a few months ago it became six years. My company sent an e-mail.”
Raising a brow, Harry repeats, “An e-mail?” The nodding of your head makes him scoff. “I’d hate to see how they treat their shitty spies.”
“Oh, so you think I’m a good spy?” you tease, folding your hands beneath your chin and batting your eyelashes at him.
“Course, I do,” he answers easily. “And your agency must think so too if they assigned you on this case.”
Deep in your chest, a warm feeling expands, fluttering between your ribs. You never doubted your own abilities, you knew how hard you had to work to get here, the nights you sacrificed sleep in order to study, the injuries your body sustained during training, you had done so without complaint. In return, your agency offered scarce praise for your work, and you had long grown to never expect it. But the flattery that buzzed around in your belly whenever Harry complimented you was something you were becoming familiar with, savoring it even.
“So,” you transition, reaching into the pizza box for another slice, keeping your hands busy, “are we allowed to ask about missions?”
“I just complimented your spy work, you don’t need to keep fishing,” Harry chides playfully.
You don’t bother to hold back your snickering. “And what if I’m not convinced about your abilities?”
Harry’s jaw drops in a mockery of offense, placing his hand over his chest. “Ow, my pride! It’s been wounded!” He exaggerates the pain, gasping and scrunching up his face while you roll your eyes at his dramatis.
“Okay, well once your pride stops being a baby, you can tell me about your first mission.” Taking another bite of pizza, the sauce oozes out of the slice, gathering in the corners of your mouth. Your tongue darts out quickly, capturing the spilled tomato sauce before it drips lower. It's when your tongue slips out the second time, collecting the remainder that you feel the weight of Harry's gaze pinpointed on your mouth.
“My first mission wasn't anything exciting,” he dismisses, shaking his head. “Just hacking into the Duke of Gloucester's e-mail. The hardest part was guessing if his password was ‘admin' or ‘login’.” Swirling the remainder of his wine, he swallows it down before refilling his glass. “Okay, your turn, honey, what was your easiest mission?”
“Easiest, huh?” It doesn’t take long for something to come up. “A couple summers back, there was this German guy who had this whole manifesto about the perilous balance of peace and how it’s unachievable in the long run, blah blah blah. Anyway, he moved to Amsterdam, 3D printed his own sniper rifle and was planning on shooting up Dam Square.”
“Hold on,” Harry interjects, his pizza slice hovering near his mouth, “was his name Benedikt Schwarz?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you serious?! That was you?” The incredulous tone instinctually raises your defenses, assuming he didn’t believe you, but the crooked smile he wears quickly assuages those concerns. “One of my agents was assigned that case, and he was so pissed off that someone else got it first! God, I can’t believe my wife is the same person who beat Agent Indigo!”
There it is again, those butterflies of flattery, the beating of their wings is thunderous like applause.
“Wow, you’re right, Agent Gold isn’t that bad,” you deadpan, refusing to acknowledge his praise.
“How’d you decipher the message? Indigo still hasn’t worked that one out.”
Lifting your shoulder in a demure shrug, you say, “You can’t expect me to reveal all my secrets, can you?”
He shook his head with a laugh, taking a bite of his slice. “You’ll have to tell me before the mission is over,” he declares, mouth full of pizza. “I have to rub this in Indigo’s face when I go back, he’ll never live this down.” The shine of pizza grease on his lips makes it hard to look away.
“We’ll see. Now, I believe it’s my turn to ask.”
As the day darkens to night, the conversation passes easily between the two of you, the alcohol leeching into your bloodstream and loosening you up. Swapping stories, laughing casually, and sharing drinks together, it’s intimately domestic between the two of you. The pizza grew colder, the cheese stopped stretching between slices, Harry’s plate filled with the crust ends he didn’t eat. Your feet knock against his underneath the coffee table, making him yelp, complaining about how cold your toes feel. His leg hairs scratch against your bare shin, tickling the skin there. You can’t recall the last time you shared a genuine moment like this with someone else, sharing your life with another person. Even opening up about your failures was less daunting than you feared, your mistakes turning into a game of one upping each other.
I sprained three of my toes while on the run and now they don’t bend normally.
My thumb was never properly reset so I can make it do this!
Ew, put that away! That’s disgusting!
Leaning back against the couch, the stem of the wine glass precariously balanced between your fingers, you’re totally absorbed into the story Harry is telling of his time in Venice, drunkenly focused on how smoothly his lips move, the way his eyes sparkle in the lamplight.
“It was a fairly simple case, took only a couple weeks. But there was a lot of downtime between the stakeouts and everything, and it gave me the chance to just… explore the city.” As he reminisces, his eyes glaze over with fond nostalgia, and the barest smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. “There's this… tranquility there, like there's no rush, there's no demand, everything happens at its own pace. I was living with this old couple who were very set in their routines and every night, after dinner, Enrico would insist I play a round of Scopa with him. No excuse was ever good enough to get out of playing with him and he usually cheated, but I think that's the part I miss the most, the pattern of doing the same thing every night with someone.”
Humming contentedly, you can see the image clearly in your mind: Harry sitting across an elderly, tan man, arguing over cards, the air pinched with salt from the canal, voices carried across the water’s surface. “Your favorite mission is the one where you got to slack off the most?” you tease.
He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, it was kinda like a vacation. It was nice to have a break. I haven’t had that much freedom on a mission since… not until this one.”
“I’m sure this is nothing compared to Italy,” you say wryly, shifting your gaze away, hiding behind your glass as you drink down the rest of it, finishing off your third of the night.
“No… the pizza isn’t half as good.”
Catching you off guard, you nearly choke on the wine, coughing a few times before clearing your throat. When you look back over at him, meeting his green-eyed stare, there's a playful glint in them, enjoying the way he can throw you off balance. Even drunk, he could always read you, he knew exactly how to get you flustered.
“Can I ask you something?” you question him.
“That's kind of the whole point of the night.”
You don't acknowledge his joke, something nagging on you since before you took on this mission. “What level are you?”
His eyebrows cinch, mouth pursing in confusion before answering with a loose shrug, “We’re about the same level, I think.”
The scoff was involuntary, sneaking out before you could prevent its escape. “That's not what my agency said.”
Harry's face scrunches up further into confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my agency told you guys that I'm a level below you but I'm actually a level above you.”
Still, his confusion remains, deepening even. “But my agency told yours I was a level below what I actually am. So we're at the same level.”
That doesn’t make sense.
“What do you need to do to reach your level?” you clarify, hopeful you’ll find a single discrepancy.
Counting on his fingers, his words are twinged with a slur as he lists off, “At least 50 successful missions, complete a shooting challenge in under a minute and a half, stay undercover from another agent for 48 hours, smuggle £10,000 out of the country, and pass 3 foreign language exams. It’s a lot more busy work than you’d think.” He tries to dismiss the accomplishments, brushing them off like they’re nothing.
To you, they sound familiar, though, eerily so. They sound like the exact challenges you had to endure to reach your current level. Was it possible that you were equals, that you had been on the same level all along?
Why did they lie? What was the point in pretending you were more experienced than him, stronger than him, smarter than him? Was this just another ploy from your agency, a test of your skills, an exercise to see how you’d adapt?
“But… but you- I thought…” you stammer through, trying to figure out how to say what you were thinking.
I thought I was better than you.
“Y’know,” Harry interrupts your spiraling thoughts, gathering up your dirty plates, “whenever my sister and I don’t agree on something, there’s only one way we can settle who’s right.”
“You misspelled ‘flavor’.”
“It’s the correct way to spell it,” Harry defends, sliding his U and R block beside your O.
“No, we’re in America, therefore we play by American rules!” you argue, reaching for the extra wooden tile, removing it from the game board.
The Scrabble box had been hidden inside the guest bedroom closet, the final resting spot for all the miscellaneous objects left behind by the previous tenants. Dust had gathered on picture frames and old toys, tracking your excavation until you found exactly what Harry was looking for. Now, perched up on the large guest bed, you’ve balanced your game atop the box lid, the board tipping precariously whenever one of you shifted on the bed.
“With a double letter on the F… that makes sixteen points.”
“Should be seventeen,” Harry grumbles, glaring down at the board, as if it were to blame for his low points. His accent is more apparent now, the British emphasis thickening with each sip.
You track the score on a spare piece of paper, combining Harry’s total points. Then you set your own tiles down, placing your S at the end of Harry’s recently added word. “I can’t believe you left the triple word score completely open. YES, worth eighteen points plus thirteen from FLAVORS equals 31 points,” you tally up smugly, recording your new points.
Harry uncorks the wine bottle, refilling his glass with the dark liquid. “Well, go ahead and ask your stupid question.”
Each round, you agreed to trade questions, whoever scored the highest would get to ask whatever they wanted, no holds barred, incentivizing you to play more aggressively than your competitive spirit already demanded.
“Do you think Dante is-”
“I’m not answering that, pick something else.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!” you whine, beating your fist against your thigh, too drunk to care about the childish tantrum you were throwing. Harry had brought up another bottle from the cellar and when you had both gone through that, a lot faster than the first, you had borrowed from your private stash you kept under your bed. Tomorrow, you would struggle to understand the scribbling marks that made up your points, but that wasn’t where your ire was directed right now. “You can’t shut down my question before I even ask.”
“Well, asking about my mom’s relationship with her bodyguard is off-limits,” he insists, grabbing a new set of letters from the black pouch. “Ask something else.”
Rolling your eyes, you scour your brain for something else you could ask, some other query you wanted an answer to. “Fine,” you concede, your next question becoming clear in your mind. “Why do you care so much when Peter flirts with me?”
Something passes over Harry’s features before he’s covering it up, clearing his throat. “Because you’re my wife, honey, I’m just playing the part.”
“No,” you disagree, your head shaking relentlessly, “Jessica is married to Sam, but you’re the one who gets annoyed by his flirting, not Sam. So why does it bother you?” In your sloshing brain, it’s important to make the distinction clear between himself and the character he plays, to acknowledge the difference between the two.
He heaves a sigh, his breath rushing through the curls on his forehead. “It’s the principle of the thing,” he maintains.
“But why does it bother you?” you press.
Eventually, Harry forces his breath out through his nose, rearranging the wooden letters on his game rack, avoiding your inquisitive gaze. “I know this marriage is a sham, I know you’re not my wife, but… I don’t want to be a bad husband. I don’t want to be like my dad.”
It makes you perk up, the first time he’s ever mentioned his father. You don’t say anything, hoping he’ll offer up more if you stay quiet.
“I was seven when he left. And as soon as he was gone, it was like… we could all breathe freely. He’s not a bad person, not really, he just wasn’t compatible with my mom. Everyday was an exercise in trying to not piss him off, he was constantly pissed, everything set him off back then. But once he was gone, my mom smiled a lot more, she played her music more, she danced. It was like she became a whole new person without my dad’s shitty attitude dragging everything down.” Harry shakes his head, his lips pull back into a grimace. “Like I said, he's not a bad guy, he also became a completely different person after the divorce finalized. But he made my mom miserable, for years, for no other reason than he was too selfish to put someone else's feelings over his.”
Harry finally brings his gaze up to yours, his resolve hardening his stare. “I hate it when Peter flirts with you because I can tell it bothers you. It's like the prick gets off on making you uncomfortable. And I hate that someone can come around and bother my wife and I can't do anything about it. Real or not, I don't want my wife to be miserable.” He averts his gaze once more, whispering more to himself, “I don't want to be like my dad.”
Pity twists in your belly, the false image of perfection you thought Harry had been raised in crumbling in your mind. You knew about his dad leaving, it had been listed in his personnel file when you first arrived, but the extra details were redacted, thick black bars obscuring the information. To hear Harry's version, though, the situation was a lot more complicated than someone choosing to walk away from their family, choosing to neglect their responsibilities. But that didn't stop Harry from carrying the hurt his dad created anyway.
“You don't make me miserable, Harry,” you attempt to soothe, your drunken mind adding in a caveat you can't stop yourself from sharing. “I mean… yeah, I've been pretty miserable, but that's not your fault. Well… not specifically your fault, I would've been miserable with anyone, that's not-" The only way you can get your mouth to stop moving is by smushing your face into your palms, releasing a long drawn out groan at your excessive blabbering.
“No, keep going, sweetheart,” Harry encourages sarcastically. “I was just starting to feel better.”
“Stahpit!” you grumble into your hands, peeking at his cocky smile between your fingertips. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I get it, you've been miserable and I've been a shite partner.”
“No!”
“I'm just a constant disappointment.”
Some of the tiles jostle in their space when you reach across the board, grabbing onto his hand. “Hey, no, seriously, I’ve been miserable because of my own personal bullshit. You’ve actually been the least worst part of this whole thing.”
Harry chuckles heartily. “You know what, I’ll accept that, only because this is going to hurt and I’m not sorry about it,” he mocks, laying down all seven of his letters, creating the word ABJECTLY off of the letter Y you placed, earning 125 points all at once.
Your jaw drops open at the deceitful play. The longer it takes you to add it all up, the wider Harry’s smirk curls, growing more and more smug in his seat.
“Should I go ahead and ask my question or do you think you can beat that?”
The collection of vowels you’re currently hoarding on your rack could never match his points, or even get close. Even still, you hate to give in so easily, laying down your letters with a grumble, earning a paltry seventeen points for UVEA. “Ask away.”
His stare is devious, sparkling with mischief while he rubs his hands together. “Hmm… let's see…” he says, pretending like he hasn't had his question prepared for the past few rounds. “Out of all the rooms in this house, love, why the bloody hell did you choose the teen bedroom for yourself?”
“That’s your big question?”
“Answer it, darling!”
“It’s a stupid question!”
“Answer it!” Harry’s shoulders begin to shake as he sings his response, dancing to some beat he’s created in his head. “Answer it!”
Groaning, you roll your eyes, focusing on fixing the tiles that had been knocked askew instead of Harry’s inquisitive stare. “Don’t you want to use your question to ask something more embarrassing or personal?”
“I think the fact you don’t want to answer this one means it’s embarrassing and personal, darling,” Harry retorts, still shimming his shoulders to the imaginary beat.
With a heavy sigh, you reveal, “It reminded me of Suzy Johnson’s room.”
After a beat, Harry stops his dancing, gently pressing, “Who’s Suzy Johnson?”
Technically, you don’t have to give in to his prying, but seven glasses in and the rules seem less rigid than when you set them. “Suzy’s the girl who invited me to her thirteenth birthday party. It was the first time my parents let me go to a sleepover, the last time too,” you admit wistfully, reflecting on the party fondly. “She said she was an eco-goth, she had crystals and tarot cards and she read her birth chart to predict what the next year would look like. Her room was purple and had all these golden astrological symbols painted on the ceiling. I thought she was so cool and the fact that her parents supported her was… I was jealous. Then my parents said they didn’t like Suzy and they were worried she’d turn me into a freak like her so I wasn’t allowed to hang out with her again. But that room stuck with me. So when I got here, and I saw the purple wallpaper… I had to take it.” When you finish your explanation, you lift your eyes off the board, all the tiles returned to their rightful place.
Harry wears a soft grin, affable and affectionate. “And I thought you just wanted to make sure you didn’t have to share a bed.”
“That’s a good excuse,” you say with a laugh, adding on, “And there’s… another reason.”
“Oh yeah?”
Biting your lip, you get up from the bed, the game tiles scattering across the board again as it rattles at your movement. You’re practically skipping out of the guest room and into your room across the way, hunting for the orange Nike shoe box that had been stuffed in the back of your closet, forgotten by the previous owner. Harry legs extend across the bedding, his foot knocking into the other incessantly as he waits for your return.
“I was saving this for after the mission was over.” Lifting up the cover, you expose the box’s contents: an old Bic lighter, rolling papers, and a thick, airtight jar half-filled with buds of marijuana.
“You’ve been holding out on me!” Harry accuses you, picking up the jar, inspecting the drugs inside. “Is it any good?”
“No idea,” you admit with a shrug. “I figure if it’s green, it can’t be bad, right?”
Harry twists the lid off, giving the cannabis a cautionary whiff before lifting his shoulders in a similarly apathetic shrug. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
The burn of the weed winds around your lungs, seeping into your system before you exhale, pushing the smoke out of your body before it floats up towards the ceiling, dissipating into the air. With a hand behind your head, your other one taps the blunt, knocking the excess into an ashtray on the nightstand. The Scrabble board is abandoned, tiles scattered across the bedroom, a mess to deal with another time. “I’m just saying, if there’s no prize money, then what’s the point of taking several weeks off of work to do a baking competition?”
“It’s not about the money, love, it’s about possibility of getting to shake Paul Hollywood’s hand,” Harry argues, pinching his fingers together to indicate he wants the joint. Currently, he’s sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning back against the bed.
Passing it to him, you cough twice before continuing. “Yeah but so what? Can I exchange the handshake for baking lessons? Can I submit my Paul Hollywood handshake to a baking school and get accepted?”
Harry inhales the marijuana, holding it in as he says “I think you’re too concerned about the monetary value,” he pauses to exhale, his voice raspy from the smoke, “and not the experience as a whole, love.”
“The whole experience is a farce,” you decry, covering your face with your forearms, having uncovered the conspiracy behind the BBC. You’re becoming stuck in the connections between baking competition shows and time travelers in police boxes when you suddenly burst out into laughter. “Doctor Hollywho.”
Joining in with your snickering, Harry sneaks another puff, choking a little on the inhale. “Okay Sherlock, we might wanna dial back your usage.”
“No, good husbands share their weed with their wives. It's in our vows.”
“Sweetheart, we don't have vows.”
“It's in our contract,” you amend, waving your hand dismissively before taking the dwindling joint back for yourself. “Thou shalt share-eth thy drugs.”
Harry rolls his lips into his mouth as he tries to contain his giggles. “When's the last time you've done this, darling?”
“Before I graduated high school. My sister would bring home a stash from college and then forget about it, and then, one day, she just never came back and I didn't know how to get my own so I just stopped.” Silence takes over as you regain your breath, expending it all as you explained your drug history, without fully comprehending what other parts of yourself you were revealing. Harry mumbles something you can’t quite make out, so you turn your head, facing him as you hum. “What was that?”
“On the island,” Harry starts, “you said ‘everybody leaves’. Was that about your sister?”
Stalling with a deep inhale, you let the smoke linger in your chest, swirling with the oxygen before you release it with a heavy sigh. “Partly… yeah.”
“She just left?”
“I can’t blame her for leaving, our parents weren’t the kind of people who should’ve had kids. I just… didn’t expect her to leave me behind.”
“I’m sorry, love,” Harry apologizes in a whisper, leaning his head back, the both of you watching as the fan spins, making the ceiling behind it spiral as well.
The whirlpool of popcorn ceiling mirrors your winding mind. Your missing sister, like the unnamed girls on Nox’s island, people who disappeared from their families without a trace, and the people who took advantage of the runaways. It all starts to make you feel nauseous, clenching your eyes closed, letting your head droop to the side. When you blink them open, your eyes are immediately attracted to the blush pink of Harry’s lips, lightly pursed, his nostrils gently flaring through each exhale. He appears peaceful in the moment before his eyes slide over to you, curiosity altering his features.
“Why did you kiss me?”
Harry’s head snaps upright as he directs all his attention onto you, taken aback by your unexpected question. “Huh?”
“In Peter’s library, why’d you kiss me?” you reiterate, tracking the subtle changes in his face. The pinch of fright when you ask, the burning blush that highlights his cheeks, the mask of indifference he hides behind as he smirks.
“Oh, now you wanna talk about that?” Harry questions you. “If I remember correctly, we had gotten into the car and I said ‘Do you wanna talk about what just happened?’ and you said, again, correct me if I’m wrong, ‘It was a good distraction’.”
“It was **a good distraction,” you agree, “but why’d you do it?”
“It just…” Harry trails off, scrunching up his face and groaning as he tries again. “I thought that… I don’t know… I guess you called my bluff, darling.” Shaking his head, Harry looks back at you, releasing a long sigh. “Peter wants you, you’re the reason we’re making any progress on this mission, and all I’m good for is watching you succeed while I’m left behind. So when you said you could offer Peter something… something in me snapped. I wanted to prove I was more useful than just distracting some bored socialite with too much time on her hands. And for some reason,” he averts his gaze sheepishly, his cheeks deepening in color, “I thought the best way to do that would be to kiss you.”
Hearing him list his insecurities, opening up about feeling inadequate, it's something you would've never expected to hear from him. This past year, you’ve felt like you had to prove yourself all while he felt like he was scrambling to catch up to you. Both of you had been battling the same fight, silently warring against your internal monologues, desperate to justify your role, your skills, your place in this mission.
If only one of you had spoken up sooner. If only you hadn’t been so judgmental and defensive when you met. But you can't admit to that, not to him.
“For some reason?” you ask instead.
“For some reason,” Harry nods along.
Your fingers pull at a loose thread on the bedding, loosening the seams of the comforter. “Would you, for some reason, ever do it again?”
When he lifts his gaze to you, he holds his breath for a beat, before saying, “Ever do what?” You can tell through his bloodshot eyes that he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he’s needling you to clarify, making you elaborate.
“Kiss me.” Saying it quickly, getting it all out at once makes it simpler, like it's not a big deal. Like you haven't tried to manufacture reasons to justify sneaking a kiss here or there. Like you haven't fantasized about what would've happened that night if Peter hadn't walked in.
Harry blinks rapidly, his chest rising and falling shallowly before he takes the blunt from you. “Wow, okay, you are crossfaded as hell, honey,” he dismisses you, inhaling a final puff, then discarding the roach into the ashtray. “I’m going to head downstairs and grab a glass of water for you.”
While Harry struggles to stand up, an annoyed bug starts buzzing in your head. He didn’t answer your question. That was the point of this whole night, this whole thing was about sharing and opening up but here he was, walking away from your inquiry, avoiding giving you an answer. He stumbles towards the door, his steps faltering through his inebriation.
Fueled by the fury of being ignored, and a growing unnamable burn in your belly, you stalk after Harry, catching up with him before he’s reached the door. The pounding of your determined steps cause him to turn around, surprised to see you following after him. Your hands push against his chest, shoving him back into the wall. Harry emits a short, startled grunt, his hands coming up by his head as he looks down at you, his pupils blown out wide in his red rimmed eyes. For a second, you stand there, your body pressed up against his, his shirt crumpled between your clenched fists.
Then you’re leaning up on your toes, your hands sliding around his neck and tugging him down, your lips rushing to meet Harry’s. Smushed together, your lips collide, teeth clattering against each other. His mouth tastes the same as yours, the bitter burn of the marijuana unable to mask the bite of garlic, the robust wine lingering underneath it all. Harry takes in a startled breath before he sighs with a groan, the sound swallowed by your mouth. Lowering his hands, they rest on your hips, pulling you in closer, making you lean into him further.
His lips mash into yours in a familiar cadence. The soft press of his lips, the careful way he touches you, all these restrictions he's placing on himself, hiding behind his alias, kissing you as Sam instead of kissing you as himself. Frustrated, you nip at his lips, twist your fingers in his hair, rolling your body into his, trying to find the button, the right combination of moves to activate Harry mode. But he remains stubbornly within his role, trapped behind the facade of Sam Thompson.
Pulling back, Harry tries to chase after you, lips still puckered, but you hold up a hand, barring his kiss, stopping him in his place. “I don't want Sam,” you tell him, eyes blazing. “I want you, Harry.”
You watch the shift across his face, his green eyes darkening, his lids dropping until they're hooded, his moan vibrating against your palm. Slapping your hand aside, Harry surges forward, dragging you back into him. One hand curves around your thigh, hooking it around his hip, the other slides into your hair, using his grip on your head to give himself control over your movement. Slotting your lips together, this kiss is unrestrained emotion and heated passion, absent of the previous trepidation. You’re nearly knocked off your feet as he pulls you in, stumbling forward with a squeak and holding onto his shoulders for support, making his smirk grow against your lips.
Using your hair to tug your head back, Harry dives into your exposed neck, his teeth sinking into your pulse point. He sucks on the spot, his tongue lathing over it, encouraged by your breathy whines to keep going. Huffing and panting and groaning, he’s attacking your skin with an animalistic fervor. His grip on your thigh climbs up to your ass, clenching at you through your clothes.
“No marks,” you complain, patting your hand against him, but he doesn’t let up. “Hey!”
“Just cover ‘em,” he mumbles before latching back onto your neck.
Reaching into his curls, you yank his head back, using his own trick on him. The sticky suction of his mouth is loud in your ear when you disconnect his mouth from you. A string of saliva dangles from his lip when you glare at him, his eyes hazy as you twist your hand in his hair, his hands trembling by your side. “No. You listen to me,” you order, slowly to make sure he understood each word.
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry whimpers, succumbing to your command instantly.
“Now, do what I say and kiss me!”
Harry lunges forward, forcing you backward as he reconnects your lips, running his tongue over your bottom lip. Forcing you back, you nearly trip over your feet until you feel the mattress hit the back of your thighs. The Scrabble board falls over, knocked onto the floor, the sound startling you but Harry doesn't let you escape this time, keeping you securely latched onto him. Instead, he maneuvers his knee in between your legs, the nearness of his thigh to your crotch making your body twitch in anticipation, becoming tightly wound, on the brink of being unraveled. But he doesn't rub you along him, doesn't press his thigh close. Leaning his knee on the bed, his hands slide underneath your legs, lifting them up at the same time he falls forward, catching himself before he falls completely on top of you. You feel that momentary free-fall, the wind rushing past your skin until you land on the bed, Harry's hands on either side of your face. Taking a pause, both of your chests brushing against each other with your heavy pants, Harry looks down at you, tracing a finger around your jaw. Then he's slowly leaning down, tracking each minute change in you, from your breaths becoming the slightest bit more shallow, your eyes widening just a fraction more, the gradual opening of your legs, accepting more and more of him, wanting him even closer. You'd deny it all if he brought it up later, would say he's exaggerating how eagerly you presented yourself, which is why he's taking his time, needing to memorize each second, filing that information away.
Both of you sigh when Harry finally kisses you, all the building anxiety disappearing once your lips collide. He's still gentle with you, but in a way distinctly different from his alter ego. Sam was scared of breaking his wife, politely holding himself back, but Harry wasn't as concerned about your frailty, knowing you can handle him. Even still, he only used a single finger, brushing it on the underside of your chin in order to direct your head exactly where he wanted it. His nails dug through your clothing as he wrapped your legs around his waist, softening his touch to then rub gentle circles where his nails pierced into you. And he was mouthy as hell. Through grunts, groans, and growls, Harry responds to all your movements with a melody of approving sounds, making it easier to catalogue what he likes. Tugging on his curls makes him bite your lip, rutting your hips up to his makes him moan into your mouth, and, most importantly, when you wrap a hand around his throat, the light pressure causes his arms to give out. The weight of him collapsing on top of you makes you smile through the kiss.
Making out with someone you barely know, in a room that isn't yours, a bed you've never slept in, feels like the teenage experience you never had. Your hormones feel just as wild, your neurons sensitive to these horny sensations. Usually, when you were seducing someone, your brain was preoccupied with mission details, planning an escape route, wondering how long you need to keep up the charade. Without those distractions, you're thinking about what other sounds Harry could make and how to cause them, which one of you could kiss the longest without coming up for air, your thoughts growing more nasty when you feel Harry's bulging member thrusting into the space between your thighs. He's so close to pressing into exactly where you're craving, where your heat pulsates. All it takes is the briefest nudge, adjusting yourself as he thrusts forward, his thick member running up through your center, the pressure against your clit making you shiver beneath him.
“Mmm, oh Harry,” you groan, your breath catching on a gasp.
That causes Harry to freeze above you, pulling back with rapidly blinking eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly before he focuses his gaze on you. His hair sticks up in random sections from your explorative hands, his eyes are red and glazed over from the weed, and his jaw hangs loosely, his puffy lips forming words that he doesn't give voice to. With a sigh, he rests his forehead on yours, shutting his eyes close, nuzzling his nose into yours as he collects himself.
“Harry?” you whisper. Your voice sounds normal now, less pitchy and whiney than earlier.
“I'm fine,” he reassures you quickly, too quickly. “I just… I'm going to get you that water now.” Without opening his eyes, without offering you a glance, Harry pushes off the bed, putting distance between the two of you, turning back towards the door. “Do you want anything else?” he tosses over his shoulder, his steps never stopping, not waiting for an answer as he exits out of the room.
There was an obvious answer you wanted to yell after him. I want you back here now!
You played that game earlier, chasing after him when he tried to leave. Now, you couldn't make the same move, you couldn't come off that pathetically desperate, couldn't seem like you wanted him when he was currently walking away.
So he left the room without objection, leaving you breathless and confused, laying the wrong way on the bed, with the lingering thought of Did that just fucking happen? And had he really just walked away from it all, leaving you pliant and panting in an empty bed, your crotch aching with a desire that hasn't been unleashed in over a year?
An exasperated laugh escapes you through short breaths, silent and dumbfounded as you run your fingers through your hair, sure it was just as messy as Harry’s. When you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands, the pressure blooms behind your lids, reminding you of how late it’s gotten. The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, now your body was catching up with the exhaustion you’d been subconsciously ignoring.
In the morning, you'd argue away your curiosity as a symptom of your intoxication, a side effect of the night’s debauchery. As your eyes drift shut, your lips still tingling with the memory of Harry, you let yourself be carried away to sleep contentedly.
For the first time since your trip, the island doesn’t follow you into your dreams.
Summary: Your life is pretty normal—classes, exams, coffee runs, and late-night cramming sessions. Everything is exactly what you’d expect for a college student. Well…except for your boyfriend. The one who settles business disputes with bullets. While most girls are dating frat guys or baristas, you somehow end up with Harry—the cold, ruthless boss of a powerful criminal empire. He’s dangerous, intimidating, and not the kind of man you bring home to meet your parents… but with you? He’s frustratingly soft.
Between dodging rivals, dealing with his overprotectiveness, and trying to convince him that no, intimidation is not a valid negotiation tactic for group projects, your life is anything but ordinary. Love might be blind, but it’s also definitely armed and dangerous.
A/N: Ahh! I’m so excited for this one. I’ve written a lot and personally can’t wait for you to read. It’s not like a part 1 part 2 series. More like one shots and blurbs of different scenarios these two find themselves in. I just love them already and hope you do too
Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry
Taglist: open
Note: For this series, you don’t have to read all the parts in order. It’s up to you. They don’t pick off where the other ended. Just glimpses into their lives. I won’t post them in chronological order but I will list them in that order
· · ─────────────────────── · ·
Indented = Latest update
Red = Smut | Orange = smut if you squint | Blue = Angst
•— Elysium
How Harry Styles met his angel
•— Inevitable
Harry is struggling to differentiate between a partnership and an ownership
•— Apartment 2C
Dinner at your place
•— Details
Drunk Harry calls you in the middle of the night
•— Safe
Your turn to get drunk and make confessions
•— Partners
First big fight
•— Together
Harry gets jealous of your project partner
•— Ethics
Interviewing Harry for your business ethics class.
•— Customer Service
As a dare, Harry works a normal job for a day
•— Protocol
You’ve been ignoring Harry’s safety protocols. This comes back to bite you in the ass
•— Happy
Harry opens up about his past
•— Balance
Y/N goes to the hospital without telling Harry. He obviously finds out
Y/N Y/L/N returns to her hometown, Alsfield, when her father falls ill, only to discover the town hides a dark secret—one protected by the mysterious Harry Styles. As Y/N unravels the town's mysteries, her plans to return to San Francisco are derailed.
Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you are doing well. Thank you for the support in Love Island. I am really grateful. You are contributing to my education especially the ones that have joined my Patreon.
⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
⭐️ Please consider submitting your one shot request -> Forms
‼️Preview from chapter 30 -> only on Patreon‼️
Y/N took a step back from the curb just as Harry turned toward her, his hand outstretched with the smoothie he’d promised. “Told you mango was the best,” he said, brushing her fingers lightly.She smiled—but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” she lied. Zion stirred in Harry’s mind, growling. “She’s tense. Her scent changed. She’s lying.”
Michael called
"There was a symbol carved into the body."
"Foreign DNA under the victim's nails."
"And another scent".
"Harry... it matches Y/N."
Terror spread across everyone's faces like wildfire. Harry felt the intense surge of fear ripple through the pack link, amplifying his own sense of urgency. Murmurs of panic started to rise, the air thick with dread, but no one dared to leave the pack house without their Alpha leading the way.
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. Determined to protect his pack, he descended the steps with purposeful strides. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of their collective fear and trust in him.
Pushing his way through the crowd, Harry could feel the tension in the room, the mix of anxiety and anticipation palpable. Every face he passed reflected a range of emotions – wide eyes filled with terror, furrowed brows of concern, and lips pressed tightly in silent prayers for safety.
As he reached the front of the pack house, Harry's mind raced with possibilities, his senses heightened and alert. He knew he had to project confidence and strength, even though the scream had unnerved him as much as everyone else.
Harry followed a faint scent in the air, leading him toward the center of the town. Niall trailed closely behind him, both moving with a sense of urgency and dread. The only sound accompanying them was the crunch of leaves under their shoes, echoing ominously in the otherwise silent night.
As they approached the heart of the town, Harry's heart sank at the sight before him.
A body.
It hung from one of the light poles, swinging slightly in the night breeze. The lifeless figure was gruesomely displayed, meant to be seen by everyone. The harsh light from the pole cast eerie shadows on the body, highlighting the macabre scene in stark detail. Harry's breath caught in his throat, the shock and horror of the sight momentarily paralyzing him.
Niall stopped beside him, his face pale and eyes wide with disbelief. The gravity of the situation hit them both like a tidal wave, a mixture of rage and sorrow welling up inside.
Harry clenched his fists, a surge of determination flooding through him. This was a brutal message, a challenge to his leadership and the pack's unit
“Mom?” a voice trembled behind them, breaking the heavy silence. It was followed by a heart-wrenching cry. “Mom!”
Her name was Cara Levine. She had been one of Harry’s teachers in high school. Her son, Peter, now a senior, was in the graduating class. Peter sprinted toward the light pole, desperation in his eyes, intent on removing her from such a horrific display.
“Bring her down immediately!” Harry commanded his men. Peter sobbed uncontrollably at the base of the light pole as Niall, Axel, and a few other men carefully untied her body and brought her down.
“Find him!” Harry ordered, struggling to contain his fury. The men swiftly shifted into their wolf forms and bolted toward the woods, their senses heightened and ready for the hunt.
Y/N stayed behind, watching as Peter desperately tried to shield his mother's body with his own. She turned to look at the women standing nearby, all wearing the same weary and sorrowful expressions. Her eyes met with another woman’s.
"Hi. Do you live close by? Do you perhaps have a sheet to cover her?" Y/N asked gently.
The young woman nodded quickly and sprinted toward her home.
"Can someone call Michaela?" Y/N asked aloud. "She should be picked up for a proper burial." The women around her nodded, quickly scrambling to find the doctor's phone number.
"Here, Luna," the young woman from earlier said, handing her a folded white sheet. Y/N smiled warmly as she took it from her.
"Thank you," Y/N replied, her voice gentle. She approached Peter with great care, not wanting to intrude on his grief. If it had been her own mother, she wouldn't have wanted her body to be gawked at by others. Y/N crouched down beside Peter, doing her best to avoid looking too closely at the body out of respect and, truthfully, because she was scared.
"Peter," she said softly, her heart breaking for him, "let's cover her, okay?"
Peter looked up at Y/N, his tear-streaked face a mixture of sorrow and gratitude. He nodded slowly, his hands trembling as he helped Y/N drape the sheet over his mother's body. Y/N made sure the sheet covered her fully, providing a semblance of dignity in this tragic moment.
The murmurs of the gathered crowd quieted as everyone felt the weight of the loss. Y/N stood up and allowed Peter to hug her tightly. "We’re here for you, Peter," she said softly. "We’ll get through this together."
Michaela arrived shortly after, her face a mask of professional calm. "Luna," she acknowledged Y/N with a nod.
"Please take care of her," Y/N said softly to Michaela, still holding Peter close. Michaela nodded back, then stepped aside as Y/N gently guided Peter toward the pack house, offering him comfort and support as they walked.
Harry returned to the pack house nearly five hours later, his exhaustion evident in every step. His muscles ached, and his back throbbed from hours of relentless running. Despite their efforts, they hadn't caught the perpetrator, but they finally had a lead.
"Hey," he greeted softly as he found Y/N submerged up to her neck in the bathtub. She had a hot towel over her eyes, trying to ease the pounding headache caused by the day’s events.
“Hardest day ever,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the towel. Harry nodded in understanding as he began to strip off his sweaty, dirt-streaked clothes. He, too, desperately needed a hot bath.
As he undressed, Y/N glanced at him, noting it was the first time she had seen him completely naked. But with the weight of the day still pressing heavily on them, it wasn’t the time for such thoughts. They both needed the comfort and solace of the bath to wash away the day's burdens.
Harry sank into the bathtub, the hot water enveloping him and soothing his aching muscles. He let out a deep sigh of relief as the heat worked its magic. Y/N shifted slightly, carefully lowering the towel from her eyes and glancing at him with a mix of concern and empathy.
“How did it go?” she asked softly.
Harry rubbed his face, his expression weary. “We followed the lead, and it’s not good news. The scent we were tracking crossed into another pack's territory.”
Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Another pack? What does that mean for us?”
“It means,” Harry said, his voice heavy with frustration, “we’re dealing with a bigger situation than we anticipated. We didn’t catch the culprit, but we now know they’ve crossed into another pack’s territory. It’s a lead, but it complicates things.”
Y/N’s gaze softened, and she reached out to place a reassuring hand on his arm.
"How is he?" Harry finally asked, his voice heavy with concern. "I haven’t been able to face him," he admitted, referring to Peter.
Y/N sighed softly. "He finally settled down and fell asleep. We gave him a room in the pack house. I thought it would be best so he wasn’t alone. What happens to him now?"
"Nothing changes for him," Harry said firmly. "The pack will take care of him. We'll adopt him into our family and try to keep his life as normal as possible. He'll move into the pack house, and he’ll continue attending school. We’ll make sure he has the support and stability he needs."
Y/N's heart warmed at Harry's words. She couldn’t help but think about all the other kids in her previous life who were left behind and ignored after their parents had passed away. The pack was a huge family that took care of everyone, coming together in difficult times. Today, she had felt sorrow, but she had also witnessed incredible solidarity.
In the pack, no one was ever truly alone. They rallied around each other, offering support and comfort in ways that made Y/N’s old world seem cold and distant. Seeing the way the pack embraced Peter in his time of need filled her with a profound sense of belonging.
“Did Michaela pick up any clues on the body?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued, hoping she could help piece everything together.
“She hasn’t gotten back to me,” Harry revealed. “I’ll talk to her first thing tomorrow.”
Y/N sat up in the bathtub, reaching out to Harry, seeking comfort. Harry couldn’t help but smile, feeling desired and wanted by her. It was a comforting feeling that brought joy to his wolf, even after the long and grueling day he had endured.
He gently grabbed her forearm and turned her so that her back was against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely, and feeling her heartbeat against his, as if they were one.
Harry held Y/N tightly, the warmth of their shared embrace easing some of the tension from the day. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest was soothing, a reminder of the connection they shared.
"Tomorrow we need to go into town," Harry murmured into Y/N's hair. "We have to visit the other pack."
Y/N leaned into him, finding comfort in his embrace. "Town as in Alsfield?"
Harry sighed, his breath warm against her skin. "Yes, Alsfield. It's the only way we can reach the Iron Claw Pack, our neighboring pack. If we cross into their territory without proper authorization, we risk being mistaken for rogues."
He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "It's a delicate situation. We need to approach this carefully to avoid any misunderstandings. We have to show that we're there with good intentions and not as a threat."
Y/N nodded, understanding that things were about to get more complicated than she ever expected.
As the morning sun began to rise, casting a warm golden glow over the pack territory, Harry and Y/N prepared to leave for Alsfield. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as they approached the sleek black SUV parked outside the pack house.
They drove through the winding roads of the pack’s lush forest, the dense canopy overhead creating a tunnel of green. As they neared the boundary of their territory, Y/N glanced back, taking one last look at the place that had become her sanctuary.
The transition from the dense, wild beauty of the pack’s land to the more structured, human world of Alsfield was stark. The trees thinned out, replaced by paved roads and neatly trimmed lawns. As they crossed into Alsfield, the small town gradually came to life around them with shops opening and people beginning their day. The quaint charm of Alsfield, with its brick storefronts and cobblestone streets, contrasted sharply with the gravity of their mission.
Harry’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, a silent promise to protect Y/N and their pack. Y/N, feeling the weight of the journey ahead, reached over and placed her hand on Harry’s arm, a gesture of solidarity and support.
As they drove deeper into town, the realization of what lay ahead settled over them like a shroud. The meeting with the Iron Claw Pack was crucial, and the air between them was thick with unspoken fears and hopes.
They approached a busy intersection, and he slowed the SUV to a stop at a red light. The momentary pause allowed Y/N to take in her surroundings more closely. Her eyes wandered, catching sight of a worn poster plastered on a light pole just ahead. Her breath caught in her throat as she read the bold letters at the top: MISSING. Below the headline was a picture of her, looking slightly younger but unmistakably her.
Shock flooded through her veins, her pulse quickening as she stared at the image. The poster looked aged and weathered, but the details were clear enough: her name, a description, and a plea for information. Memories she had buried deep resurfaced in an instant, the pain and fear of her past crashing over her like a tidal wave. She glanced at Harry, who was focused on the road, unaware of her sudden turmoil. She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. Who was looking for her?
"Harry," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Look at that poster."
Harry turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he followed her gaze. The red light cast a stark, almost surreal glow over the scene. When he saw the poster, his expression shifted from curiosity to concern. He reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly, but the underlying tension in his grip mirrored her own.
-> lycan masterlist <-
let me know if you would like to add you to a tag list! (added the one's that had asked me to, if you want me to remove you let me know!)
I am Mimi, my pronouns are She/Her. I am 23 from India. I am obsessed with British men like many of us are! Especially the One Direction boys, Tom Holland and of course Andrew Garfield! I am also a huge Swiftie! My favourite Harry song(s) have to be From The Dining Table and Falling as I am a sad gurl. I love to crochet (I have made the Harry cardigan!). I will stop here about myself cuz I don't want to bore you! <3
This is master list of my work I have written so far but most of my work is on Wattpad as I started there. Below are the links to fanfictions I have posted on here, but you can obviously find more on Wattpad if you are interested in reading those.
I will be updating the this Masterlist as I keep posting on new fics on here.
And a tiny disclaimer: If you see that it is mentioned that YN is Indian, it was meant to be. Hehe cuz I am Indian and I find ways to represent my country and culture, and honestly I do not see more inclusivity on the fanfiction side of Tumblr/Wattpad. So yeah! And we also love inclusivity in this house hold!
Links to Fanfics posted on Tumblr:
Slip Of Tongue One where Harry accidentally breaks the news he decided to keep to himself.
It's A Date! Harry goes overboard planning a date for his girlfriend.
Million To Infinity One where YN and Harry get into an argument.
Pinky Promise One where Harry makes a pinky promise to his girlfriend.
Hate You Love You One where Harry fucks up with a girl who writes songs, again, but this time he didn't know she write songs.
Complicated It get's very Complicated when fans figure out who YN and Harry's albums are all about. Part two to Hate You Love You. (Pls read the part one if you haven't before you read this.)
Quarantine Fun in quarantine with Boyfriendrry!!! ;)
Celebrity Crush YN is a massive fan of Harry and have a massive crush on him. Harry is oblivious of her existence until one of his dear friend makes it known to him.
Not A Secret Anymore One where Harry is being an amazing boyfriend and dad-to-be :))
It Is F*cking Gross One where Harry comforts YN after having a period accident at his place.
A Baby! Where Harry's wife have a big surprise for him.
Kiss On The Cheek Where YN is Harry's best friend's sister who have been dating secretly until her brother finds out.
Dandelions so I'm obsessed with song Dandelions by Ruth B, and this idea popped up in my head. Basically YN is a musician too, and she wrote Dandelions about Harry when she was fourteen but never released it or performed it until a few years later.
That's Haz I dunno what to write here. Read it you'll understand.
It Wasn't A Compitition But... One where Harry and YN are wondering what their baby's first words would be.
Picnic Date I don't know what to write here, it's just about Harry being a very amazing boyfriend that he is. CW: mentions of loss of a loved one and grief.
Toxic People YN's crush seems to be interested in her but her bestfriend wants to hook up with him.
Hi, I'm Harry Harry bumps into his first teenage crush and love more than a decade later.
Let's Go Home Harry and YN get into a fight due to poor communication.
So London Is Home? Harry surprises his girlfriend on one of the most important day of her life.
We'll Deal With It When We've To One where Harry asks his girlfriend a very serious question.
Would This Be Too Late Now? Harry bumps into two extremely special people he left behind.
Do You Also Remember? Harry and YN have mutual friends and they decide to meet after years.
Cuddles Would Do The Job Harry's sick and YN knows very little of how to care for a sick person.
A Little Surprise One where Harry surprises his love with tickets to concert of her favourite artist.
Odette (AU) One where Harry has a massive crush on a Royalty.
Well, In Another Words One where Harry finds Love on tour.
Always, My Love One where Harry and YN go through yet another rough patch like champs. (Requested)
New Best Friend One where Harry needs help from his childhood enemy.
A Friend In Need (AU) One where Harry turns out to be the best friend in need for YN, princess of Eroda.
Thunder One where YN's feeling scared and Harry comforts her. A llh fanfic!
Another First Time one where YN and Harry are being disgustingly adorable couple.
I Did Something One where YN does something adorable which Harry cannot deny.
Another First Time one where YN and Harry are being disgustingly adorable couple.
Birthday Twin Instagram blurb about Harry and his birthday twin.
New Student One where YN bumps into a handsome dude at the party to only know how popular he is later
We All Make Mistakes Harry finds himself lucky as his new neighbour is sweet enough to baby sit his daughter
My Favourite Cry Baby One where Harry comforts YN after a breakdown
Baby's First Dance One where Harry and YN welcome their baby girl
Guest Lecturer One where YN get's swarmed by a bunch of Harry's fans, the aftermath turns out not to be that good
No More Hiding One where YN joins Harry at his first Venice Film Festival
Still My Girl One where YN and Harry have a fall out from their 2 years of relationship
Blanket One where Harry find out his love is sick when he comes home
T-shirt One where Harry tries to make things easier for his girl
Handsome One where Harry harbours a little concert crush on someone
Sugar One where YN is dragged along by Harry for Coachella but she ain't complaining
Professor One where Harry pays for the consequences of ghosting the girl he was seeing for two months
Still Together, Still Going Strong One where Harry and YN are getting a divorce but they can't seem stay away from one another
Little By Little One where Harry finds out his girl is struggling with ED (Requested)
Best Boyfriend One where Harry finds his girl having a break down
Little Lad One where Harry has to take care of his baby on his own for the first time
Lunch Time One where YN's students are shocked to see her husband (Requested)
Penguin Walk One where Harry's got two more girls obsessing over him. Plot twist is: he loves it!
Six Weeks One where YN's love with Harry but she can't seem to confess her feelings (Requested)
Whiskey One where Harry falls for someone but he's married
Happy Birthday Daddy One where Harry's daughter plans something special for his birthday, and ends up confessing anymore to things to his baby mama
Whiskey Pt2. One where CEO Harry finally visits YN's place and gets a glimpse of her life
Everything Is Going To Be Fine One where Harry finds YN in one of her breakdowns (requested)
Little Miss Cry One where Harry is graduating before YN and she finds life harder to navigate through college already (requested)
Random blurb Cuddle time with Harry
DO IT AGAIN! A day life of a husband of 11 years; A shortie Blurb.
Kids In The Kitchen One where Harry walks in on his girls jamming to Taylor Swift songs whilst making cookies. Later he has a nice chat with his daughter with loads of snuggles.
Dress One where Harry and YN go from Friends to lovers
Cuddly Mood One where Harry comes home from work to his girl being clingy. He ain't complaining.
Boo-Boo Away One where Harry's left alone with two kinds under two as his wife rests on a sick day
Fangirl One where Harry's got yet another concert crush and she's got a sign for him
Evil Eye Based on anon ask
Love Story (Insta Promt) One where Harry and YN find that they complete one another (Oneshot coming soon...)
Harry From Bar One where YN is conflicted but Harry is there to support her.
Maybe If You're Lucky One where Harry is smitten like a kitten
Still Want You Harry wants a restart but YN still feels guilty for what happened
A Moment In Time One where Harry's Swiftie daughter finally gets to meet her favourite and see her perform live. Part two of this
Series Master list(s):
Coffee And Pancakes A series (which originally was meant to be a Oneshot) where Harry meets someone at a cafe, with whom he falls he love. *Requests open*
...
CEOrry Series Harry and YN in a strange arrangement with weird circumstances.
...
Lovely : Harry found himself stuck in Los Angeles after WHO announced a worldwide pandemic. A series of events later, two years after YN and Harry bump into each other. And Harry meets his mini version.
...
Periwinkle : Harry get's to know a girl over the summer with whom he happens to grow some unexpected feelings for.
aaaaanddd another one (not curvy please) where yn and Harry are fiancée and fiancé, and they are on a trip b4 their wedding, but she founds something abt him he didnt told to her (idk what, maybe something she considers as cheating? dunno) but they get into a fight and he says something that really hurts her, so they stay on dif rooms etc etc, he grovels (IN A WAY IT HURTS) and after some days she forgives him and a happy (smutty) ending 😋
⛲️Paris at Night*
Summary: "Sans toi, je ne suis rien. Notre amour est éternel, Ma lumière. Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable. Nous étions formidables. Je suis désolé. " / Harry gets caught emotional cheating on his fiancée right before their holiday to Paris.
CW: Emotional cheating, Smut (sub!harry, face riding, fem!riding, unprotected sex, strong language use), toxic behavior, angst.
Word Count: 6.3k
Pairing: Current!Harry (famous!Harry) x fem!fiancée reader
💌 A/N: Hiii friends! I really hope you enjoyed this one. It’s a roller coaster ride of emotions. I absolutely do not condone cheating but it does happen. Anyways, thank you for being so patient! Lmk your thoughts please. ❤️ Happy reading!
Harry knew he had fucked up but figured it wouldn’t be as big of an issue as his partner made it. He’d happily sleep on the couch if it meant they weren’t in another screaming match. Now, he was staring down at the booked trip to Paris, France for Valentine’s Day. How were they going to survive four nights if their fighting kept on?
Harry thought about canceling the booking but with days off and money spent - that would be stupid of him. The only way to fix the situation is if they both put their pride aside. Jaw clenched, Harry stared down at the screen in front of him.
Booking: Paris, France — Four Night Stay, 12th of February through 16th of February.
A lump in his throat began to swell as he thought back to the fighting match the previous morning. He hissed, remembering how ugly it got between him and his fiancée.
“What are you doing with my phone?” Harry questioned urgently, his face scrunched up in disapproval. He went to reach for it, seeing a text thread open that was from months ago. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, he was caught.
“What was that? Who’s Freya?” She stood with her arms crossed.
“Nobody.” He grumbled. Harry’s first instinct was defense. “Why are you looking through my phone? That’s an invasion of privacy, Y/N.” He locked his screen, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. “I don’t go through yours.”
“Seriously, Harry? You want to talk about privacy?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I wasn’t going through your phone, she texted you.”
“Okay, friends text.”
“You were flirting with her, Harry. Sending all those long messages, you barely text me when you’re gone!”
“You know how busy I get.” He said, frustrated, “I wasn’t flirting,Y/N.” He let out a sigh, “Christ, I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
“She seemed like she missed you,” she crossed her arms. “Checking in on how you’re doing, sending flirty voice notes, wondering why you don’t talk to her as much.”
“She wasn’t serious,” he attempted to brush her off, shrugging.
“She looked pretty serious to me!” She moved away from him, tears brimming her eyes. “‘’Freya, you are the only person I can be so open with…’” she recalled as if the text messages were burned into her memory. “‘If I could, I’d kiss you right now.’ That's more than a friend, Harry.”
“I-It wasn’t like that. She’s just a friend of a friend who I talked to sometimes,” he lied, trying to cover his tracks except he brought a knife to a gun fight.
“Oh, a friend who you’ve never mentioned but seemed to talk to a lot when you were away? Yeah, okay, Harry.” She rolled her eyes, in utter shock by his behavior. “Please don’t lie to me. I hate liars, Harry - you know this!” she let her tears fall.
“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you. I’m allowed to have female friends!”
“You used to tell me everything, or so I thought!” She yelled, at her breaking point. “So, who is she?” When Harry remained quiet with his arms folded, staring at her - she gave him an ultimatum. “Tell me who she is or we can end things here.”
That evening, Harry carefully washed the dishes after their dinner was left cold and uneaten. The silent treatment was beginning to feel like a personal attack. He could understand her anger at the situation, but to him, the past was the past. He wished they could at least talk about what happened instead of acting like two toddlers about it.
Harry placed the tea towel over his shoulder after rinsing his hands. His elbow locked against the counter as his head hung in defeat.
“Y/N, we’re going to have to talk…” He turned slowly to face his lover. He saw her with a very meek expression, wondering if she had had enough too.
When the silence carried, Harry joined her at their small dining table. The sound of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor cut through the built up tension. He watched as his fiancée crossed her arms, cocking her head at him.
She was livid.
Harry let out a brief sigh, his hand running down his face in agony. He thought about his next words carefully, desperately needing to repair their relationship before their flight the next morning.
“I — I’m sorry that you saw that on my phone, it was unacceptable,” he started — barely able to look at his fiancée as his head hung in shame. “It was a moment of weakness and it should’ve never happened,” his accent came out more pronounced as he welcomed the guilt and remorse he felt.
When he looked over at his lover, her expression was the same.
Not buying it.
He let out a frustrated groan, unable to contain his anger. He rolled his eyes, an expression that she caught onto quickly.
Her voice cut through the quiet space.“Oh, is this frustrating for you, Harry?” A space that his voice only filled for the last twelve hours. “It is fucking frustrating! I’ve tried t’apologize, I’ve explained it all to you but you don’t get it, love.” His voice held the same anger.
“I don’t get it? I don’t get it?!” Her voice raised as she stood from her chair. “You’re so fucking arrogant, Harry!”
“I’m arrogant? Cooking you food? Begging for your attention? Trying to fix the mistake I made, that happened months ago, mind you!”
“Months ago? So, it doesn’t matter as long as it was months ago, right?” She stood her ground, shaking her head in disbelief.
“It’s not like I did it when… when we were good,” he forced out. “It just happened, I’m sorry. Nothing came of it, I realized how stupid I was being.”
“Oh, right because if something happened you would’ve told me, Harry?” She asked, looking at him dead in the eye.
Harry stumbled on his words then, the tension was too high. “I — I —,” he started but was loudly interrupted by his fiancée.
“No, the answer is no because you're a selfish, arrogant son of a bitch who only cares about himself!” She yelled, turning her back towards him.
“Oh, and I’m still going to fucking Paris whether you like it or not!” She stomped up the stairs, livid.
Harry followed her against his better judgment, his fists clutching at his sides as he took the stairs up two at a time.
“Go on then!” He yelled, "That's what got us in this situation,” he muttered, regrettably before slamming the bathroom door.
Harry used the time alone to calm down, taking deep breaths as his hand rested against the sink. Minutes later, he emerged and went into the room. He quietly grabbed clothes, his eyes fixed on their packed suitcases for a second too long. He wasn’t immune when he heard his fiancée cry quietly on the bed. It only made him feel more like shit. Instead of trying to figure out a solution, he made his way back downstairs to the couch without a word.
When the morning came, Harry’s fiancée lazily dressed and made her way downstairs with her suitcase, dreading their early morning flight. A part of her wished they would rekindle their romance on this trip but that was looking rather bleak. She was heartbroken by Harry’s actions and choice of words following their argument but desperately needed the holiday. She would rather be sad in Paris than sad in depressing, rainy London.
Harry was up, already dressed, and tidying up the area near the couch. She heard him clear his throat, and speak.
“The cab will be here in fifteen minutes,” Harry mumbled, passing by her to get his luggage. Her mind seemed to momentarily calm down knowing that he still was coming to Paris with her. She hoped the whole trip wouldn’t be spent fighting. Instead, taking the time they needed to gain composure and steady their relationship. The only thing she needed from Harry was him to fully understand how wrong it was for him to emotionally cheat on her. On her end, the apologies seemed empty. He was simply worried because he got caught, not because he wronged her.
The cab ride to the airport was quiet, Harry spoke and took charge as usual. He helped her with her suitcase, muttering — “I’ve got it, no need to help.”
When they went through airport security one by one, Harry waited for her at the end of the line. He walked close to her while they roamed through the terminals.
Harry sat down with a sigh when they arrived at their gate. When she finally dared to look over at him, he looked utterly spent. Her eyes took in his exhausted face, his dull pale green eyes, champed pink lips and dry skin. For a second, his seafoam green hues peered into her. She quickly looked away, feeling that same familiar lump in her throat.
The travel time was short, his fiance closed her eyes the whole way there. When they arrived, Harry woke her up with a gentle voice. They took a cab straight to their booked reservation. Harry had booked a room with a scenic view of the Eiffel Tower that could be seen from their balcony. Roses adorned the bed and filled the room with a pleasant floral scent. She got lost in thought, thinking about how Harry would’ve already had her on the bed, naked and bare if they were on speaking terms. She let her mind drift, a temporary memory of the pleasure they once basked in. As she stared at the perfectly neat duvet cover with a “Happy Valentine’s Day Harry and Y/N!” letter that sat over the roses, Harry cleared his throat.
“This room is yours, I’m going to stay a few rooms down.” Before she could protest, Harry was already out the door. A part of her broke even more but she knew that he was only being polite. He hadn’t been sleeping with her for the last few nights. He probably didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with his presence by being forced in a room for the next four days — especially with their relationship so rocky. Hours seemed to pass by before she heard a quiet knock on her door. She opened the door with her robe on - showered and had decided to lounge for the hours that stretched between the flight and now.
He was adorned in a long tan trench coat over a black jumper and trousers. He had his sunglasses on already as he walked through the door. “Harry,” she said softly. When she closed the door and turned, she watched his gaze dip onto her robe, taking in her the memory of her naked body underneath. He gave her a slightly puzzled look, glancing over at the open wrappers of the snacks that the hotel provided.
“Thought we were going out,” he said, his gaze snapping back to hers. Her mouth hung open, hating how handsome he looked when just standing there.
“I would have to get ready, I didn’t think we were doing anything today.” She muttered, moving to her luggage.
“Didn’t you get my text? I sent the itinerary. We have dinner plans in 30 minutes,” he grabbed an apple, biting into it with a ‘crunch’.
His fiancee began to scramble, heading into the bathroom with random clothes she pulled from her suitcase. When finally alone again, she let out a long sigh. She stared at her reflection, pointing her finger at herself in the mirror. Do not give into him, Y/N.
She reminded herself, already having thoughts only ovulation could cause when she was that angry at him. She did some quick makeup, fixed up her hair and stepped out with a black, knee length sweater dress. She didn’t say a word as she grabbed her socks, boots and trench coat to match Harry. She remembered when she bought them both, stupid couple aesthetic, matching ideas.
When she walked past him to grab her bag, he mumbled against the banana he was eating. “You look pretty,” his words caused a flutter in the pit of her stomach but she remained neutral, packing her belongings in a small Chanel handbag.
“Let go,” were the only words she muttered as Harry followed her out of the hotel room. They walked next to each other on the busy Parisian streets, their shoulders brushed against each other as they walked. It was mid February and the weather was still chilly. Normally Harry would warm her hand in his but that never happened. When Harry abruptly turned down a familiar street, she realized they were having dinner at the same location Harry had proposed to her.
That was the purpose of the whole trip, Paris was sentimental because they had so many fond memories - their engagement being one of them.
“Here?” she asked, already feeling the familiar lump in her throat. Harry stood to the side as he opened the door to the familiar memories that clouded her vision. She was immediately greeted in French by a server. Harry spoke back rapidly like a local, his hand steadied on his fiancee’s back to guide her back to the table. When they both sat down, she cleared her throat - the anger festered in her stomach.
“Did we have to come here?” Her voice broke. Her eyes stared over at Harry as he shrugged.
“Thought it would be nice, a reminder of when things were good between us.” His eyes sparkled under the candle light, beautiful sage green that peered into her.
“So,” she started, sitting back in her chair. “What do you have to say?” her tone was a little accusational. Hearing him out felt like giving in. Giving him another chance felt like doing herself an injustice. It was an icky feeling to be with a person who emotionally detached themselves from their relationship. As his fiancee, she hoped their commitment to each other was stronger than the lack of love he felt when she couldn’t give her all.
If only he communicated, she thought but knew that he wasn’t the only one to blame. During their time apart, it was easier to pretend like everything was fine when it wasn’t. Sometimes when Harry would take a break, she would appear more closed off, distant because it hurt too much when he would have to leave again.
The whole time they travelled, Harry thought about this specific conversation. It burned a hole in his mind – he wondered how it would play out, what he’d say and how he’d justify emotionally cheating on his fiancee. He figured this could be a make or break speech that would either drive them further apart or force them back together. He thought back to when he proposed to her in this same exact restaurant, the nerves he had now were nothing compared to then because then, he was so sure - so content with her.
“I have to say that I deeply regret hurting you by speaking with someone else,” he cleared his throat. “I should’ve come to you, explained how I had been feeling instead of running towards a temporary space to fill my emotional void.” Harry kept his voice low as he continued, “It was reckless and stupid. I didn’t think about your feelings or how it would affect you. I was being selfish,” Harry nodded his head. . “Hiding it from you was…” He shook his head in disgust, “I should’ve never even done what I did, and come clean to you when it ended and I’m sorry that I broke the trust we had between us.”
Harry let her process his words, hopefully staring back at her with a tired gaze. He never pictured them having this conversation over their anniversary dinner but that was his fault, not hers. Truthfully, when he started to talk with someone else, he knew deep down how ugly of a person he had become. To seek validation in someone else? He’d make excuses but truthfully, it was all his ego that took charge of his vile mistakes.
“Did you have feelings for them?” He heard her ask, his clammy palms rubbed against his trousers.
“I - I think I liked the thought of them but it wasn’t ever going to be serious.” The truth came out in a white cast over them, filling the space they occupied.
“Did you ever go to meet them?”
“Christ,” he shook his head urgently, “No, no. I wouldn’t do that to you, I would never… I wouldn’t be intimate with someone else.” There was a brief pause before the words that he wanted to say fell from his mouth.
“But yes, emotionally - I was… invested for a short time and I realize how shitty that is to do to you.” He watched as his fiancee folded her arms against her chest. Instead of annoyance, he could see that it was a protective gesture. Harry leaned forward , “what can I do to earn your trust and forgiveness back, Y/N? I am not giving up on you, on… Us.”
“I - I don’t know, it’s like everything has changed… I feel just - so angry and frustrated”, she scoffed, looking past him. He could understand her emotions, it had only been a couple of days since she found the old message exchange on his phone. He instantly regretted giving his time and energy to someone else.
“Feel angry, feel disappointed, feel upset - I expect that, I deserve that, Y/N.” He let out a sigh, scrunching his nose up into an involuntary, anxious sniff. “I just need you to know that I am 100% here now, that - that was the past and it doesn’t make it better, I realize that but please,” he begged “please know that I would never do that again.”
“That’s the thing, Harry. How am I supposed to trust you when you broke everything between us? You went and spoke to someone, told them things you’ve never even told me… I thought I was the closest person to you… I thought you felt like you could tell me anything,” she admitted, her voice filled with hurt. “Where did I go wrong?” She asked, a bit firmer.
Harry closed his eyes, he felt a stinging sensation burn at the back of his irises. When his gaze landed on his fiancee, his vision blurred. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Harry’s voice broke, “It was me, my fault. I’m the one to blame. I was away and it’s not an excuse but… “
“You’ll be away a lot once we are married,” she stated, obviously because his career held the demands of travel. “How am I supposed to trust that this won’t happen again? Or worse?”
“I promise it won’t,” Harry began but was cut off by his lover.
“Promises fall empty at times,” she noted, shaking her head. “You felt a connection with that person, you talked to them privately - day and night… it didn’t matter if I was with you or not, Harry.”
“It was when our relationship was on its outs,” he tried to justify.
“So, if that happens again -,” He cut her off, “No, I will come to you. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
He couldn’t argue with her, she was only asking yet the accusation felt ugly and hurt. Both of them needed to communicate more effectively in their relationship, his fiancee only paid the consequences for his lack of effort. For a split second, Harry glanced out the window - looking out into the Parisian night. He smiled softly, biting down hard on his lip to stop himself.
“Remember when we were here last? You begged me at basically midnight t’go see the Eiffel Tower sparkle. I remember when we got there, you were so… in awe, and I just kept thinking… remember this moment, remember you at your happiest, just so enamored by the sparkle.” His face fell with remorse, “that’s how I thought this trip would be. We’d both be happy, so in love… “ He shook his head, letting the memory replay in his head. After a minute, he spoke up again - “It’s all my fault, I understand that baby but we need to work this out.”
“I don’t know if this is something we can work out,” were the last words she said quietly before they continued the rest of their dinner in silence.
Their walk back to the hotel was serene, Harry kept close to her but remained deep in thought. When they arrived back at the hotel, Harry made sure she got to her room.
“Goodnight,” he coughed awkwardly, at her door. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything. Room 605.”
When his fiancee closed the door, she let out a deep breath. She was incredibly exhausted from their talk and went straight to bed.
The next morning, she woke up to a soft knock on the door.
“Y/N, it's me.” Harry mumbled, knocking against the wood. She groggily got up, opening the door for him. “Why are you up so early?” She asked sleepily, letting him in. Harry closed the door, taking in her half asleep look.
“I went for a run to clear my head.” His chest heaved as he grabbed a bottle of water from her mini fridge. His eyes fell over her sleep dress, easily lusting after her. He must’ve been staring for too long because her voice broke through with a question.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked, sitting down on her bed yawning.
Harry smirked, shaking his head. “You just look good,” his comment caused her to roll her eyes. She watched as he no longer hid his lustful eyes. Emerald green trailed over her long, bare legs, the curve of her waist and her hard nipples that were barely concealed by the lace on her dress.
“Is your head clear?” She asked, watching him as he continued to look over her body.
“Hm?” He asked, absentmindedly. His eyes trained on the soft rise and fall of her chest.
She moved, walking closer to him. “I asked if your head was clear? You know, from your run?”
“Yeah,” He muttered a little breathless as she stood near him. Her eyes danced over his features, biting her lip.
“And with your clear head, you thought you should parade to my room and wake me up at the ass crack of dawn for what reason?” She asked, stepping back from him with her arms crossed.
“Don’t know, I just missed being with you.” Harry admitted, taking a slow sip of his water.
“Well, I didn’t miss you, so you can go back to your room now.” She pulled back her duvet, slipping into the bed and not paying any further attention to Harry. Although his original plan didn’t work, he smirked while he walked to the door.
“I’ll see you for dinner,” He called out before closing her door.
The pair went out for dinner, Harry took his fiancee to an upscale bistro that she had been wanting to check out. During their meal, she barely spoke to him - letting the busy city do the talking. Harry kept his gaze fixed on her, watching her as she watched the city. When they were finished, the two went for a walk near the Seine river. Harry enjoyed the silence between them, holding space for them to just quietly be. Harry knew that it was his responsibility to make her feel secure and safe in their relationship. When he felt the distance between them, not just physically but emotionally - he looked for it elsewhere instead of coming to his partner. Regrettably, his violation of trust dismantled the foundation as a whole but the cracks were always there.
“Want to go see the Eiffel Tower?” He asked as the dark sky took over the night.
“Not tonight,” she said, looking up at him. “Think we should head back.”
The walk back felt routine, Harry walked her to her door again. When she reached her hotel key, Harry stopped her. “Wait,” he mumbled. “We only have two days left of our trip, are you sure you don’t want to… “ Harry let his voice trail off. His fiancee gave him a confused look. “I’m not ready yet, Harry.” He nodded his head, dropping her hand and letting her continue. He went back to his room for another sleepless night.
His fiancee set a goal for herself to go out and explore the city alone. After being in a publicly committed relationship - she was used to traveling with Harry. When he was gone, she didn’t feel the reason to go out without him. He was part of the joy of sharing experiences together. That also meant, she’d hardly explore on her own. She found herself at a café not too far from the hotel, basking in the morning sun as she took time to be in public alone. Without Harry, nobody seemed to care who she was or bother her peacefulness. When she sat down, tried to enjoy her breakfast yet she realized how lonely it felt to not have her other half. The same emptiness weighed in her stomach as before when he’d leave for a work commitment or tour.
As she walked along the Seine river, everything in pairs stood out to her. The old couple in the market, the teenage girls walking to school, the pair of pigeons that searched for food together. She realized that being with Harry was valuable time, a gift especially with how demanding life could be. It made her feel wrong for wanting to give that up, their shared time together. A part of her needed to feel that passionate again, not necessarily from Harry but for herself. She needed to reclaim the passion they once shared and the only way she could think of doing that was through intimacy.
On the third day, Harry didn’t bother his fiancee in the morning. Instead, he stuffed his face with croissants, trying to distract himself. When the afternoon stretched, he figured he’d hear no word from his lover. She needed space and he would respect that. A soft knock came to his door, he figured it was the hotel staff. He opened it to find his fiancee, she stepped past him into his room.
“Good afternoon,” she announced, “Were you planning on sleeping all day?” She let her eyes drift down his bare torso for just a second.
“I haven’t been sleeping much, so I must’ve dozed off.” He said groggily, “I wanted to give you some space.”
“Did I say that I needed space?” She asked, plopping down on his bed.
“Well, you said that you weren’t ready -,” she cut him off.
“I had a wonderful morning alone. I went to that fancy cafe down the road, and had an amazing french hot chocolate… Ate way too crepes by myself,” she let out a sigh, “But I realized that I missed you.”
“Missed me?” Harry questioned.
“Yeah, I was surprised.” Harry took some slow steps closer to her.
“And what did you miss about me?”
His fiancee shrugged, “I guess… Having you near me even when I absolutely despise you right now.”
“You despise me?” He asked carefully.
His fiancee let out a hum in confirmation. Her eyes flickered to his torso once more, his flexed abs were on perfect display. This time, he caught her.
“You don’t look like you despise me… Quite the opposite actually, love.” His voice was steady. “Is there a reason why you came to my room?” He questioned, his voice dropping a bit lower.
“Well, you said if I needed anything…” She let her voice trail off, taking a deep breath in, biting down on her bottom lip.
“And what do you need, baby?” He steps closer to her, inches away from her body. She could practically feel the heat radiating off of his skin. Her eyes traveled over the ink etched into his skin, breathing in his scent. When she felt a small amount of shame for lusting over him, her head hung low. Harry reached out, his fingers on her chin, tilting her head up.
“I’m yours to look at, baby. I’m here for you. Just tell me how you want me,” she could hear the desperation in his voice. They both fought the sexual tension that built between them despite their argument. When she didn’t answer right away, deep in contemplation, Harry asked again.
“Do you want me on my knees baby?” When her face lit up, Harry slowly dropped down to his knees. His hand grounded on her hips, gripping softly.
“We shouldn’t…” She hesitated, conflicted with being intimate with him too soon and the passion she craved to create. She was still so angry at him for betraying her trust. Harry’s fingers brushed against her skin under the hem of her shirt. Her breathing hitched at the contact, hating the way her body reacted to his touch.
“Do you want me to stop?” Harry asked, peering up into her eyes. She let out a breath, shaking her head a second later. “Words, baby. I need words,” his voice was soft, laced with desire and honey.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she mumbled out, “This doesn’t mean, I’m not mad at you still.”
“I want you to be mad at me, baby.” His fingers brushed higher on her hip, squeezing the flesh. With her shirt raised, Harry attached his lips to her skin, his mustache tickling her. “Use me, baby.”
She whimpered out, as he sucked down on her flesh. He gently bit into her skin, a sweet mixture of pain and pleasure. Her hands went to his short hair, tugging gently.
“I want your mouth on me,” she begged, “please,” desperate for some relief.
“Don’t beg, baby. Just take it… This seat is yours,” Harry stood up only to ease back onto his bed. He looked like a treat, his back rested against the duvet as he waited for her to come and use him. Her eyes went to his butterfly tattoo that seemed to flutter as he breathed out. She could see the outline of his cock strained against his boxer briefs. Her core ached, clit pulsing at the mere thought of his tongue. Truthfully, she tried to get herself off but craved more. Her fingers barely got the job done as her pussy was so used to Harry’s touch. She even went as far to search up sex shop to find herself a toy but realized she had one right down the hall.
Desire clouded her thoughts as she hooked the hem of her trousers with her underwear and pulled them down her legs. Now bare, she moved over Harry with a slight coldness. Her only goal was an orgasm for herself. Her thighs rested on either side of his face, planning to use his face as her seat.
“I’m going to ride your face until I cum then fuck your cock.” Harry must’ve enjoyed her suggestion because he pulled her down by her waist, gripping her flesh. She immediately felt his tongue against her clit, stretched and lapping up her juices. Her hand went to his hair, guiding his face. Instead of teasing her like usual, he was a good boy and licked her clean. Her core clenched as he twisted his tongue inside her, licking her precious walls.
“Fuck,” she moaned, one of her hands stayed in his hair as the other gripped the bedframe for leverage. “God, your tongue is so good when you shut up,” she gasped, rocking her hips to create a sweet friction. She felt Harry’s hand snake around her hip to grip the curve of her ass. She whimpered out as he squeezed then rewarded her with a pleasant slap. When his palm connected to her ass, she jolted forward in surprise. Her clit brushed against his nose and mustache, producing a euphoric sensation as he tongued her sweet hole.
“You like it when I make you shut up, huh?” She flirted, looking down at her seat. His eyes were closed but she knew he was enjoying it by the way he was gripping onto her skin. Just for a second, she eased up on him letting him catch his breath. His hair was messy, face glistening with arousal.
“Christ, you’re dripping f’me.” He smiled, his dimples popping out.
“Is it for you?” She dared to ask back, teasing him. She shut him up again by rubbing her clit on his lips. She moaned out but craved his perfectly hard cock.
“I want you to fuck me until I cum,” she climbed down his body, simply using him for her own pleasure. She pulled down his boxer briefs, his cock sprung free in delight. “Bet you didn’t get this hard for her, did you?” she tempted, climbing over his torso. Harry shook his head in response, panting.
“Go on, answer the question. Did you get this hard for her?” She asked again, situating herself over his aching penis. “Fuck no,” he cursed, sitting up on his elbows to watch her.
“Who’s the only one who gets you like this? So sticky and messy before I even touch you..” She tsked, “Can I use you as my toy?” she asked for consent, biting her lip in anticipation.
“Please,” he begged. “Use me, baby. I’m all yours. Only yours to use,” Harry purred out, watching as she sunk down on his cock, coating him with arousal. “Fuck me,” he cursed.
His fiancee let out an audible gasp, crying out in pleasure as he stretched her walls. The stretch was a longing sensation that she craved. Once she took him inch by inch, bottoming out, her clit rubbed against his pubic hair as she angled her body.
“My perfect toy,” She moaned, rotating her hips in a circle. She felt Harry’s touch on her hips, anchoring her still. She swatted his hands away, scrunching her face up in disapproval. “What do you think you're doing?” She asked, rotating her hips once again.
“Fuck, if you keep doing that - I’m going to cum soon.” He muttered out, chest heaving. She smirked, “You’re so easy, baby. Is my pussy that good?” She put her hands on his chest, using him as leverage to begin to bounce with her knees.
“Uggh, fuck,” Harry moaned out, “So fucking good.” His head rested back against the pillows before he sat up as she took him deeper. Her tight, slick core gripping down on him as she bottomed out then pulled herself up. Her sweet moans filled the air, nails seizing into his skin. Harry sat up on his elbows again, his eyes laser focused between them.
“You ride me so well, I love watching you take me.” He moaned, his fist gripping the sheets. The sounds of her wetness, audible and filthy, mixed with her moans.
“You like to watch, hm?” She asked, feeling her walls clenching around him.
“Yes, baby. You look s’fucking sexy just taking me, ugh fuck.” He groaned out, “I’m going to cum if you don’t ease up,” he warned as she fucked him at an increased pace. Her knees were snaking but she was so fucking close to her orgasm. She just needed a little bit more pressure.
“Don’t you dare. You’re my toy, I didn’t say you could.. Cum, fuck!” She cried out as Harry’s fingers added a much needed pressure to her clit.
“You can talk all you want, baby but I still know what you need.” Harry smirked, trying his luck.
“Shut up,” she forced out, nearly on the brink of her orgasm. She stuck two fingers in Harry’s mouth, applying a light pressure on his tongue so he was forced not to speak. She closed her eyes and focused on her movements. Within seconds, her walls clenched hard around his cock, milking him. Harry groaned around her fingers, his orgasm rushing through his body. She could feel his cock twitch inside her as she continued to ride out her orgasm, completely breathless. She caught her breath for a second before slowly disconnecting their bodies. When she went to stand, his cum dripped out of her.
“Fucking hell,” He cursed, watching her. “Aren’t you a sight?” He smirked, gawking at her sticky thighs. His fiancee carefully used tissues to clean herself up before picking up her trousers and underwear to put them up.
“Let’s go see the lights tonight,” Harry rushed out, noticing her urgency. “Please,” he swallowed hard, putting his own clothes on. “Paris at night is… Almost as beautiful as you and I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he spoke fast. “I can’t stand being without you, I love you so much and I know you are mad at me,” he paused. “But I - I don’t want to waste our last night here, Y/N. I need to see your face light up again,” he requested. She grabbed her belongings, heading for the door before she turned.
“Okay,” she said simply, “we can go tonight.” It wasn’t about pleasing Harry or giving into his request, she wanted to feel that happiness again too.
The pair walked side by side that evening down the Seine river, his fiancee displaying the same astonishment as the first time when the tower sparkled. Paris at night was magical, full of love and light as the light beamed into the night sky. As the couple stopped and took in the sight, Harry stepped closer to her. His arms hesitantly enclosed around her waist, pulling her close. She didn’t melt into his touch like usual yet, she could tell he was being sincere.
“Sans toi, je ne suis rien. Notre amour est éternel, Ma lumière. Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable. Nous étions formidables. Je suis désolé,” Harry whispered into her ear. When she looked back at him, he had tears in his eyes. “Je t’aime,” his voice wasn’t hesitant but certain.
