izzy's playlists!
Product Placement
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Fai_Ryy
Fieri Frames
ellievsbear
EXPECTATIONS
The Bowery Presents
One Nice Bug Per Day
ojovivo
The Stonewall Inn
Keni
pixel skylines
hello vonnie
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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KIROKAZE
★
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@harrysahottie
master list
here’s my master list of the 2 things i wrote forever ago and forgot about bc someone asked me to and i appreciate anybody who has read either of them! one day ill maybe add more to this but maybe not, im not a very consistent person lmao
im tired
12am - 11:59pm
love u all
Admiration
I had an idea and it spiraled! It was meant to be a blurb but it turned into a one shot, and it's smutty <3 I know I've been light on that lately but more is coming.
Check out our Patreon for early access and 340+ Exclusive writings and series
WC- 3.2k
warnings- oral (f receiving), squirting, soft Dom!Harry, slightly feral Harry tbh, kinda filthy
Y/N and her newly established boyfriend had yet to be properly intimate.
Harry was a gentleman on all counts. He paid for their outings without question, he walked her to her door every single time, held every door open- car and building alike. The man knew the sidewalk rule and abided by it every time, he had his impeccable manners while talking to her, pulled out her chair when they went out to eat, he didn’t call her after midnight, and most of all- he hadn’t pushed for anything sexual.
The extent of it had been kisses that got heated enough for her to be pressed against the passenger door of his car before he’d apologized, fixing her lipstick with his thumb and told her with a slight blush on his cheeks that he’d ’gotten carried away’ and apologized for not controlling himself, but he was very enamored with her. Even if it left her with damp panties and a second heartbeat between her legs, the tenderness in which he treated her had been the stand out of it all.
It was the exact opposite of every man she had ever been with. There had been no hint of even daring to suggest a hook up, or bypass the dates to get to the ‘fun stuff.’ Granted, she had asked him what his intentions were when he’d asked her out originally and he’d seemingly honestly told her that he wanted a real relationship and connection- but Y/N had been a bit cynical.
So many times she had gone out with a man who said they were looking for something real but they’d attempt to speedrun the first date to get her alone, or see her a few times, fuck around and then suddenly ‘not feel the spark’ before moving on to another woman to do the exact same thing. Take, take, take without receiving. Literally, in some senses, considering an alarming amount of men didn’t know where the clitoris was located.
The dating scene had been fatigued for her for a long time, and despite the hopes she’d had for Harry, she hadn’t allowed herself to hope. That itself had been hard when it felt like her personal dream man had been laid out in front of her, with pretty seafoam green eyes and dimples she wanted to indulge in poking, so she had told herself that no matter how much she liked him, she would try to hold herself back.
Funny, that was. It hadn’t been that long into dating when she had realized how incredible he was. How intelligent and kind he was, how he had most of the qualities she’d put down in her journals at 3 am when she needed to dream a little bit. Harry was what she wanted, and allowing herself to want it openly had been hard- but she’d been met with a warm reception.
Being a very successful man in business with multiple companies and hats he had to wear, Harry could be seen as a bit stiff, but she’d been able to see past that because he was letting her. She’d seen him laugh and dance a little bit to music he showed her, and just because he was wearing a suit a lot of the time didn’t mean he was what she’d probably have shamefully assumed of a man like him at first glance. Harry wanted to be good, he wanted to give her what she wanted, and for once in her life, she had let go a little bit and let him.
God, she wanted to fuck him. He hadn’t budged on that, and she hadn’t pushed too hard, but thankfully she hadn’t been made to wait an excessive amount of time.
It had been 7 official dates, 3 coffee dates on their lunch at work and 2 times meeting for drinks until he’d asked her to be official. The meticulously prepared candlelit dinner at his place was where he’d gotten her favorite meal prepared, gotten her favorite eclairs from the bakery down the road, and had curated a playlist of artists she’d mentioned liking before he’d asked her on his couch if he would be able to have the ‘honor of being hers’ and vice versa.
It had been the easiest yes of her life, considering the man had put in more effort than she had thought possible. For once in her life she had felt cherished and looked after. He’d sent her money for her nails earlier in the day as well; which she had never asked for but he had said was ‘a man should look after a woman he cares about, even if they are more than capable of taking care of them selves’, and she had decided in the seat while getting her feet scrubbed and the cucumber lotion slathered onto her that she would stop at nothing to lock this man down.
Turned out he was one step ahead. He’d always been one step ahead. And it also turned out she had misjudged him, even if only just.
He had a lot of charisma that was disguised as something else; a big energy that had let her think that he had to be good in bed. That feeling had only been slightly challenged with how quickly he had calmed things down when she had wanted more a few times. In short- she had assumed that maybe the energy he put off was a facade and perhaps his one flaw would be he wouldn’t be very adventurous in the bedroom. Maybe a missionary with the lights off type of guy which, hey! It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could fix that.
Harry was a teachable man, considering how brilliant he was. He hadn’t been suggestive and she had sat back and had the self conversation about being willing to show him what she liked, to give him a crash course in dirty talk and how to fuck her how she liked because with everything else he had, sex was something she knew could be adjusted.
It was very, very clear, feeling his large hands on him and her bare tits exposed to the cool air of his bedroom that she had been sorely mistaken. Nipples swollen and sensitive from the way he’d sucked and let his teeth graze them, dress tossed to the side leaving her splayed out naked on his bed, he’d been unable to keep his hands off of her after she asked him if they could ‘do more’ now that they were an official item.
He’d taken the challenge very literally.
“Look at that little clit.” He murmured, brushing his thumb over the swollen nerve. Sitting on his knees between her spread, wet thighs, he looked more comfortable than she would be with hardwood digging into her knees, but it was most likely because of the distraction in front of him. “Poor thing. All sorts of worked up, aren’t you?”
Y/N let out a soft sigh, nodding her head as she bit back a moan. The smallest touches were setting her off. Harry had turned her body into a live wire. With him circling over her clit and the hot wash of his breath as he spread her cunt open for him to see, it was becoming difficult to breathe. Life, and Harry apparently, had come at her fast. So fast that her head was spinning, showing her just how dirty the proper man could really be.
“Yeah, I bet you are. I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time. Did Y’know that?” Eyes looked up at her, dark and hungry as she shook her head in response. Words escaped her, but she managed to get out a strangled “N-No…” as he hummed under his breath.
That was in fact, news to her.
“I have been. Since the first night we’ve met. I tried very hard t’be good. To not think about you in such a filthy way, but it was difficult. Talked to you for a bit… admitted how absolutely incredible you are… how beautiful… and I knew you had to have the prettiest little pussy. I was wrong, though.” He turned his head just a bit to kiss her sensitive and slightly sticky inner thigh, letting out a chuckle when she jumped just a tad. “It’s even prettier. Most gorgeous cunt I’ve ever seen.”
It was unnerving to feel his gaze on her, to know he was well and truly up close and personal with perhaps the most vulnerable part of her, but she could see the admiration and hunger in his eyes. She couldn’t even pretend not to see it as he let his slippery thumb glide up to her mound of soft flesh above her cunt and back down to her entrance, spreading the slick around.
“Can’t believe how wet you’ve gotten for me. I won’t lie to you, my sweet girl… I’ve been dying for this to be mine.” His voice rumbled against her thigh as he laid a line of kisses, wet and slow up the sensitive skin. She’d have burn from his mustache on her thighs, surely, but Y/N didn’t care. It felt so good, her poor clit was throbbing underneath the passes of the pad of his thumb, and she wanted more.
“Please…” She croaked, lifting her hips. It felt hard to think, let alone speak, but he seemed to like that. Revel in the effect he had on her. “Please, Harry.”
“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” He murmured, pulling back from his kisses to spread her thighs open with his forearms. “What do you want me to do to my pussy, hm?”
Y/N bit her lip to bite back the scream, because what the fuck? How did he do that? How did he command her body so fucking easily that she could feel the trickle of arousal drip down her ass from the soft rasp of his voice and the intensity of how he spoke. Soft spoken, but meaning every syllable he let pass his lips.
His pussy. That was something he’d obviously been dying to say- but she hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to own it.
“Because, sweet, precious girl…” He sighed, spreading the lips open as he got a good look at her. “I’m not sure m’quite done admiring my pussy yet. So I think you can sit there and be the cute little thing you always are for me while I get better acquainted with her, and then I’ll give you what you want.”
It was hard not to let her hips jerk up as he tapped his fingertip over her clit, letting another breath wash over her as the heat of it made her stomach tingle. He was staring, admiring, analyzing her like she was art at a museum and that had never been anything close to what she experienced- so who was she to tell him no.
“Yeah I can… I can sit. I can wait.” Her throat felt thick as she spoke but she managed more than two words, and that was a feat in itself.
The smile on his lips was her even bigger reward.
“Thatta girl.” He praised, leaning up a bit to kiss her lower tummy- very close to where she wanted him to be. “I’ll always treat you well. Make it worth your while for letting me see what you’re letting me own, hm? Suck that pretty clit and make you stain the sheets… give you anything you want. Just need to stare a bit longer before I get her all puffy and wet… ruin her a little bit.”
She was already ruined, but she had vastly underestimated the way it would feel to have a man she desired so intensely to coo and stare at her body like it was his favorite thing.
Honestly, she had no idea how long it had been of his sweet and filthy words. His knees had to be numb as he dragged her to the edge of the bed, chuckling at her squeal of surprise as he pulled back for a moment to run his hand down her body. From her collarbone all the way to her cunt, cupping it in his large palm as she let out a strangled moan. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Seeing you spread open for me… You have no idea what that does to me, little treasure.” Clicking his tongue, he momentarily removed his hands to roll up the sleeves of his button up.
The always impeccably pressed and starched button ups, rolling the sleeves up his forearms as he began to look undone himself. The hair he gelled back tousled from her hands, a curl draped over his forehead and the 5 o’clock shadow was getting darker from when she’d first arrived. It was a brand new side to him.
“I’ve tried very hard to behave, Y/N. I’m a gentleman, and I will treat you as such… but something has clued me into the fact that it may not be what you want in this scenario, hm?” He shifted on his knees and she could hear the metallic clinking of his belt, but it was hidden from view. “I have to admit to you that I’ve never felt such unadulterated hunger in my life as I have with you. I don’t feel passion to this level. But you’ve brought something out of me, and I have to tell you that I’m becoming obsessed with you.” Lifting her leg, he planted a wet kiss to her calf. “With your voice.” A kiss to her knee. “With how you look at me, your intelligence…” he rounded up her thigh. “And now, this body.”
He audibly groaned as he spread her lips open with his fingers again, pursing his lips- and surprising the hell out of her- spitting on her clit. His eyes didn’t stray as she gasped, watching it slide down her pussy before he rubbed it into her already soaked skin. “So let me show you just how crazy you’ve made me. How obsessed I am with you. And most of all… how grateful I am that you’re letting me own you.”
Harry did more than that.
With his mouth on her, Y/N felt like she was floating. Again and again, he made her cum. Like a man starved, he’d barely pulled away from her pussy- save for letting his tongue run over her other hole which had her shuddering from the touch she wasn’t used to- and she had to wonder if he’d ever be able to be pulled away.
“You have no idea…” The usually well put together man whined against her pussy, trying to get her to cum a fourth time. It almost hurt, tingly and sharp, but she loved the pain as he sucked over her clit and sloppily spit back down over it. Webs of her arousal and his saliva stuck to his chin as he worked his fingers inside of her, the other hand keeping her down by pressing over her stomach. “No fucking idea what trouble you’ve just started.”
Y/N only hoped she could get more of it.
“It feels…” Y/N was finding it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason now. “God, it hurts but it feels so good. You’re r-ruining me. Like you said… oh, fuck.” Her hips tipped up as he curled his fingers, a deep chuckle vibrating against her clit. The sounds were pure filth. The squelch of his fingers fucking her deep and practiced, his mouth sucking on her cunt, his groans and her weak whimpers and whines as she tried to keep her head on straight bounced off his maroon walls. “H-Harry I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum a-again and… fuck, I’m gonna make a mess.”
She’d only been able to do it twice before, and she’d done it herself. Truthfully, the reason she didn’t go for it more often was because of the mess squirting made- but that didn’t deter the older man.
If anything, it spurred him on further.
“Make a mess then, treasure.” He panted, nosing at her clit. “Make a mess all over my hand and my face. I don’t give a fuck about the sheets.” One of the first true curses she’d heard from him had her clenching around him, but more than that was seeing him so undone. Wrecked by her alone, his new fascination with her pussy. “You’re going to give it t’me now. Alright?” His hand on her stomach came down to smack at her clit, the light, sharp sting making a gasp rip from her throat.
Fuck, that was good.
“You’re almost there. I can feel it. M’not stopping. Give it to me, Y/N. Let me see what my pretty pussy can do. Want the mess, want you to soak me. Be good for me, give it.” He was commanding it, keeping the pace just as he had it as his mouth went back to her clit.
Her body liked to obey.
With a scream that startled herself, she slapped her hand over her mouth as she came. Squirting on his fingers, she felt him moan against her pussy as he pulled his mouth off her clit and rubbed it frantically instead with his hand. “Give it t’me, give it baby- yes, yes, thatta-fuckin’-girl…. That’s what I want, give me what I want, let me give it to you- Fuck.” He snarled, tongue lapping over his fingers to taste her.
Writhing on the bed, she let out a little sob as she fell back flat on the bed instead of sitting on her elbows, body jerking as little bursts of her squirted over his fingers and surely soaked his hand. Never had she heard him so unhinged as he lapped her up, thanking her in between and telling her she was a good girl, that she was perfect as his fingers slowed until they stilled inside of her, kisses pressed to her thighs and belly as she got over sensitive.
It felt a bit fuzzy as she whined at the emptiness, a brief recalling of him saying to sit still before he was back, stroking sweaty hair out of her face and a warm washcloth gently cleaning between her thighs.
“There you are.” He murmured, voice warm and smile soft as he swiped his finger over her cheeks. “M’sorry baby. Got overwhelmed, hm? No more tears.”
Y/N hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. It just felt so good, she felt so safe, and she’d drifted away. Coming back to his smiling face felt very good, especially with his tender touch. “Hi.” She peeped, reaching up for him. There was no fight from him to come down, balancing on his one hand as he gave her the kiss she wanted.
“Hello, beautiful girl.” He murmured with an amused smile. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
“Mm… ‘Kay. For how long?” She asked without meaning to, but his answer was what she wanted to hear regardless.
“As long as you let me. I take care of what’s mine.”
needy girl - harry styles (age-gap) ⋆˚꩜｡
pairing: olderdom!harry x sub!reader
warnings: use of pet names (baby, bunny, sweet girl, good girl, love, needy girl), unprotected p in v, cockwarming, kissing
summary: Y/N wakes up immediately needing harry. and of course, how could he say no to an angel like her?
a/n: requested by queen @sparklejumpropequeen1113 <3 tysm for this i had so much fun writing! i also apologize for taking quite a while for a smaller-ish fic. i’m trying to be more consistent. feel free to send in requests! also please know i see them, i just can’t do so many at once 🤍 there’s also a tiny ready, steady, go reference somewhere in here… if u find it i’ll kiss u
The soft glow of the sun peaking in from the windows lit up a sliver of the hotel room, making Harry’s bare skin look golden.
He looked ethereal in this light, content and relaxed with his sweet girl in his arms, breathing steadily above his chest.
Harry just finished his short São Paulo residency in Brazil and they were both delighted to have a few days alone before Mexico.
When Y/N woke, she was curled up into Harry’s side as usual, warm and comfy.
But it wasn’t enough.
She kept trying to scoot closer and closer, but unable to find a position that pleased her.
So at one point, after basically tossing and turning, she decided to just… flop on top of him. Y/N buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent, pressing herself impossibly close to him.
That’s when she noticed the heat pooling between her legs.
For now, she ignored it.
“Well, good morning, baby,” Harry murmured, raspy from sleep, slight amusement in his tone. “You comfy?”
His words made her pout.
No.
She wanted to be even closer.
A short shake of her head told him everything.
“S’not close enough,” she whispered. “I miss you.”
Harry’s lips quirked upwards. “Oh, my sweet girl. M’right here. Never leaving.”
His large hand rested lightly on her bum, the other sliding up her cute little sleep shirt and rubbing her back.
“Don’t wanna leave bed today. Not once.”
It was clear the lack of proper intimacy because of his busy schedule was getting to her. Not just her— him too. How could it not? He always tried his hardest to fit it into his days, but they hadn’t been able to be close like this without exhaustion or a phone call from Jeff interrupting it.
“Okay, bunny. We won’t. I’ll let you suffocate me as long as you want, yeah?” He purred, still stroking her back.
Y/N exhaled, the slight frown on her face fading into something more relaxed.
They stayed like that for a few minutes.
Until she felt the need for even more. It just wasn’t enough.
Her thighs squeezed together, head lifting from his neck to look at him.
She blinked.
“…Yes?” Harry couldn’t help the smile on his face. “You uncomfortable already?”
She frowned again, pressing her lower half against him.
Harry’s eyebrows raised, immediately understanding.
“Oh, I see.” He rasped. “Tell me what you need, sweet girl.”
“You.” Y/N pouted.
This was truly making his morning.
“Baby, you have to tell me how you need me. You know I’ll give it to you.”
The hand that was stroking her back left to gently push back some of the messy strands of hair falling in front of her pretty face, his thumb then tracing those pouty lips.
Y/N hesitated, shuffling a bit closer, a small, barely audible whimper leaving her lips.
“…Want you inside,” she whispered, shy and needy.
“Yeah?”
She nodded once.
“Okay, bun,” Harry sat up slightly, shifting her weight on top of him to push down his boxers. “C’mere. Take these off f’me.” His finger tugged at the waistband of her panties.
She obeyed immediately, tugging down the fabric. She climbed back onto him, straddling his thick thighs that she loved so much. Harry’s hands steadied on her waist as she sunk down slowly. Her lips parted, clenching around his tip. Her pussy swallowed his cock, hungry to feel all of him.
“Oh, my poor baby, so wet,” his thumb flickered over her clit, swollen and aching. “Needy girl.”
Y/N bunched up against his chest the second she was all the way down, whimpering quietly.
Harry wrapped his arms around her, keeping her as close as possible while also buried deep inside of her. “Squeezing me so nice, love. You feeling okay? Or did you just need to feel me?”
She rested her cheek against his shoulder, her tummy fluttering from being so stuffed.
“Just really missed you,” she murmured quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Her chin tilted slightly, pressing a warm, soft kiss to his neck.
A few more moments went by of silence before her head lifted again.
“Harry?”
“Mmm.”
“I wanna kiss.”
Her soft, sweet words caused a smile on his face. This damn girl truly was the light of his life.
“Anything you want, bun,” he said.
Their lips pressed together, moving in a sweet motion that butterflied both of their bellies.
She was so happy that he was back on tour. So happy. There was nothing she loved more than watching Harry do what he loved most. But it was moments like these, days he was completely free, that made her miss when everyday was like this.
But then again, she knew she was the luckiest girl in the world that her boyfriend made enough time for her to have moments like these at all.
She had it good. So did he.
A lot of his fandom despised her for the fact she was in a relationship with him at all, and the age gap between that fueled that. Things like that had harmed his past relationships. But he knew she was it. They both knew it. He knows that positivity, the bond they have, and the love, is why they’re still so strong.
And that was why they were so compatible— the fact that no matter what they had going on in life, they always made time for each other.
When they pulled back, Harry gave a short kiss to her nose.
“So pretty.” He said.
Y/N straddled Harry comfortably with her face buried in his neck, stuffed full of his cock so deep she could feel it in her belly, her entire body tingly from the closeness.
“I love you,” she whispered quietly.
“I love you more, bunny.”
Her chest rose and fell, lips pressed against the soft skin under his ear, air softly blowing against his neck every time she breathed.
It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.
Harry’s big hands rubbed her back gently while she rested, content and happier than ever to be cuddling with his favorite needy girl in bed with a week left of break to do this everyday.
“Okay! All done,” she can hear the smile in his voice, and she instantly feels like a lecher. What the hell was she doing having a thought like that? “Would you get me?”
It’s no better, rubbing the sunscreen into his shoulders. Harry is so broad – he never wears clothes that show it off much, but Y/N had seen him in a workout tank top once and almost gasped. His shoulders are big; his back is sculpted – it’s the sort of thing you might see on an inspo page for working out. It leads into the shape of his biceps and triceps, and maybe it’s for the best that she isn’t that close to Harry? Because clearly, she’d been around him for like a day and a half and she can’t have a normal thought to save her fucking life.
Beneath her fingers, his skin is warm and soft. She doesn’t even realize that the sunscreen is gone until she’s been rubbing it on him for like two minutes.
“Ah, I used too much,” she lied through her teeth, patting his shoulders gently, “There you go, all done.”
or
Y/N has to room with Harry on vacation, and she can't be normal
(A/N: HI FRIENDS!!!! I just wanted to apologize that this took so long!! BUTTT HERE'S THE BEACH VACAY FICCIE I'VE BEEN PROMISING! I hope you guys like it! Even with the writer's block, I had a lot of fun writing it, so let me know if you want a part 2, or else I'll overthink and think you hate it hehe. LOVE YOU, THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME! Also, guys, I have never been to this part of Japan that they're vacationing in, so I'm sorry if things are wrong, I was just doing research as I went!)
(16.7k+ words)
i.
Y/N has never been to a beach house.
She’s been to a beach, yeah, and she’s been to a house, obviously, but the mix of the two? That’s for people who own shares in oil companies and sleep on Egyptian cotton sheets that they can regularly afford to change. Owning a house in an area even remotely near a beach could be a hole in the pocket, but owning a separate house, away from where you live, just so that you have somewhere fun to spend a couple of weeks in the Summer? That’s a whole separate type of wealth Y/N has never once experienced; one that had been relegated to maladaptive daydreams where she’s famous and getting paparazzi photos taken of her near the ocean for a new single.
So when her friends suggested they rent one in Japan for a little summer vacation, she snorted and asked them if everybody had 3000 each to put toward it. But it turned out that Niall’s uncle’s friend actually owned one. His wife grew up in Minamiizu and wanted to be able to travel back easily now and then when she wanted to visit, but didn’t necessarily want a house there. There was a beach house in Shimoda for sale at the time of them looking, which directly bordered Minamiizu on the southern tip of the Izu Peninsula. It was roughly a two-and-a-half-hour train ride to Tokyo, so they could spend a couple of days in the city as well.
His uncle’s friend was offering them a cheaper rate than anyone would on Airbnb, so long as they promised not to do any gross damage that would need fixing afterward. Which meant, for half the price that a typical Airbnb would charge, they would have a week and a half at a beach house. And when they all managed to get PTO from their respective jobs, managed their other non-work-related commitments around it, and bought their plane tickets, Y/N realized that this was actually happening. They do a lot of talking and fantasizing about different trips that they want to take, but not very often do they come to fruition.
Y/N was excited, though, and a little nervous. It was her friend group, sure, but she had only travelled long distances with Niall (it was on a whim, in his pursuit to meet a man he’d been talking to in Spain, whom she thought they were about to bring back with them on some sort of spousal visa, but he ended up lowkey being a catfish). Y/N was unsure of what all of their travel types were – who was type A, type B, or (in Niall’s case) type C? Y/N knew Adam would be type A, because he’s type A in every other aspect of his life, but how many type As could be in a group without it being too many chefs in the kitchen? And how many type B’s can there be before they get nothing done because nobody has a set itinerary? And how many people were going to threaten to beat Niall for the state he often leaves bathrooms in after he’s done getting ready?
She isn’t sure. Niall, Adam, Mei, and Y/N have known each other since UNI, where they all got disgustingly close in their dorm the first year, when they all used the common room often because they hated their randomly assigned roommates. Then, for the next three years, they shared a four-bedroom flat just a block or two from campus and saw each other at various states of disarray. Then, Mei introduced them to Chris, who worked in the same cafe she did while she was looking for a job that pertained to her degree, and he slid into their group quickly and easily. Niall met Maeve during a mixer that they both happened to attend because they both thought they might be Bi (Niall is still on the fence; Maeve has come to realize she is), and while sparks didn’t fly in a relationship sense, Niall invited her to the bar, and they all hit it off well. And Adam met Harry in the lab where he works, and. . . .
The thing is – Harry is very sweet. He was the person who trained Adam at his job for the two-month period during which they were oriented to the new position. Apparently, lab politics could be sort of intense, and the drama that brewed there was as aggressive as the Bacillus species (whatever that means), and new people get eaten alive there. Harry, allegedly, wouldn’t let Adam get caught up in the drama and once took the fall for something he knew that he would be forgiven for, but Adam would never be able to live down. From that point on, Adam invited Harry to everything they did, and Harry fit in nicely.
But Harry didn’t fit in because his humor was the same or because he necessarily liked the same things as them. Chris and Maeve were as brash and crass as they all could be. Harry fit in because he was polite – he was tender and kindhearted, and very gentle. He didn’t speak much, but his eyes were always very sweet and soft, and when he spoke, it was thought-out and careful. Harry was the opposite of brazen; he cared plenty about how he came off to others, and she thinks that’s why he holds himself the way he does. Yet it was still genuine. His nature was just good, honestly. He was born to save kittens from trees, help kids cross roads, and load up groceries in the elderly’s cars.
For this reason, Harry also seems to have to do a lot of emotional labor for the group, which Y/N isn’t a fan of. It’s because he’s so kind and gentle that everyone is always bothering him with their problems. It’s one thing to express stress or feelings to a friend, but it’s another thing to know that Harry will listen, no matter if it’s the same issue a billion times, with gentle guidance and a soft suggestion. His feelings don’t get hurt when you don’t take the suggestion, though, and he’ll always act like it’s his first time hearing you complain about the same thing, though the little things he remembers tell you that he is intimately aware of every nook and cranny of the problem.
There were plenty of times that Y/N had to coax a drunk Mei or an overly disgruntled Niall away from Harry when they were out and he’d been trapped in their hot seat for a while. “Why don’t we let Harry enjoy some of his night too?” She’d suggested as she guided them away, then ended up lending her ear to the same problem that they were ignoring the answer to.
It didn’t help that Harry was ridiculously smart, too, in all the things that you’d need a smart friend for, so he’s always getting bothered with finance questions, medical questions, and even house-related issues (“Should I get a contractor or do you think I could do this myself?” “Well, do you know how to do it yourself?” “No, but I think I could watch a video on it or something?” “I mean. . .well, that is one option, and you’re welcome to try it, but I think it’d be smarter to get a contractor. I actually know a couple, I can get something scheduled for you?”).
It’s not always like that – they don’t keep him around just to use his brain – but it does happen quite a bit. Y/N thinks Harry might like it too. There’s always a pleased smile on his face whenever the conversation is over, and he never seems to be too annoyed when someone treats him a little like a search engine. He still laughs with all of them, still jokes, and keeps turning up, so he must enjoy them. Hell, Y/N thinks she gets more annoyed with it than he does.
She thinks maybe that’s why she and Harry had never gotten super close. They were friends, yes, but he was the only one she’d never hung out with one-on-one. Y/N isn’t sure why. . .maybe because she just never got an “in”, so to speak? Like, he helped Niall through a pretty difficult situationship debacle that Y/N’s only answer to solve was ‘burn him alive’, and now he and Harry routinely go out for coffee, trying new cafes together as one of their hobbies. He directed Chris to a trusted gutter guy who would quote him a reasonable price on a complete gutter overhaul, and for this reason, he and Chris got together to do house projects a lot with each other (Chris had even helped Harry build his sister’s gazebo – Y/N didn’t know either of them could operate a drill until that). Usually, it went like this: Harry helps a friend, the relationship opens, and Harry and the friend get closer because of it.
But Y/N didn’t want to bother Harry with her issues. She barely wanted to tell anyone when she was going through something because she didn’t want to be a burden. And that doesn’t really fit well with the order Harry does things in, so they just never got past the overly polite stage of their dynamic.
Still, Y/N has noticed that Harry stares quite a bit. She doesn’t know if he realizes he’s doing it, but if she feels eyes on her, there’s a 9 out of 10 chance that it’s Harry’s gaze. Almost like he was trying to figure her out or something? She doesn’t know. As soon as she locked eyes with him, he’d dart to look away with a blushing face, and Y/N never called him out on it because. . .well, that’s just not their relationship.
(She had brought it up to Niall in passing, who said something along the lines of, “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a pretty girl – he probably likes you, and it makes him awkward.”).
That’s why it’s just a little awkward when Y/N realizes that she and Harry are sitting right beside each other on the plane. It’s a long way to Japan to be sitting beside someone you don’t even regularly speak to. She was less worried about not knowing what to say to him and more worried about Harry realizing that she didn’t know what to say to him. Like, the last thing she wanted was for Harry to think that she didn’t like him, and she’s a grade-A yapper, so if she all of a sudden just didn’t speak, it would look a little suspicious, no? And Harry would be the person to notice something like that, because he notices things about everybody and everything – he’s very observant.
For that reason, she does her best to wipe any sense of hesitation from her face. She doesn’t want Harry to see it and feel like she was upset, because she wasn’t upset at all. At least, not with him, just at her complete inability to speak with him in a meaningful way that would make him comfortable.
“Looks like you and I are together!” Y/N smiled softly as they looked at their tickets.
Harry smiled too, but followed up his smile with, “Do you want me to switch with Niall or Mei? That way, you could sit next to a friend?”
And how he said it sort of made her feel sick to her stomach. It was a genuine suggestion and statement – he didn’t say it with any vitriol or spite, but it was the way he’d said it so nonchalantly that unsettled her. Like, he didn’t believe for a second that they were close enough to sit on the plane with each other forever, which, maybe, was true, but she didn’t like how it sounded.
“What? No! You’re my friend too.”
Y/N must have seemed as legitimately startled and unsettled as she felt, because his eyes widened: “Oh, I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean like, we weren’t or anything! I just meant so – you know, because you’re closer, and – I didn’t –”
“Well, Mei snores, and Niall is the worst manspreader in the world,” she told him, “So unless you don’t want to sit with me, then you’re stuck with me.”
“No, I do! I don’t mind sitting with you at all.”
So Y/N is in front of Harry as they make their way to their seats in the tight walkway between rows. When they are stowing their carry-ons overhead, Harry grabs for hers first and makes sure that it slips in easily before working his own on. Even though Y/N’s seat wasn’t technically the window seat, he ushered her in first and took the one in the middle, so he’d be sitting next to the stranger. Y/N is almost overwhelmed by the amount he had taken care of her in all of 5-minutes. Is this the same treatment he’s giving all of their friends?
“I hope this doesn’t come off as rude,” Harry began, pointing at his headphones, “But I have a few audiobooks that I downloaded for the flight. I was going to listen to one of them after we took off, if that’s okay?”
“Oh, no, that’s – that’s perfectly fine, don’t worry about me.”
It was as simple as that. Y/N had been all worried for nothing, just for Harry to be the one to shut her out. Hell, maybe he didn’t like her or something – not that she expected him to speak to her the entire flight. She’d just been panicking about not knowing what to say to him, but she does wonder if he would have put his headphones on for anyone else soon after takeoff. Or, well, Y/N wondered if anyone else would have given him the chance to. He’d said he’d downloaded the audiobooks for the flight, so maybe this was his plan all along.
God, why the hell is she overthinking this? It’s stupid, and she decides that she’s going to take her melatonin and try to sleep for as long as she can, as she’d intended to do no matter who was sitting beside her. Y/N chews the gummies thoroughly and swallows them, just as Harry is about to put the headphones over his ears.
“Just tap me if you need anything,” he offers before placing them snugly over his ears and letting his eyes flutter shut. Y/N stares at him for a little while; she’s able to without seeming like a creep. He’s got his glasses on, resting on the bridge of his nose. His hair is neatly styled like it always is, smoothed away from his face, but she thinks the headphones will muss it up a little. Y/N tries to think back if this is her first time seeing Harry dressed so casually, too – he’s usually a button-up kind of guy, but right now he has an oversized university tee on and soft linen bottoms that – with any of her other friends – Y/N would have just reached out and felt them between her fingertips. Instead, her fingers just itch to touch it where they lie on her thigh.
She turned her head forward again, then to the left so she could peer outside at the clouds that passed them with a soft sigh. She just needs to turn her brain off, probably. Vacations always make her sort of anxious, and her dynamic with Harry seemed to be a little source of anxiety for her as well. Everything she’s anxious about only exacerbates when she’s already nervous.
Y/N lets her eyes flutter shut.
She’s sure they’ll probably get closer during this trip, at least.
. . .
The plane ride wasn’t that horrible.
It was long- somewhere in hour three, she stirred from her melatonin, her legs felt cramped, and the urge to stretch them became so overwhelming that she was about to toss them over Harry’s lap. Y/N knew that with the type of person Harry is, he would have accepted it without a second thought – lifted the armrest between them and let her rest her legs there. Hell, he’d probably even start rubbing them too if she wanted. He’s always absentmindedly squeezing or feeling something, and sometimes that happens to be his friends', whoever's and whatever body part is closest to grabbing.
But she refrained. She only caught Harry looking at her once when she was wriggling, trying to lock her knees, and stretching her feet beneath the seat in front of them. When she met his gaze, she gave what she hoped was a reassuring “I’m totally good and not at all uncomfortable and moments from freaking out” kind of smile, which he returned softly – still looking concerned. A couple of minutes went by, then he showed her how to move the seat back. He didn’t speak, just carefully pointed at the lever on the side of the seat and showed her.
It did make it a little better, which was good. She didn’t love using the toilet on the plane either, but Harry went first, and when she asked him how it was in there, he told her it wasn’t so bad. “It’s more spacious than some I’ve been in the past,” he told her, so Y/N went after him. When she came back, Harry hadn’t put his headphones back in yet. Mei had reached out and squeezed Y/N’s bum from across the aisle, which made her gasp and jolt forward, and Harry all but jumped, prepared to catch her if she hadn’t caught herself on the seats.
Those were the only interesting things to happen, though; otherwise, the plane ride was just long and boring. They had coordinated their flight so that, by the time they arrived in Japan, it would be early afternoon. That way, they could land at their airport, take the train to Shimoda, and get acquainted with their Airbnb before going out to dinner. They didn’t necessarily count this in their days here, since most of it would be taken up by travel.
The airport was busy, and with immigration, customs, and security screening, it did take a bigger bite out of the day than they thought it would, but it wasn’t so bad. Y/N and Christopher made it to the other side far more quickly than anyone else. Harry, who had been beside her to start, had made his way to the back of the line so he could coach their friends on what to do. He was a good person like that, always making his own processes longer so he could benefit others. And it was then, from Christopher, that she found out Harry had actually traveled to Japan before. Though instead of staying in the countryside, he was in Tokyo for the duration of his trip. Which meant he was more familiar with this airport than any of them, even though he’d only been there once, so everyone was relying heavily on him.
The train ride was long but beautiful. Y/N stares out the window at all of the greenery – the further they get from the city, the brighter and clearer it appears. She feels like a dog, pressing her face against the glass with wide eyes, watching the trees and buildings whip past. Niall even petted the top of her head and asked if the “good girl wanted a treat,” but she batted him away. She feels excited and incredibly exhausted, and her belly is growling so intensely that she needs to eat soon or she will start getting snappy. Two hours fly by when you’re able to stretch your legs, and there’s so much scenery to look at that you’ve never seen before.
They (and by "they," she means Maeve) coordinated a ride service to pick them up in two separate cars and take them to the house. That ride was much shorter; the sun in the sky was still visible, but noticeably beginning to be painted pink and orange by evening. It smells like the nearby ocean when they step out of the train car. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool and brushes across the sweat that has begun building on the back of her neck. Once more, somehow Harry is sitting beside her – before they’d gotten in the car, he started to reach for her suitcase to lift it into the trunk, but she grabbed it before he could. She felt bad because he’d already had to wrestle with her carry-on earlier, so she didn’t want him to do it again, trying to fit both her suitcases into the trunk with everyone else's.
Y/N felt that familiar burn of eyes on her, but when she turned around, Harry had tilted his head down, looking at his phone. Both Mei and Christopher studied Japanese at university, so one of them had to be with a group (if they split into groups) at all times to avoid looking like stupid tourists. Harry has the third most knowledge. Y/N can get by with the little she does know, certain questions she can ask, how to order food, and how to carry on at least a little bit of small talk. The driver knew English, though, so nobody necessarily got to practice their skills or anything.
The house is a good size. It isn’t massive, but it would comfortably fit all of them, even though they’d have to double up on rooms. There were three rooms: two had two people each, and one had three. They thought the best way to decide who roomed where would be to use a random generator, since all of them were close enough that the pairings didn’t really matter. Plus, it would be the fairest in choosing who had to be in the group of three, with slightly less space to work with.
Or, well, it would have been fine, but for some reason, the universe is just desperate to smash her and Harry together. So they do get a nice room for just the two of them, but that’s the issue, isn’t it? It’s just the two of them. If Y/N had been worried about the plane ride being awkward, then a week and a half of her and Harry sharing a space was probably going to be even worse. She could suggest switching too, but there’s a look on Harry’s face. . .well, she isn’t sure what it means. Y/N can’t tell if he hates it or loves it. He seemed indifferent as he heaved his duffel over his shoulder and dragged his wheeled suitcase behind him, going toward their room.
Niall slipped into the space beside her. “Do you think you two are going to cuddle?” He whispered in her ear, “Harry’s a cuddler, y’know?”
No, Y/N didn’t know because she doesn’t know Harry that well at all!
She is trying to be positive about this. Maybe this would actually encourage her and Harry to get closer? That would be nice, she thinks – there’s nothing like sleeping in the same room together during vacation to increase your bond. The first time she realized that Adam was repositioning her head in the middle of the night when she was lying weird, she was like wow, we might be best friends, so maybe something like that would happen. And she’d not felt as close to Mei as she did until they stayed the night in a hotel bed together when their flat was being fumigated (Adam and Niall were sharing the other bed across from them), when she woke up pressed back to back and was so warm and cozy she fell right back to sleep despite needing to pee.
Y/N and Harry could grow a lot from this, right? This could be really nice if it works out.
So hopefully it works out.
. . .
The first night wasn't so bad.
They go out to eat at one of the top-rated places, and they are all dressed relatively cozily for the occasion. The last thing anyone wanted to do after a full day of travel was get ready for anything. They all planned to eat, go home, shower (for the ones who hadn’t already), and get into bed. Y/N eats Kinmedai Nitsuke, which is their prized local speciality, and it’s so tender and delicious that she wonders how many things in the world are this good that she’s been geographically limited to. They do walk down to the beach to at least get a look at it, though nobody could necessarily hop in unless they wanted to soak their clothes.
White, powdery sand is what slips between her toes and coats her flip-flops. From what she could see, the water was a pretty turquoise as well – she was excited to do more than dip her toes in it tomorrow. They’d planned several full-blown beach days so they could truly soak up their time near the water. They take some silly photos, watch the sun set, and Y/N spots a crab that scurries away from her feet, then disappears into the sand – she squeals because it’s cute and also because she’s a little terrified of it.
When they go back to the Airbnb, Y/N is full, content, and ready to shower. Harry needed to as well, but he offered for her to go first. When she all but refused (because he was always putting people ahead of himself), he hurried to gather his towel, his loofah, and his soaps and shampoos. He might have taken what Y/N could only describe as the world’s quickest shower, because as soon as the water had turned on, it was on for maybe five minutes before it turned off. The door to their shared bathroom opened, and Y/N got more of an eyeful of Harry than she thinks she’s ever received before.
To be fair, she’d probably be seeing this much of him anyway tomorrow in his bathing suit. Only then would she know that there was something beyond a towel covering his prick. But right then, with him still dripping wet from the shower, he only had a towel looped around his waist, and it did very, very little to hide an incredibly impressive bulge. One that Y/N had only accidentally seen in a pair of too-tight jeans Niall had squeezed him into one night (and Y/N had to keep staring at his crotch, because he kept readjusting, and whining about how the button was digging into his bladder and wow – she had to try and ignore how cute he sounded when he was whining).
His cheeks are flushed, but so is the rest of his skin, like the water had been scalding. There was a lot of torso she was seeing too, tattoos mapped out on relatively tanned skin – she’d seen these a couple of times too. Harry definitely did not seem like the type to have tattoos, so when she had met him in the wintertime, all he ever wore was long sleeves, and she never suspected a thing. Then Spring came that year, with warmer temperatures and shorter sleeves, and she was finally exposed to Harry’s skin in all its glory. She’d seen bits and pieces but never all of them: how they decorate his skin, how they make absolutely no sense but for some reason fit him well.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, and Y/N yanks her gaze from his torso back up to his body, “I just – I rushed out of here and forgot to bring my clothes. I don’t think I used too much hot water.”
Y/N pressed herself up from where she was sitting beside her open suitcase on the floor. “And it would be okay if you did,” she told him, grabbing for her toiletries and the clothes she was changing into, “I’ll let you get dressed.”
So what if Y/N thinks about Harry’s body the entire time she’s in the shower? That’s her own business. He had a nice body – sue her! Y/N may not know much about him and may not be very close to him, but she can appreciate a nice body when she sees one. Hell, she’ll probably be oogling over all of her friends when they’re here together. It didn’t help that the little beads of water were dripping through the swell of his tits. Y/N shivered a little as she scrubbed herself down, trying not to take up too much time since Harry was in and out. This also cut off her “free-thinking-about-Harry’s-body” time, so it was probably for the best.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on her cute night set that she didn’t know she was going to be showing off to Harry first. Once she made it back into the room, Harry was sitting on his bed, and Niall and Mei were sitting on her bed across from him. He is still flushed, but this time with many more clothes – pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt. Mei cheered when she saw her, “This is so cute, what the fuck? When did you get these?”
“My Hangyodon nighties,” she grinned, the fish man with the red little octopus sidekick in the middle of his tank top and then speckled all over the pajama shorts, “You love them?”
“Do I love them? I’m going to steal them off you in your sleep!” Mei ran her fingers beneath the spaghetti straps, pulling them until they snapped. “Harry will help me sneak in, right, Harry?”
Harry shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, no,” he told her, “I’m loyal to my roomie.”
Mei grumbled, pulling Y/N into the bed, “Annoying,” she threw her leg over Y/N’s thighs while Niall pulled her head into his lap, “You’ve already bewitched him, hm? I’m cutting it off myself.”
Harry just watches, gaze pleased and soft from his side of the bed. He is leaning back on his palms, stretched out, his legs parted and. . .yeah, Y/N is looking a little, but nothing crazy.
Eventually, Niall and Mei leave, and Y/N gets up under her blankets and smells the gentle, citrus scent of the blankets. Harry’s voice is soft when he murmurs, “Goodnight, Y/N,” he tells her, “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
She snuggles deeper into her blanket.
“Goodnight, Harry.”
. . .
On the first night of any vacation, Y/N never slept very well. She wakes up periodically throughout the night, checks her phone to see the time, realizes only an hour has passed, and then eventually lulls back to sleep. She isn’t sure why – it’s not like she wasn’t dog tired in the first place. A full day of travel always wore her down to the bone, but being in an unfamiliar space without her familiar comforts left her in a liminal state between consciousness and unconsciousness. Not to mention the time change was fucking with her too.
Y/N thinks the last time she looked at the clock was 4 AM at least, and then the next time she woke up, it was to Harry stretching, standing on the side of his bed. Sun poured in through the blinds, cutting through the curtains and filling up the room. She grumbled a little; the sound of her feet moving against the mattress pulled Harry’s attention over to her. His eyes are all sleep-swollen and soft – he smiled at her, then made his way to the bathroom. He was kind of cute when he woke up, but whatever. Y/N doesn’t care about that. She pressed her face into the pillow and huffed – the sun still looked like it might just barely be 7 in the morning. Of course she’d get paired with an early riser.
She flopped around in bed for a while, at least an additional 30 minutes to an hour, before she finally answered the call of her bladder and went to pee. The dire need to pee plus the pressing urge to see where the hell Harry had disappeared for 30 minutes after waking up is what drags her from the call of sleep. What could he possibly be busy with? And why would she care what he was doing? Her stupid brain just needed something to focus on, she thinks, when there were too many unfamiliar things and too many unfamiliar surroundings. But really, she should be fixating on their beautiful surroundings, the soft, flower-bloom scent that over takes the entire neighborhood they’re in, and the sea salt wind of the ocean nearby.
Y/N peed, then tiptoed out of the room. When she checked her phone, it was 7:05 AM, and she knew all too well that if Maeve and Adam didn’t get to sleep in, they would have two (surprisingly) very crabby adults on their hands. More crabby than Niall or Mei combined, because at least when they’re tired they get a little loopy and silly – Maeve is a bit scary, and Adam is just downright pouty the whole day. Paired with this, both of them are incredibly light sleepers, so something like a creaky floorboard could draw them from slumber in an instant.
Y/N found Harry in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. When he spotted her, he was just about to flip the eggs. With the pan in one hand and the spatula in the other, he pointed at the table where there was a pile of French toast and fruit sliced already. One plate had already been made up. He works efficiently – how had he done all of this in 30 minutes? “I cut the crusts off that one already,” he told her, voice just barely above a whisper, “They’re still on the plate in case you want them, though.”
“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Her eyes were wide; she could feel them. How had he known she didn’t like the crusts on bread? Also, where the hell did he get groceries from? “How’d you get put on breakfast duty?”
“Oh, I didn’t,” he shook his head, “I just like to cook. Reckon if we are going to be out in the sun all day, we should have something in our bellies.” He nodded his head in the direction of the other rooms. “Niall and Mei came into my room last night to ask what I wanted from the grocery because they were having it delivered. I think they meant to ask you too, but got distracted by your pajamas.”
That made sense. She’d been wondering why they were in her room, but once she was accosted about her pajamas, she’d forgotten to ask.
Y/N made her way to the kitchen table, “Thank you, Harry.”
“No problem,” he told her, “I hope you enjoy it.”
When Y/N took the first bite, she held back a gasp. It was really good – she didn’t know how much of that was because Harry was adept in the kitchen and how much was because of the geographical ingredients. Either way, it was sweet and syrupy without Y/N needing to add any syrup onto her plate. The powder from the sugar covers her lips – she can feel it, tacky and sweet. Her eyelids flutter a couple of times, blinking rapidly before a presence suddenly looms over her.
Harry is there, sliding two eggs onto her plate. They’re over medium- another weird fact to know about how she liked her food. He looks absolutely chuffed watching her eat, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose, “It’s good?”
“It’s great,” she tells him, nodding, “Thank you, really, this is – really yummy.”
The twinkles in Harry’s eyes are something different. Before the moment could linger any longer, Chris appeared at the doorframe with Mei in tow. “Oh, thank fuck,” he sighed softly, “I woke up like an hour ago, starving to death – I ate like ten of those jelly candies I got from the airport.”
“Loveeee Harry’s cooking,” Mei hums, eyes barely open, “Y/N, I’m sitting next to you. Someone get me scissors so I can cut this tank off her.”
Everyone wakes up pretty soon after that, because while Y/N and Harry are willing to tiptoe around, Mei and Christopher go by the beat of their own drum. And that drum wakes up the whole house when Christopher drops an egg on the floor and all but cries out, wondering what he did to deserve this from the universe. They all finish eating, brush their teeth, and get ready for the beach. They pack up all of their towels and sunscreen, Y/N fits a hat over her head, and she packs a portable fan for when Maeve inevitably starts sweating on the beach, but refuses to get in the water (she likes to swim for about 30 minutes at a time, with 1-hour intervals in between because she doesn’t like how the salt water feels on her skin and how pruny she gets). She also blows up a floaty with every last bit of air in her lungs, which will undoubtedly get stolen by Niall about ten minutes in.
By the time they get down to the beach, the sun is a little higher, but not too hot. The water glimmers and glistens beneath the rays; the water is crystalline blue and turquoise. Apparently, almost everyone had lathered up on sunscreen before they left the house, but Y/N had been distracted packing her day bag, so she waited too late. When she’d finally laid out her towel and peeled off her cover-up, though, there was nobody available to help her get her back.
Well, nobody except for –
“I can get your back for you?” Harry’s voice is soft, as gentle as he can be, holding out his hand for the bottle she is holding.
Y/N’s eyes darted to where everyone else was already splashing around in the water, excited, dropping down to their chins. She looked back to Harry, nodding softly – she felt bad, keeping him out of the water to help her. Harry probably would’ve already been in there had he not seen her looking around hopelessly.
“Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you. I’m sorry.”
He took the sunscreen, popping the cap. “Ah, what are you apologizing for?” Y/N turned away from her, hearing the spurt of the sunscreen into his hand, “I’ll need some help too, if that’s okay?”
It’s cold when his hands touch her – Y/N jumps, hissing from the temperature and Harry. . .well, it sounds like he almost coos, “It’s a bit cold,” he warns her late, “Sorry, I should’ve told you.”
His hands are careful as they massage the sunscreen into her shoulders, between them, and down her spine. They feel huge against her, over her, the back side of her sides and hips. When he rubs over the back of her neck, Y/N swallows thickly – it’s a little hard not to have a little pervy thought float through her. Because if he wanted to, he could probably press her forward and grab her hips, follow her down to the ground, and –
“Okay! All done,” she can hear the smile in his voice, and she instantly feels like a lecher. What the hell was she doing having a thought like that? “Would you get me?”
It’s no better, rubbing the sunscreen into his shoulders. Harry is so broad – he never wears clothes that show it off much, but Y/N had seen him in a workout tank top once and almost gasped. His shoulders are big; his back is sculpted – it’s the sort of thing you might see on an inspo page for working out. It leads into the shape of his biceps and triceps, and maybe it’s for the best that she isn’t that close to Harry? Because clearly, she’d been around him for like a day and a half and she can’t have a normal thought to save her fucking life.
Beneath her fingers, his skin is warm and soft. She doesn’t even realize that the sunscreen is gone until she’s been rubbing it on him for like two minutes.
“Ah, I used too much,” she lied through her teeth, patting his shoulders gently, “There you go, all done.”
She kicked off her shoes and all but stumbled over the little hills of white sand while she ran to the water because she couldn’t look at his face right now. Harry would probably be able to take one peek at her face and read that she’d been thinking something less than. . .morally pure. So she runs right over to the water, only slowing when she gets to the edge of the water, the waves pulling back, then sloshing over her ankles. Niall had already stolen the floatie, so he found it and flopped over, hooking her arm over the edge of the sparkly inflatable. She splashed Niall a bit, and he let out a silent scream, “Dick, you dick!”
“You were feeling Harry up a little bit.” Adam appeared behind her, reaching for her hand that was in the water and pulling it out, flipping it over so she was palm up. He places a big shell in her hand: “Hide this from MeiMei; she’s after it.”
“I was not feeling him up.” She grumbled.
Adam raised his eyebrows, “I mean, baby, I’ve got 20/20 vision and –”
“Mei! Look at this pretty shell!” Y/N hollers, and Adam gasps, grabbing the shell back from her and floating deeper in.
“Oh, evil, you’re evil!”
It was pretty, the water was cool on their skin, and the sun was warm but not oppressive today. Y/N had been prepared for intense humidity, but it wasn’t horrible. They swim for hours, get out to look for shells, take more photos, dig in the sand, and make a sad excuse for a sand castle. Y/N’s lips taste salty from the water, and her fingers are all pruned when they make their way to the beachside treat shack (it’s called Umi-no-le, Harry tells them). She eats a skewer and fries, then plucks off Adam’s edamame in exchange for letting him try some of the seafood off her stick.
Harry disappeared but returned with ice cream, somehow carrying four, keeping one between his index and middle finger and the other between his ring finger and pinky. Somehow, the cones are perfectly balanced because she thinks he could probably palm a basketball, squeeze it, and pop it in a single hand. She didn’t know he was going for ice cream – she probably would have ordered one too, but she didn’t know he was going for it. And maybe she would demand some of Niall’s, but he got Matcha, and she wanted to try the red bean. Actually, all of them had Matcha. . except for Harry.
Stupidly, she mentioned this to Christopher, who had offered her a lick of his cone. “Oh, Harry got red bean.” He turned to find him, “Harry! Can Y/N have a lick of your ice cream?”
Y/N blinked wide, “Oh, I don’t –”
“Yeah.” The cone was presented in front of her mouth almost immediately. Harry hadn’t licked it yet, it seems, and Y/N thinks it’s not fair that she gets the first lick, but when she opens her mouth, Harry says gently, “Go on, it’s okay. You can tell me if it's good.”
So Y/N does lick the cone, dragging her tongue over it slowly and trying not to focus on how Harry watches her. It’s delicious – she’d like to get another taste, sure, but she already feels bad. She’d prided herself on never needing to ask Harry for anything, and yet this entire day she’s had to bother him nonstop- it’s felt like. Even though she didn’t ask him for breakfast. She just wants him to be able to enjoy his vacation too, without having to worry about anyone but himself, yet it’s the first day, and it feels like she is using him 3 separate times.
“Thank you.” She nodded at him, “It’s really good, Harry; you’ll like it.”
He grinned, then licked it himself. He paid no mind to the fact that she had already licked the cone – Harry’s always been quite used to sharing, though. Which has always surprised her. From what she does know of Harry, he only has one sibling, and he’s the youngest, so he should probably be the worst at sharing.
Should she try to do things for him? What could she even do for Harry? The only thing she could think to do was what she had been doing: to be self-sufficient enough that he didn’t need to worry about her. Encourage him to take longer showers – maybe she should take hers first so that he won’t worry about taking the hot water. That’s like. . .all she’s got. She could offer to do things for him, but she knew he would refuse – she’d just have to do it. She could try tonight to put food on his plate or something – Y/N thinks they’re planning on going to a Yakiniku place tonight. Y/N could grill him some meat? Y/N doesn’t know. She just hates feeling like she owes someone something, even if she knows Harry wasn’t expecting anything from the help he gave.
“Do you want one?” Harry asks, waving the ice cream in his hands, “I can go get it?”
Y/N shakes her head, “No, no, I’m okay; I’ll go get it later.”
Harry pouts his lips a little, but continues to eat his ice cream.
. . .
It’s the third official day of them being there (not including the travel day) that Harry surprises her. Or – shocks her, rather.
Their mandatory Anime-level beach episode went swimmingly. They stayed out all day, alternating between playing in the water and playing on the beach. Y/N had fallen asleep briefly on the sand and woke up to an umbrella being opened above her, shoved into the ground. Through bleary eyes, she could make out that Niall was the one doing it, but it was nowhere near a selfless act, because he dropped down on the towel, pulled right beside her, and immediately closed his eyes.
(“Should we cuddle?”
“Too hot, Ni.”
“Ugh, you’re right, you’re right. Imagine me cuddling you right now though.”)
They eventually made their way back to the Airbnb around 3 PM, for those who didn’t take a nap on the beach to nap if they wanted to, to decompress, or to shower off the ocean before dinner. Y/N was sun-tired even after her nap, but she flopped down on the bottom of her bed, face pressed into the covers, the fan above her whipping a cool breeze around the room. Harry moved quietly around the room, but he didn’t stay in there for long.
When they went out to eat that night, Y/N did just as she said she would and did most of the grilling. By no means is she enjoying herself, and after a couple of times of her friends demanding which pieces to grill, she does threaten them to stuff it and take what she gives them before she grills them on the tabletop. Whenever Harry tried to take over grilling, she snapped the tongs in his direction and told him to eat. He only tried twice before getting the hint that she wasn’t going to let him.
That night, she showered first, as quickly as she could, before popping out of the bathroom, out of breath and slightly panting. “The water is still hot,” she told him. Harry seemed startled, like he hadn’t expected her to come out so quickly. So he gathered his things, went into the bathroom, and then showered. It wasn’t as long as she thought it should have been, but it was still longer than the one the night prior. When Y/N was about to fall asleep, Harry offered her a bottle of water, and Y/N shot up to go grab it before he could. She got one for both of them, set it at his bedside, then crawled back into bed.
The next day, they did some local shopping, trying street foods and spending money happily. Y/N doesn’t see much of Harry on this day, but she can feel him staring multiple times throughout the shopping trip. Though any time she turned to follow the feeling, his gaze had been pulled elsewhere. Honestly, she doesn’t even know if it was Harry who was staring at her, but that’s the only person she could think of who would be. Part of her almost inquired about it in a jewelry store, but Maeve distracted her with a beautiful jeweled hairpin.
They went back to the beach at sunset after eating, watching the pink and orangey hues that mottle the sky, and walking off their meals. That night, Y/N rushed to take her shower first again, keeping it brisk and forcing Harry in there sooner than he anticipated. Then she lied to him, told him she was doing some yoga and liked to do it without interruption, so she would stay in the shower a little longer than he normally would.
But it’s not until the third day that something truly shifts in the air between them. The morning was normal enough – everyone made their own breakfast because Harry and Christopher woke up early to work out, taking a run on the beach during sunrise. But he still slices fruit for everyone (he’s the only one who knows how to cut a pineapple appropriately). They have a little bit of a free day, because they planned to go on Perry Road that night, whose streets are willow-lined and beautiful. There were cozy bars and izakayas that they were all eager to discover.
Y/N, Niall, and Maeve lingered around the house, and Adam and Mei went on a trail to see if it was worth it, dragging the others out to it on a different day. Harry and Christopher. . .well, actually, Y/N didn’t know what they were doing. They went on their morning run together, and she thinks they went back to the shops today for whatever reason. Maybe there was something they wanted that they didn’t get yesterday or something. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she, Niall, and Maeve were watching a Japanese drama and wavering in and out of sleep for a lazy little day.
Later that night, Y/N experiences Perry Road in all of its willow-covered, canal glory. She loved the sound of their feet meeting the cobblestone and the water sloshing from rocks thrown. It’s gorgeous, and they go to a tavern and eat and drink to their heart’s content. Y/N is seated beside Maeve, across from Harry, but it isn’t like she’s only left to speak to them. Everyone is chatting about everything – plans for tomorrow, Adam’s situationship, the crab that chased after Mei and how she almost got Y/N pinched when she jumped on her back to get further from it.
“You’re much stronger than I realized,” Harry had noted as they reminisced on the event from yesterday, like it was from years ago, “You barely even stumbled when she jumped on you.”
“Yeah, isn’t it unsettling?” Adam inquired, “I thought I could beat her in a wrestling match, and she straddled and apprehended me in like fifteen seconds flat; it was outrageous.” He motioned toward her, “She hides her strength in her cute demeanor.”
Harry’s cheeks are pink, and Y/N doesn’t know why he’d be getting flushed thinking about it. It’s probably from the alcohol to some degree, Y/N thinks, but it was just so sudden. And like, it’s making her face feel hot too. Was he thinking about her apprehending Adam? Or maybe he’s imagining himself in Adam’s place?
Y/N doesn’t know. She wipes her brain clean of it. When Harry was pouring sake into everyone’s shot glasses, he would have had to reach over the table to fill up hers, so she took the bottle from him to fill up her own. And when he was offering everyone a taste of his karaage, Y/N told him that it was alright (before quietly ordering her own side of it – Harry noticed, definitely, but she avoided eye contact. And she wasn’t trying to be a dick either; it’s just there was barely any left after everyone else tried, and Harry clearly liked it – she wanted him to finish it off). But it was when Y/N had stretched across the table for the salt that Harry definitely could have handed her, but he was mid-bite of his burger – that Harry got upset.
She didn’t think about how it looked until he mumbled, “I could’ve handed you the salt.”
In their time here, Y/N has jumped through hoops so that Harry hasn’t had to do anything for her, and not once has he questioned her about it or commented on it. Y/N didn’t know if she’d finally just pushed him too far or if the sake was getting to him. Maybe both? Y/N isn’t sure. All she knows is that she isn’t expecting him to bring it up at the end of the night. After they finish walking up and down the streets, taking pictures, visiting the beautiful shrine (or as much as they could see with the sun having gone down), they make their way back to the Airbnb.
Y/N is about to grab her things and rush to shower before they all watch a horror movie in the living room when Harry appears in their shared room.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
She pauses, arms full of her clothes and her towel, and looking at him with eyebrows raised and gaze widened. “Oh? Yeah, sure!” She nods, but her heart is sort of hammering. The face he’s making is not typical of his gentle features; it’s hardened, and he looks upset. . .almost irritated, actually. Harry had never looked at her like that before, and she finds that she really doesn’t like it. She’d actually prefer if he never looked at her like that again. “What’s wrong?”
There’s alcohol swimming in his gaze – he might have had more sake than she originally thought – and she could tell that his cheeks were flushed from his drinks now, since they had been for most of the night at this point. He doesn’t wobble where he stands, but his eyes are just glassy enough for her to see the pink bottle they’d been pouring from for most of the night. His lips were wet too; glossy and pouted from the spirits and the number of times he’s run his tongue over his mouth.
“You never let me do things for you,” he said with no preamble, hands clenched in each other, his thumb running over his knuckles – a nervous habit, despite him not looking or sounding it, “Every time I try to do something for you, you do it yourself. Anytime I offer, you brush me off. You make things more inconvenient for you just so that you can tell me not to. Why? Why do you do that?” His brows furrowed, “At first I just thought you were super independent, but. . .but I noticed things, y’know? You let the others pamper you – you practically begged Niall to grab the remote for you, but when I tried, you immediately scrambled up. You’ll eat off Mei’s plate, but rather order a whole side of something than try mine. You – you like, completely shut me out! Not just here, at home too,” he seemed flustered, frowning, “When we get drinks, you always order your own even if it’s my round to pay. Whenever I offer to pick you up from the store, you go out and get it yourself or go without. Hell, even little things – you know this is the 10th time you’ve reached across a table to grab something instead of just asking me to hand it to you?” Was he counting? “What did I do? Do you – is it something about me? Do you not like me? Do you think I’m gross, or – or –”
“Harry, no, that’s not it at all!” Y/N feels a bead of panic dribble through her. This was actually the opposite of what she was trying to do! She wanted him to feel unburdened by her, not like she was intentionally avoiding him or thought he was gross. She feels miserable that this is what he’s been thinking the whole time. “You – you do so much for everyone else, Harry; I feel like you rarely worry about yourself. I just didn’t want to. . .I didn’t want to be a burden or anything, was all. You’re – I never want to be one,” and maybe she was a little drunker than she thought, too. Her brain is swimming, creating a direct channel from her reasoning to her mouth with little regard for how much she wanted to admit, “Harry, like, you’re always doing stuff for people. You’re listening to their problems, you’re contacting services for them, you’re helping them submit paperwork, and all of that. I just don’t want you to have to like. . .have your brain on when it comes to me. You should just be able to relax sometimes.”
He seems no happier with that explanation than he seemed with her being disgusted by him. Still, he frowns, and it pulls his whole face down so sadly that Y/N feels like the worst person ever.
“But I like that,” he stresses, “I want that. I like when people. . .when people need me, and when I can help. It makes me feel good. I never feel put out or put off or like. . .or like anything bad from it; I just feel good.” He sounds close to whining, honestly, and it makes something twist in her lower belly, “When you let me help with your sunscreen and. . .and when you tried my ice cream, I – I was so happy.” He sighs, pressing the hair away from his face, “Please, it’s okay to let me do things. Please let me. I want to make you feel good too.”
Y/N is just. . .she’s dumbfounded, really. She wasn’t expecting such a reaction from him – not intense, nor this honest. Guilt sits like a heavy lump in her stomach, surrounded by all the sake, and she thinks that she has misread this situation entirely. Harry was definitely an acts-of-service kind of guy, as far as showing love goes, and she’d been curbing his every attempt. He probably thought she didn’t want to be friends at all. No wonder they had such a hard time getting closer.
Because it wasn’t like she didn’t know that he liked to do things for people. She did know that – she could tell by the soft, pleased smiles he always had when someone came to him for something. Y/N guesses she just really hadn’t noticed how much it was upsetting him so badly that she wasn’t allowing him to do anything at all.
“Harry, I’m so sorry,” her shoulders sink, lips pouting to match his, “I really – I just wanted you to have to worry about one less person, is all, but I. . .I definitely over did it, if you think that I don’t like you,” she shakes her head, rattles her brain, “I – seriously, I didn’t know it was upsetting you so much. It started with me just trying not to bother you with, like. . .my problems and stuff, but somehow it amassed into me not letting you do anything for me at all. That’s my fault.”
He sighs softly, “I just want to be helpful to you too,” he explains, then opens his arms, and Y/N doesn’t hesitate to step forward into his embrace. She’d always heard that Harry gives really, really good hugs, but she’d never gotten to experience one for herself. He smells good, even though it was the end of the night and they’d been doing things all day. There’s the barest hint of the smoky smell from the tavern they’d been at, but beyond that, she could smell his fabric softener and cologne. Harry always chose light, airy scents that were gentle and soft. Being near him always sort of smelled like being near a fresh pile of laundry. His arms were big too, wrapped around her, and in them she felt sort of safe and warm. As she tucks herself against him, he rests his cheek against her head, and he rubs his palm up and down her back soothingly. It feels good – really, really good. She can’t believe she’d been self-denying of such comfort without even realizing it. “You’re really fun, Y/N, and you’re amazing. I want to be closer friends, but. . .but doing things for people and helping them out are how I get close. You’re not. . .doing anything wrong at all. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you at all.” Her words are a little muffled against his chest, and she’s almost hyperaware of how bulky it feels against her face, “It’d be impossible to hate you, really. I just. . .I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think this through as well as I thought I did.” She sighed, “But you have to let me do things for you too, okay? I’ll – like, not all the time- but I don’t want this to be a friendship where you give, give, give, and I take, take, take. You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you like that.”
He’s still rubbing her back, slow and soft, “I know, I will, we can. It’ll be good. I’m excited.”
That night, Y/N felt clean and dry after her shower, comfortable in her pajamas and snuggled up in a blanket on the couch while they watched Ringu. She’s not drunk, but she’s in that pleasant, hazy state where she’s still a little buzzed and she thinks the same goes for Harry. Mei lies between Y/N’s legs, her head resting on the inside of Y/N’s split thighs. Harry is to Y/N’s left, also in his pajamas, and one arm is thrown over the back of the couch while he leans into his corner. There’s a pillow between his hip and Y/N’s head, but she’s still tucked there, close enough that she can smell him, and close enough that Niall saw, wraggled his eyebrows, then promptly burrowed into Christopher’s side.
Typically, there is a rule that Y/N is not allowed to lie down during movies because she promptly falls asleep without fail. Adam, Mei, and Niall had started a “sleep-count” each week: how many times they’d put something on the telly and how many times Y/N would doze off during it. This extended into the rest of their friend group, and Y/N would get pillows thrown at her, or tickled, sometimes lowkey heckled until she pouted and woke up. Apparently, Mei was too drunk to really care tonight, and everyone else might have just been startled or confused by the sudden closeness of her and Harry. She can’t think of the last time she sat next to Harry when they watched a movie, let alone lay against him.
Long story short, she definitely falls asleep. She stirs once when Harry gasps at something that happens on the screen, but her eyelids feel too heavy to keep open, even when she peeks them open to see something terrifying. Mei’s head is so heavy on her thigh that she knows for sure she was knocked out. The warmth from either side, plus the scent of Harry’s clothes, is what ultimately put her back to sleep.
The next time she woke up, she was in bed. Y/N is unsure how she got there, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was the snoring lump in the other bed. Through her bleary eyes, she can see how he’s all rumpled, legs kicked out from the blankets, twisted around his body. Y/N doesn’t think she ever gets to see Harry asleep because he’s usually awake by the time she gets up. His mouth is hanging open, and his hair is a mess on his head. He looks cute – Y/N wishes she could press her face into his back and breathe in deeply. Or wiggle up under his bicep, see if he warps his body around to cuddle her.
She fell back asleep, smiling a little. That’d be nice.
. . .
Y/N thought she and Harry were due for only one breakthrough this trip.
It was good – not having this weird amount of negative tension between them. Harry didn’t start pouring his heart and soul into doing things for her, but he did pour milk for her cereal one morning, and he helped her with her sunscreen later that day. She even let him buy her an ice cream without being weird about it. In the same breath, Harry lets her do things for him too – there isn’t much, because he’s very self-sufficient and does everything before anyone could think to do it for him. But she tries her best! Sunscreens him right back, splits a sandwich with him when she caught him staring at it, and she even takes his side when he told them what music he listens to when he’s working out (she didn’t agree at all – Norah Jones is for cozy coffee mornings and gardening in Spring, not for lifting 200kg with your legs, and running with a 12% incline on a treadmill – but she defends him intensely). When they did go for barbecue, Y/N grilled him meat and piled his plate high with it. She even hoarded some of the cucumbers because she remembered they were his favorite from the first place they went to like this.
He still stares at her a borderline weird amount, but that’s never really bothered her. And she doesn’t mind how he swallows thickly when he watches her eat a popsicle, or lick whipped cream off her hand, or when Niall swats her bum in passing, and she gasps. Harry’s cute, and he’s sweet, and it’s fun to see a cute, sweet guy like him flustered about things like that. Especially with how pink he gets, how he fumbles over his words, and stumbles when he walks. She’d been trying to catch a peek of him adjusting or anything, but of course, he’s much too mindful to do something like that too obviously.
It’s the night before their Tokyo day that Y/N finds they will have two breakthroughs on this trip.
The day starts relatively normally; they wake up, they eat, they get ready, but nobody does makeup or anything because they planned to spend the morning at the beach, then the afternoon in the hot springs, and there was a bar nearby where they would get drinks. It was pretty close to where they were staying – a lot of things were within walking distance for them, which was really nice. They are at the beach early enough that the critters are out – birds are flying low, fish are closer to the shore than they are when it’s a little busier, Y/N and Mei hunt for shells while Adam and Harry swim. The others took their time getting down there, but when they show up, it’s a little less calm, and Y/N does get accidentally tackled into the water by a very rowdy Maeve. When Y/N popped back up with a gasp, Maeve apologized profusely. Harry appeared from where he’d been closer to the buoys, right at her side, all wet, with his hair slicked down the side of his head.
“Are you alright?” His brows were furrowed, and his head was tilted. He’s close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body beneath the water.
Y/N nodded, waving them off, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She wiped the water from her eyes. “At least the water isn’t freezing.”
“You’re playing favorites!” Niall accused her, “I accidentally splashed you yesterday, and you almost drowned me.”
“That’s because Maeve is a precious angel and you are a little creature from the lagoon.”
“What? Lagoon!”
After the beach, they rinse the ocean water off and then head to the onsens. It was nice because the wind had picked up, so it was a little chillier than it had been before, the sun hiding behind the clouds. Sinking into the warm water was like a nice, hot bath. The heat soaked into her muscles, warmed her inside out, but the issue was that it was actually almost boiling. They rented a private one, so they spent most of the time cycling in and out of the heat. Y/N could tolerate about 15 minutes before she had to get out; then she’d cool down, then she’d stick her feet in. They had a cooling room, so after they were all done sweating half their body weight in water, they took some time to settle the temperature in their bodies.
They had showers on site, so they could rinse off once again (“We are going to be giant prunes by the end of the day,” Christopher whined), and they brought clothes to change into. Niall and Adam lost rock, paper, scissors, so they had to take everyone's wet clothes and towels home and meet them at the beachside bar. It was one they hadn’t been to yet, with a wider drink selection and a little bit more traffic than the others. There was a younger crowd, so it was far more rambunctious, and the music was louder.
Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her all of the time, but she especially felt them on her tonight. And especially when someone at the bar took an interest in her.
The thing is, Y/N rarely gets hit on in public. Y/N used to question it and be bummed out, but then she realized the one thing that pissed her off more than anything was a drunk prick, breathing his vodka breath on her face, trying to get her to blow him in the bathroom. And then, when her frontal lobe developed, she realized that dating a stranger that she met in the bar, drunk, was probably not the best thing in the world for her. So she tried to find the bright side in it, rather than mope about how people weren’t showing interest in her and feeling ugly; she reveled in the fact that she didn’t have to worry about anyone annoying her.
All that being said, rarely doesn’t mean never. Tonight, two people had approached her — one who almost immediately suggested that they go somewhere to fuck, so she squashed it immediately. The other one was a little sweeter, gentler; he sort of reminded her of Harry now that she thinks about it. His name is Yuuki, but he tells her to call him Yuu. He ambled up to her when she was getting a drink with Mei and was normal enough that she hadn’t shipped him off immediately. How the bar was set up was that most of it was outside, and the “inside” was more like verandas with lights strung up around them. They had a table that they were all kind of staking their claim on, and Yuu followed Y/N and Mei back to it.
Truthfully, Y/N thought he was interested in Mei when he first walked up, but Mei is the sort of pretty that a lot of guys are scared of, so they chat up her friend in hopes they’ll be a wingman. That was the sort of situation Y/N thought she was about to experience. But when they got back to the table and they were all speaking, Yuu made it clear pretty quickly that his intentions were with her. Y/N didn’t realize it until he complimented how she looked tonight, and when she brushed it off, he doubled down.
“I mean it,” he assured her, “Like, you guys have been outside sweating all day, and you still look this beautiful? Isn’t that kind of unfair?”
Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow,” she chuckled a little, “You’re forward, huh?”
“I try to be, if it’s someone I want.”
There’s a tingle on the nape of her neck, burning, hot. She tried to subtly turn to look, and she locked gazes with Harry, who. . .who is always looking at her. And he looks. . .well, she’s trying to decide how he looks. Upset? No, not really. Not angry either? But he does look put off. Not to the extent that he did when he confronted her, but still, he clearly wasn’t smiling as widely as he had been throughout most of the day.
Y/N could do a couple of things. She could politely decline Yuu because she really wasn’t planning on pursuing this beyond some friendly flirting. Or. . .she could see how Harry would react if she did actually pursue something. Now that Y/N thinks about it, she doesn’t think she’s ever pursued someone in front of Harry before, so she really doesn’t know how he would react. She isn’t sure why she cares how he would react, but it’s something that has suddenly piqued her interest. Does he like her? Niall at least thinks that he thinks she’s pretty and that’s why he’s always looking at her. But she thinks she’s. . .at least a little tipsy. Not really, but that’s what she’ll blame it on if someone asks her.
She just wants to know! It’s like. . .he and Adam do this all the time, right? The scientific method? She’s just testing something right now, creating a hypothesis and testing it immediately. It would be interesting to see his reaction, right? He’ll probably not care anyway, and Y/N would have strung this guy along for a whole lot of nothing. But it’s fun to flirt sometimes. And it’s fun to see how someone like Harry might react if he’s jealous. Heavy on the if, considering Harry might not even like her at all, so she was just wasting everyone’s time.
But that version of Harry she saw the other night, who asked to speak with her directly, who told her exactly what was on his mind, and confidently let her know what he wanted? That was nice to see! She just wondered what other ways she could make him speak his mind.
Still, Yuu is cute and not annoying, and he’s sweet with all the things he’s saying and calling her. It turns out that he isn’t a local, but his family summers here a lot, so he knows a lot of interesting facts and random shit about the development of the island. He also tells her that they need to check out the Shimoda Ropeway, a cable car that takes you on a ride up the Nesugata Mountain, and doesn’t insert himself into the plans like he’s trying to make a date out of it.
Y/N giggles more than she might normally, and she stands close to him. She touches him a little more liberally than she would typically, squeezing his arm when he mentions working out, pulling a fuzz off his top, leaning in close to see the pendant on his necklace. The burn of eyes on her stays the entire time, and whenever she looks up, Harry’s frowning a little, turned away like he doesn’t want to see it but can’t help but stare. Yuu goes to get them another drink, and Niall saddles up next to her, clicking his tongue and murmuring low in her ear.
“He looks like he either wants to cry or devour you,” he tells her, “Maybe both?”
Y/N’s heart starts to race. Is he really looking that way, or is Niall just being delusional? She doesn’t get an answer because Niall disappears just as soon as he’d come to her side, swayed by the call of Adam, clearly getting into an argument on the phone with a drink in his hand. Y/N briefly makes eye contact with Harry before Yuu returns soon after. She couldn’t read him, not at all.
It wasn’t until Yuu leaned in and whispered something in her ear that she heard something fall. Just a soft thud and a little gasp, and Y/N’s eyes followed the commotion, where Harry had dropped his drink in the sand. A little had splashed on his trousers, but nothing seemed broken or dangerous. She wants to get up – to tease him a little, and see if he’d smile about it – but she isn’t rude, and Yuu is mid-conversation with her still, even if it was guided in a more flirty direction.
And she’s able to give Yuu her attention for four more minutes before her gaze tries to find Harry again, only this time, he isn’t sitting where he had been most of the night. They were all scattered around, using the table as a sort of base point, but Harry had been sort of resting against the corner edge of the bar with his drink since Yuu came up to speak to her. He was still close enough that he could be a part of the conversation with Maeve and Christopher, but far enough that he was able to fade into the background if he wanted. Harry was good at finding spots like that when he needed them.
But he wasn’t there. Like a prairie dog, her head perks up, and she looks from left to right, searching for him, but she can’t seem to find him. Something is unsettled in her chest, a small pout forming on her mouth.
“Sorry,” she cut Yuu off, patting his thigh as she stood up, “My friend disappeared on me; I’m g’na go find them.”
“Take your time,” he waved to her politely, “While you do that, I’m going to catch up with my friends and make sure none of them are face down in the sand right now.”
Y/N hunts down Adam, who is frowning at his phone and texting what seems to be a multiple-paragraph-long text with random caps lock moments and exclamation points: “Hey, did you see where Harry ran off?”
Adam looks up at her, his frown soothing when he realizes it’s Y/N speaking to him, “Hm? He said he needed some air or something and went out toward the beach.” Adam made a vague motion with his hand. “Which is silly because we are already outside, but who knows. Would you go check on him? He sounded kind of sad.”
For a second time, guilt warps something ugly and inky in her chest. He sounded sad? That was not what she wanted at all! She – Y/N doesn’t know what she wanted exactly. She kind of wanted him to be – not angry, but irritated, maybe? The same sort of irritation he’d felt when she wasn’t letting him help her out, when he was blunt and to the point with his feelings, if he was feeling anything at all about the situation. Y/N thought maybe she’d get to see another side of Harry that she might not have been privy to. One that’s a little jealous. One that might like. . .do something, if he wanted to, with her.
But instead, she thinks she made him sad. Y/N all but stumbles further onto the beach, away from the bar. Thankfully, he must have just left because she finds him relatively close by, heading off horizontally to the ocean, in the direction of the Airbnb. His head is tilted down, hands in his pockets.
“Hey!” Y/N called out to him, starting forward, “Harry!”
He pauses, so she knows he heard her, but he doesn’t stop. Actually, he sped up a little even, and removed his hands from his pockets, reaching them toward his face as if he might be wiping away tears, and Y/N reached down to take her shoes off so she could move quicker. The little hills and valleys of sand are making her stumble pretty badly, and she almost falls flat on her face a couple of times from how soft it is, her feet sinking in, the little grains sticking between her toes. Her dress billows from the way the wind is whipping, and she almost gets tripped up a couple of times on that, too.
But she makes it to him with no injuries and reaches forward, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back, “Hey, I called for you –” she starts to scold him until she sees his face.
His eyes are watery, rimmed red, with flushed cheeks and little stained tracks from what could only be tears. Y/N’s eyes go impossibly wide, mouth falling open, “Harry –”
He tilts his face away. “Don’t look at me for a second,” he fusses, hiding behind his hands, “I’m – I’m – don’t –” he’s flustered, she can tell, and beyond the ache she feels for making him sad, there’s a twitch somewhere else too. Somewhere deep and warm and confusing. Y/N is unaware of this bodily reaction to someone crying because she’s never experienced it before. She tries to stuff it down, though, for a second, in favor of focusing on the moment.
Because Harry looks so sad, with a pouted mouth, and a puffy face. Y/N doesn’t know if he’s drunk or not, but when she reaches up to gently touch his face, the skin is warm. “What’s this, hm? Why are you crying?” He goes easily with how she tilts him all around, this way and that, his chin up, down, side, side, like she’s searching for a notable sign of distress, like a scrape or a scratch. She had a feeling that she might know, but that would be kind of crazy, right? If it was what she was thinking, then she was a huge dickhead. He was even more softhearted than she thought he was.
“N-nothing,” he tells her, “There’s sand in my eye.”
He looks unfairly pretty like this, Y/N notes while she’s looking at him. Tear drops cling to his eyelashes, and the color of them is intense, even through the lens of his glasses. His lips are slick and wet, and he sniffles every so often, looking at her with the most pitiful gaze she’s ever seen. Y/N feels horrible and weirdly horny, and she wants to wrap him in bubble wrap and swallow him whole.
“Sand, hm?” She repeats, and he nods, “Nothing else?”
Harry’s quiet, and Y/N sighs a little, her hand falling from his face. What was she doing? This was stupid. . .she should just tell him straight out that she wanted to see how he reacted if she was flirting with someone else, for some reason. It just felt like. . .like she just wanted to know, okay? You can only see someone as hot and pretty as Harry shirtless in tiny swim trunks for so long before you have to start wondering things. And you can only stand for them to stare at you for so long without wondering if maybe they were interested. And maybe for the last two days you’ve thought about how he carried you to bed, and how strong he was, and how big his biceps are, and how he could probably squeeze you tight. How his stamina must be insane if he’s going on runs with Adam and only Adam is returning winded, while it seems like they only had to stop exercising for his sake.
Her fingers carefully loop around his wrist. “Well, I think I was the one to kick the sand in your eye by accident,” she tells him. “Come back with me; I wanna go back.”
“Are you sure? We – I’m seriously fine; I just needed a second to shake some thoughts out of my head,” he told her, “If you wanted to… to stay, I know you were – um. . .speaking with someone.” And though he tries not to, it’s spoken with just enough vitriol that if Y/N hadn’t been suspicious before, she definitely would have been now.
Y/N starts walking in the direction of the house again, fingers tightening around his arm.
“He’ll be okay,” she answers, “Text the others and let them know we’re headed out first.”
. . .
They really don’t speak much on the way back to the house. Harry eventually falls into step with her instead of her dragging him behind her, but Y/N doesn’t let go of his arm at all. She can feel the thundering of his pulse beneath her fingertips, and it sort of makes her salivate like she’s a vampire or a mosquito. What the hell is going on with her? The reaction she’s having to this sniffly, crying Harry is almost visceral. Has a guy ever cried because of her before? She doesn’t know – she’s certain she would remember if this were the reaction that came from it.
They get to the house pretty quickly. They kick off their shoes at the front door, and Y/N dips her feet into the bucket of water (that Harry has been routinely changing out) so that there’s no sand tracking through the house. She led them to their room, even though there was nobody home. It just felt wrong to be out in the open when they both have a room they share, and the others would be home every minute. If she were questioning him, and he started crying again, and in front of everyone? Y/N would feel like a monster. She doesn’t want them to see him crying because she can tell he’s a little embarrassed about it, even though it’s cute.
“Harry –” she begins, because she’s about to apologize and try to explain herself without sounding like a maniac, but Harry starts talking before she can.
“I think you look beautiful tonight,” he rushes to say, “And I thought it first, but I didn’t get the chance to say it. Then that man said it before me, and it just. . .upset me. I could tell he was whispering it in your ear, but I. . .I thought about it first. I know that’s stupid and childish, but –” he shook his head, “But that’s just how I’m feeling right now. I should’ve been the first to say it.”
Alarms are blaring in her head right now, but not bad ones. Good ones. Bright ones. Chirpy, twinkling, sparkling alarms that explode with sweets and whipped cream, cakes and pies. Confetti bursts from the speakers as they sound.
Y/N doesn’t think when she leans in; she just does what her body urges her to do, and it’s urging her to kiss him. Her heart is thudding rapidly when she grabs him by the face and presses a kiss to his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth and nipping. Harry makes a startled squeak in his throat at first, but accepts her readily, meeting her tongue outside of her mouth to flicker together. He tastes like fruity alcohol plus a hint of saltiness from his tears, and Y/N feels like her head is swimming. This is too much and not enough all at once. But this feeling that she’s been feeling, niggling at the back of her head – she had to satiate it right then and there. It was demanding that she do, actually.
Harry moves fluidly with her. He kisses like someone who definitely knows how to kiss, tilting his head, working himself into it, his hands finding her sides and squeezing. His tongue is feathery when it flickers into her mouth, touching hers softly before curling and rubbing against it. She pulses then flutters around nothing, walls coaxing something imaginary deeper inside of her. It feels good – so good that her eyes practically roll to the back of her head. The heat of his body against hers and the need to press closer and kiss deeper are what drive her. Plus the sweet noises that are leaving his throat, low and whiny, as his glasses get all screwed up, crooked and fogged between them.
Y/N takes a step forward, and her thigh comes in contact with his erection. Her heart was already racing, but it gallops when she feels that. Harry’s big. She’d already kind of clocked this because of his swim trunks and the couple of times she’s seen him in his briefs, but seeing is way different than feeling. Feeling him, she registers that he has a monster in there and it’s something that needs to be dealt with accordingly.
Her hands slid from his face, down his body, toward the belt around his hips, but before she could properly undo it, Harry reached down to stop her.
The sound that she moans against him is questioning, brows pinching together when she pulls away to see him. Was she reading this wrong? Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him? But he’d been responding so eagerly to it; she wouldn’t have guessed that this was something that he didn’t want or was unsure about. His grip around her wrists is strong, and when she realizes that he’s only using one hand, she thinks she might just pass out.
“Sorry,” her words sound a little wet before she swallows, “Do you – did I – I’m sorry,” she doesn’t feel very drunk from her drinks, but she feels drunk with lust, and the flushed, slicked, and swollen look of Harry’s lips after being kissed. Hell, she could have been doing this every fucking night, couldn’t she have? If he wanted it, she could have given him a temporary lip stain just from pressing their mouths together. “I took it too far? You’re hard, so I thought –”
“I want to do you,” he murmurs, cutting her off and sinking to the floor in front of her. Y/N gasps when his nose drags from her belly button, down to her crotch, pushing his nose against her and breathing in softly. Her stomach does a hot little flip-flop from arousal, his hands slowly dragging from her ribs, down to her hips, and they feel so fucking massive against her, she feels herself getting wetter. “I don’t – I don’t care if I cum tonight, I want to make you cum before the others get here.”
And she definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t expecting this. Y/N isn’t sure what she thought might happen if she flirted in front of him, but the last thing she imagined was that he’d end up on his knees in front of her. He makes a filthy sight – and an image that she thinks would do numbers on socials and probably inspire many blurbs and headcanons about needy boys who sink to their knees with teary eyes wanting to make you feel good. She can’t believe what she’s seeing or feeling when he starts to bunch the fabric of her dress up, shoving it over her hips and making her hold it so that he can focus on what’s underneath it.
Her panties, she could bet, were already damp, but Harry presses his face against her and sucks in a long, deep breath. Y/N twitches, jumping and giggling from the ticklish feeling, a soft moan tickling from her throat when she feels his lips graze against her folds. Harry guides one of her legs over his shoulder, letting it dangle and encouraging her to rest her weight on him as he tugs the crotch of the panties to the side and drags his tongue up from hole to her swollen, throbbing clit. They whine in unison – Y/N at the feeling of his wet, slick tongue between her, and Harry at her taste (or at least that’s what she’s guessing). He sucks the engorged button into his mouth for two little pulls before popping off, dragging his tongue against her again. She’s happy that her panties are flimsy, stretchy little things today so they don’t get too in the way of his tongue.
Harry eats like he’s starving for it. Like he’d been starved all day and Y/N finally let him have a taste. He laps at her like a needy mutt, desperate, hungry, flicking his tongue between her folds and slurping up what she has to give him. The gravity in how he’s eating her makes her drip directly into his mouth, and every time she squeezes or pulses, it drags him back to her hole like he’s going to suck it right out of her. Y/N’s tummy is so clenched, hips bucking into his mouth, fingers curling up tight in her dress. Her left hand is tangled in the fabric of her dress and also in his hands, where he has a firm grip on her, keeping her as still as he can so she doesn’t topple over. Y/N is wondering how many people he’s eaten out against a wall to have this down to a science, but those thoughts are silenced when he suckles her clit into his mouth again.
His eyes alternate between being blissed out and closed, and staring up at her. Gaze is still all swollen from crying earlier because of her; she’s pretty sure. Did he have a crush on her? Is that why he’s always staring and looking at her? Is that why he was so sad she wasn’t letting him do things for her? Was she reading too far into this?
His fingers dig into her flesh, pulling her closer, moaning against her pussy like he was the one being eaten out. Y/N would do that – she’d split him open and tongue his cute little hole too, if he’d let her. Y/N thinks she’d do anything for him right now if it meant that she could feel his tongue like this more often. There’s a burning coil tightening in her belly, ready to burst while he happily dines between her legs. Her folds feel slick, and her pussy feels a little sloppy, with how much she’s leaking onto his tongue, but he has never seemed so at ease. Even when they were soaking in the onsen today, he seemed ten times more relaxed with a face full of her cunt. His glasses push up against her when he moves closer, and for some reason that really does her in.
Y/N’s head thuds back against the wall, her throat extending with a moan when she starts to cum, thighs shaking hard. It’s intense, more than she’s expecting. She thinks it’s the fastest and hardest that she’s cum with someone else in her life, and it’s unknotting muscles that have been wound up for years and years. Y/N’s pussy contracts like it’s begging for something to be inside of it and Harry listens, letting her grind herself against his face while he wriggles his tongue inside of her. He makes these soft, pleading hums of “Mhm, mhm,” like he’s begging for more, telling her how okay he is with this, how pleased he is. Helping her helps him; he told her that, and she’s certain that extends to cumming.
Eventually, it’s too much. He drags her orgasm out for as long as he can before she’s twitching and sensitive, shoving against his forehead until he detaches from her with a wet pop. Her leg slid off of his shoulder, down to the floor uselessly. Honestly, she thinks his hands on her are the only reason she hasn’t toppled right over yet.
Harry looks lewd. His face was wet and blotched pink all over; his lips were swollen and fat from the kissing and from what he’d just done to her, glistening as he lulled his tongue around them to lap up every bite of her juices he could. His glasses are all fucked, still crooked since they kissed, so she reaches down and straightens them out. Even though he’s holding his body is lewd, on his knees, legs outstretched, his cock obvious and thick in his trousers and a clear wet spot that spreads with each little throb she can see.
Y/N feels crazed, almost, when she sees that. Her eyes wild as she blinks, “You’re – you –” she stutters, and Harry has the nerve to look sheepish.
“Yeah,” he answers delicately, “You tasted really, really good, I – I’ve been wanting to do that since you said nobody has ever made your thighs shake while they ate you.”
Still catching her breath, she asks, “When did I say that?”
“Two years ago, after the movies once.”
Y/N has no recollection of this, and that makes it even more steamy, for some reason. Has he just been thinking about that? For two years?
She moves her foot to the wet bulge in his bottom and presses the sole of her foot along the curve of it. The sound Harry makes is delicious and a little pathetic when he grabs her ankle tightly and rolls up into the touch before jerking away, “Ah, too much,” he whined, thudding his head against her thigh, “We need – we need to – come and lie down, I’ll clean you up.”
Y/N crawled into the bed, wondering what that could entail before Harry appeared at the bedside with a warm, wet cloth in his hand. He’s still in his messy bottoms, but he doesn’t seem to care, as he delicately strips her of her panties. He’s gentle while he wipes away the spit and her cum, before placing a soft, sweet kiss on her thigh before heading to her suitcase. She watches as he picks out the pajamas from her sleepwear packing cube and brings them over to her, along with a new pair of panties.
“Thank you for letting me,” Harry tells her as he lies them carefully beside her, then leans down and places another wet, sucking kiss to her thigh, “Your skin tastes so sweet.”
She is still breathless, mouth opening and closing like a fish, “That – Harry, your tongue is insane – thank you,” she says, instead of asking the million other questions she wants to ask. Neither of them has the capacity for that right now. They just had two very big revelations in the last 72 hours, and Harry has cum cooling and drying probably very uncomfortably in his pants right now. The others would be back sooner rather than later, and at least Mei and Niall will probably tumble into the room, if not to catch them “in the act,” then to see if they are okay. Harry had messaged them that they were feeling dehydrated from sweating all day, and they were going back to get some rest. “I’ve never – I’ve never cum like that before.”
He grins sweetly. Like a switch has been flipped, he’s got that sweet, gentle look in his eyes again.
“That makes me happy. I’ll be right back, okay? I need to clean up.”
Y/N watches him disappear behind the door with a pair of briefs and his own pajamas in his hands. She hears the sink faucet turn on and the gasp of someone who just put a wet washcloth on their softened, sensitive cock. Her mind is reeling.
What the fuck just happened?
roommate/best friend!h ? Best friends but theyre really touchy and flirty and obviously have a soft spot for each other. Maybe grumpy x sunshine (harry being sunshine , like very clingy and touchy)
And despite harry having wanted it all along, to her it feels wrong but right, like he finally gets her how he's always dreamed and shes like "why does it feel so good h" and he's like "i know baby"
I love this so much let me do something with this >:) I rarely do black cat Y/N and golden retriever Harry but this was fun!!!
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Warnings- dry humping, hinge mention, Instagram 'stalking' lol
Never in a million years did Y/N think she would end up on the couch with her roommate on top of her, but apparently the universe had different plans they hadn’t wanted to let her know about.
Harry was cute. Yes, he was hot, but he was cute. Like a puppy who followed her around, tail wagging and just happy to be included whenever she allowed him to sit in her room and watch her do her makeup or watch Love Island with her. He was chatty and sweet, going out of his way to do things for her in a way that had first made her quite suspicious, but now that she knew him… she knew that was just how he was.
He liked to help her with her hair when she couldn’t reach the back for a style, or made her brownies with dark chocolate to help her during her cycle (which he tracked? Somehow?). Harry picked her up happily when her car died and she had to get to work, never once complaining about it or accepting any gas money (much to her dismay). In fact, he’d seemed overjoyed when she asked him for a ride and had volunteered himself to pick her up and drop her off until her car got fixed, which had been about a week.
Always offering her the aux, or his phone where he had a playlist made of songs he knew she liked, he made sure to have food ready for her or stop somewhere to get her food (again, on his dime), and it had felt really strange to be cared for so throughly by a friend but… she strangely liked it.
With anyone else? She’d likely feel smothered. Harry liked to be in her space, sort of like he’d crawl into her skin if she let him. While she was never much of a cuddler, he had asked and it was hard to say no after a day where she had felt dejected yet again.
It hadn’t started off that way, but with her hinge match canceling the date last minute only for her to see him out on Instagram (she stalked on her burner, okay? Sue her), she had settled in for a night of sulking on the couch.
In most circumstances, she’d tell people to leave her the fuck alone. Her phone was on DND, her laptop was open to add to her ‘dream life’ board, her tarot cards were ready to be consulted, and the last thing she wanted to do was be bothered, but seeing Harry’s concerned face when he walked in had made her irritation that was burning hot move towards more of a simmer.
He had bags of takeout with him and she could see in the grocery store bag that he had a pint of ice cream.
"I saw that your location hadn't moved and I knew you had a date tonight, so I figured you'd want some caloric comfort." He said as he set the bags down on the island of their kitchen, looking at her hair piled on top of her head and her oversized tee shirt that had a perturbed looking kitten sticking up a middle finger with text saying "FLUFF OFF" on it that he had gotten her when he'd gone to the mall a few months back.
It was her 'I'm in a bad mood so leave me alone' tee shirt, so he could connect the dots.
"I can go sit in my room if you want to be alone, but I knew something must have happened. Did he ask your body count like the last guy?"
Y/N bit back a laugh because Harry did remember basically everything she said. It was strangely endearing, even if she did wonder how his head had all the space for remembering the shit he had to do for his own life and how he had somehow managed to take care of her own without being asked.
"No. He cancelled and said he was sick, but... I saw that he wasn't." Avoiding eye contact, she knew he would likely see right through her.
"Ah. The fake Instagram showed something again?" He frowned, sighing as he put the ice cream into the freezer before grabbing some plates.
"I hate that you found that out."
"Well, I know who usually looks at my stories and I saw one with a cat profile photo. Then you happened to know where I was, so I put two and two together, honey." He laughed, not looking perturbed at all at the memory. He knew Y/N was usually staunchly anti-putting-herself-on-social-media, even if he had told her that her beauty and humor could make her the next big influencer, so he hadn't bugged her about it. "But there's no shame in a little internet stalking. I'd argue its safe to know more about these strangers you're going to meet in this day and age."
One of the loveliest things about Harry was the fact that he never really made her feel bad, awkward or uncomfortable about well... anything.
So when she had spilled about how badly she had wanted to meet up with this guy because it had been forever since she'd gotten laid, the last thing she'd expected was to end up with Harry's body on top of hers, her tiny shorts doing nothing to hide his bulge as he rocked against her and his mouth planting sloppy kisses over her neck.
"I'll help you with anything you need." He murmured, hand cradling the back of her head so tenderly that if she thought about it too hard, she'd tear up. Dry humping wasn't something she had done since she was in school, but somehow, right now, it felt better than sex.
She'd known he was hung just from his shameless ability to walk around in briefs or the times she'd caught him being lazy with the towel when walking back to his room after a shower, but feeling the tip of his cock in his filmsy gym shorts nudging against her clit? It was a whole new awakening.
"Fuck." She whined, higher than she wanted to but unable to help it. Her long nails clawed at his back through his shirt but it did little to deter him. If anything, his weight got heavier on top of her and his thrusts against her clothed cunt got more insistent as the black acrylics dragged down his shoulder blades. "Why... Why does it feel so good?"
Thee confusion made him laugh, sponging his lips right under her ear. "Cause we fit together perfectly, honey." His own voice was labored, deeper than she ever heard it, and when he dragged her thigh up to wrap over her hip, she heard the sweetest whimper that ever existed come from his mouth directly into her ear. "Y-Yeah, we fit really well, and... And you need me to take care of you. I want t'take care of you."
The insistence was paired with his slow drags of his cock against her getting a bit faster, fingers curling into her hair as he gently tilted her head back to give his mouth more surface to kiss on. "You're so pretty, smell so good. That guy.... Fuckin' stupid. I'll get you off whenever you want."
"Whenever?" She breathed, knowing damn well he would be likely to feel her pussy soak through his shorts any second now. She had forgone underwear after her pity shower but she was thankful about it now, getting to feel the heat of his cock right against her. The shorts did nothing to hide it.
"Uh-huh. Whenever you want, Honey. I'll... I'll make you cum and you don't have to do anything. I love making you feel good. All the time. Can just..." He exhaled sharply as her fingers dragged over his nape, shivering as the tips of her nails slipped under the neck of his top. "Eat you out, or I can do this, or- or I can make love to you. Anything. You're so pretty and sweet, so perfect. I love being close to you."
No one else would describe her as sweet, but she supposed to Harry, she was. Her own brand of sweet that was laced with spice and some sourness, but he lapped it up every time.
"Okay." She nodded, moaning in surprise when she felt teeth graze her throat.
"Just ask me. Promise you'll ask." The demand surprised her, no hint of uncertainty but almost a command. "Tell me whenever you need to feel good, Honey. I adore you. Wanna make you cum, feel good, anything you want."
"I'll ask, H. I'll ask." She promised, dragging her leg up higher and letting out a wobbly whine that she'd be embrassed about later when she got the angle she needed desperately.
"There?" He panted, pulling from her throat to look at her. Dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, he was so intent on her face that it almost shocked her. "That's where you need my cock, Honey?"
"Y-Yeah, I'm gonna cum if you keep..." Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. "If you keep doing that."
The smile was almost blinding as she could see the determination build in his face, dropping his forehead to hers as his breath puffed against her lips. "Then I'll keep doin' it, right here. Just like this. Gonna make you cum, and then... I'll clean it up with my tongue, if you want. Just need you happy, Honeybee. Any way I can do it."
Traditional - Extra X
Read Traditional here | ~3.2k words
From Me/Warnings: make sure you thank Monica she might have saved them from being done for at least two more episodes 😅 nothing to worn you about. Just a little angst and a lot of fluff.
Summary: Harry is nervous. More nervous than any fiscal quarter he’s ever suffered through worrying about layoffs and financial ruin.
It was like she put herself in a timeout.
She was being too mean, and she needed to remove herself from being around Harry for a little while (just an evening). She was certain he was going to break up with her or fire her. Either one was bad, but she wouldn’t blame him if he did either of those things because she hadn’t been acting like herself.
It felt like a whole new kind of cranky. Like she was never going to be not cranky ever again. She couldn’t get out of it, kind of cranky. It was most definitely the stress from work and making sure that all her ducks were in a row. It was exhausting and she was worried she wasn’t even worth the promotion Niall and Harry gave her.
Unfortunately, she was taking all her anger and frustration out on Harry too. Fortunately, just at home. If she was cranky at work, she let it simmer and build inside her until she got home where she was simply not good company.
Harry took it in stride. When she confessed to Niall and Louis that she felt like she was being an absolute bitch, they reminded her (very excitedly) that Harry was often a dick under duress, and it was about time he got a taste of his own medicine.
But Harry was so sweet and good to her. He offered to help her with whatever she needed at home or at work whether she was a grump or not. Almost like he didn’t mind. But she could see the slight heartbreak on his face every time she yelled or got mad at him.
I’m going to see Louis She texted as she exited Styles Inc.
Alright, let me know when you’re on your way home. I’ll keep dinner warm. I love you xx
She didn’t even respond and she knew it was criminal not to.
He was too sweet and it made her crankier that she was being so mean and he just didn’t deserve it. Maybe if she was gone for a few hours, he would pack all her stuff and kick her out. That’s what she deserved. Not the sweet man who was going to keep dinner warm for her and just let him be an emotional punching bag.
At least now she understood how he got his reputation for all those years. No wonder incompetency pissed him off. She wanted to set her office on fire some days over the last few weeks. It was a miracle that anything got done with the level of stupidity she dealt with daily. It wasn’t fair to anyone. Maybe if she wasn’t so stressed, she would have been in a teaching or guiding mood to help employees and interns.
Why couldn’t they just read her mind? It wasn’t that fucking hard.
“Are you alright?” Louis asked, staring at her beside him on the sofa. He had a movie that they’d both already seen a hundred times in hopes it would comfort her and make her less bite-someone’s-head-off-y. She flicked her eyes to him and huffed. He looked away briefly, his eyes opening a little wider. “Did Harry mess up?”
“Would you just stop with the Harry’s-the-enemy bit? He’s perfect. Leave him alone,” she grumbled.
Louis’ eyebrows pinched together and he took his phone out and tapped a few times. He cleared his throat and read a text he received from her yesterday. “Harry is chewing gum SO loudly. I want to rip it out of his mouth and shove it in my ear so I don’t have to hear it.”
Well, it was loud. She even told him it was and made him spit it out shortly after that text. So at least she didn’t reach into his mouth and take it. She wasn’t insane.
That insane.
Hearing the text back though did register something in her and she was glad Louis was there because he was pretty good at knowing what was wrong with her so maybe he could figure it out. “Something’s wrong with me,” she groaned and rubbed her temples. “I’ve never been so angry and stressed in my whole life, Louis. What is wrong with me?”
“It’s a new job, love. It’s a lot more stress being a boss. Look at Harry.”
“Stop bringing him up.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. I mean… he gets like this too, right? You and Niall are practically prepared for it. You set your clock to it, for God’s sake,” he reminded her. It made her feel the slightest bit better that she wasn’t totally insane. “You haven’t fired anyone… yet,” Louis continued.
She rolled her eyes and slumped further into his couch cushions enjoying the softness like a cloud cradle. Maybe she just needed to be away from him for a little while longer so she could miss him. Maybe she would stay the night. But that would worry him. But that was stupid that he would be worried. How could he ever think she would leave him? She loved him so much. He was so gentle with her. Even when she was being a massive bitch.
He spit his gum out the moment she asked. Didn’t even question why she was so cranky. Just continued working and only looking at her for a moment longer (mainly so he wouldn’t set her off for staring. That had happened a few times recently). “I don’t want to be mean to him. He’s my favorite person.”
“Hey!”
“Oh, shut up, Louis. You know what I mean,” she grumbled.
Louis blinked at her and shook his head.
“What?”
“Nothing, you’re just really feisty with everyone. Even me. Even Eleanor… It’s like you’re… it’s like you’re hormonal or something. Maybe you should go to the doctor. Or see a therapist or something.”
She gasped the moment he said the word hormonal. Louis’s eyebrows jumped sharply up his forehead and his lips rolled into his mouth to keep from speaking further. He waited for her to berate him for suggesting she was hormonal in the first place. It was a rookie mistake. It was perhaps the number one thing not to say to a woman. If she punched him, he knew he deserved it.
Her jaw dropped.
“Oh, shit,” she jumped up and went to the kitchen where Eleanor had a pretty, colorful white board calendar attached to their fridge. She started counting backwards. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she shook her head and rushed to the bathroom. Immediately she knelt in front of their vanity and dug through the drawers and the cabinet beneath the sink. “You guys have never had a pregnancy scare?” She was tearing through every carefully organized box that Eleanor had situated. Maybe Eleanor would yell at her the way she deserved. “I need a test!”
“Do you and Harry keep them?” He rolled his eyes. “Why the fuck would we just have pregnancy tests?”
“For this reason!” She shrieked and covered her face. It made so much sense. There were too many days between now and her last period. She probably didn’t even need the test at all. It all made sense. The anger, the exhaustion, the irritability over silly little things.
“I’ll have El get one on her way home,” he said, texting her immediately.
“Louis,” she brought a hand to her mouth. “I can’t have a baby,” she whispered.
“Why not?” He asked. “You love babies. So does Harry.”
“But…” she sniffled. “I’m so angry.”
“Probably because of the baby growing in you,” he rolled his eyes.
“Louis,” a few tears rolled down her cheeks. How she didn’t know for this long was embarrassing. The fluctuation in her moods, the tiredness, the cravings she had for chocolate…
“Babe,” he smiled excitedly. “You’re gonna have a baby,” he cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “I’m so happy for you,” he pulled her close to rub her back while she sniveled into his shoulder. “You’re going to be the best mum,” he assured her. “It’s just the hormones. It’s just for a little while,” he promised.
“But—”
“No,” he shook his head, pushed her back so he could brush her tears away again. He looked at her with a gentle expression and smiled sweetly at her. “This isn’t you,” he promised. “It’s your little alien taking over your brain,” he grinned. “Glad I figured it out.”
She snorted and rubbed her hand across one eye. “You really think I’m going to be a good mom? I don’t have… a great example.”
“You will be,” he nodded. “I know it. And I will be the best uncle. Which is most important. I’ll fight Niall about it,” he winked.
“When will El be home?” She asked quietly.
“A half hour.”
She sucked her lip into her mouth. “I probably don’t even need the test,” she whispered.
“I know, but it’ll be good evidence for when you tell Harry.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she sighed deeply. “Let’s go look at baby things until she gets here.”
“Now you’re talking.”
*
Harry tapped his foot impatiently waiting for her text to say she was on her way home. Every minute that crept on made him more anxious. It felt like everything he did was wrong. He couldn’t ask her what was wrong. He felt very stuck that he couldn’t fix it.
Dinner wasn’t going to get cold, but he was really hoping she would have at least talked to him by now.
Harry sighed deeply and pressed her name in his recent call log. He closed his eyes as he put his phone to his ear knowing there was a very strong chance he was going to get yelled at. He knew it wasn’t her fault. She was stressed. Really stressed. It was a taste of his own medicine. Constantly making people nervous, miserable, scared for their jobs.
The only job he wanted was being her boyfriend and he was nearly ill about losing the position. “Hi, baby,” she said softly.
He blinked in surprise, pulled his phone away to check he called the right person. “Uh… hi kitten,” he mumbled. “M’jus… checking in. Should I put your dinner away?”
She was silent for a few seconds, and Harry seriously thought she was going to say she was never coming home. That the stress was too much and living with the person directly responsible for her stress was way too much.
“I’m outside, actually. On the swing.”
Harry’s heart pounded so hard he thought he was going to collapse. He glanced out the window and saw her lying on the bed swing. Her feet touching the porch gently pushing her. Her body was flat on the mattress, just her elbow bent to hold the phone to her ear.
Why didn’t she come in to say hi? How long had she been out there?
Harry genuinely didn’t want to go outside. It felt eerie. Like this was really it; he didn’t know if he could have her fall out of love on the porch swing where some of his most treasured moments with her happened. He put his phone on the counter and made sure all the knobs were turned off on the stove before he turned to the door.
He pushed the slider out of the way and stepped onto the porch. She didn’t move, just continued rocking her and the swing softly. The air was warm, crickets, bugs, and chirping birds were still around. It was a beautiful summer evening and he was terrified that his beautiful life he was so fortunate to have was just going to end in ten seconds.
“Kitten, I know you’ve been really stressed,” he started and knelt onto the mattress. It shifted under his weight. He cupped the side of her neck, and it felt almost painful to look at her like this. He almost couldn’t look into her pretty eyes. If this was it, he was going to torture himself by touching her the way he’d missed touching her so much. Her skin was so soft, and she was so unbelievably pretty in the golden sunset light. He started speaking because it was now or never and he had to plead his case. “I know I’ve been annoying you, and I know m’not your favorite person right now.”
“Harry—”
“No, I think this is karma for all the interns I terrified. This is awful though. I just…I’ll do anything. Can I please do something to make this better?” He asked. “I completely understand your stress and I know it’s hard and I want to help because you’ve always helped me—”
“Harry, you don’t understand,” her voice was very gentle, and Harry was grateful that at the very least she was going to be soft as she left him and not the hardened version of herself that he’d been worried about for the last several weeks.
“I do, kitten. I really, really understand and I can sleep in the guest room or I can hire you an intern—”
“Harry, baby—”
“—One that’s just like you so you can get all the help you deserve; anything to make this better.
“Harry—”
“—I feel awful that you’re so mad and sad and I do not regret giving you a promotion. I'm just worried you’re going to hate me and working with me even though it’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll do anything, kitten. Literally anything to keep you—I could quit, if you want. I can start bringing you coffee in the afternoon—”
“I can’t drink coffee anymore,” she interrupted, finally.
That was actually almost worse than her breaking up with him. He blinked at her in surprise. She loved coffee. Why on earth…? “What?” She smiled briefly, her eyes watered and her lips pursed into a frown almost immediately after. “Kitten,” his heart was aching; like the muscle was begging his brain to make her pain stop. “What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor? Why can’t you—”
Harry couldn’t stop looking at her, so he didn’t see the way her fingers fiddled at her waist and pulled something from her pocket. He didn’t notice when she reached back up to put a positive pregnancy test in front of him.
He blinked a few times trying to make sense of what she was saying without saying it. He sat up and took her with him, so they swayed a little more on the swing with the shift. Harry grabbed the plastic from her hands and stared at the lines trying to understand faster, but his brain was mush. He thought she was going to leave him. Thought she was ill. Nothing made sense. “I owe you a massive apology for being so mean,” she whispered. “But if it’s any consolation, it wasn’t me. It was the baby. We’ll have to parent her for being so mean to you when she gets out here.”
“She?!” He croaked his hands shaking as he held the test in his hands begging his brain to understand faster.
“Oh,” she smiled and put a hand on the top of her stomach. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”
His eyes dropped to the way her hand gently rubbed her stomach, there was no bump or anything. But it didn’t matter. “Oh, thank God,” he sighed with relief and pulled her to him. He kissed the side of her head and squeezed her gently minding her body so he wouldn’t squish the baby.
She giggled. “I’m sorry, Harry. I really didn’t mean to be so mean—”
“No,” he shook his head. “Do not apologize,” he dropped the test behind her and then cupped her face. “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” he mumbled and then peppered kisses along her cheeks and then all over her face.
She smiled, blushed, and giggled again as he made a valiant effort to kiss every inch of her face. “I imagine I would have bit your head off if you asked if I was pregnant.”
He chuckled breathily over her skin and then worked down her neck to continue his kisses. He pushed her back down and dotted more kisses over her body until he got to her stomach. “You were very mean,” he whispered to her body. “I thought Mummy was going t’break up with me.”
“Harry Styles, don’t be ridiculous or I will be mad,” she rolled her eyes.
“Kitten,” he lifted his head to hover over her again. He smiled a real smile that he hadn’t felt spread across his face in weeks. “You are incredible.”
She smiled. “I love you.”
His heart felt healed almost instantly. He missed that phrase coming from her mouth the way it sounded then. Happy. He groaned, like he was in pain for so long and the relief was just too overwhelming. “Please, please, say it again.”
She laughed and pulled him by the neck to her mouth and kissed him hard. He moaned softly, realizing how much he was missing her soft lips on his. He melted into the kiss, traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Eventually he pulled away and she turned his head so she could speak into his ear. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he kissed her again. “And you,” he placed his hand on her stomach and brushed his thumb over her shirt. “Even if you were very mean to us,” he mumbled.
“I’ll forgive her; it’s gotta be hard being conceived in a shower.”
He chuckled, his cheeks burning a little hotter. “Kitten,” he smirked and pushed her hair behind her ear. Maybe it was his imagination, but she looked like she was truly glowing, and he thought she was beautiful, unearthly gorgeous since he saw her pictures, since he met her in person… but somehow, she looked even more beautiful and he didn’t know how it was possible. “Not in front of the baby.”
“Well, the baby is going to have to get used to that very quickly,” she warned, wrinkling her nose with a knowing smile as a blush crept to her cheeks as well.
Stunning. He thought to himself.
“Because now that I know why I was very angry, I think I have to make it up to you. A lot. Like maybe even right now.”
He smirked. “Kitten, you are doing the most incredible thing in the world and you’re sacrificing so much with your body and mind... Y’don’t have to do anything for me.”
She almost pondered about that for a minute. “Well, I won’t lie, it’s going to be for me too.”
He laughed. “Then you can have whatever you want, kitten.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “I guess you better feed us first,” she suggested.
“Excellent point,” he stood from the swing and then scooped her up in almost the same movement.
“You don’t have to carry me.”
“Oh, kitten. Y’went like a whole month and a half or so without me being crazy. Y’better get used to it.”
She smiled, pressed her head to his shoulder as he brought her back inside. She’d let him be insane for the night, he figured. “I think this is it, Harry. We’re stuck together for life now.”
“That’s exactly how I want it, kitten.”
--
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baby — three
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.
A/N: so so so sorry, I know it is late but today was somewhat crazy. hope you enjoy!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
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📌 word count: 8.9k
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The alarm on Y/N’s phone was set to a generic, jarring radar sound. It was the kind of noise designed to wake you up for a 6 AM shift at a café, not to rouse you from 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets in a multi-million pound townhouse.
But at 9:55 AM exactly, it blared through the silence of the master bedroom.
Harry groaned, shifting in the bed. His arm, heavy and warm, was draped over Y/N’s waist, pinning her to the mattress. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his breathing deep and even. For a moment, just a split second, Y/N allowed herself to lean back into him. To feel the solid wall of his chest. To smell the cedarwood and sleep that clung to his skin.
Then, she remembered.
Friday, 8 PM to Saturday, 10 AM. No Sundays. No dinners. No lingering.
She reached out and silenced the alarm.
"What is that?" Harry rumbled against her skin, his voice thick with sleep. He tightened his grip, trying to pull her closer, his nose nuzzling the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Turn it off. Come back here."
In February, she would have. She would have turned it off, rolled over, and spent another hour in his arms while he told her about the markets or kissed her until she was breathless.
But it wasn't February. It was March. And she was following the rules.
"I can't," Y/N said. Her voice was clear. Awake. Detached.
She took his heavy arm and lifted it off her waist, placing it gently back onto the mattress. The loss of contact made the air in the room feel instantly colder.
Harry blinked his eyes open, confusion clouding his gaze. He looked at her as she sat up and swung her legs out of bed.
"Where are you going?" he rasped, squinting against the morning light filtering through the curtains.
"It's 9:56, Harry," she said, not looking back at him. She stood up, reaching for his discarded t-shirt on the floor. No, not his. She didn't wear his clothes anymore. She reached for her own silk robe that she had brought in her overnight bag. "My shift ends in four minutes."
Harry pushed himself up on his elbows. The sleep vanished from his face, replaced by a flicker of irritation.
"Don't be dramatic," he muttered. "It's Saturday morning. I was... comfortable."
"I'm sure you were," she said. She walked to the chair in the corner where she had neatly folded her clothes the night before. Jeans. A sweater. Efficient.
Harry watched her. He hated this part. For the last three weeks, ever since he had handed her that envelope, she had been a ghost. She arrived at 8:00 PM on the dot. She let him fuck her and God, the sex was intense, fueled by a desperate, angry energy he couldn't name and then she slept. And then she left.
No cooking. No typewriter. No arguments about toilet paper.
"I ordered coffee," Harry said, trying to soften his tone. He sat up fully, the sheet falling to his waist, exposing his chest. He looked devastatingly handsome, and he knew it. "It should be downstairs. Stay. Have a cup."
Y/N pulled her jeans on. She zipped them up with a sound that seemed incredibly loud in the quiet room.
"I can't," she repeated. "I have to get to the library."
"Y/N," Harry said, his voice dropping to a warning growl. "Sit down."
She paused, holding her sweater. She turned to look at him finally. Her face was calm. Her eyes were dry. There was none of the fire he was used to.
"Is there something else you require, Harry?" she asked politely. "Technically, I have three minutes left. If you want a quick... service, I suppose we could fit it in. But I'll need to shower after."
Harry flinched.
Whatever reaction he had expected, this wasn't it. He had expected her to cry. He had expected her to beg him to change the rules back. He had expected the passionate, fiery girl who fought with Olivia at the art gallery.
He hadn't expected to be looked at like he was a dental appointment she was trying to get over with.
"I don't want a 'service'," he snapped, offended. "I wanted to have coffee with you."
"Coffee isn't in the schedule," she reminded him gently. She pulled the sweater over her head, smoothing her hair back. "You said 'no hanging out'. I'm just respecting your boundaries, Harry."
She picked up her bag. She checked her phone.
"10:00 AM," she announced.
She looked at him sitting in the messy bed, surrounded by the luxury he valued so much. He looked lonely.
Good.
"The allowance hit my account yesterday," she said. "Thank you. I'll see you next Friday at 8."
"Y/N—"
She didn't wait. She turned and walked out the door.
Harry sat in the silence of the master bedroom. He heard her footsteps on the stairs. He heard the click of the front door opening. He heard the heavy thud of it closing.
He looked at the empty spot beside him. The sheets were still warm, but the room felt freezing.
"Fuck," he whispered to the empty room.
He snatched the pillow she had been sleeping on and threw it violently across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud, knocking over a stack of books on the side table.
They tumbled to the floor. Among them was a small, cloth-bound volume in faded blue.
Persuasion. First Edition. 1818.
He had bought it months ago. He had meant to give it to her for Christmas, but he’d panicked and bought the typewriter instead something practical, something that supported her career rather than her heart. The book felt too intimate. Too romantic. It was a book about second chances, and Harry didn't believe in them.
So he had kept it. He had kept it on his nightstand, intending to give it to her... eventually. Maybe for graduation. Maybe when he finally figured out how to say what he felt without choking.
Now, it lay face down on the rug, its spine bent at an awkward angle.
He stared at it. He didn't get up to pick it up.
The routine had set in like concrete. Four weeks of this. Four weeks of Fridays that felt like funerals and Saturdays that felt like escapades.
Harry was waiting in the study when the doorbell didn't ring.
The keypad beeped. The door opened and closed.
He checked his watch. 8:00 PM precisely.
He waited for her to come to the study, as she used to. He waited for her to lean against the doorframe, looking wet from the rain and beautiful, teasing him about working too late.
He waited. And waited.
Silence.
He frowned. He stood up, abandoning the merger documents on his screens, and walked out into the hallway.
The hallway was empty. Her boots were lined up by the door neat, military precision. Her keys were in the bowl.
"Y/N?" he called out.
"Upstairs," her voice drifted down.
He walked up the stairs, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. He found her in the bedroom. She was already undressed, wearing only the silk robe. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.
She looked up when he entered.
"You're early," she noted. "Usually you finish work at 8:30."
"I finished early," he said, loosening his tie. He felt awkward. In his own house. With the woman he had been sleeping with for months. "I thought we could... I don't know. Talk? I saw that you got a First on your mid-term."
He had been checking her university portal. He had the login from when he paid the tuition. It was the only way he knew anything about her life anymore.
Y/N’s expression didn't change. "I did."
"That's impressive," he said, stepping closer. "Especially with the dissertation workload. What was the paper on?"
"Modernist poetry," she said. Short. clipped.
"And?" He prodded, desperate for a crumb of her personality. "Did you argue that Eliot was a fraud? You usually hate Eliot."
"It doesn't matter," she said, standing up and untying the belt of her robe. It slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet.
She stood before him, beautiful and golden and completely closed off.
"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.
He let go of her wrists. He stepped back, his face hardening into the mask again.
"Fine," he said coldly. "If that’s how you want to play it."
He stripped off his shirt and threw it on the chair.
"Get on the bed."
She did. She didn't argue. She didn't tease. She just obeyed.
And when he entered her, looking down at her beautiful, blank face, he realized with a terrifying clarity:
He was fucking a stranger. And it was entirely his fault.
The boardroom on the 40th floor of the shard offered a panoramic view of London, but Harry wasn't looking at it. He was looking at his phone under the table.
"As you can see from the Q1 projections," the Junior Analyst was droning on, pointing at a graph that Harry could have interpreted in his sleep, "volatility is expected to stabilize by mid-May."
Harry didn't care about volatility. He cared about the fact that he hadn't spoken to Y/N in four days.
Since implementing the "Friday to Saturday" rule, his weeks had become interminable stretches of grey. He found himself checking his phone constantly, hoping she would slip up. Hoping she would text him to say she missed him, or that she needed money, or even just to send him a meme about bad coffee.
But she never did. She was following his instructions to the letter.
He unlocked his phone. He opened their chat history.
Harry: Allowance cleared? (Sent: April 1st)
Y/N: Yes. Thank you. (Sent: April 1st)
That was it.
He felt a sudden, irrational spike of anger. Was she not missing him? Was she just going about her life, studying, laughing with roommates, working at that sticky-floored café, without a second thought for him?
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He shouldn't do this. It was weak. It showed a lack of discipline.
He typed anyway.
Harry: It’s pouring. Did you take a car to the library?
He hit send before he could regret it.
He put the phone face down on the mahogany table and tried to pay attention to the analyst.
Buzz.
Harry flipped the phone over instantly.
Y/N: I walked. It’s only ten minutes.
Harry frowned. He hated that. He hated thinking of her cold and wet and him not being there to run a bath for her.
Harry: Use the account. That’s what it’s there for. I don't want you getting sick.
He watched the three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Y/N: I have an umbrella, Harry. I'm fine.
Y/N: My phone is on silent while I work. I’ll see you Friday.
Harry stared at the screen. She was dismissing him. She was effectively telling him to stop bothering her while she worked.
"Mr. Styles?"
Harry’s head snapped up. The entire boardroom was looking at him. The analyst looked terrified.
"Sir?" the analyst repeated. "I asked for your thoughts on the merger timeline."
Harry looked at the graph. He looked at the terrified kid in the cheap suit. He felt a wave of exhaustion crash over him.
"It's ambitious," Harry said, his voice flat. "But acceptable. Proceed."
He looked back down at his phone.
Harry: Friday. I’m taking you to dinner. I made a reservation at Nobu.
He waited. He needed her to say yes. He needed to break the routine. He needed to sit across from her and force her to look at him, really look at him, not just through the lens of a transaction.
Buzz.
Y/N: I'm afraid that’s not possible.
Harry’s blood ran cold.
Harry: Why?
Y/N: The agreement stipulates 8 PM arrival at the residence. I have a shift at the café until 7:30. I won't have time to change for Nobu. I will see you at the house at 8.
Harry gripped the phone so hard the case creaked. She was quoting the agreement back to him. She was using the cage he built to lock him out.
Harry: Skip the shift. I'll cover the wages.
Y/N: I can't. I'm the shift lead. I have responsibilities.
Y/N: I will see you at 8, Harry. Please let me get back to work.
Harry didn't reply. He couldn't.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and stood up abruptly. The chair legs scraped loudly against the floor.
"Meeting adjourned," he announced to the room of stunned executives.
"But sir," the VP stammered, "we haven't discussed the risk assessment."
"The risk is manageable," Harry snapped, walking toward the door. "Figure it out."
He stormed out of the boardroom, loosening his tie as he walked down the corridor. He needed air. He needed a drink.
He needed Friday to come, so he could shake her until the mask fell off.
London was finally blooming. The grey sleet had given way to tentative sunshine.
Harry was walking through Soho. He usually avoided this area on weekends, too many tourists, too much noise, but he had a meeting with a creative director for the bank's rebranding, and the man insisted on meeting at a "trendy" members club on Dean Street.
Harry was in a foul mood. Friday night had been straining. Y/N had arrived, they had sex, and she had gone to sleep. When he tried to wake her up at midnight to talk, she had mumbled something about being tired from her shift and rolled over.
He felt like he was living with a ghost.
He turned the corner onto Dean Street, checking his watch.
Laughter.
It was a bright, loud, uninhibited sound that stopped him in his tracks.
He looked across the street.
There was a pub with tables spilling out onto the pavement. It was crowded, noisy, and full of young people drinking pints in the sun.
And there she was.
Y/N was sitting at a wobbly wooden table, surrounded by three other people. Two girls and a boy. She was wearing a denim jacket he had never seen and sunglasses pushed up into her messy hair. She was holding a cider.
She threw her head back and laughed at something the boy said.
Harry stood frozen on the opposite pavement.
He hadn't seen her laugh in two months. Not really. Not like that.
He watched as the boy, a scruffy thing with bleached hair and a nose ring, leaned over and stole a chip from her plate. Y/N slapped his hand away playfully, grinning. She looked radiant. She looked alive.
She looked happy.
Without him.
The realization hit Harry like a physical blow to the gut. He had convinced himself that she was miserable too. He had told himself that she was just enduring the "Cold War" until he cracked.
But looking at her now, he saw the truth. She wasn't miserable. She had compartmentalized him. He was just a Friday night appointment. The rest of her life, her real life, was happening right here, in the sunshine, with people who probably didn't know his name.
He felt a surge of jealousy so potent it tasted like bile. He wanted to cross the street. He wanted to walk up to that table, pull her out of that chair, and kiss her until she forgot the boy with the nose ring existed. He wanted to remind her that she belonged to him.
But he couldn't.
Because it was Saturday. It was 2:00 PM. And according to the rules he wrote, she didn't belong to him right now.
Y/N turned her head slightly. For a second, he thought she saw him.
Harry panicked. The Great Harry Styles, who stared down CEOs for breakfast, panicked.
He turned on his heel and ducked into the nearest shop doorway, hiding in the shadows like a stalker.
He watched her for another minute, his heart hammering against his ribs. Then, unable to bear the sight of her happiness any longer, he turned and walked away.
He cancelled the meeting with the creative director. He went home, sat in his dark study, and drank a glass of whiskey that cost more than that entire pub, feeling poorer than he ever had in his life.
The air in the townhouse was heavy, pressing against the windows like a physical weight. It was late May, and the humidity had arrived early, turning London into a sticky, grey soup.
Harry sat on the velvet sofa in the living room. He wasn't working. The monitors in his study were dark for the first time on a Friday in years.
On the coffee table in front of him sat a bottle of Pinot Noir, opened, breathing, and two crystal glasses. Next to them was a silver tray with a selection of cheeses and figs. It was a pathetic offering, really. A peace offering disguised as an appetizer.
He checked his watch. 7:48 PM.
He smoothed his hands over his knees. He had changed his clothes three times. He had started in a suit, then changed into sweatpants (too casual, too presumptuous), and finally settled on dark jeans and a navy cashmere sweater. He wanted to look approachable. He wanted to look like the man she had danced with in the kitchen three months ago.
He was nervous. The realization made his stomach turn. He was Harry Styles, a man who moved millions of pounds with a phone call, and he was terrified of a twenty-two-year-old student walking through his front door.
But he had a plan. Tonight, he wouldn't let her march upstairs. Tonight, he would stop her in the hall. He would pour her a drink. He would ask her about the dissertation, really ask, not just check the box. He would force the warmth back into the room, by sheer will if necessary.
7:59 PM.
He stared at the front door.
8:00 PM.
The keypad beeped. The electronic chirp echoed through the silent house like a gunshot. Then came the mechanical clunk of the lock disengaging.
The door swung open.
Y/N stepped inside. She looked exhausted. That was the first thing Harry noticed. The dark purple smudges beneath her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped under the weight of her backpack. Her hair was pulled back in a messy, functional bun, stray strands sticking to her neck in the humidity.
She didn't look at the living room. She turned automatically toward the console table to drop her keys.
Clink.
She began to toe off her sneakers.
"Hello," Harry said.
Y/N jumped. She spun around, her hand flying to her chest. She hadn't expected him to be there. For the last six weeks, he had been in the study or the bedroom.
"Harry," she breathed, her eyes widening. "You startled me."
"I'm sorry," he said, standing up slowly. He kept his hands open, non-threatening. "I didn't mean to lurk."
She stared at him, taking in the jeans, the sweater, the lack of a phone in his hand. Her gaze flicked to the wine and cheese on the table, then back to his face. Her expression didn't soften. If anything, it became more guarded.
"Is everything okay?" she asked cautiously. "Did the schedule change?"
"No," Harry said quickly. "No change. I just... I finished early. I thought we could have a drink. Unwind a bit before... before going upstairs."
He gestured to the sofa. "I opened the Pinot you liked. The 2015. And I got those rosemary crackers.”
Y/N looked at the wine. She looked at the crackers. She looked at the comfortable spot on the sofa where they used to sit for hours, her legs thrown over his lap while they debated literature.
She tightened her grip on her backpack strap.
"I can't," she said softly.
Harry felt a crack in his chest. "You can't have a glass of wine?"
"I'm on antibiotics," she lied. Or maybe she wasn't. He didn't know. He didn't know anything about her health anymore. "And I'm exhausted, Harry. It was a long day."
"Then just sit," he pressed, sounding desperate to his own ears. He took a step forward. "You don't have to drink. Just sit down for five minutes, Y/N. Tell me about... tell me about your roommates. How is Josh?”
He remembered the name. He had made a point to remember it.
Y/N looked at him with genuine confusion. "Josh? You want to know about Josh?"
"I want to know about you," he corrected. "I feel like I haven't spoken to you in months."
"You speak to me every Friday," she pointed out, her voice devoid of emotion.
"I speak to an employee," he said, the bitterness leaking into his tone despite his best efforts. "I want to speak to you."
Y/N let out a short, tired sigh. She shifted the weight of her bag.
"Harry, please. I've been studying since 6 AM. I walked here in the humidity. I feel gross, and I'm tired, and I really just want to take a shower."
She looked at him, pleading not for affection, but for space.
"Can we just do the usual?" she asked. "Please?"
The rejection was total. She wasn't just rejecting the wine. She was rejecting the intimacy. She preferred the cold, transactional routine to his attempt at connection.
Harry let his hand drop. The hope that had been buoyancy in his chest turned into a lead weight.
"Fine," he said quietly. "Go shower."
She walked past him. She walked right past the wine, the cheese, and the man who was practically begging for her attention.
Harry stood there, watching her ascend the stairs. He listened to the heavy tread of her tired feet.
He looked down at the two empty glasses.
He picked up the bottle and took a long swig straight from the neck, the expensive vintage tasting like vinegar in his mouth. Then he followed her.
By the time he entered the bedroom, the shower was already running.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't undress. He sat in the dark, listening to the water running in the bathroom, waiting for his "appointment" to be ready.
Ten minutes later, the water stopped. The door opened. A cloud of steam billowed out, carrying the scent of his eucalyptus body wash—the only thing they still shared.
Y/N walked out, wrapped in a towel. Her skin was pink from the heat, her hair damp and curling around her face. She looked soft. Vulnerable.
She dropped the towel and reached for her silk robe.
"Don't," Harry said.
His voice was rough. He hadn't meant to say it.
Y/N froze, her hand hovering over the silk. She looked at him in the dim light.
"Don't what?"
"Don't put the robe on," he whispered. "Just... come here."
She hesitated. For a long, agonizing moment, she just stood there. Then, she walked toward the bed. She didn't crawl over to him. She didn't smile. She laid down on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm ready," she said.
The words were a bucket of ice water.
Harry moved over her. He braced his arms on either side of her head, caging her in. He looked down into her eyes. They were open, but they were empty. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking through him.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice shaking.
She focused her eyes on his. "I'm looking, Harry."
"Where are you?" he demanded, searching her face for a spark, a flicker of the girl who had called him a 'grump' and made fun of his triple-ply toilet paper. "You're right here, but you're not here."
"I'm tired," she said simply. "Do you want to do this or not? It's getting late."
Harry made a sound of frustration, a low growl in his throat. He lowered his head and captured her lips.
He kissed her hard. He kissed her with a desperate, bruising intensity, trying to force a reaction out of her. He used his tongue, he bit her lip, he tangled his hands in her damp hair and angled her head back.
She let him. She opened her mouth. She moved her lips against his.
But she didn't kiss him back.
She was a mirror, reflecting his actions but generating no heat of her own. Her hands didn't come up to grip his hair. They rested limp on the duvet.
Harry pulled back, gasping, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Kiss me back," he pleaded, his forehead resting against hers. "Please. Y/N. Kiss me back."
"I am," she whispered.
"No, you're not. You're just... enduring it."
She didn't deny it. She just closed her eyes.
"Can we just get on with it?" she asked. "I really need to sleep."
Harry stared at her closed eyelids. He felt a wave of nausea. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to cry.
But he was a man who had demanded a transaction. And she was honoring the contract.
"Fine," he spat out.
He stripped off his clothes with angry, jerky movements. He positioned himself between her legs. He entered her without fanfare, without foreplay, without love.
It was mechanical. It was friction. It was exactly what he had asked for, and it felt like dying.
He finished quickly, chasing the release just to make the feeling stop. He collapsed onto the mattress beside her, his breathing ragged, sweat cooling on his skin.
Usually, this was the moment she would curl into him. Usually, she would rest her head on his chest and he would wrap his arm around her, and they would lie in the afterglow.
Harry turned his head, waiting for her.
Y/N was already moving away.
She rolled onto her side, facing the window, putting her back to him. She pulled the duvet up to her chin, creating a wall of white cotton between them.
"Goodnight, Harry," she mumbled into her pillow.
Harry reached out. His hand hovered over her shoulder. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to pull her back against his chest and hold her so tight she couldn't breathe.
But he looked at the rigid line of her spine. The tension in her shoulders. She was repelling him without even touching him.
He let his hand drop to the mattress.
He lay on his back in the darkness, listening to the rain pick up outside, staring at the ceiling of the house he owned, in the bed he had paid for, next to the woman he was paying to be there.
He had never been more alone in his entire life.
The text arrived at 3:00 PM on a Friday afternoon.
Harry was at his desk at the bank. He saw the notification pop up on his private phone—the one only five people had the number for.
Y/N: Dissertation submitted. 12,000 words. It's done.
Harry stared at the screen.
It was the first time she had texted him first in two months.
His heart leaped. A genuine, physical jump in his chest. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to share the news. This was it. The crack in the ice.
He typed back immediately, his fingers flying.
Harry: Congratulations. That is a massive achievement. I knew you would crush it.
He paused. He waited.
Harry: Let's celebrate tonight. No cooking. No ordering in. I'm picking you up. We're going to that Italian place you love in Shoreditch. The one with the paper tablecloths.
It was a peace offering. It was a surrender. He was offering to go to her world, to a place he hated, just to see her smile.
He watched the bubbles appear.
Y/N: I can't.
Harry closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against his expensive leather chair.
Harry: Why?
Y/N: I'm going out with my roommates. They planned a pub crawl. It's a student thing.
Harry: Cancel it. Spend it with me.
Y/N: I can't cancel. They've been planning it for weeks. And besides...
The bubbles paused for a long time. Harry held his breath.
Y/N: It's Friday, but it's only 3 PM. My contract doesn't start until 8. I'll see you then.
Harry: You're going to a pub crawl before coming to see me? You'll be drunk.
Y/N: I'll be sober by 8. Don't worry, I won't be late.
Harry stared at the phone.
She chose the sticky floors. She chose the cheap beer and the roommates and the noise over a private celebration with him.
He slowly lowered the phone to the desk.
He felt a strange calm wash over him. It wasn't peace. It was the clarity of a man who realizes he is watching a car crash in slow motion, and he is the one behind the wheel.
She was leaving him. Not physically—she would still show up at 8 PM because she needed the tuition money for graduation. But emotionally? She had checked out weeks ago.
He picked up the phone again. He opened his calendar.
June 20th. Graduation.
He stared at the date.
He had told her he wouldn't go. He had yelled at her for even asking.
But as he sat there in his glass tower, looking at the grey London skyline, Harry Styles made a decision.
He was going to that graduation. And he wasn't just going to sit in the audience. He was going to win her back.
It was a bright, blindingly sunny day. The kind of June day that made London feel like a completely different city—alive, golden, and optimistic.
Harry sat in the back of his black Range Rover, parked on a double yellow line on a side street near the Barbican. The engine was idling, a low, powerful purr that vibrated through the chassis. The air conditioning was blasting, keeping the interior at a sterile sixty-eight degrees, sealing him off from the heat and the noise of the world outside.
He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low and dark sunglasses. He felt ridiculous. He felt like a spy. Or worse, a criminal returning to the scene of a crime.
"Sir?" his driver, Paul, asked from the front seat, eyeing him in the rearview mirror. "We’ve been here for twenty minutes. Traffic enforcement is circling."
"Let them circle," Harry murmured, not looking away from the window. "I’ll pay the ticket."
He stared through the tinted glass.
The Barbican’s brutalist concrete courtyard was swarming with life. Students in black robes and mortarboards were spilling out of the main hall, a sea of fabric and excitement. They were clutching scrolls, laughing, screaming, throwing their caps into the air for photos.
Harry scanned the crowd. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that made his palms sweat.
Where is she?
He saw a hundred girls who looked like her from behind. He saw a hundred smiles. But none of them were her.
Then—there.
She walked out of the main glass doors.
Harry’s breath hitched.
She looked... radiant. That was the only word for it. She wasn't wearing the expensive clothes he had bought her. She was wearing a simple white dress under her open robe, and the gown was slightly too big for her, billowing in the wind. Her hair was loose, blowing across her face.
She was laughing. Her head was thrown back, her eyes crinkled shut, looking up at the sky as if thanking the universe.
She wasn't alone.
An older couple flanked her.
The man was wearing a grey suit that looked a little tight in the shoulders, probably pulled out of the back of a wardrobe for the special occasion. He had a kind, weathered face. Her father.
The woman was wearing a floral dress and holding a bouquet of flowers. Not roses. Not the terrifyingly expensive arrangements Harry ordered from his florist. They were bright, chaotic, colorful flowers wrapped in clear cellophane. Supermarket flowers.
Harry watched as Y/N’s father pulled her into a crushing hug. He watched her mother wipe tears from her eyes with a tissue. He watched Y/N beam at them, looking lighter and happier than he had seen her in six months.
She looked loved. Not "possessed." Not "kept." Loved.
Harry’s hand moved to the door handle.
Go, a voice in his head urged. A desperate, reckless voice.
Get out.
Walk over there.
Introduce yourself.
Shake her father’s hand.
Tell them you’re the one who bought the typewriter.
Tell them you’re the one who knows how she takes her coffee.
Tell them you’re the one who loves her.
He gripped the silver handle. His knuckles turned white.
He imagined it. He imagined stepping out of the £100,000 car in his bespoke suit. He imagined the silence that would fall. The confusion on her parents' faces. The look of panic in Y/N’s eyes as her two worlds collided—the wholesome reality of her family, and the dark, transactional secret of him.
I am not the man you bring home to meet Daddy, he had told her.
He had said it to hurt her. He realized now, with a crushing weight, that he had simply been stating a fact.
If he stepped out of this car, he wouldn't be adding to her joy. He would be ruining it. He would be the stain on the photograph.
Just then, a group of students ran over.
Harry recognized them instantly. The boy with the nose ring. The girls from the pub. The "sticky floor" crew.
They tackled Y/N in a group hug, nearly knocking her over. They were loud, messy, and young. They were cheering, taking selfies, lifting her up.
They belonged together. They were the reality.
And Harry... Harry was just the luxury. And luxuries didn't belong on the pavement; they belonged behind glass.
"Sir?" Paul asked again, softer this time. "Do you want to get out?"
Harry stared at Y/N one last time. She was posing for a photo with her dad, holding her diploma high, her smile blinding. She didn't look like she was missing anything. She didn't look like she was waiting for anyone.
Harry let go of the door handle. He sat back in the leather seat, the air leaving his lungs in a rush, leaving him hollow.
"No," Harry whispered, his voice cracking.
He looked at the scene one last time—a perfect tableau of a life he couldn't buy.
"No," he repeated, closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Take me home."
Harry stood at the wet bar, the heavy crystal decanter cool against his palm. The only light in the penthouse came from the under-cabinet LEDs, casting a sterile, amber glow over the marble.
He poured two fingers of scotch. The liquid hit the glass with a sharp splashed sound that seemed too loud in the dead silence of the room. He didn't drink it. He just gripped the glass, watching the condensation form, counting the seconds in his head.
It was Friday. 8:00 PM.
His body knew the time before his watch did. It was a physical reaction—a tightening in his chest, a dryness in his throat. The Pavlovian response of a man waiting for his fix.
In a moment, the front door would open. She would walk in. She would move with that terrifying, cold efficiency she had perfected over the last three months. She would walk past him without a word, go up the stairs, and lie down on the bed.
She would wait for the appointment.
And he would go to her. He would touch her because the contract said he could, and he would hate himself for it because he knew her mind was miles away. But he needed it. He needed the physical proof that she was still here, still safe, still under his protection.
Click.
The lock disengaged.
Harry froze. He didn't turn around. He took a quick, bracing sip of the scotch, the burn settling in his stomach. He stared at the rows of bottles in front of him, waiting for the familiar pattern: door opens, door closes, footsteps on the stairs.
The door opened. The door closed.
But the footsteps didn't go to the stairs.
They clicked against the hardwood floor. Click, click, click. Slow. Deliberate. Coming toward the living room.
Harry frowned. She never came in here. The living room was for talking, and they didn't talk.
He slowly turned around, arranging his features into the mask of the bored, detached billionaire. He leaned back against the bar, crossing his ankles, preparing to make a cutting remark about her deviation from the routine.
But when he saw her, the air left his lungs.
Y/N was standing in the archway.
She wasn't wearing her usual library clothes. She wasn't wearing the comfortable things she usually stripped off efficiently.
She was dressed to go out.
She was wearing a black slip dress that clung to her frame, stopping high on her thigh—a tiny, devastating thing meant for crowded clubs and loud music. Her hair was done, blown out in soft waves. She looked stunning. She looked like the kind of girl who was about to spend all night dancing with people who weren't him.
But then he looked at her face.
The contrast was jarring. Beneath the perfect hair and the party dress, she looked shattered. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and there were dark, heavy shadows beneath them that spoke of sleepless nights. She looked like a porcelain doll that had been dropped and glued back together wrong.
Harry checked his watch, a reflex to hide his shock. "You’re late."
Y/N didn't flinch. She just looked at him with dull, tired eyes.
"I didn't know we still had a schedule," she said.
Harry lowered his wrist. "It’s Friday. The contract stipulates 8:00 PM. Unless you’ve decided to take a holiday."
"I graduated," she said.
"I know."
"So the contract is done."
Harry swirled his drink, the ice clinking softly. "Is it?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "I don't recall seeing an expiration date on the paperwork."
He wasn't bluffing. He genuinely believed it. The lack of an end date hadn't been an oversight; originally, it was a practical choice, a way to ensure flexibility so neither of them felt the pressure of a ticking clock. It was meant to keep things simple. But over the last few months, that open-ended clause had morphed from a convenience into a lifeline. He was clinging to the technicality now because he was terrified of the reality: that without this paper binding her to him, he had absolutely no reason to ask her to stay.
"I’m terminating it," she said.
She didn't shout. She didn't cry. She just said it with the flat resignation of a soldier surrendering.
She walked over to the glass coffee table. She didn't sit down. She opened her small clutch bag and pulled out the folded document. She tossed it onto the table.
"I can't do this anymore, Harry. I’m out."
Harry stared at the papers. A cold, sharp spike of adrenaline pierced his chest. She couldn't leave. He hadn't prepared for her to actually leave.
He looked at her, standing there in that short dress, ready to disappear into the night. He felt a surge of defensive anger rise up to cover the panic clawing at his throat.
"Of course you are," he spat, pushing off the bar and walking toward her. "You got what you came for, didn't you?"
She blinked, confused. "What?"
"The money," Harry said cruelly. "The tuition. The degree. You stuck it out, you played the part, you let the old man pay the bills, and now that you have the diploma in your hand, you're cutting the cord. It’s very efficient, Y/N. I’m impressed."
"You think this is about the money?" she whispered.
"It’s always about the money," Harry lied. "That’s why you stayed, isn't it? For four months, you walked in here, laid down, and let me use you because the check cleared on the first of the month. Don't pretend it was anything else. You never felt anything."
"I stayed because I hoped!" she cried, her voice cracking.
"Hoped for what? A bonus?"
"I hoped you would come back!" she yelled, the exhaustion finally breaking into anger. "I hoped that one day, you would stop treating me like an employee and start treating me like a person again! I stayed because I wanted you, you idiot!"
Harry flinched. The raw honesty in her voice struck him harder than a slap.
"Don't," he warned, his voice dropping. "Don't rewrite history to make yourself feel better about leaving. You're leaving because you're happy. You're leaving because you have a life out there that is better than this."
He gestured to her dress, to her hair. "Look at you. You look incredible. You're going out, aren't you? To continue the celebration? You have your friends, you have your degree. You're happy without me."
"Happy?" she choked out a laugh, a wet, broken sound. "You think I'm happy?"
"I know you are."
"I have been in hell," she said, stepping toward him. "I haven't slept a full night in weeks. I'm wearing this dress because my friends dragged me out tonight. They wanted to keep celebrating. They think I should be happy."
She wiped a tear from her cheek, ruining her perfect makeup.
"But I couldn't do it. I couldn't fake it for one more second. I had to leave them. I had to come here because I haven't eaten in three days, Harry. Does this look like happiness to you?"
She took a breath, shaking her head.
"I walked across that stage four days ago," she said. "And everyone was cheering. My parents were crying. And all I could do was scan the crowd. Looking for one face. Looking for you."
She looked at him with profound disappointment.
"I thought you would come. I thought, 'He's Harry. He makes grand gestures.' But you weren't there. You didn't care. You just let the contract run out."
"I was there!"
The shout tore out of Harry’s throat before he could stop it. It was a roar of pain, raw and jagged.
The room went dead silent.
Y/N froze. She stared at him, her hand half-raised. "What?"
Harry breathed heavily, his chest heaving beneath the silk shirt. He turned away from her, unable to look at the shock in her eyes. He paced toward the window, looking out at the city lights he hated.
"I was there," he admitted, his voice rough. "On the 20th. At the Barbican."
"You... you were inside?"
"No," Harry whispered. "I was outside. I sat in the Range Rover. I parked on the double yellows. I sat there for two hours."
He turned back to face her.
"I saw you come out," he said. "I saw you with your parents."
"Then why..." Her voice trembled. "Why didn't you get out? Why didn't you come find me?"
"Because I couldn't!" Harry shouted. "I sat there with my hand on the door handle, watching you laugh with your father. And I realized I couldn't do it."
"You couldn't do what? Say hello?"
"I couldn't ruin it!" Harry roared. "Don't you get it? If I had opened that car door... if I had walked up to you and your parents... I would have destroyed everything."
He gestured to himself, to the tattoos, to the heavy rings, to the exhaustion in his own face.
"I am twenty-three years older than you, Y/N. Think about that. I am old enough to be your father's friend. I come with baggage that fills cargo planes. I have enemies. I have scandals. I have a reputation that is stained with ink and whiskey."
He took a step toward her, his eyes wild.
"If I stood next to you on that sidewalk, your parents would have looked at me with disgust. They would have looked at their daughter standing next to a man pushing fifty and they would have been sick. The press would have swarmed. They would call you a gold digger. They would say I was having a midlife crisis. It would have become the 'Harry Styles Show,' and your achievement would have been forgotten."
He gripped the back of the leather chair, his knuckles white.
"I stayed in the car because I realized that the best thing I could do for you—the only good thing I could do—was to stay away. To let you have the light. To keep my darkness away from you."
Y/N stared at him. She looked at the man who had convinced himself he was a monster.
"You arrogant idiot," she whispered.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Since when are you worried about hearsay?" she demanded, her voice gaining strength. "Since when do you care what the neighbors think? Or what the papers say? You built an entire career on not giving a damn!"
"This is different! This is about you!"
"It is about you!" she screamed back. "It’s about your fear! It’s about your self-loathing! You didn't stay in the car to protect me. You stayed in the car because you were afraid to be seen trying! You were afraid my parents wouldn't like you!"
"I am trying to protect you!" Harry argued. "I am trying to give you a chance at a normal life!"
"I don't want a normal life!" she yelled. "I want you!"
The words hung in the air.
"I don't care about the age gap," she said, stepping closer, her eyes fierce. "I don't give a fuck about the twenty-three years. I don't give a fuck about the press. I care about the man who sat in a hot car for two hours just to make sure I was okay."
She reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, shaking him.
"I am choosing you, Harry. Why can't you let me choose?"
Harry stared down at her. Her face was open, raw, beautiful in that tight dress he hadn't bought for her. She was offering him everything. She was offering to take on the burden of him.
And he was too terrified to let her.
He couldn't be the reason she stopped laughing. He couldn't be the reason her life got complicated and dark. He loved her too much to let her ruin her life for him.
He slowly reached up and peeled her fingers off his shirt.
He stepped back. He put the barrier of distance between them.
"You don't know what you're choosing," he said, his voice dead. "You're young. You'll wake up in five years and realize you wasted your youth on a man who was too tired to keep up. You'll resent me."
"I won't," she sobbed.
"You will," Harry said. "And I won't let that happen. The contract is done. You're right. You graduated. You're free."
He turned his back on her. He stared at the fireplace. "Go home, Y/N. Go live your life."
He heard her intake of breath. He heard the sound of her heart breaking.
"No," she said softly.
He heard movement behind him.
"Y/N, go," he commanded, closing his eyes.
"I'm not doing this anymore," she said. "I'm not going to beg you to see me."
She walked to the coffee table.
"I'm terminating the contract," she said. "Not because I have my degree. But because I can't save you."
She reached into her clutch.
"Don't," Harry whispered. He knew what was coming.
She pulled out the heavy brass key. The key to the penthouse. The key to the cage.
She dropped it.
Clink.
The sound was tiny, insignificant against the glass table, yet it echoed louder than any scream. It lay there next to the paperwork.
"Goodbye, Harry," she whispered.
She turned and walked away.
Harry stood frozen. He listened to her heels clicking on the marble. the sound of her leaving him. He listened to the front door open. He listened to it close.
Thud.
She was gone.
The silence rushed back in, violent and suffocating. It pressed against his eardrums.
Harry slowly turned around. The room was empty. The scent of her, vanilla and expensive perfume still lingered in the air, mocking him.
He walked to the table. He looked at the key. It sat there, shiny and cold.
She had left. She had actually left. He had driven her away. He had won. He had protected her.
And it felt like dying.
A roar built up in his chest, a primal, animalistic sound of grief and rage and self-hatred.
"FUCK!"
He lashed out. He swept his arm across the table, sending the contract flying, the key skittering across the floor under the sofa.
But it wasn't enough. The pain was too big. It was consuming him.
He turned to the sideboard. There, resting on the runner, was the antique crystal bowl. It was heavy. It was expensive. It was perfect. Just like the life he had built.
He grabbed it with both hands.
He didn't think. He just felt.
With a scream that tore his throat raw, he hurled the bowl across the room.
CRASH.
It hit the far wall with the force of a bomb. The crystal exploded into a thousand glittering shards, showering the hardwood floor in jagged diamonds. The sound was catastrophic, a symphony of destruction that echoed through the empty, million-pound penthouse.
Harry stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving, his hands shaking violently. He looked at the shattered glass. He looked at the empty room.
He didn't make another sound. He just stood there, a solitary figure in a broken room, staring blankly at the ruin he had created.
➡️ chapter 4
let me know what you thinkkkkk
baby — ten
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.
A/N: Hello everyone! Here is the last chapter. Thank you for all the support. It makes me very happy to know that all of you enjoyed it!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
📌 baby's masterlist
taglist: @mysunflowerposts, @marinrscomplex, @ashloveshockey, @fkingstyles, @lillefroe, @satellitelh, @viamoree, @pizzadragono7, @buckyssbestgirl, @dumbandp03tic, @cathedralnoise, @namelesssav, @love-letters-to-uranus, @linabobinaa, @friggadotior0212, @i-got-the-cinema, @ghostlyscene13, @aileen1237, @piscesweetheart, @girlbloggerlg, @storiesinthestars15, @iheartfineline, @alriguess, @lichi-dunkera
Y/N felt her stomach drop. She stared at Aaron, her fingers gripping her red pen so hard the plastic groaned.
The sheer audacity of it was actually mind-blowing. He was sitting at her desk, in her office, casually insulting the man she loved just because she wouldn't go to a pub with him.
For a split second, she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to slap the smug, bitter smirk right off his face. But then she remembered exactly whose schedule she was on. Harry didn't yell. Harry dismantled people quietly, with absolute, freezing precision.
Y/N took a deep breath. She set her pen down with a sharp click.
"Are you quite finished?" Y/N asked.
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't tremble. It was deadpan and freezing cold, instantly stripping the mocking amusement from Aaron’s face.
Aaron shifted uncomfortably in the cheap rolling chair, his brow furrowing. "I'm just saying—"
"I heard exactly what you said," Y/N cut him off, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "And it is, without a doubt, the most pathetic display of a bruised ego I have ever witnessed."
Aaron’s amber eyes widened in shock. "Excuse me?"
"You invited me to a pub. I politely declined because I am doing my job," Y/N stated clinically, dismantling him with the same ruthless precision she used on his manuscript. "And instead of accepting that rejection with a shred of grace, you instantly decided to attack the man I love. You are attempting to weaponize his age because you are deeply insecure about the fact that all of your youth, all of your boyish charm, and all of your bestselling fame could not get me to look at you for a single second.”
A dark, humiliated flush crept rapidly up Aaron’s neck. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Y/N didn't give him an inch of space. She leaned forward, lowering her voice so the nosy junior editors nearby couldn't hear.
"Harry is twice the man you will ever be, Aaron," she told him firmly. "He doesn't need to demean other men to feel secure. The fact that you think a man's ability to be a devoted partner has an expiration date just proves exactly how much growing up you still have to do."
Aaron swallowed hard, his jaw tight. The arrogant author had been completely shut down, leaving behind exactly what Harry had called him: a boy.
Y/N picked up her red pen again. She looked entirely, devastatingly bored by his presence.
"Get out of my chair," Y/N ordered, returning her eyes to Chapter Twelve. "From this moment forward, my professional boundaries are not a request. We will only communicate regarding this manuscript via email. If you come to my desk to discuss anything other than these edits, I will go directly to Elena and have myself removed from your project. Are we clear?"
Aaron stared at her. He looked completely shell-shocked.
"Loud and clear," he muttered, his voice tight with embarrassment. He stood up abruptly and practically fled back toward the executive suites, leaving the rolling chair abandoned in the aisle.
Y/N didn't watch him leave. She kept her eyes on the paper, her hand hovering over the text.
Beneath the desk, her knees were shaking slightly from the adrenaline. She had done it. She had completely protected her relationship and put him in his place.
But as she stared blindly at the printed words, the venom of Aaron’s insult still poked at the back of her brain. Does he want to get married and have kids?
Harry worshipped her. He showered her in luxury, he claimed her body with terrifying devotion, and he literally built her a sanctuary in his home. But they hadn't actually talked about the future. They had been entirely consumed by the heavy, intoxicating reality of the present.
She needed to see him. She couldn't wait until six o'clock to feel the grounding weight of his hands on her.
Y/N reached for her phone, pulling up the contact saved for Harry's driver. She didn't hesitate.
Have the car at the front of Ink and Bone at 4:00 PM, she typed rapidly. Take me to Vanguard Holdings.
The drive from the creative, chaotic streets of Hackney to the sterile, high-stakes financial district of the City of London was a stark transition.
The black car glided to a smooth halt in front of the towering glass and steel monolith that served as the global headquarters for Vanguard Holdings. The driver, a broad-shouldered man from Harry’s private security detail, immediately stepped out to open her door.
Y/N stepped onto the pavement, pulling her wool coat tighter around her cream silk blouse.
The lobby of Vanguard Holdings was an intimidating expanse of white marble, brushed steel, and absolute corporate power. Men and women in thousand-pound bespoke suits moved with frantic, ruthless energy. It was a world designed to make people feel small.
Y/N didn't shrink. She had been here enough times to know exactly how to carry herself. She kept her chin up, channeling the exact same unbothered, lethal confidence Harry wore so effortlessly. Her heels clicked a sharp, steady rhythm against the marble as she walked straight toward the main security desk.
Ralph, the towering head of lobby security, immediately broke into a warm, familiar smile the second he saw her.
"Good afternoon, Y/N," Ralph greeted, not even bothering to reach for the visitor log. He swiped a black master keycard against the private turnstile for her. "He isn’t expecting you, is he?"
"No, a bit of a surprise visit today, Ralph," Y/N smiled gratefully, stepping through. "Is he upstairs?"
"Always," Ralph nodded. "Go straight up."
The ride to the top floor in the private executive elevator was silent and fast, her stomach dropping slightly as the car shot up thirty stories.
When the metal doors slid open, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The frantic energy of the lobby vanished, replaced by a heavy, soundproofed luxury. The executive floor smelled of rich mahogany, fresh espresso, and the faint, familiar bite of Harry’s cedarwood cologne.
Andrea, Harry’s highly efficient and normally unflappable secretary, looked up from her polished desk. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Y/N!" Andrea breathed, quickly standing up. "He didn't tell me you were coming in."
"He doesn't know. I needed to see him," Y/N replied smoothly, dropping her tote bag onto a nearby leather sofa. She looked toward the heavy, solid oak double doors of Harry's private office. "Is he alone?"
Andrea grimaced slightly, lowering her voice. "Not exactly. He’s got five of the senior VPs in there right now. They are right in the middle of a massive structural review for an acquisition. It’s been tense all afternoon."
"Thank you, Andrea," Y/N smiled politely. She didn't hesitate. She walked right past the secretary's desk.
Y/N didn't knock. She simply pushed one of the heavy oak doors open and stepped into the room.
Six older, incredibly intimidating men in dark suits were gathered around the seating area in front of his desk, staring intensely at a series of financial documents.
Harry was standing behind his desk. He had taken his suit jacket off. His crisp white shirt was rolled up to his forearms. He was in the middle of speaking, his voice a low, commanding whip that demanded absolute silence in the room. He looked like a god among corporate mortals, ruthless, brilliant, and entirely in control.
Harry glanced up at the interruption, his jaw tight with annoyance.
The second his green eyes landed on Y/N, the ruthless ceo vanished completely. He stopped speaking mid-sentence. His entire posture shifted, the hard lines of his face instantly softening into a look of focused, overwhelming concern.
"We are done here," Harry announced flatly.
The room erupted into confused murmurs. The man sitting closest to the desk, a senior vice president, leaned forward in disbelief. "Styles, we haven't finalized the asset liquidation. If we stop now, the markets will—"
"I said, we are done," Harry barked, his voice dropping into a deadly, uncompromising growl that made the older man physically flinch. "Leave the files. Clear my office. Now."
No one argued twice. The executives quickly gathered their tablets, throwing highly curious, side-eye glances at Y/N as they rapidly filed out of the room.
The second the heavy oak door clicked shut behind the last man, completely sealing them in the soundproofed office, Harry closed the distance between them.
"Darling," he breathed, his large hands immediately coming up to cup her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his eyes scanning her face frantically for any sign of tears or physical distress. "It's four o'clock. You're supposed to be at the publishing house. What happened?"
The absolute, unshakeable devotion in his voice nearly broke he composure. Y/N let out a long, shaky exhale, melting into his touch. Her hands came up to grip his strong wrists.
"I'm okay," she promised softly, stepping closer to press her chest against his. "I just... I needed to see you."
Harry's racing pulse slowed slightly, but his eyes remained dark and intensely focused. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, burying his face in her hair. " I know you. Tell me exactly what happened, Y/N."
She stayed tucked in the safety of his arms and told him. She kept her voice steady as she recounted the encounter with Aaron. The rejected pub invitation, the bruised ego, and the bitter, disrespectful comments at her desk.
When she told him that Aaron had called him "too old," Harry actually laughed.
It was a low, dark, incredibly arrogant sound that vibrated against her chest. He pulled back just enough to look down at her, a wicked, mocking smirk curving his lips.
"He called me old?" Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Fucking hell. Is that really the best the boy could come up with? He must be truly desperate if he's resorting to basic age demographics to try and impress you."
"I handled it," Y/N assured him, her chin tilting up with pride. "I told him exactly how pathetic he was, and I restricted him to email communication only. He looked like he was going to cry when I was done with him."
"What a ruthless girl," Harry praised smoothly, his eyes flashing with a dark, heavy pride. He leaned down, pressing a hard, approving kiss to her lips. "I am incredibly proud of you for putting him in his place. Though I still might buy Ink and Bone tomorrow just to fire him."
"Harry," she warned playfully, though her smile faded slightly as the final part of the conversation returned to the forefront of her mind. "There was... one other thing he said. To try and get under my skin."
Harry caught the shift in her tone immediately. The arrogant amusement vanished. "What did he say?"
Y/N took a breath, looking up into his piercing green eyes. "He asked if you wanted to get married and have kids. He said... he said a man of your caliber couldn't give me that anymore. That you wouldn't want a future like that."
The air in the private office completely froze.
Harry went absolutely rigid. The confident, cheeky smirk was wiped from his face so fast it was terrifying. His green eyes darkened into a shade of black so deep it looked like a void. The shift wasn't just anger; it was a violent, primal possessiveness that instantly consumed every inch of the room.
"He said what?" Harry asked, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating whisper.
"I know I shouldn't listen to him," Y/N rushed to clarify, suddenly hyper-aware of the sheer danger radiating off the man holding her. "I know he was just trying to hurt me because his ego was bruised."
He didn't say a word. He turned around, walked over to the heavy oak doors of his office, and threw the deadbolt. The sharp, metallic click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the silent, completely secluded room.
But he didn't cross the room and rip her clothes off.
Instead, Harry let out a long, slow exhale. The muscle feathering in his jaw relaxed. He leaned back against the heavy oak door, crossing his arms over his chest as he simply looked at her. A slow, wicked, and entirely arrogant smirk began to curve the corners of his lips.
"Too old," Harry repeated, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to carry through the floorboards. "I suppose I should be offended. I did just finish a rather aggressive ten-mile run this morning before that boy even had his first cup of coffee."
Y/N let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, a helpless, breathless laugh escaping her. The dangerous, suffocating tension in the room instantly shifted into something heavy, magnetic, and incredibly teasing.
"I tried to tell him you have excellent stamina," Y/N joked softly, the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins.
"Did you?" Harry chuckled darkly. He pushed off the door, his movements fluid and unhurried as he walked over to the antique crystal wet bar sitting in the corner of his office. He poured a single finger of amber scotch into a glass. "You should have reminded him that my knees held up perfectly fine on the hardwood floor of your office last night."
Y/N’s cheeks burned instantly. "Harry, I wasn't going to discuss our sex life in the middle of an open-plan publishing house."
"Why not?" Harry asked smoothly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. He looked over the rim of the glass at her, his green eyes flashing with pure, unfiltered mischief. "I am quite proud of my work. I would gladly submit my performance for peer review."
"You are impossible," she smiled, shaking her head.
Harry set the glass down. He didn't stay across the room. He closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate, predatory steps until he was standing just inches away from her. He didn't touch her, but his sheer proximity and the heat radiating off his body were completely intoxicating.
"So," Harry murmured, leaning down slightly so his mouth was hovering just above her ear. "Since my age has suddenly become a topic of corporate interest... tell me, darling. Exactly how many children does he think I can't give you?"
Y/N’s breath hitched. "Harry..."
"I need to know, Y/N," he teased, his breath ghosting over her neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine. "I am a man who likes to plan his investments. If we are having three, I will need to look into purchasing a country estate. The house is massive, but I don't want toy cars scratching the marble floors."
Y/N turned her head, looking up into his eyes. She expected to see him completely joking, but beneath the cheeky, arrogant banter, the look in his green eyes was intensely, terrifyingly sincere. He wasn't playing.
"You want a country estate?" she whispered, her heart doing a frantic, heavy flutter against her ribs.
"I want whatever you want," Harry answered effortlessly, his large hand coming up to gently cup her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheekbone. "If you want a massive wedding at a cathedral in Italy, I will buy out the Vatican. If you want to elope in a registry office in Chelsea tomorrow, I will cancel all of my afternoon meetings."
"You have a board meeting," she breathed, completely melted by the absolute, grounding devotion in his voice.
"The board can wait. They work for me. I work for you," he corrected, a soft, incredibly boyish smile breaking through his sharp, aristocratic features. "I am forty-five years old, Y/N. I don't play games, and I do not waste time. And I certainly don't let twenty-something kids dictate the timeline of my relationship."
He stepped closer, backing her up until her thighs hit the edge of his massive executive desk. He didn't lift her onto it. He simply caged her in, his hands resting on the mahogany on either side of her hips.
"You aren't just a fling or someone temporary to me, Y/N," Harry told her, his voice dropping an octave, losing all of its teasing edge. It was a heavy, profound promise. "I am playing for keeps. I want the entire future. I want the marriage, I want the kids, and I want you looking exactly like this when I am old, gray, and forcing a nurse to push my wheelchair around the house.”
Silent tears of pure, overwhelming emotion pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes. She brought her hands up, resting them flat against the crisp white cotton of his shirt, feeling the steady, thundering beat of his heart.
"I want that too," Y/N whispered, her voice thick. "I don't care how old you are. I just want you."
Harry’s eyes darkened. He let out a low, rough exhale, leaning down to press a slow, deeply tender kiss to her lips. It wasn't frantic or demanding. It was a complete, absolute surrender.
When he pulled back, he reached into the pocket of his tailored trousers. He didn't pull out a velvet ring box, but what he did pull out carried just as much permanent, terrifying weight.
He placed a heavy, matte black keycard onto the desk beside her.
"This is the master access card to the townhouse," Harry told her, holding her gaze with an uncompromising certainty. "It overrides security. It gives you access to the private garage, and every room in my home. It is yours."
Y/N stared at the small piece of black plastic.
"Harry," she whispered. "Are you asking me to move in?"
"I am officially notifying you that your lease in Hackney is no longer necessary," he corrected smoothly, his wicked smirk returning as he picked up her left hand, pressing a soft kiss to her ring finger. "Bring whatever you want. But from tonight forward, it is your home too"
He didn't need to throw her on the desk to prove his dominance. He had completely rewritten the rules of the game. Aaron had tried to use the future as a weapon, and Harry had effortlessly used it to build them a permanent empire.
Y/N looked from the keycard up to the man who held the world in the palm of his hand, and smiled.
"Okay," she breathed.
"Okay," Harry repeated softly. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, the promise of a very thorough, very private celebration lingering heavily in the air between them. "Now... unless you actually want to ruin my filing system, I suggest we leave before my board of directors stages a mutiny outside that door."
Harry didn't buy out the Vatican.
Despite the fact that Vanguard Holdings had a record-breaking year, and Harry could have easily rented out Westminster Abbey and flown in a thousand corporate guests on private jets, their wedding was the exact opposite of a billionaire's spectacle.
It happened on a quiet, Tuesday in late October.
They drove out to a tiny, historic stone chapel in the Cotswolds. There was no press, and absolutely no networking. The guest list consisted of exactly five people: Y/N’s father and mother, Harry’s mother, and two of their closest friends to serve as witnesses.
Y/N wore a simple, breathtakingly elegant silk slip dress with a vintage lace veil that trailed lightly over the ancient stone floor. Harry, ever the traditionalist, wore a three-piece suit that made him look terrifyingly handsome.
But when the heavy wooden doors of the chapel opened and Y/N began to walk down the short, candlelit aisle, the untouchable ceo openly wept.
He didn't try to hide it. As she stopped in front of him, slipping her hands into his trembling ones, a single tear tracked down his sharp cheekbone. His green eyes were completely overwhelmed, shining with a depth of love that simply could not be quantified, bought, or negotiated.
Their vows were quiet, meant only for each other and the echoing rafters of the small church. When Harry slid the heavy, gold band onto her left hand, resting it perfectly beneath her engagement ring, his thumb brushed lovingly over her knuckles.
"I told you I was playing for keeps," he whispered, a tearful, breathtaking smile breaking across his face as he echoed the promise he had made in his office years ago.
"Always," Y/N promised back, her own vision blurring with happy tears.
When the vicar finally pronounced them husband and wife, Harry didn't kiss her with polite, public restraint. He pulled her flush against his chest, burying his hands in her hair, and kissed her with a deep, consuming adoration that stole the breath straight from her lungs.
The transition into married life only deepened the heavy, magnetic devotion between them. And exactly six months after the wedding, Harry’s promise of the entire future finally caught up to them.
It was a completely ordinary Thursday morning in the Mayfair townhouse. Harry was standing in the master bathroom, dressed in his suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, knotting his silk tie in the mirror as he prepared to go into the office and dismantle a rival firm.
Y/N walked into the bathroom, her hands shaking slightly. She didn't say a word. She simply walked up beside him and set the small, white plastic stick on the marble vanity, right next to his expensive cedarwood cologne.
Harry paused mid-knot. He looked down.
The man who regularly managed billions of pounds without breaking a sweat, completely short-circuited.
He stared at the two bright pink lines for a long, heavy moment. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he slowly turned his head to look at her, his green eyes wide and completely blown out with shock.
"Y/N," Harry breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this...?"
"Yes," she laughed softly, tears already spilling down her cheeks.
Harry didn't hug her right away. Instinct took over. The man who bowed to absolutely no one immediately dropped to his knees on the cold floor. He wrapped his arms tightly around her hips, pressing his face directly against her stomach.
"a baby," he murmured into the soft cotton of her pajamas, his broad shoulders shaking slightly as the reality hit him. He pressed a flurry of hot, reverent kisses to her stomach, completely uncaring that his expensive trousers were on the bathroom floor. "You're carrying our child."
He stayed on his knees for a long time, holding her as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the entire world. He was late to his meeting that day. In fact, he canceled all his meetings for the rest of the week, utterly refusing to leave her side.
seven months later
It was a brilliant, sunny Sunday morning in London. The heavy drapes in the Mayfair townhouse were pulled wide open, flooding the state-of-the-art kitchen with warm, golden light.
Y/N was in an impossibly good mood. She had her favorite playlist humming softly through the house speakers, and she was practically skipping across the polished hardwood floor as she gathered ingredients for pancakes.
She was incredibly, beautifully pregnant. She was wearing a pair of loose, comfortable mom jeans whose button had long since surrendered, held up by a soft maternity band. On top, she had stolen one of Harry's classic white t-shirts. Because of the prominent, heavy swell of her seven-month belly, the shirt had become entirely too short, riding up to leave the bottom curve of her bare stomach completely exposed to the warm air.
She didn't care. She felt entirely comfortable, completely safe, and ridiculously loved. She did a happy, waddling little skip toward the fridge, humming along to the music.
Sitting at the massive marble kitchen island was Harry.
He was dressed down in soft gray sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, a mug of black coffee resting in his hands. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't reading the financial times. He was completely, utterly captivated by the woman skipping around his kitchen.
His green eyes tracked her every movement, a soft, devastatingly fond smile playing on his lips. He watched the way the white t-shirt fluttered, exposing the bare skin of her belly, and his chest expanded with a profound, heavy ache of pure adoration.
As Y/N skipped past the island with a carton of eggs, Harry reached out. His large, warm hand effortlessly caught her waist, spinning her gently and pulling her directly between his parted knees.
"Hi," Y/N giggled, resting her hands on his broad shoulders.
"Hi," Harry rumbled, his voice thick with sleep and absolute worship.
He didn't look at her face right away. He leaned forward, his face burying directly into the exposed, bare curve of her stomach where the white t-shirt rode up. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her skin, his large hands splaying out warmly over her hips.
Right on cue, the baby gave a sharp, noticeable kick directly against Harry’s cheek.
Harry let out a low, incredibly warm chuckle, turning his head to press another kiss right over the spot. "Good morning to you too, sweetheart. Mum is just trying to make breakfast."
Y/N ran her fingers through the soft, messy chaos of his morning curls, her heart swelling until she thought it might physically burst.
Harry slowly tilted his head back to look up at her. The golden sunlight caught the sharp, lines of his face, illuminating the absolute peace in his green eyes. The ruthless CEO was nowhere to be found. This was a man who had everything he had ever wanted, right here between his arms.
Aaron had asked what her future looked like. He had tried to weaponize Harry's age, implying that a man of his caliber couldn't give her the domestic, beautiful life she deserved.
But as Harry looked up at her, at his wife, at the mother of his child, standing in the home they had built together, he pulled her down for a slow, breathtakingly tender kiss that tasted of coffee and forever.
He had promised her the entire world in that office two years ago. And as he wrapped his arms around her and their unborn child, holding them close against his chest, Y/N knew with absolute certainty that he had delivered on every single word.
And just like that, we have reached the end. Saying goodbye to this 10-part journey is incredibly bittersweet. When I first started writing this universe, I never could have imagined how much I would fall in love with them. A massive, heartfelt thank you to my early access readers for cheering them on from the very beginning. let me know if you liked the end.
baby — ten
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.
A/N: Hello everyone! Here is the last chapter. Thank you for all the support. It makes me very happy to know that all of you enjoyed it!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
📌 baby's masterlist
taglist: @mysunflowerposts, @marinrscomplex, @ashloveshockey, @fkingstyles, @lillefroe, @satellitelh, @viamoree, @pizzadragono7, @buckyssbestgirl, @dumbandp03tic, @cathedralnoise, @namelesssav, @love-letters-to-uranus, @linabobinaa, @friggadotior0212, @i-got-the-cinema, @ghostlyscene13, @aileen1237, @piscesweetheart, @girlbloggerlg, @storiesinthestars15, @iheartfineline, @alriguess, @lichi-dunkera
Y/N felt her stomach drop. She stared at Aaron, her fingers gripping her red pen so hard the plastic groaned.
The sheer audacity of it was actually mind-blowing. He was sitting at her desk, in her office, casually insulting the man she loved just because she wouldn't go to a pub with him.
For a split second, she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to slap the smug, bitter smirk right off his face. But then she remembered exactly whose schedule she was on. Harry didn't yell. Harry dismantled people quietly, with absolute, freezing precision.
Y/N took a deep breath. She set her pen down with a sharp click.
"Are you quite finished?" Y/N asked.
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't tremble. It was deadpan and freezing cold, instantly stripping the mocking amusement from Aaron’s face.
Aaron shifted uncomfortably in the cheap rolling chair, his brow furrowing. "I'm just saying—"
"I heard exactly what you said," Y/N cut him off, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "And it is, without a doubt, the most pathetic display of a bruised ego I have ever witnessed."
Aaron’s amber eyes widened in shock. "Excuse me?"
"You invited me to a pub. I politely declined because I am doing my job," Y/N stated clinically, dismantling him with the same ruthless precision she used on his manuscript. "And instead of accepting that rejection with a shred of grace, you instantly decided to attack the man I love. You are attempting to weaponize his age because you are deeply insecure about the fact that all of your youth, all of your boyish charm, and all of your bestselling fame could not get me to look at you for a single second.”
A dark, humiliated flush crept rapidly up Aaron’s neck. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Y/N didn't give him an inch of space. She leaned forward, lowering her voice so the nosy junior editors nearby couldn't hear.
"Harry is twice the man you will ever be, Aaron," she told him firmly. "He doesn't need to demean other men to feel secure. The fact that you think a man's ability to be a devoted partner has an expiration date just proves exactly how much growing up you still have to do."
Aaron swallowed hard, his jaw tight. The arrogant author had been completely shut down, leaving behind exactly what Harry had called him: a boy.
Y/N picked up her red pen again. She looked entirely, devastatingly bored by his presence.
"Get out of my chair," Y/N ordered, returning her eyes to Chapter Twelve. "From this moment forward, my professional boundaries are not a request. We will only communicate regarding this manuscript via email. If you come to my desk to discuss anything other than these edits, I will go directly to Elena and have myself removed from your project. Are we clear?"
Aaron stared at her. He looked completely shell-shocked.
"Loud and clear," he muttered, his voice tight with embarrassment. He stood up abruptly and practically fled back toward the executive suites, leaving the rolling chair abandoned in the aisle.
Y/N didn't watch him leave. She kept her eyes on the paper, her hand hovering over the text.
Beneath the desk, her knees were shaking slightly from the adrenaline. She had done it. She had completely protected her relationship and put him in his place.
But as she stared blindly at the printed words, the venom of Aaron’s insult still poked at the back of her brain. Does he want to get married and have kids?
Harry worshipped her. He showered her in luxury, he claimed her body with terrifying devotion, and he literally built her a sanctuary in his home. But they hadn't actually talked about the future. They had been entirely consumed by the heavy, intoxicating reality of the present.
She needed to see him. She couldn't wait until six o'clock to feel the grounding weight of his hands on her.
Y/N reached for her phone, pulling up the contact saved for Harry's driver. She didn't hesitate.
Have the car at the front of Ink and Bone at 4:00 PM, she typed rapidly. Take me to Vanguard Holdings.
The drive from the creative, chaotic streets of Hackney to the sterile, high-stakes financial district of the City of London was a stark transition.
The black car glided to a smooth halt in front of the towering glass and steel monolith that served as the global headquarters for Vanguard Holdings. The driver, a broad-shouldered man from Harry’s private security detail, immediately stepped out to open her door.
Y/N stepped onto the pavement, pulling her wool coat tighter around her cream silk blouse.
The lobby of Vanguard Holdings was an intimidating expanse of white marble, brushed steel, and absolute corporate power. Men and women in thousand-pound bespoke suits moved with frantic, ruthless energy. It was a world designed to make people feel small.
Y/N didn't shrink. She had been here enough times to know exactly how to carry herself. She kept her chin up, channeling the exact same unbothered, lethal confidence Harry wore so effortlessly. Her heels clicked a sharp, steady rhythm against the marble as she walked straight toward the main security desk.
Ralph, the towering head of lobby security, immediately broke into a warm, familiar smile the second he saw her.
"Good afternoon, Y/N," Ralph greeted, not even bothering to reach for the visitor log. He swiped a black master keycard against the private turnstile for her. "He isn’t expecting you, is he?"
"No, a bit of a surprise visit today, Ralph," Y/N smiled gratefully, stepping through. "Is he upstairs?"
"Always," Ralph nodded. "Go straight up."
The ride to the top floor in the private executive elevator was silent and fast, her stomach dropping slightly as the car shot up thirty stories.
When the metal doors slid open, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The frantic energy of the lobby vanished, replaced by a heavy, soundproofed luxury. The executive floor smelled of rich mahogany, fresh espresso, and the faint, familiar bite of Harry’s cedarwood cologne.
Andrea, Harry’s highly efficient and normally unflappable secretary, looked up from her polished desk. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Y/N!" Andrea breathed, quickly standing up. "He didn't tell me you were coming in."
"He doesn't know. I needed to see him," Y/N replied smoothly, dropping her tote bag onto a nearby leather sofa. She looked toward the heavy, solid oak double doors of Harry's private office. "Is he alone?"
Andrea grimaced slightly, lowering her voice. "Not exactly. He’s got five of the senior VPs in there right now. They are right in the middle of a massive structural review for an acquisition. It’s been tense all afternoon."
"Thank you, Andrea," Y/N smiled politely. She didn't hesitate. She walked right past the secretary's desk.
Y/N didn't knock. She simply pushed one of the heavy oak doors open and stepped into the room.
Six older, incredibly intimidating men in dark suits were gathered around the seating area in front of his desk, staring intensely at a series of financial documents.
Harry was standing behind his desk. He had taken his suit jacket off. His crisp white shirt was rolled up to his forearms. He was in the middle of speaking, his voice a low, commanding whip that demanded absolute silence in the room. He looked like a god among corporate mortals, ruthless, brilliant, and entirely in control.
Harry glanced up at the interruption, his jaw tight with annoyance.
The second his green eyes landed on Y/N, the ruthless ceo vanished completely. He stopped speaking mid-sentence. His entire posture shifted, the hard lines of his face instantly softening into a look of focused, overwhelming concern.
"We are done here," Harry announced flatly.
The room erupted into confused murmurs. The man sitting closest to the desk, a senior vice president, leaned forward in disbelief. "Styles, we haven't finalized the asset liquidation. If we stop now, the markets will—"
"I said, we are done," Harry barked, his voice dropping into a deadly, uncompromising growl that made the older man physically flinch. "Leave the files. Clear my office. Now."
No one argued twice. The executives quickly gathered their tablets, throwing highly curious, side-eye glances at Y/N as they rapidly filed out of the room.
The second the heavy oak door clicked shut behind the last man, completely sealing them in the soundproofed office, Harry closed the distance between them.
"Darling," he breathed, his large hands immediately coming up to cup her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his eyes scanning her face frantically for any sign of tears or physical distress. "It's four o'clock. You're supposed to be at the publishing house. What happened?"
The absolute, unshakeable devotion in his voice nearly broke he composure. Y/N let out a long, shaky exhale, melting into his touch. Her hands came up to grip his strong wrists.
"I'm okay," she promised softly, stepping closer to press her chest against his. "I just... I needed to see you."
Harry's racing pulse slowed slightly, but his eyes remained dark and intensely focused. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, burying his face in her hair. " I know you. Tell me exactly what happened, Y/N."
She stayed tucked in the safety of his arms and told him. She kept her voice steady as she recounted the encounter with Aaron. The rejected pub invitation, the bruised ego, and the bitter, disrespectful comments at her desk.
When she told him that Aaron had called him "too old," Harry actually laughed.
It was a low, dark, incredibly arrogant sound that vibrated against her chest. He pulled back just enough to look down at her, a wicked, mocking smirk curving his lips.
"He called me old?" Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Fucking hell. Is that really the best the boy could come up with? He must be truly desperate if he's resorting to basic age demographics to try and impress you."
"I handled it," Y/N assured him, her chin tilting up with pride. "I told him exactly how pathetic he was, and I restricted him to email communication only. He looked like he was going to cry when I was done with him."
"What a ruthless girl," Harry praised smoothly, his eyes flashing with a dark, heavy pride. He leaned down, pressing a hard, approving kiss to her lips. "I am incredibly proud of you for putting him in his place. Though I still might buy Ink and Bone tomorrow just to fire him."
"Harry," she warned playfully, though her smile faded slightly as the final part of the conversation returned to the forefront of her mind. "There was... one other thing he said. To try and get under my skin."
Harry caught the shift in her tone immediately. The arrogant amusement vanished. "What did he say?"
Y/N took a breath, looking up into his piercing green eyes. "He asked if you wanted to get married and have kids. He said... he said a man of your caliber couldn't give me that anymore. That you wouldn't want a future like that."
The air in the private office completely froze.
Harry went absolutely rigid. The confident, cheeky smirk was wiped from his face so fast it was terrifying. His green eyes darkened into a shade of black so deep it looked like a void. The shift wasn't just anger; it was a violent, primal possessiveness that instantly consumed every inch of the room.
"He said what?" Harry asked, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating whisper.
"I know I shouldn't listen to him," Y/N rushed to clarify, suddenly hyper-aware of the sheer danger radiating off the man holding her. "I know he was just trying to hurt me because his ego was bruised."
He didn't say a word. He turned around, walked over to the heavy oak doors of his office, and threw the deadbolt. The sharp, metallic click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the silent, completely secluded room.
But he didn't cross the room and rip her clothes off.
Instead, Harry let out a long, slow exhale. The muscle feathering in his jaw relaxed. He leaned back against the heavy oak door, crossing his arms over his chest as he simply looked at her. A slow, wicked, and entirely arrogant smirk began to curve the corners of his lips.
"Too old," Harry repeated, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to carry through the floorboards. "I suppose I should be offended. I did just finish a rather aggressive ten-mile run this morning before that boy even had his first cup of coffee."
Y/N let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, a helpless, breathless laugh escaping her. The dangerous, suffocating tension in the room instantly shifted into something heavy, magnetic, and incredibly teasing.
"I tried to tell him you have excellent stamina," Y/N joked softly, the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins.
"Did you?" Harry chuckled darkly. He pushed off the door, his movements fluid and unhurried as he walked over to the antique crystal wet bar sitting in the corner of his office. He poured a single finger of amber scotch into a glass. "You should have reminded him that my knees held up perfectly fine on the hardwood floor of your office last night."
Y/N’s cheeks burned instantly. "Harry, I wasn't going to discuss our sex life in the middle of an open-plan publishing house."
"Why not?" Harry asked smoothly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. He looked over the rim of the glass at her, his green eyes flashing with pure, unfiltered mischief. "I am quite proud of my work. I would gladly submit my performance for peer review."
"You are impossible," she smiled, shaking her head.
Harry set the glass down. He didn't stay across the room. He closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate, predatory steps until he was standing just inches away from her. He didn't touch her, but his sheer proximity and the heat radiating off his body were completely intoxicating.
"So," Harry murmured, leaning down slightly so his mouth was hovering just above her ear. "Since my age has suddenly become a topic of corporate interest... tell me, darling. Exactly how many children does he think I can't give you?"
Y/N’s breath hitched. "Harry..."
"I need to know, Y/N," he teased, his breath ghosting over her neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine. "I am a man who likes to plan his investments. If we are having three, I will need to look into purchasing a country estate. The house is massive, but I don't want toy cars scratching the marble floors."
Y/N turned her head, looking up into his eyes. She expected to see him completely joking, but beneath the cheeky, arrogant banter, the look in his green eyes was intensely, terrifyingly sincere. He wasn't playing.
"You want a country estate?" she whispered, her heart doing a frantic, heavy flutter against her ribs.
"I want whatever you want," Harry answered effortlessly, his large hand coming up to gently cup her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheekbone. "If you want a massive wedding at a cathedral in Italy, I will buy out the Vatican. If you want to elope in a registry office in Chelsea tomorrow, I will cancel all of my afternoon meetings."
"You have a board meeting," she breathed, completely melted by the absolute, grounding devotion in his voice.
"The board can wait. They work for me. I work for you," he corrected, a soft, incredibly boyish smile breaking through his sharp, aristocratic features. "I am forty-five years old, Y/N. I don't play games, and I do not waste time. And I certainly don't let twenty-something kids dictate the timeline of my relationship."
He stepped closer, backing her up until her thighs hit the edge of his massive executive desk. He didn't lift her onto it. He simply caged her in, his hands resting on the mahogany on either side of her hips.
"You aren't just a fling or someone temporary to me, Y/N," Harry told her, his voice dropping an octave, losing all of its teasing edge. It was a heavy, profound promise. "I am playing for keeps. I want the entire future. I want the marriage, I want the kids, and I want you looking exactly like this when I am old, gray, and forcing a nurse to push my wheelchair around the house.”
Silent tears of pure, overwhelming emotion pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes. She brought her hands up, resting them flat against the crisp white cotton of his shirt, feeling the steady, thundering beat of his heart.
"I want that too," Y/N whispered, her voice thick. "I don't care how old you are. I just want you."
Harry’s eyes darkened. He let out a low, rough exhale, leaning down to press a slow, deeply tender kiss to her lips. It wasn't frantic or demanding. It was a complete, absolute surrender.
When he pulled back, he reached into the pocket of his tailored trousers. He didn't pull out a velvet ring box, but what he did pull out carried just as much permanent, terrifying weight.
He placed a heavy, matte black keycard onto the desk beside her.
"This is the master access card to the townhouse," Harry told her, holding her gaze with an uncompromising certainty. "It overrides security. It gives you access to the private garage, and every room in my home. It is yours."
Y/N stared at the small piece of black plastic.
"Harry," she whispered. "Are you asking me to move in?"
"I am officially notifying you that your lease in Hackney is no longer necessary," he corrected smoothly, his wicked smirk returning as he picked up her left hand, pressing a soft kiss to her ring finger. "Bring whatever you want. But from tonight forward, it is your home too"
He didn't need to throw her on the desk to prove his dominance. He had completely rewritten the rules of the game. Aaron had tried to use the future as a weapon, and Harry had effortlessly used it to build them a permanent empire.
Y/N looked from the keycard up to the man who held the world in the palm of his hand, and smiled.
"Okay," she breathed.
"Okay," Harry repeated softly. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, the promise of a very thorough, very private celebration lingering heavily in the air between them. "Now... unless you actually want to ruin my filing system, I suggest we leave before my board of directors stages a mutiny outside that door."
Harry didn't buy out the Vatican.
Despite the fact that Vanguard Holdings had a record-breaking year, and Harry could have easily rented out Westminster Abbey and flown in a thousand corporate guests on private jets, their wedding was the exact opposite of a billionaire's spectacle.
It happened on a quiet, Tuesday in late October.
They drove out to a tiny, historic stone chapel in the Cotswolds. There was no press, and absolutely no networking. The guest list consisted of exactly five people: Y/N’s father and mother, Harry’s mother, and two of their closest friends to serve as witnesses.
Y/N wore a simple, breathtakingly elegant silk slip dress with a vintage lace veil that trailed lightly over the ancient stone floor. Harry, ever the traditionalist, wore a three-piece suit that made him look terrifyingly handsome.
But when the heavy wooden doors of the chapel opened and Y/N began to walk down the short, candlelit aisle, the untouchable ceo openly wept.
He didn't try to hide it. As she stopped in front of him, slipping her hands into his trembling ones, a single tear tracked down his sharp cheekbone. His green eyes were completely overwhelmed, shining with a depth of love that simply could not be quantified, bought, or negotiated.
Their vows were quiet, meant only for each other and the echoing rafters of the small church. When Harry slid the heavy, gold band onto her left hand, resting it perfectly beneath her engagement ring, his thumb brushed lovingly over her knuckles.
"I told you I was playing for keeps," he whispered, a tearful, breathtaking smile breaking across his face as he echoed the promise he had made in his office years ago.
"Always," Y/N promised back, her own vision blurring with happy tears.
When the vicar finally pronounced them husband and wife, Harry didn't kiss her with polite, public restraint. He pulled her flush against his chest, burying his hands in her hair, and kissed her with a deep, consuming adoration that stole the breath straight from her lungs.
The transition into married life only deepened the heavy, magnetic devotion between them. And exactly six months after the wedding, Harry’s promise of the entire future finally caught up to them.
It was a completely ordinary Thursday morning in the Mayfair townhouse. Harry was standing in the master bathroom, dressed in his suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, knotting his silk tie in the mirror as he prepared to go into the office and dismantle a rival firm.
Y/N walked into the bathroom, her hands shaking slightly. She didn't say a word. She simply walked up beside him and set the small, white plastic stick on the marble vanity, right next to his expensive cedarwood cologne.
Harry paused mid-knot. He looked down.
The man who regularly managed billions of pounds without breaking a sweat, completely short-circuited.
He stared at the two bright pink lines for a long, heavy moment. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he slowly turned his head to look at her, his green eyes wide and completely blown out with shock.
"Y/N," Harry breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this...?"
"Yes," she laughed softly, tears already spilling down her cheeks.
Harry didn't hug her right away. Instinct took over. The man who bowed to absolutely no one immediately dropped to his knees on the cold floor. He wrapped his arms tightly around her hips, pressing his face directly against her stomach.
"a baby," he murmured into the soft cotton of her pajamas, his broad shoulders shaking slightly as the reality hit him. He pressed a flurry of hot, reverent kisses to her stomach, completely uncaring that his expensive trousers were on the bathroom floor. "You're carrying our child."
He stayed on his knees for a long time, holding her as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the entire world. He was late to his meeting that day. In fact, he canceled all his meetings for the rest of the week, utterly refusing to leave her side.
seven months later
It was a brilliant, sunny Sunday morning in London. The heavy drapes in the Mayfair townhouse were pulled wide open, flooding the state-of-the-art kitchen with warm, golden light.
Y/N was in an impossibly good mood. She had her favorite playlist humming softly through the house speakers, and she was practically skipping across the polished hardwood floor as she gathered ingredients for pancakes.
She was incredibly, beautifully pregnant. She was wearing a pair of loose, comfortable mom jeans whose button had long since surrendered, held up by a soft maternity band. On top, she had stolen one of Harry's classic white t-shirts. Because of the prominent, heavy swell of her seven-month belly, the shirt had become entirely too short, riding up to leave the bottom curve of her bare stomach completely exposed to the warm air.
She didn't care. She felt entirely comfortable, completely safe, and ridiculously loved. She did a happy, waddling little skip toward the fridge, humming along to the music.
Sitting at the massive marble kitchen island was Harry.
He was dressed down in soft gray sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, a mug of black coffee resting in his hands. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't reading the financial times. He was completely, utterly captivated by the woman skipping around his kitchen.
His green eyes tracked her every movement, a soft, devastatingly fond smile playing on his lips. He watched the way the white t-shirt fluttered, exposing the bare skin of her belly, and his chest expanded with a profound, heavy ache of pure adoration.
As Y/N skipped past the island with a carton of eggs, Harry reached out. His large, warm hand effortlessly caught her waist, spinning her gently and pulling her directly between his parted knees.
"Hi," Y/N giggled, resting her hands on his broad shoulders.
"Hi," Harry rumbled, his voice thick with sleep and absolute worship.
He didn't look at her face right away. He leaned forward, his face burying directly into the exposed, bare curve of her stomach where the white t-shirt rode up. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her skin, his large hands splaying out warmly over her hips.
Right on cue, the baby gave a sharp, noticeable kick directly against Harry’s cheek.
Harry let out a low, incredibly warm chuckle, turning his head to press another kiss right over the spot. "Good morning to you too, sweetheart. Mum is just trying to make breakfast."
Y/N ran her fingers through the soft, messy chaos of his morning curls, her heart swelling until she thought it might physically burst.
Harry slowly tilted his head back to look up at her. The golden sunlight caught the sharp, lines of his face, illuminating the absolute peace in his green eyes. The ruthless CEO was nowhere to be found. This was a man who had everything he had ever wanted, right here between his arms.
Aaron had asked what her future looked like. He had tried to weaponize Harry's age, implying that a man of his caliber couldn't give her the domestic, beautiful life she deserved.
But as Harry looked up at her, at his wife, at the mother of his child, standing in the home they had built together, he pulled her down for a slow, breathtakingly tender kiss that tasted of coffee and forever.
He had promised her the entire world in that office two years ago. And as he wrapped his arms around her and their unborn child, holding them close against his chest, Y/N knew with absolute certainty that he had delivered on every single word.
And just like that, we have reached the end. Saying goodbye to this 10-part journey is incredibly bittersweet. When I first started writing this universe, I never could have imagined how much I would fall in love with them. A massive, heartfelt thank you to my early access readers for cheering them on from the very beginning. let me know if you liked the end.
perfect ending thank u !!!
prompt by @whoopsieismelldaisies
"Kinda feeling an angsty, lengthy piece, where Harry is super stressed from jumping between meetings and calls. He’s pissed at the people he works with, more than usual, and when Y/N keeps occasionally talking to him, that frustration builds, until he kinda just snaps and tells her to shut the fuck up🥲 “God, I hate it when you can’t stop rambling!” Kind of vibes.
And he instantly goes “oh shit” mentally because he just yelled at her? His girl? Over something that he’s actually always found very endearing about her?"
tw: shouting, swearing ; word count: ~2.1k
Back and forth. Forth to back. On and on and on about things he could quite frankly not care less about. God, these meetings seemed never-ending, Harry huffed. He brushed his fingers through his cropped hair that still held the small remains of the once tight, long, bouncy curls. They would have just got in his way now, he thought, rubbing his forehead in an attempt at dissolving the headache forming. To no avail.
He sighed, moving spreadsheets across tabs as he prepared for another gruelling hour-long meeting with people who he had no patience for. He believed that his office was solely chosen to hold some of the most difficult people on planet Earth, whether it be due to their lateness, (and lack of care for), rudeness, laziness...the list went on. It deeply frustrated him, and he wondered what he had done to deserve these excuse for colleagues.
He's not usually like this. Harry knows he is normally the kindest he can be, and does his best to treat everyone with respect and love. It comes naturally to him, but with these people, it feels so forced it physically pains him. These people have no respect to give, let alone receive.
He rubbed his eyes and clicked on to the day's third meeting with an exaggerated release of air. He plastered a broad smile as he noticed his face appearing on the bottom right corner of the screen, as around 6 others surrounded him on the top bar.
"Hey, everyone." He forced out in the most joyous tone he possibly could, waving briefly before preparing his notes at his side.
"Harry, thanks for joining us. We thought you wouldn't make it on here." The director of the project snorted smugly.
Harry looked puzzled. "I'm sorry?"
The director, whose name was Keith, Harry recalled, laughed abruptly. "Well, uh...you are 15 minutes late."
Harry paused. He looked at the glaring faces on the screen before him, awkwardly rubbing their necks or looking elsewhere. Shit.
"Oh, I-I'm so sorry- I must have had the time as 2.45, not 2.30. My apologies, everyone." He mustered, through gritted teeth. He swore on his life the email said 2.45, making a mental note to check this.
"Oh, well it did. Last minute change 'cause I've got to meet with someone at 3.30. Personal business, hoped you'd understand."
Fucking dick. After all he's been doing today, he's meant to check an email, what, every five mnutes just because Keith The Prick wants to conduct some "Personal business" instead of doing his job? Bullshit.
Harry paused for a moment, nodding to pretend he was offering respect. "Of course. Terribly sor-" He was abruptly cut off by the sound of singing coming from another room. It was you.
You were singing at the top of your lungs, some song from The 1975, Harry realised. Any other time, this would make his day, now he's too frustrated to like it. The noise was overpowering whatever he needed to say, and the music was blasting from your Amazon Alexa. Harry closed his eyes, trying to retain composure.
"One moment, sorry." He muted himself promptly.
He yelled your name, leavig no attempt to care for how loud he was being, he was muted after all. "I'm on a call!" The music ceased, and he heard a muffled sorry from the other room.
You instantly paused your movements, not wanting upset your boyfriend further. He was probably having a busy day, you thought, collecting the washing and separating it into its piles. You'd chat to him in 15, maybe that would make him feel better.
He resumed the call, sighing and hoping to get this over with as soon as physically possible.
When it ended, Harry clicked that red phone button as fast as his fingers could move, not wanting to lose momentum and quickly moving to the next task. He glanced over his notes from the meeting and opened a Word document, getting straight to typing.
Suddenly, his office door swung open as you came in, all smiles. "Harry! Sorry for the singing! You know I love that song. You know they're playing Reading this year? I wonder if we could go, I never got to go when my exams finished, ugh it was so horrible seeing all my friends go without me! Anywho, we could probably do that payment plan they offer, wouldn't that be great?" You beamed, laying out your stack of hoodies on the small sofa adjacent to his desk.
"Sounds great." he quipped, eyes still fixed on the screen. He really did not have time for this conversation after today, and felt an impending sense of guilt in his stomach for doing so, but sometimes you're allowed to be in a mood. He wished you would leave soon to avoid any issues.
You frowned briefly, shrugging off his tone. It couldn't be anything you've done, after all.
"Doesn't it just! I love camping, but it's okay if you dont we could even book one of those VIP tents! That would be wicked, imagine that! Hopefully it wouldn't be too hot, I mean look at the weather last year for that festival! It was on the news given how bloody hot it was! I don't know if I could handle that, but I'm sure we'd be all good f we just prepared right. Oh, and I'd need to get merch..." Your voice spun round in is head, drawing his mind away from the task at hand. This was going to be very difficult. His frustration was only building more and more and he could feel his headache worsening by the minute.
"Have you seen the video of them at Glastonbury? My god, they looked amazing, especially that lead singer, isn't he just so cool! That rockstar life must be so crazy, I mean imagine you never had a normal job like you're stuck in an office and INSTEAD you just toured and toured-"
"God, I hate it when you can't stop rambling! Can't you see I'm trying to work?" Harry spun around in his chair out of nowhere, cutting you off immediately. His eyes were harsh and cold, his fists clenched by his sides, sitting on the armrests. His eyes bore into your soul, stopping you in your tracks in a way you hadn't even experienced before. He'd never said anything like that to you.
Your jaw sat agape, unsure how to form words.
His, also, loosened, eyes widening as he took into account what he'd said.
"Sweetheart, I didn't mea-"
You ended his sentence for him. "No, that's okay. I'll get out of your way." You took a deep breath, turning around, getting ready to close the door behind you.
"No, it's not okay, please-" He stood up sharply and put his hand between the gap in the door.
"Don't. Drop it. Please don't follow me, Harry." You don't face him as you feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You hadn't meant to upset him, but now he's upset you.
He stopped short, dropping his hand and taking a step back. Shit.
He ran his hands through his hair, collecting his thoughts at an incredibly fast rate. How could be have just said that? What a horrible, unkind thing to say to you, his beautiful, loving girl, who he would never let anything bad happen to? The guilt settled in his chest and stomach, a completely uncomfortable and unwelcome feeling.
But he loves it when you talk. He could listen to you talk all day. About anything you liked. He knows he already has spent days doing so, and he hopes to do so endlessly. What if this damages your freedom to feel like you can do so? He gulped, the anxiety of his words settling in further and further.
Despite this, you told him not to follow you. He knows he should respect your wishes, though it pains him to do so. Meeting you halfway, he let you leave, and turned on his Out Of Office.
A gear switched in Harry's brain, causing him to hastily push all of his work to the side, and get set on fixing this.
He preheated the oven, preparing ingredients on the countertop and putting on an apron.
His brows furrowed as he studied the instructions for your favourite dessert, ring-brandished fingers pressing into the pages as he analysed every word with precision.
After some time, it was ready. Laid out neatly on the kitchen side as neatly as he possibly could, a singular silver spoon sat readily beside the food. Just the one. He knew this should only be only meant for you.
He stepped back and took in the display. Something was missing.
He scanned the room for a notepad and pen, locating a floral to do list. Harry's handwriting wasn't always the best, but he made a very strong attempt at perfecting this. He planted it softly next to the spoon.
'Please never stop talking. I love to hear your voice. I love YOU. -H'
It wasn't enough, but it was all he thought to be acceptable for the moment. He left the scene, deciding to sit on the balcony until you returned.
Your keys clicked into the door and you shrugged off your jacket with a silent sadness. You had certainly calmed down, but unpleasant thoughts still lingered in the back of your mind.
What if you did talk too much? Were you that much of a burden to him? Maybe he deserved some peace and quiet. Maybe you should stay somewhere else tonight, let him have that. It was unfair, if you were overbearing, one voice said. It overpowered any other in your head that was set on defending you.
You hooked your tote bag in its usual place, next to Harry's David Hockney one, and made your way slowly to the kitchen to make a much needed cup of tea. You decided you'd only make one before you even entered the room.
The dessert was laid out before you, and your eyes didn't allow your brain time to register it. You simply travelled straight towards it, exhaustion and hunger taking over.
You glanced at the scene, catching sight of the note beside the tiny spoon. As you read over it, your vision blurred yet again. A brief sense of relief washed over you.
This was until you began to look around the room and allow yourself to search for any sight of sound of Harry. What if he had left for the night? You weren't sure if you wanted to be alone tonight. But maybe that's what he wanted.
You finished making your tea and picked up your dessert, stepping lightly towards the balcony for some fresh air. And that's where he was.
Harry was standing, leaning against the balcony rail and gazing into the London skyline. His breath was shallow and short, his fingers tapped uneasily on the glass in front of him. When he heard the door open behind him, he shot up from his slumped position.
You set your tea and bowl down on the small table beside you, noticing how he was watching your every move.
You straightened up, looking at him briefly before you both opened your mouth to speak.
"Thank you-"
"I'm sorry-"
You both paused, letting out a short, genuine laugh. Harry smiled softly.
"I'm sorry." He took a single step towards you. "I would never in a million years have meant that. I need you to know that." He stopped for reassurance, tilting his head towards you. You nodded softly.
"I could never hate anything about you. Especially not that. I could talk to you and listen to you talk all day, all year, for the rest of my life. Nothing should come between that. Nothing else should come first. You should always come first. You always come first." He rubbed his eyes, reflecting on his shame.
He doesn't then reopen his eyes to look at you, so you begin to take careful steps towards him, so softly he can't hear you. But then he felt your arms snake around his neck, pulling him into you.
"We say stupid things when we're angry." You muttered into the side of his neck as he responds by hooking his arms around your sides. "Doesn't make it okay, but we're not perfect."
"You're perfect, though." He added, leaning his head into yours.
"Far from it." You laughed.
He sighed, releasing you to plant a kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry. I will never do something like that again. You'd never deserve that, and I don't expect you to forgive-"
His sentence is left unfinished as you took him in a kiss.
"Let that be the only way you shut me up." You pointed at him sternly. He nods, dazed.
"I love you." Harry said softly, gazing at you through his eyelashes.
"I love you too." You replied with a smile, running your fingers through the back of his hair.
And here, you thought,
We'll be alright.
HELLOOOO this is officially my first Harry fic hooray!!! I've come such a long way from reading duplicity at the ripe age of 13...Thank you to @whoopsieismelldaisies for this amazing prompt! I'll most likely edit this later to lengthen it or sonething, I literally wrote this in a whole day lol i really hope I did it justice :) plz be sure to like, reblog and follow, and let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for any/all fics!
lots of love,
-- xtremerulez xo
Could we do fluffy blurbs also? Maybe you have sex and it was really passionate and just different. He had wet eyes by the end. and after when you've both caught your breath and it's really quiet, you hear him whisper shyly,"you're the only one I've done that with." And you don't get it at first because neither of you are virgins, and it's not even your first time together. But then you realize that's the most vulnerable he's been with another person.
JAJSJAJJSWJA MY HEART :’)
Sex with Harry was usually pretty normal.
Well, as normal as it could be with Harry.
Normal meaning it was full of playful spanking, accidentally bumping foreheads together, cheeky nipple-sucking, extensive tongue-fucking (not that Y/N’s complaining), and heaps of giggling.
But tonight, it had been different. It had been more intense than the usual, with barely any foreplay or messing around, but rather slow, passionate, rhythmic thrusts, thumbing over lips thoughtfully, kissing of the eyelids and nose with immense care, and lots of wispy, “i love you’s.” When Harry had come, instead of speeding up to get the most out of his climax, he had slowed down even more, cupping Y/N’s jaw in both of his huge palms and kissing her softly but deep, noses brushing together and breathing mingling as he’d pressed himself into her with leisure, gasping and sighing out her name and only her name, rather than any pet names.
He’d normally like to mark bruises all over her chest and shoulders, just out of site of the world to have as their own private little secret, but tonight he had simply sucked lightly and nibbled all of those spots instead, trailing his fingertips around her nipples and down the curve of her hips, ghosting the trails with his lips and mumbling praises such as, “You’re so beautiful, y'know that?” and “You’re so soft and warm and sweet and mine.” And when she had come, he usually would go completely wild and do everything possible to get her to finish fast and hard, but this time he’d rocked his hips into her at a tender pace, pushing inside so fucking deep and drawing her orgasm out for as long as possible.
When Harry had rolled off of her breathlessly, hips shifting around within the sheets as he swallowed thickly and muttered a throaty, “God, you’re tight”, he was utterly tuckered out, so he hadn’t managed to hide what he had intended to. Y/N had seen his eyes– they had been watery and soft. He had been crying. But she hadn’t pushed him on it because he’d immediately cuddled her to his chest, cradling her with love and affection and she didn’t want to jinx it.
After a while, when they’re both laying there staring up at the ceiling with their breathing still catching slightly, Harry’s voice breaks the numbing silence like a knife. His tone is shy and vulnerable, full of slight anguish.
“You’re, uhm…” He scratches at his sweaty scalp lightly, threading his fingers through his messy locks nervously and taking a deep breath in, belting out an anxious chuckle. “You’re the only person I’ve done that with.”
Y/N shifts onto her side, scootching closer to him and tucking a few untamed curls behind his ear. “Done what, Har?”
He breaks their gaze, looking down at his fidgeting fingers, trying to collect his confidence. He gazes up at her through thick lashes, feeling pretty small for someone who’s six-foot-three.
Y/N smiles at him softly, all reassuring and warm and he can feel his doubt melting away like honey on warm bread.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever felt like this with. The first person I’ve ever…made love to.”
Harry watches her expression carefully, gauging her reaction down to the T. At first, Y/N seems surprised. Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen significantly. But then they soften, her entire face seeming to melt like honey, as well. She reaches towards him, pulling his body back over her’s with the sheets tangled around their waists and their hair absolute rats’ nests. But she doesn’t care. She pulls Harry down for a kiss that leaves her nose tingling and her cheeks stinging, feeling so honored that he cared for her so much.
“With you,” Harry pecks at her nose, snuggling his head into her warm neck, “I feel like I can be vulnerable. Like I can show you every part of me and not worry about you judging it. I trust you like you have no clue, Y/N.”
And now it’s her turn to get all watery and soft. She wipes the tears with the back of her hand, laughing lightly through an emotional wave of happiness and feeling like the luckiest girl in the world because she really is.
“Harry,” Y/N cups his jaw in her small palms, looking at him with the same amount of love and adoration he is sharing with her, “I love you, and I’m proud of you. I’m proud of us. Of how far we’ve come and of how much more we have to go. And I just want you to know that there doesn’t go a day where I don’t feel the same way about you.”
The next couple of minutes are full of sniffly noses, rose-scented tissues and lots of tender kisses.
“Now,” Y/N dabs at her eyes with the rumpled sheets, smiling softly, “do you think I could return the favor?”
I've always thought about making H eat his own cum out of Y/N
What an Attacc™..,.,.,
He would do it at times. Right after he’s fucked her real nice and raw and she’s laying there before him, splayed out across the damp sheets, breathing rattling as her hair matts across her sweaty neck and chest. He’s sitting back on his heels, staring at her fondly with a slightly arrogant smirk on his face because he knows only he could do this to her. Only his cock could reduce her to such a primal and emotionally bare state.
Harry has his hands on Y/N’s thighs, thumbing over the heated skin with care and comfort, trying to help her reign back down into reality. He glances down between her legs, digging his two front teeth against his bottom lip as he sees himself spilling out of her, staining the sheets milky white and as well as tainting him with newfound desire.
So he leans down, pulling her wide hips towards his face, suckling the plush flesh of her inner thighs lightly as he makes his way towards her dripping heat, rubbing his nose gently across the simmering skin to take in the scent of utter sex she exudes, swimming in the way her knees begin to quake in anticipation.
“Don’t worry, pet. Jus’ gonna lick into you, s'all. Nothing too extreme…yet.”
He laps his tongue slowly over Y/N’s slick folds, toying the tip against the sensitive bud for only a second, smiling against her when he hears a sharp whine in response. And then he’s nose deep in her cunt, wetting his cheeks with a mixture of his release as well as her own, savoring his saltiness across his tastebuds along with tinges of her sweetness. His eyes roll into the back of his head, soft little moans and hums of appreciation vibrating into her core.
Harry can feel all the juices collecting at the corners of his mouth and running down his chin, which only pushes him to go in deeper, tongue wriggling it’s way into her tight hole to get every last drop out. He moves his face from side to side slowly, button nose knocking against the thick of her clit, which in return causes her to grab at his hair, tugging harshly in overstimulation.
He pulls back, wiping his face down messily with the palm of his hand, suckling his lips into his mouth as his irises twinkle with a narcissistic form of satisfaction.
“Fuck’s sake, babe. We taste so bloody good together.”
Okay but Harry couldn't handle licking into Y/N to swallow his cum. He couldn't handle her walls still pulsating, just the bare thought of having pulled out way to soon because she's so warm and so tight kills him, when he pushes his tongue further. And she really is... tight and warm and oh so sweet, and honestly he doesn't care about his cum anymore, just wants to feel her again,... and then he'd probably be hard again lmao
YOU COME..,.,..INTO MY H. O. M. E…,.,.,
BUT HE REALLY WOULD!!
He’d be sitting there, licking what’s left over from his chin and from when he wiped it across his hand, eyes swelling with desire all over again.
And then he’s on top of her, sliding one hand under the back of her knee and pushing it upwards until it’s level with her navel, opening her up nice and wide for him. He groans all stuttery and weak when she clenches her stomach, watching a new, small stream of excitement flow out of her. He kisses underneath her sweaty jaw, panting with lust and gritting his teeth to try and keep his bearings. “Fuck, princess, so good. D'ya think…think y'can gimme another? Know you can come f'me one more time, yeah?”
Y/N whimpers in sensitivity but nods nonetheless, feeling empty without him inside her.
Harry tucks himself back in slowly, a long grunt toppling from his tongue as he pushes against her warm tightness, feeling her walls throbbing against him as he sinks to the hilt. He lets out a bated breath, sighing through his nose as their foreheads knock, nibbling at her lower lip and whimpering into her hot mouth. “Atta girl, love. Nice and snug. Know y'can squeeze out one more fo’ me. Jus’ one more, for Daddy.”
We’re friends, but
Bang Chan x F!Reader
summary: You'd never risk ruining the friendship, but maybe you'd be more willing if you knew he felt the same.
warnings: FWB, Childhood best friends to lovers, miscommunication, smut, fingering, multiple orgasms (reader), unprotected sex
word count: 4.4k
a/n: I listened to a lot of Bella Kay while writing this, mostly Promise?
I'm scared to death that I'll be wishing for you for the rest of my life.
You've known Chan since middle school; you've known him longer than you haven't, and you don't take that lightly.
Which is why you avoided telling him how you felt when you were 16 and he asked another girl to homecoming.
You avoided telling Chan how you felt when you were 18, and he was choosing which college to go to.
You've avoided telling Chan your feelings every day since you started sleeping together 6 months ago.
"Now you have to tell him how you feel," your friend Minnie says to you the day after you and Chan's very first night together, "because that's for sure happening again." Her voice certain.
"It can't," you say with a shake of your head.
"So pretty." Chan's breath is hot against your face, with his fingers under your skirt working themselves in and out of your cunt with ease. You're sure you're dripping down his wrist.
He has you pressed against the back of Minho's bar's bathroom door. It was a much-needed night out for the group, and also a Wednesday night, so the bar wasn't as packed as it usually is.
While your group of friends is busy playing pool, you allow yourself to be lured away by the man whom you promised you wouldn't even so much as look at with anything but innocent eyes after hooking up for like the 20th time last week.
"he does it on purpose," your best friend Jihyo says in your shared apartment one night. "he knows you can't resist him, but he lets you feel like you're succeeding before tugging you back." She lazily picks at the tub of ice cream in your lap.
"And why would he do that?" You tilt your head, you don't believe her, but you want to know her reasoning.
With the spoon in her mouth, she hums before yanking the silverware out with a pop, "because he likes you just as much as you like him, but you're both too chickenshit to do anything."
You shake your head, retrieving your spoon from her, and as the strawberry cheesecake-flavored ice cream melts on your tongue, you think about Jihyo's words. There's no way Chan sees you as anything but a friend he has sex with sometimes, and even if he did, you can't and won't risk your friendship on a maybe.
"be quiet for me, yeah?" Chan whispers against your ear. "and cum for me." he encourages.
You're not thinking about how messy this is- hooking up in a public bathroom when your friends aren't that far away- when you cum, your mind is only on him, on the man who dyed his hair blonde on a whim and said he'd keep it when you said you liked it.
Clarity doesn't hit till you're watching Chan wash his hands in the sink, "wanna come to mine after? Jeongin is crashing at his parents' tonight."
When you don't respond, he looks at your reflection in the mirror, eyebrows raised in question. You've fixed your skirt, but you're still pressed against the bathroom door. "Chan, we need to stop this."
He looks down to close the tap, but you don't miss the amusement on his face. When he turns to you, the amusement melts away, replaced by something softer when he sees the crease in your brows.
"What's wrong, y/n? This is good, don't you like this?" he's leaning against the sink now, undivided attention on you.
You want to say yes- that's why you keep coming back, but worry sets in every time you catch yourself wondering what he's doing when he's not around, or when you miss him even though you just saw him. Your feelings are getting messier every time you feel his lips on yours, and you can't keep putting yourself through this.
"No." You finally say, a sigh escaping you.
Chan frowns, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as alarm takes over his features. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
You feel guilt immediately for making him think he'd made you uncomfortable in any way.
"No, I don't regret any of this, I just mean-" you finally step away from the door. "You're my best friend, and this already went on for a lot longer than it should have." Chan doesn't say anything, you continue. "I mean, we're only getting older, we should be going out with people, looking for the people we're gonna marry. Not doing.... this." You gesture between the two of you.
Chan's eyes are on your hands, and when they look back up to meet yours, his face is completely wiped of emotion. He's angry, and it scares you a bit. In all your years of friendship, Chan has never once directed his anger towards you, not seriously at least. There was that one time in high school when you promised to save a seat for him on the bus, but your classmate Jeremy took it before you could say anything. Chan rolled his eyes at you, but he still walked you home- in silence.
"What?" You ask nervously.
"No, you're right. We're almost 30 after all." He starts for the door, making you frown.
"That's it?" It's not that you expect him to give you any push back, but you expected at least a little reassurance from him that the two of you are still good and this is the right choice.
"What? I agree with you, it's best we stop here." His blank eyes bore into yours for a couple of seconds before he walked past you and out the bathroom door.
"Is there a deadline for marriage? Why the hell would you say that?" Jihyo all but shouts at you when you fill her and Minnie in on what happened while sitting on the floor of your living room.
"Well, no, but isn't 30 the norm, or at least when you actually think about it?" you ask.
"That's just an excuse," Minnie says with a roll of her eyes. You glare at her.
"What did he say after? Jihyo asks, pulling your eyes away from Minnie.
"Nothing really?" You frown, the memory of Chan's blank expression comes to mind again. "he just agreed with me and then walked out." You shrug.
"Oh, that's what happened between you two, the vibes were really off towards the end of the night." Minnie looks at Jihyo, who nods in agreement.
"off how? We didn't even talk to each other?" You look between the two girls like they're the crazy ones.
"Exactly, you guys are always attached at the hip, laughing and joking, being the loudest of the group."
"I'd argue Changbin is the loudest." you point out, the girls ignore you.
"So he obviously wasn't okay with you calling it off," Jihyo says.
"he said he was!" you exclaim.
"Well, yeah, because he's a man," Jihyo says, but Minnie is the one who finishes her point. "Men are liars."
You sigh before concluding, "he'll get over it." and you don't miss the look Jihyo and Minnie share.
A week of no contact has you feeling like a caged animal in the zoo, watching Chan through the glass as he posts on his IG story and sends messages in the group chat while he refuses to acknowledge you.
You sent a few reels, and when those are left on seen, you sent him a text which he left on read. In all the years you've known Chan, you've never gone a week without any interaction with him.
"You're going tonight." Jihyo throws a dress at you that she picked from her closet.
You groan, you're already showered and wrapped in a towel, as you search for your comfort PJs when Jihyo walks in.
You knew she was going out tonight, so you planned to cuddle on the couch and rot for the rest of the night.
"It's his apartment, and I know he doesn't want me there." you say.
"It's Jeongin's birthday, you can't miss it." As she says this, you uncrumple the dress she threw at you. It's a lacy, black strap dress. "I haven't even worn it yet, so feel honored," Jihyo says before walking to your vanity, picking up your blow dryer.
"Now come here, it's already 8."
"Stop pulling it up." Jihyo scolds you outside Chan and Jeongin's apartment as you wait for someone to answer the door.
You only noticed how booby the dress was after putting it on, but by then it was already too late to change; Jihyo wouldn't let you.
"I'm not trying to flash my tits to all our friends," you hiss.
"No, just one." She responds, but before you could say anything else, the front door swings open.
"Noona!" Han says with so much enthusiasm that it has you already wanting to go home.
Then his eyes drop to your chest, eyebrows raising. "Whoa, that's one way to get someone's attention."
"Shut up or I'll bring up the story of you getting pants," you say, pushing past him and into the apartment.
"I'm shutting up." you hear him say behind you, but your eyes are already on him.
Chan, who looks up as soon as you step into his home, as if he could sense you.
He looks away before you can even raise your hand to wave. You knew you missed him, missed his laugh, his comforting eyes, and his stupid, pretty face. You were very aware that you missed him, but seeing him now, across the room, still avoiding you, really makes you miss him.
"Thanks for coming." Jeongin says cutting through your tunnel vision on Chan.
"Of course." You smile, and Jeongin returns the gesture when you hand him a tiny gift box, his eyes forming small crescents as he pulls you into a side hug, hand lightly patting your arm as he thanks you.
"I'll open it later." he says before excusing himself to place the gift on the dining table along with the others.
"It's working." Minnie says beside you, you look over at her before following her line of sight to catch Chan just as he looks away.
"You should make him jealous." She proposes making you fix her with a squint.
"He's not gonna get jealous of any of these boys." You gesture to the group of the same boys you've known since middle school, high school, and college.
"Of Lee Minho, he might." She suggests the two of you find the man sitting on the couch with a bored expression as Han and Hyunjin speak animatedly to each other on either side of him.
"The two of you dated in college." She reminds you, it was before the two of you became friends, you had the same math class, and he asked you out for coffee a few times, but nothing really happened besides one heated makeup session at a frat party.
"Yeah, and there's a reason we didn't continue. Besides, I'm not using anyone to make Chan jealous." Your voice drops to a whisper at his name. "I just want our friendship back," you turn back to face the scattered friend group.
Your eyes drift to Chan once again, and he's laughing so hard that he has to place his hand over his chest. He looks so beautiful, and you wish you knew what was said to make him laugh like he's losing his breath.
"y/n!" You're pulled from your thoughts by Seungmin calling you from beside the TV in the living room. "Karaoke?" he's holding up a microphone, and YouTube is already pulled up on the TV.
You were with Chan when he decided to stop by the store and look at the options for stereos. As soon as he saw the speakers with two microphones, the first words out of his mouth were "the boys would love this."
You roll your eyes but smile as you cross the living room to him. "Voulez-vous?" he asks. You nod before turning to Han, your duet partner. "You're singing with me?"
"Of course!" Han hops up from his spot on the couch, grabbing the mic from Seungmin.
You get a few encouraging cheers from your friends as they gather around the couches. "I'm after!" Changbin holds up a finger like he's in school asking a question.
As the music plays your friends clap along to the beat, and when it gets to the chorus, they're singing along to the "AH HA!" s
Your eyes find Chan's at some point; he's watching the two of you, smiling, but it isn't the same smile you're used to; it doesn't make a warm feeling settle in your chest like it always has. It really just makes you sad.
You try your best to keep the vibes up, looking over at Han, who's singing like his life depends on it, and almost like he senses you need a pick-me-up, he slings his arm over your shoulder and brings you closer, forcing you to sway with him.
When the song comes to an end, you catch yourself searching for Chan, where he was standing 20 seconds ago, but he's gone.
The night comes to a close by 1am. Most people work in the morning, so the group started to deplete by midnight.
Chan managed to avoid you the whole time, but as your friends stumble out of the house, you decide you're done letting him evade you.
"I'll stay for a bit, to help pick up." you tell Jihyo, who nods and bids you goodbye with a hug.
Minho stands by the door, sharing a look with Jihyo, and he nods like she just gave him a silent order. Then, he says, "Hey, Jeongin, wanna do last call at the bar?"
Jeongin's smile is ear-to-ear because he knows that means drinks are on Minho, and he's gonna make the best of the rest of his night.
"Hyung, don't wait up!" Jeongin shouts over his shoulder to Chan, the tone in his voice resembling that of a mischievous child.
Minho rolls his eyes and shoves the younger man out the door, "byee!" he calls out before slamming the door behind himself.
You turn to see Chan already picking up dirty cups and plates in the living room, trash bag in hand. You get the broom from the hallway closet and start sweeping up any crumbs you find.
You're both silent for a couple of minutes before Chan says, "You didn't have to stay."
"I always do, the oldest, remember?" you say lightheartedly. It was the role Chan appointed to himself; he always stayed behind to pick up, always arrived first at restaurants, and always planned trips for the group. You, at some point, slid yourself beside him, blaming it on being one of the two older ones in the friend group.
"That was before," he says so low you almost miss it. The broom pauses mid-sweep, and you look up at the man who continues to pick up like he didn't just say something that has confirmed all your fears.
"Before what?" you ask because, for some sick reason, you need him to say it bluntly. You need him to tell you that your friendship will never be the same again, you'll never be best friends again.
Chan looks up, expression bored, like he would rather be watching paint dry than waste his time talking to you.
"before we had sex?" you feel your lip twitch.
Chan sighs, shaking his head as he goes back to picking up trash. "Let's just drop it."
You abandon the broom, walking closer to him. "No. Tell me." You wait for Chan to look up at you before saying, "Did I fuck everything up?"
His eyes flicker back and forth between your eyes. "What did you fuck up?"
"us? our friendship?" Your heart pounds against your chest as you wait for his reply.
"No." Chan drops the trash bag from his grasp. "Nothing could ever mess with that."
"Then why are you acting this way? Why are you mad?" you cross the living room to him.
"I'm not mad," he shakes his head.
"Then what is it? Why are you avoiding me?" There is a pause after, Chan's eyes flicker across your face before he blurts out like he can't hold it in any longer. "Because I love you."
"What?" You're shocked. How could he say that so abruptly?
Chan's ears start to flush. "I love you, and it's not your fault that you don't feel the same, so I'm sorry for taking it out on you."
He starts to turn from you, but out of impulse, you reach for him, grabbing his forearm, stopping him from taking another step away from you.
"It's not that I don't love you-" you swallow a lump in your throat. "It's because I love you that I'm scared to lose you."
Chan's eyes soften, and he grabs ahold of your hand still on his arm, "How would you lose me?"
"What if something goes wrong? What if we realize that we're better off as friends and then everything is weird and awkward." You pause, taking a breath. "What if you see parts of me that you never knew were there and you realize you don't actually love me."
"I've known you 15 years, you really think there's any part of you I haven't seen before?" he says, amusement in his tone. You shrug, still not convinced.
"Look at what happened this week. You refused to talk to me, and we weren't even actually dating." you say.
"I know, I'm sorry," he pauses. "I just couldn't understand why you couldn't see us as an option. I don't want to go out and date other people; I want you. "
You want him too, you know you really do, but you still can't force yourself to say the words.
Chan sees it on your face. "You'll never lose me, you're tangled within my very being, whether we like it or not. There is nothing you can ever do to get rid of me."
Maybe that was really all you needed to hear because as soon as his words settle in the air, you're surging forward.
You've kissed Chan countless times before, but something is different this time. Maybe his lips are softer, maybe he perfected the exact way you enjoy being kissed, but whatever it is, the way his mouth moves against yours calms your nerves and quiets your thoughts.
Maybe this is the way it was supposed to be; maybe all those years where you found yourself longing to kiss him, you just should've.
When you pull away, you find Chan's plush lips parted, his eyes searching your face for anything that will tell him how you feel. "You can't get rid of me either." You say. Chan chuckles, nodding, "I know, and I don't want to." You close-mouth smile, leaning back in for a kiss.
Chan pulls back his eyes searching yours. "Can I take you to my room now?"
Chan's room is always neat and tidy; there's not even a sock on the ground as the two of you stumble in. His hand pulls you in by the base of your skull. You hum into the kiss, your hands resting on his wrists. The kiss is rough, like he's been waiting all night for it.
You tug at his t-shirt, and Chan pulls away from your mouth to help you by tugging it off before reconnecting to your lips like he can't be away from them for long.
With your hands on the bare skin of his waist, you push him towards the bed. When he feels like the back of his knees meet the edge, he falls into a seating position and away from your lips.
You hike up your dress and climb onto his lap. Your mouths meet again; he slips his hands up past the hem of your dress and rubs at your bare thighs.
Chan pulls away; you both gasp for air. "I want you to ride my fingers first," he whispers roughly. "I miss the way you feel on my fingers."
"It's been a week."
"Too long." He says, before his mouth finds yours again, and his hand trails to your clothed core. He rubs you through the thin fabric of your underwear. You gasp, and Chan's tongue invades your mouth, tongue moving against yours, making you groan into his mouth.
When he pushes your underwear to the side, he pulls away, leaning back to watch your face when his fingers slip past your lower lips. You gasp when Chan rubs back and forth, collecting your essence. "God, you're so wet already." He comments.
You would've been embarrassed if it wasn't for Chan easing a finger into your leaking hole. You both moan at the feeling, "So fucking soft." he whispers, his head tilting back, eyes never leaving your face.
He slowly works his finger in and out, and you both lean forward so your foreheads are pressed against each other. "And warm," he adds, his breath warm on your face.
"I'm gonna add another, yeah?" His eyes peer up at you, and you nod.
You sound soaked as he twists two fingers into your cunt. "It feels so tight and perfect, if only you knew how long this week felt." He says, but you're hardly listening when his fingers pump into you so deliciously.
"Ride my fingers, baby." You clench at the pet name coming from his mouth, because although he's definitely called you that before, this is the first time you can hear it without spiraling. He groans at the feeling of you pulse around his fingers.
You start slow, lifting up and sinking down onto the digits. Chan looks down, his eyes looking over your figure. "god, it should be illegal for you to be seen in this dress."
You speed up a bit, and Chan uses his thumb to rub at your clit. You moan, falling forward, your head resting on his shoulder. You turn your head to face him. "fuck me." Your words are barely above a whisper, but you're right by his ear. "I wanna cum on your cock" you say.
Chan groans, and before you know it, you're flipped and lying on your back, and he stands to take off his pants. You quickly sit up to slip off the straps of your dress before pushing it down your body along with your underwear.
You couldn't wear a bra with the dress, so you now lay bare; Chan's lustful eyes roam your body. "On your knees," he says, and you don't have to be told twice.
You arch your back when Chan joins you on the bed, hands gliding along the smooth skin of your thighs, hips, and up to your waist, fingers pinching the skin before sliding back to find your core. You look over your shoulder to see him focused on your cunt.
His fingers play with your clit, making you twitch. His fingers meet your entrance again, and you moan as they slip back in with ease. "Cum on my fingers first," he demands, eyes meeting yours. You nod.
You hold eye contact with him for as long as you can, but when his fingers work into you faster and harder than before, your head falls to the mattress.
"Cha-" you're cut off by a particularly deep thrust that has your eyes rolling back. Your hips move back onto their hand of their own accord.
"I want you to soak my hand," Chan says, and you pick your head up to nod. "Can you?" You nod again. "Then do it now." You're still nodding as you feel yourself about to fall over the edge.
When you cum Chan groans at the feeling of you tightening around his fingers. You search for breath as Chan continues to thrust their digits into you through your orgasm.
When he pulls his fingers from you, you have only a few seconds to calm your pounding heart before you feel his cock collecting your slick, rubbing up and down your slit.
"You look so fucking good," Chan says before slipping into your entrance with a hiss. "You feel even fucking better," he groans.
He grips your hips tightly, starting with slow thrusts; you're sensitive since you just came, the sound of your slick cunt accepting his cock that fills the room is downright filthy.
It's not too long before Chan picks up pace, pounding into your cunt with a force that feels close to punishment. It has you seeing stars. Your face is in the mattress as you groan. "Fuck. Chan," you whimper, trying your best to wait for them.
"I love it when you say my name like that," He says. "Like the way you liked when I called you baby." You clench, and you have to actively prevent yourself from cumming.
"Oh yeah," he groans. "Fucking cum, babygirl." You clench again, but Chan doesn't let you put it off again; his fingers find your clit, and as they roughly toy with the little nub, your orgasm crashes into you. Chan grunts as your cunt grips their cock.
The arch in your back falls as your energy depletes. He adjusted himself after losing the previous angle. Leaning over you, his bare chest to your back. The thrusts sound sloppier now after you've cum twice.
"Good?" He asks. You find it in yourself to nod, and when Chan places a kiss on your cheek, "good girl." you thank him by purposely clenching onto his cock.
"Oh," he moans. Leaning back up, he adjusts his grip on your hips, lifting you to meet his brutal thrusts.
"Can you give me one more?" He asks through strained teeth.
You shake your head. Chan reaches around and rubs at your clit. "You sure?" You grip the sheets but don't reply.
"One more, please, I promise," he whispers. You nod, looking over your shoulder, "Together?" Your voice is so soft, it sounds unrecognizable to your ears.
Chan groans, "Yes." He says it quick. "Yes, let's cum together, baby," and you do; the feeling of you spilling over the edge has chan spilling inside you.
Your heart is pounding as you try to catch your breath when Chan comes into view beside you, his chest heaving.
He looks over at you, his hand reaching out to push the hair out of your face. His soft eyes look over your features before he leans in to place a soft kiss on your lips.
"I really do love you." He says.
You smile, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, "I love you too."
A/N
Thank you for reading!!
First smut on this account!! My main is @honeywritten where I post WLW smut (mostly aespa- mostly Karina)
spencer ‘germaphobe’ reid is obsessed with messy sex with fem!reader, spit and sweat and cum absolutely everywhere
18+ (smut!)
wc: 1,525
⋆ he first discovers how much he likes cumming on her by accident, she’s in his lap and grinding on him, and they’re both naked, and he’s so pleasantly overwhelmed at the sight of her like this:
her lips and nipples are red and swollen and glistening with his spit.
she has wet hickies littered all over her neck and chest.
they both have a thin layer of sweat on their bodies.
he is so so insanely turned on.
so when he sees her lick her palm, and she wraps her hand around him to guide him inside of her, he accidentally cums immediately.
some of it splashes up to her stomach, dripping down her pelvis and through her pubes, some even reaches all the way up to the underside of her breasts.
the rest of it coats her hand.
he’s so obsessed with the sight that he can’t even think to apologize for cumming too soon and getting her all messy.
“fuck, baby, look at you.”
and when she starts licking his cum off her hand, he’s already getting hard again.
this sparks a fascination with seeing his cum on various parts of her body.
⋆ he’s fucking her in missionary, and he begs her to let him pull out and cum all over her breasts.
he’s been sucking and licking on them as he fucked her. they’re all shiny with his spit.
“please, let me cum on them, baby. please, can i?” he says to her between kisses.
she whines and nods, his thick cock stretching her and leaking hot beads inside of her has her awestruck.
he watches as it flows around the swell of her tits, and he slowly licks the warm and sticky mess off until she’s clean, thanking her profusely and telling her how hot she is.
“you look so beautiful and so divine like this, baby.”
⋆ when she’s on her knees for him, his dick and her lips a deep red and glistening with her saliva, he gets an idea:
he warns her that he’s about to cum and she maintains her pace, knowing that he loves watching her swallow all of him.
he gently pulls her head off of him, “wanna cum on your beautiful face, baby. can i?”
she just nods, breathless from just having him down her throat.
he starts jerking himself off and she swats his hand away to take over.
he doesn’t last long at the vision of her kneeled in front of him, her fingers and hand looking so small around his thick cock, eyes wide and shiny, expectantly waiting for him to cum all over her.
he’s entranced with each spurt of his cum that paints her face, dripping from her eyelashes, down her cheeks, some on her nose and forehead, some mixing with the spit on and around her mouth, some even reaches up into her hair.
she’s completely covered in his cum.
she even opens her mouth for him as he’s cumming, tongue slightly protruding out, so he gets to watch as it lands on her lips and tongue, as well.
“oh fuck… such a good girl.”
he still gets to watch her swallow some of him and he’s completely enthralled, groaning at the sight of her.
⋆ and when he has her on her hands and knees for him, a thin layer of sweat on her back from pushing backwards into his thrusts:
her head is turned sideways and he can see the proof of their messy kisses on her mouth, lips shining and red and slightly bruised from his teeth catching on them.
her loves this position so he can watch her ass jiggle against his hips with every thrust.
he asks if he can cum on her asscheeks (still so respectful even after drenching her over and over again with his cum).
she says yes, knowing and loving how much he loves it at this point.
he thinks about marriage as he watches his spend spurt all over her gorgeous ass and lower back, wanting to get to do this with her for the rest of his life.
his absolute favorite is watching his cum drip out of her pretty little hole, though.
seeing it mix with her juices and his saliva that’s either there from eating her out or spitting on her in the middle of fucking her.
he’ll get between her legs to spread her pussy lips with his thumbs to get the best view of it flowing out of her.
he can’t stop himself from leaning in to lick her clean once it’s all dripped out.
⋆ he knows it’s respectful to ask her where she wants him to cum, so he does.
and when she responds with, “wherever you want,” his brain short-circuits; he loves her so much.
he’s learned to let himself start cumming inside of her so he can watch it flow out of her, then he pulls out mid-orgasm and paints the rest on any body part he wants.
-
⋆ she tells him that some people like spitting into their partners' mouths off-handedly, thinking he might find it completely disgusting and maybe even laugh at the concept:
until he’s fidgeting in his seat and pulling at the crotch of his pants at the idea.
the next time they’re fucking, he holds her chin with a thumb on her bottom lip.
“open up, baby.”
she does, and he slowly lets a long string of spit fall onto her tongue, and the sight of it has his thrusts faltering.
he then experiments (he’s forever a man of science, after all) with watching his spit drip onto her collarbones, her breasts, her stomach, and, of course, her pretty pussy.
⋆ he encourages her to do it to him when she’s sucking his cock, he’s lying on his back, and she’s between his legs.
he’s entranced by the look of her spit slooowly stretching down to his tip.
⋆ he asks her to spit in his mouth when she’s on top, swallowing it with a smile on his face.
⋆ when he’s lying on top of her, and they’ve been messily making out, and he reaches between her legs to caress her clit and finger her:
she’s absolutely dripping for him, so what he does next is completely unnecessary, but he just can’t help himself.
he pulls his hand up to her mouth and asks her, “can you get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby?”
he watches in awe as she sucks them between her lips, cheeks hollowed.
the feeling of her warm tongue and mouth around his fingers has him grinding against her hip.
when he pulls them out to get back to pleasing her, he can barely handle the way they look: glistening and shining with her saliva.
a string of spit connects his fingers to her lips, and he’s so painfully hard.
⋆ she’s not sure if it’s pushing it when she’s riding him and she puts her fingers on his lips, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t object.
he takes three of her fingers into his mouth with absolutely no hesitation, sucking and licking all over and in between them until they’re completely dripping with his spit.
she reaches down to rub at her clit, and he can still see her fingers shining as she does, making him cum deep inside of her with a groan.
⋆ when she’s sucking him off and a string of saliva connects her lips to his flushed tip, he has to focus on not cumming on the spot.
-
⋆ the first time she cries during sex, he is sooo conflicted:
he immediately stops his thrusts because he’s worried about her first and foremost.
but, he can’t stop the twitching of his dick inside of her.
“shit, are you okay, baby?”
“yeah, spence,” she nods, “feels too good.”
“oh, fuuuck.” he groans as he continues his deep penetrations.
he kisses her cheeks where her tears fall, and licks his lips between each one.
⋆ when she gets teary-eyed while sucking his cock, he can’t stop himself from pushing his hips forward to send himself deeper down her throat.
when he finishes by cumming all over her face, he’s enthralled by the look of it mixing with her tears.
-
⋆ when she’s all sweaty, he loooves licking it off of her:
in the summer months it acts as a part of foreplay.
he loves it most when she’s all sweaty after fucking him, though, and the way he licks it off of her after is so so sensual.
-
⋆ oh and he’s so obsessed with pulling her panties off of her and she’s so obscenely wet that they stick to her folds on the way down.
and when he can see her creamy discharge on them.
he has definitely brought them up to his lips to taste her there, and will suck on her panties until she’s whining and rubbing her thighs together, so so desperate for him.
-
⋆ god help him the first time he makes her squirt, he almost cums completely untouched at the sight.
and don’t even get me started on how he feels about period sex and food play
kind of part 1 with cuddlebug spencer
So glad i found this on tumbrl so i can reblog so others find this master piece
⋆.˚ - move in with me. - h.s
summary : in which your mafia boyfriend - harry is sick of you living in your shit apartment so he asks you to move in with him.
pairing : mafiarry x fem!reader
warnings/info: harry being upset / concerned boyfriend | no use of y/n | harry POV I user works at a bar | mafia talk I mentions of alcohol I cursing | mentions of a older apartment | slightly begging harry | harry wanting to spoil reader | reader having fears of relationship issues | if i missed anything Imk!
a/n: hehe surprise! hi peeps it’s been very very long since i did a mafiarry one shot of any kind i think i literally only have one uploaded. which is CRAZY because i love the mafia underworld plots in books so yes i had to do another take on it. by the way ! i do not view harry to be this person in real life before anyone says anything. please do not come here saying shit when i obviously know. this is why it is fake and creative writing! anyways i hope yall like it!
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As a man who is in the mafia I tend to be very patient and very careful.
We had met at one of my dinner events, you were working there at the bar.
Walking around serving wine and alcohol at the bar.
You had me hooked at the first glance. It was brief yet enough to get me to stop engaging with a very important conversation about a particular deal I was looking into.
So I walked away and ordered a drink, what I thought was very smooth turned out to be you completely ignoring me until you wanted to.
Once you were satisfied in making me wait, you got my order.
Along with my number on a napkin that night.
That was five months ago.
Dating five months we were in the honeymoon phase for so long.
You know what I do, you honestly don’t have an issue with it.
We usually never argue, we work very well together, we communicate in a healthy way, and we both trust each other enough that we don’t hardly get jealous or at least I try not to.
I guess today was my crack in the glass moment.
We had gone to your place for the day so you could pick up some things to bring back to my estate which was pretty close by. Up a couple hills sure but close.
I have been to your place frequently. And every time I tried to advise you to move somewhere more safe, and to a place that wasn’t falling apart around you.
And you just give me the same excuses every time.
It’s either “There’s no places in the area that are available,” or the "I don't have a problem with it,” excuses.
It's pissing me off now because all I want is for you to be in a safe area, and in an apartment where your cabinet doors aren’t falling off the seams, or your bathroom tiles aren’t falling down while you're showering.
We had just arrived, me standing by the door as you walked ahead to grab a to go bag. I looked around as I closed the door behind me and sighed.
I looked around as I usually did, looking at everything else that had been losing its grip against the walls.
Once you returned with a bag you looked at me giving me the look. The one that says I know what you’re about to say but you're gonna say it anyway.
“You know your ceiling has a bubble in it right?” I pointed above us to the bubble in the ceiling that was obviously due to rain. "That's not really normal, angel.” I continued tilting my head.
“Harry. don’t start please.” You sighed as you moved to wipe down dust from your kitchen appliances on an old shelf that was about to snap off the nails.
“You're unbelievable. This is really getting ridiculous." I shook my head dropping my hands at my sides with a small smack noise displaying my frustration.
“I've lived here before I knew you. Why can’t you just accept that I have no problem with this apartment?” You argued, placing the bag down on your couch and folding your arms towards me.
I sat down on the green couch and placed my hands on my knees running them down my silk black dress pants.
“I know that you dealt with this before that. But I'm not okay with you sleeping in an apartment that has ceilings leaking while you’re sleeping under it and furniture falling apart around you.” I ran a hand over my face and looked at you softer. “All I want is for you to live somewhere safe and secure. Fuck angel - you can just move in with me.” I blurted.
Okay well maybe that wasn’t really what I was intending to ask you.
Especially right now I was actually going to ask you over a candlelit dinner. You know some wine, good pasta...
But this works too.
“Are you crazy?” you asked back. Your eyes wide and body frozen like I just bent down on a knee and pulled out a ring box.
“Well-“
“Shut up.” You cut me off, rolling your eyes and walking over to sit on the couch with me.
Fine, okay.
“Move in with you?” Eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape.
“Yes. Why not? You're already bringing shit every weekend. You stay there five times a week. When was the last time you slept here?” I asked genuinely to prove my point further.
“Like two weeks ago, but-“
“No.” I said facing you more on the couch. I grabbed your hands in my lap and looked over at your face. “Y’haven’t been here in two weeks and you’re only here to pick up clothes. You're basically living with me already. You see that right?” I asked straight forward.
I saw your resolve weakening as you looked at me now.
“If it’s about still having your own space you can move into the guest house I don’t fucking care. I won't even let you pay rent. You'd still be somewhere I know you’ll be safe and happy.” My hands were gripping yours not as if my body was screaming for you to just say yes already.
“I’m not going to move into the guest house if I move in with you, Harry, that would defeat the purpose. It’s not about space … I just-“ you took a breath and met my eyes. “I’m just scared that it may be too early to officially move in. There's people who move in together when they get married or people who move in with them when they get engaged. What if we move in too early and it’s a mess..” You finally admitted what you were holding inside.
I could see your point. Yet in the end all I could say was -
“I don't care about timing. I didn't know five months ago that I'd meet someone who I now love with my whole life so fast and out of nowhere. I also did not know that I'd fall for someone this hard in only five months. I thought I was going to be the single mafia idiot who blocks love out of his heart or marries into some random family for business. If timing is what you’re worried about then I say it’s not a fucking problem.” I ranted. I was out of breath as I finally stopped talking.
I moved closed, grabbing your face in my hands. My thumbs moving over your chin affectionately.
“Move in with me.” I said quietly. “Move in with me and we’ll worry about it all afterwards. please? I'd rather you be upset with me about this shit apartment than you having to stress about getting someone here to fix it." I sounded like I was begging at this point but maybe I was.
There was just something I hated knowing how much you’d stress about trying to fix plumbing issues or repairs in the tiles in your shower. small things like that. I know I can give you whatever I can and I want you to understand that so yes I will beg you right now.
“You can have whatever you want, wanna repaint? We can repaint everything in the house. You can get a dog, a cat, whatever. Please baby?” I asked once more and saw your lips twitch and a roll of your eyes.
“Okay… fine. Yes, I will move in with you.” you said back with a fake annoyed pout but i can see you hiding a smile.
“Really?” I smiled too. I learned in kissing you, pouring all my feelings into it showing how much it meant to me.
I pulled away after a few seconds and looked at you again. “Yeah?”
You nodded back, finally smiling. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Then it’s settled. Officially.” my hands moved to your waist pulling you close to me.
“I’m moving into your big fucking house.”
“Yes you are.” I chuckled at your words and hugged you tightly.
“Let's get you out of here. As soon as possible.” I hummed, kissing your cheek.
————————————————————————————
just wanted to add i do not use ai in any way to write anything i post. i use a grammer checker which is attached to docs on google.
🌸 Delicate Touches Headcanon - Harry's hands and lips
💌 A/N: Hi friends! I don't know if this counts as a headcanon or not but just thoughts on how Harry would always need skin to skin contact! Some of these are 18+ so MDNI pls! Happy reading 💕
Pitter patter, Harry’s finger tips made soft taps on along the goosebumps on her skin. “Are y’cold?” He’d ask, noticing the little bumps and hair that rose from her forearm. His fingers ran down her arm, making natural heat to shelter her against the late night summer breeze.
It would always start with a gentle, non-sexual form of intimacy. Harry was overly affectionate towards his partner, especially in private. Sometimes, it would drive her mad — him always needing some type of skin to skin contact.
It could be a simple touch, the locking of hands on the street. Harry’s palm, a constant weight resting on her thigh while they drove through the windy streets of a small village outside of Rome. Slowly rubbing her earlobe whenever she had a migraine. Rubbing her shoulders for a quick, hand massage whenever she complained of an ache. Whatever it was, his hands were there — smoothing, mending and working away the stress of the day.
Oftentimes, Harry would get a little handsy in public and his partner would have to remind him gently. “Baby,” she started softly. “We’re in public, remember?” She’d remind him through closed lips. His hand would reluctantly pull away from the swell of her ass or near the side of her boob and find a more suitable, appropriate location like her hip or thigh. “Just wait until I get my hands on you at home,” Harry would grumble, frustrated like a child that he had to pull away from his lover and actually be appropriate.
His large hands would frequently wrap around her face, cupping her cheeks and causing him to be the center of her attention. “Eye’s on me, angel.” He’d say gently, whenever the room was closing in and everything felt bright and overwhelming. “I’m right here, I got you. Focus on me.”
Harry was quick to comfort and reassure his partner, gentle touches that grounded her away from the chaos. His fingers would press reassuring pressure while having difficult conversations, still connecting them together. He’d rub softly against her wrist or get lost in the lines of her palm, tracing them as if they were the map of the world.
Harry would drum meaningless beats on her thigh or hip, trying to remember a melody or simply creating one. When showing his partner a song or lyrics he wrote, he’d hold her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as he sang. If that wasn’t enough, he would have her sit in his lap, singing softly in her ear or simply having her close to calm his nerves. “That I’m feeling guilty or worried, dear that you think that I might not want you here.” Harry sang softly, his palm upright on her own, his thumb drawing soft circles onto her skin.
His finger would poke or tickle if he was in a playful mood. Most of the time, his partner would be there with a blank face, trying to stay stoic. Harry would earn a cheesy, big grin from her after tickling her sides, attacking her with his hands. “There it is! There’s that beautiful smile, can’t stay mad forever, love.”
When it was late at night, Harry would grab his partner, pulling her back against him if she managed to wiggle away. He’d rub over the faint bruises that marked her skin along her neck or chest, marking her as his. Whenever they were intimate, Harry’s hands would cup her breast, fiddling over her sensitive nipple and pay attention to each breath she took. He’d tease her until she was begging, sliding his hands down her sternum to her naval. “Tell me where you need me, love?” He’d smirk, encouraging her to use her words. “Right here? Oh, you are so wet f’me, darling… Have you been thinking about this? Me touching your pretty pussy, hm?”
Harry would always stretch her out with his fingers, his index and middle fingers. “How does that feel, baby? Feel good for you?” Occasionally, his thumb would rest against her clit, a constant pressure while he fingered her. “That’s my girl, just like that, so warm and wet f’me. Doing such a good job,” Harry would praise her proudly.
Harry simply couldn’t get enough of her, always pulling her closer by her hips or pressing down on the small of her back to extenuate her arch. “Perfect, pretty girl. Stay just like that. Fuck, baby.” He’d grip her hips as he fuck her from the back. His hands roamed her body as if it was his own landscape, learning her every crevice.
If it wasn’t his hands, Harry would use his lips as his favorite tool of choice to ease his partner.
He’d kiss her forehead if she looked a bit anxious or overwhelmed. It was his attempt of physical connection to ground her, bring her back to reality. “Are you okay?” He’d ask, his eyes capturing every untold emotion in her eyes. “We can leave soon, promise.”
Just like his hands, his lips were always on her skin. Harry would kiss the corner of her lips, giving her a peck whenever he could. If they were in private, he’d give her a sensual open mouth kiss, his tongue swiping across her mouth - ready to explore.
Harry would pepper kisses down her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, letting his mustache tickle her skin. Occasionally, when Harry couldn’t help himself - He’d mark her skin with visible love bites. When things got hot and heavy, he couldn’t help but nibble on her neck or suck a bruise just beneath her ear. The next day, he’d smirk at his little art craft. He’d feel half bad but knew she loved them more than anything.
When they were in the car, he’d have his hand locked in hers and bring her fingers to his lips. He would press soft kisses along her skin, praising her. “These hands, these pretty hands. All mine,” He’d say just for her to hear. It really was the little things that he couldn’t get enough of. Harry would sometimes kiss her shoulder or any skin that was left exposed unexpectedly, catching her off guard. “I love you,” he’d whisper quickly with a small dimpled grin that was reserved for her.
When Harry would apologize, he’d cup her face with big hands, frown on his and kiss her multiple times, all over her face. “It was stupid, I didn’t mean it, forgive me, please?” He’d say in between kisses. “I’m really sorry,” Harry would kiss her until she laughed, smiled or begged him to stop.
Harry’s favorite activity would be to tease his partner, driving her absolutely crazy with his mouth. He’d slowly trail kisses down her neck, over the curve of her breasts and down her tummy. He’d skip her most sensitive areas, building the anticipation. “Where do you want me, baby?” He’d hum against her inner thigh, pressing an open mouth kiss against her pelvic bone. “Here?” Harry would mutter, peppering kisses over her pubic area. “Or here?” Harry would finally suck her precious clit, kissing her vulva as if it was her lips. “So sweet,” Harry would mumble against her, his lips never leaving her skin. “Taste so fucking good.”
When Harry was tipsy, his partner’s lips were the only thing he craved. He’d want to make out with her anywhere, begging to sneak away and have a private makeout session. If they were in public, he wouldn’t shy away from a little open mouth kiss, knowing in the morning he’d be plastered on Deux Moi or The DailyMail but he didn’t really care. He was more focused on his partner's kissable lips than anything news he'd be a part of in the morning.
"Kissy?" He'd ask, half begging - desperate for contact Harry's lips would pucker out for his partner, not waiting too long before leaning forward and stealing a quick kiss from her whenever he had the chance.
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