Picture blurb timeeeee. I’m feeling like bodyguard Harry in this one
Check out our Patreon for early access and 370+ exclusive writings and series!
Warnings- taunting, brat Y/N, power imbalance, bodyguard H, manipulative behavior, inappropriate relationship, slight implied age gap
“Princess, please.” His words were soft, but she could see the tension on his face as she lifted her foot towards him.
“What? I just need a little help.” Her attempt at being innocent failed spectacularly as she grinned, albeit sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as she spread her legs far enough apart to give him a glimpse.
Wearing no panties under the skirt had been a heinously risky move. Y/N knew that. Going out for a day with her girlfriends while he trailed around with her security detail, she had been looking for something to give her an edge. Excitement.
If he wasn’t going to give into her with her normal antics, she wanted to push him.
Harry’s fatal flaw had been giving in once. Knowing now that her hunger wasn’t unrequited and the man, both fortunately and unfortunately for her, had self control that was normally unshakable? It was torturous.
So if he wasn’t going to outright give her what she wanted, she was going to be every bit the manipulative little brat he had called her.
She could see it the moment he noticed. Relenting to help her slide her boots off, he was quiet about it as he gently placed the shoe on the ground beside her bed before peering up and catching it.
The cunt he had tasted just two weeks ago, bare and most definitely and noticeably wet.
The sharp exhale through his nose was the response, clenching his eyes shut as she let herself have the audacity to giggle, dragging her dropped foot right over his crotch. “What’s the matter?” The saccharine words were a purr as she watched his fists clench at his sides.
“Y/N, you are being wildly inappropriate. I need-“
“No, I like Princess better.” Y/N formed a pout, letting her socked foot slide over the bulge in his pressed trousers. “To tell you the honest truth, I liked ‘Baby’ the best, when you were being extra nice to me and doing your job properly, but-“
“I do my job.” The growl of his voice made her throb. It would be scary, directed at anyone else, but she knew where that emotion was coming from. “I protect you. I will always protect you. That is my priority, Y/N, which is why this is not happening.”
“And I appreciate your attempt at professionalism. I trust you with my safety, wholly. I’ve never doubted that, but…” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her other foot to lay on his thigh. “Your job is to take care of me, Harry.” Y/N kept her pouty face and sweet tone, noting how his cock twitched under the arch of her foot. “And I think part of me is being neglected.”
Despite his glare, despite his irritation, she could see he had a hard time looking away from her cunt.
She remembered vividly how hungry he’d been for it. Like he’d been starved. His strong hands leaving bruises on her hips and thighs while he’d devoured her, lapped at her to get every drop of her on his tongue, fingering her open as he sucked st her swollen clit. How he’d growled when she’d yanked at his hair, messing up the neat style. He’d moaned against her and pulled her right into him as she all but fucked his face. The man had not only let her, but encouraged her to grind all over him and make his chin drip as he made her cum on his face not once, but twice in a row before he’d tucked her in and told her it was never happening again.
At first, it had pissed her off. But now that she knew she could break him?
It was the most fun she’d had in a long time.
“Y/N-“
“Please?” Her whisper was soft, fingers dragging her skirt up her thighs to give him a better view. “Please, sir? I know I’ve been acting out, but… It’s because I’m frustrated.”
Y/N was taunting him. Flaunting herself around him constantly, trying to get him to break, but this was the boldest she had gotten so far. “You helped me last time. I liked when you smacked my ass. I loved when you made me say I was sorry while you made me cum. I need more.”
It was all his fault, really.
Dragging her fingers over her slippery clit, the whimper was natural as it throbbed against her fingertips. “I’ve never felt so good. I don’t want to have to ask someone else…”
“You will not be asking someone else.” He said tightly, eyes narrowing at her before flickering back down to her cunt. “I can’t, Y/N. I can’t afford to get distracted.”
“Is my pussy that good?” Her grin was feline, smug, as she all but purred. Spreading herself open for him, she leaned back on her other hand to display herself. “So good you can’t focus on anything else while guarding me?”
“Stop.” He replied, clenching his eyes back shut. “Please, don’t.”
“Answer me then.” She prodded. “Is it so good that you get lost in your head, thinking about it? Because maybe that means you just need more. So you can focus properly.”
Did it make sense? No, not particularly, but Y/N wanted his mouth. She wanted his fingers, and ideally, his cock, but she could work them up to that.
For once, she could see his restraint waning. The normally ironclad control wavering as he opened his eyes, swallowing thickly.
Yes. That’s exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to bend, to break for her. The only other time he’d broken was for her, and she wanted to be his weakness. The only one.
“C’mon. Just another taste. We don’t have to tell anyone.” She coaxed, giddiness erupting in her stomach as she watched him fall to his knees.
“Just a taste. One more time. And then it’s never fucking happening again. Am I clear?”
God, she loved when he talked a little mean.
“We can negotiate. Now please, do your job. Take care of me.”
Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
Ch. 11 Word Count: 13.3k (huh??? ooops)
Ch. 11 Warning: Smut, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of implied threats, political resistance, emotional distress
Since it's been months since the last update, here's a snippet (in italics) of the ending of chapter 10 as a reminder of what took place should you need it (as this new chapter picks up where we left off):
"I heard something today," she said. "Voices in the old solar. Men speaking about me."
Harry's brows pulled together as he shifted, eyes focused on her face as she spoke.
She continued. "They said… if I give you an heir, the realm will be lost. And that there are people who won’t allow it."
Harry was silent for a long moment as he let her words sink in. His hand tightened around hers in a bristling, controlled fury she could feel in the tremor of his breath. He worked his jaw and his breaths slowly grew more rapid.
"Who?" he asked, voice low and angry.
"I don’t know," she said quickly. "But Niall was with me and he should know who stood in that chamber."
Harry waited until Y/n’s breathing had softened and he was certain she was asleep before he eased his arm from beneath her shoulders. Even then, he lingered for a moment, brushing his hand over her cheek, making sure she did not stir. He needed to take his leave without her knowing and the time was now.
He knew he ought to wait until morning to go find Niall, as he was already off duty for the night, but the king would not wait until dawn to learn the names of the men who threatened malice against the queen. The easy way men spoke of her and the child she was carrying, in his castle no less, burned through his veins like fire. Niall had been with her when she overheard them; he’d know the names.
He dressed quickly, shrugging into his coat and slipping on his boots in haste. The guards outside the royal chamber straightened immediately when he stepped out into the corridor, but he dismissed them with no more than a curt tilt of his hand and strode away before either could speak.
By the time he reached the north wing servants’ corridor, his thoughts had gone in circles about who the culprits in the old solar could be. He was already imagining the faces of the men Niall might name, already deciding what methods would best pry the truth from them, when a sound ahead made him slow.
It was unusual that any of the staff in that wing would be awake at that hour. At first, it was only the soft whisper of voices, low and indistinct. Then came a woman’s laugh, breathless and warm… and Harry stopped altogether.
He stood still and listened because surprise had rooted him in place momentarily. A moment later came the unmistakable sound of Niall’s voice, a voice he knew well. His guard sounded amused, intimate almost. As if he were whispering something entirely forbidden into a lover’s ear.
“Come now, dove,” Harry heard his guard murmur. “You blush like that and I’ll never let you go tonight.”
Harry closed his eyes for the briefest second. He ought to have turned back then, or at the very least given some decent warning of his approach. Instead, driven by a kind of incredulous curiosity, he took two more steps and reached the mouth of the little nook at the end of the corridor.
The scene before him was plain enough to understand. Phoebe stood with her back against the wall, her gown rumpled at the waist where Niall’s hands held her, her cheeks flushed and her hair not quite as tidy as propriety would have liked. Niall himself was scarcely in better order, with his coat half-open, hair mussed, face softened into such an openly smitten expression, and just as equally flushed as Phoebe, that Harry momentarily forgot what he had come for in the first place.
Both were fully clothed, yes. But it was difficult to say what state they’d been in not long before.
Harry spoke before either noticed him. “Captain Niall.”
Phoebe yelped softly and practically leapt away from the guard. Her hands flew to smooth her skirts before she dipped a horrified curtsy, while Niall straightened so abruptly he nearly struck his head on the sconce bracket behind him.
“Majesty…” Phoebe stammered. “I beg your pardon, I—we—”
Niall bowed, his face gone a violent shade of red that Harry had not thought the man capable of producing. “Majesty.”
He looked between them in silence for a moment, a bit humored by their attempt at composure. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in an effort to rearrange the order of his thoughts. Niall and Phoebe. Of course. He supposed he had known in some unexamined corner of his mind that something was between them, but seeing it laid out before him now was another matter entirely.
At last he lowered his hand and looked to Phoebe. “Return to your chambers.”
She looked at Niall, mortified, her cheeks crimson, then dropped her gaze and curtsied again. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Without another word, she hurried off, her steps light against the corridor stones. Harry watched until she disappeared around the corner, then turned back to Niall, who had not dared move an inch.
“I suppose,” Harry said dryly, “I should congratulate you for managing to keep this from me as long as you have.”
Niall blinked, startled enough that for a moment he looked almost boyish. Then his expression shifted. “Sire, I assure you, I have never compromised my duty. I would never risk the Queen’s safety on account of—” He faltered, clearly unsure what term could safely be applied to what Harry had just interrupted. “Lady Phoebe and I only ever meet when neither of us is in service. I have been careful. I have never let it affect my work.”
Harry lifted a hand, cutting short the rush of apology. “Calm yourself. I’ve no intention of dismissing you for kissing a woman you care for while you are both off duty.”
Niall’s shoulders eased, though he still looked as if he expected the reprieve to be withdrawn at any moment. But Harry had already forgotten it. His reason for finding Niall had been far more important than learning that his captain was secretly courting the queen’s lady-in-waiting.
Harry stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “But now that I know, I expect it to remain discreet. I expect you to continue as you have done up to now. Professional, dependable, and invisible where you must be. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Good.”
The word ended the matter as far as Harry was concerned. His tone hardened again almost immediately, the king in him reasserting itself with no effort at all.
“Now tell me who was in the old solar today,” he said. “The men speaking treason about my wife.”
Niall straightened, all trace of embarrassment retreating behind duty. “Four were present, Majesty, but only three who spoke. Lord Havering. Master Corbin. And Councillor Royston.”
Harry nodded. “And the other with them who did not speak? I have no doubt he was in accordance.”
“Mr. Lionel Ashcombe.”
He felt the muscle in his neck twinge. Of course. Old blood. Old arrogance. The sort of men who only sought their own wealth at the cost of others. The sort of men whose wives had long ago stopped sleeping beside them in their beds because they were all the most insufferable types.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “you will bring each one to me. Separately. First thing after dawn.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Harry paused, his gaze sweeping Niall again. “And Captain, keep this from the Queen. She worries enough as it is. I will deal with these men myself.”
Niall nodded. “I would never distress her, Majesty.”
Harry exhaled slowly, the fury in him banked but not extinguished entirely. “Good. Return to your quarters.”
The king left Niall there and strode back down the corridor, his face composed again by the time he reached the stair.
Perhaps it was only gossip. Perhaps it was nothing more than the mutterings of old men who feared change. But Harry could not afford to treat it so lightly after the attempted poisoning. Every word against Y/n was a word against the Crown, and any threat against their unborn heir was a treason he would not suffer. If those men meant to speak ill of his beloved, they would soon learn that the king’s patience had reached its end.
. .
Harry wished to have slept longer, there next to Y/n, but he had men to punish. For a moment, he remained at the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt as he watched his wife sleeping. She was turned toward his side of the bed with her lips smushed into the pillow. Lately, she had been sleeping quite heavily, and for that Harry was pleased. She needed her rest.
He fastened the last button at his throat and reached for his waistcoat, moving as quietly as he could. He would have preferred to leave without waking her, but that was not his luck that morning, as the floorboard near the clothes press creaked loudly beneath his boots.
“Harry?” Her voice was tired and searching as he turned to look at her.
She pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking into the dim room, her eyes finding him before a pout pulled at her lips.
“You’re leaving so soon?” she asked.
“For a while.” He crossed back to the bed and sat beside her, smoothing a hand over her hair. “It is early yet. Go back to sleep, mouse.”
She reached for his forearm before he could move. And even though her eyes had not fully opened, she looked at him as though she could already read his thoughts. “Where are you going?”
“There is some work I must see to this morning,” he said, keeping his tone mild. “I will be done in time to join you for luncheon, though.”
He watched her face brighten. He rarely had time to sit with her at midday to eat, so he hoped that this would please her enough that she wouldn’t ask too many questions.
Her expression softened at that. “Really?”
“Yes. You will eat something proper, and I will sit across from you and allow you to scold me for working too much.”
“I do enjoy that.”
“I know you do.”
She settled back against the pillow, though her hand still held his wrist. “Did you leave in the night? I remember,” she blinked her eyes softly, as if trying to sort through the memory of whether it was a dream or real life that she was thinking of, “waking and you weren’t there. I called for you.”
Harry looked down at her for a moment, hating to lie, and knowing that later she would be cross with him for it, but he didn’t have the time to tell her everything, even if he had wanted.
“No, mouse. You must’ve dreamt it.”
She searched his face another moment, too sleepy to press, but he could see her thoughts turning over in her head. “Oh. I could have sworn…”
“I must be going. Please get more rest.”
She hummed, eyes lowering again. “Luncheon, then.”
“Luncheon,” he promised.
She released his arm and pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders as he stood. He looked at her pretty face, her sweet eyes on him, trusting, loving and thought to hesitate for a moment, but decided better of it.
He collected his coat and left the chamber before the softness of her could weaken what had to be done. Niall stood at the door already, fresh from whatever little sleep he’d taken, face composed and eyes alert.
Harry looked him over once. “Are they being brought?”
“At first light, Majesty. Separately, as ordered.”
“Good.” Harry drew on his gloves, tugging each finger into place. “No one goes near the Queen but Phoebe, her family, the physician if called, or a guard I have named. No exceptions.”
Niall inclined his head. “Understood.”
“And Captain?”
“Yes, Majesty?”
Harry’s gaze sharpened. “If any man asks why these men have been summoned, you know nothing. They will come to me if there are questions.”
“I know nothing very well, Majesty.”
Harry nearly smiled. “See that you continue.”
He turned toward the stair, the hem of his coat moving behind him. Dawn had not yet broken, but already the castle work had begun. And by luncheon, if time was merciful, Harry would return to his wife with one more threat dulled by his own hand.
.
Harry entered the small council chamber that Fred had readied for him ahead of time with a lamp burning on the long, polished wooden table, a fresh stack of parchment ready, and an inkstand. The men who would be brought in would not be afforded any hospitalities. There would be no breakfast tray or wine waiting like they might have thought.
He stood at the head of the table while two guards waited by the door with their hands folded over the hilts of their swords. He thought of what Y/n had told him, of what she’d heard those men spoke of… They said… if I give you an heir, the realm will be lost. And that there are people who won’t allow it.
When the first knock came, Harry straightened. “Enter,” he said.
The door opened, and Lord Havering stepped inside with the cautious confidence of a man summoned early but not yet afraid. He wore a dark green coat buttoned to the throat and a look of mild curiosity, as if he expected some tedious matter of land or levy. His eyes flicked over Niall, then the guards, then Harry’s face.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing neatly. “I came as soon as I was called. I trust nothing is amiss?”
Harry looked at him for a long moment. “Stand there.”
Havering’s brows lifted slightly. He had clearly expected a chair. Perhaps even tea. “Of course.”
He took his place before the table, hands folding neatly at his back. A polished man. One who had spent years learning how to look harmless and duteous.
Harry let the silence stretch until Havering’s cordial expression began to thin at the edges.
“Tell me what was said in the old solar yesterday afternoon.”
Havering blinked. “The old solar?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I am not certain what Your Majesty means.”
Harry stood tall in his spot, eyes hard on the man. “Then become certain.”
A small, nervous smile touched Havering’s mouth. “There were several conversations yesterday. The court is a talkative place. If you refer to the matter of the northern tenants, I believe Councillor Royston had some concern about—”
Harry shook his head and Havering stopped.
“Try again,” Harry said.
The lord’s throat bobbed. His gaze slid toward Niall, then back. “I truly do not know which conversation has reached Your Majesty’s ears.”
“It was about my wife,” Harry said. “And my unborn child.”
Havering’s face did not collapse, but the blood beneath his skin seemed to draw back. His hands, still clasped behind him, feigning a confidence that had begun to slowly wither.
There it was. The smallest crack.
“Majesty,” he said carefully, “if some idle remark has been carried to you in poor spirit, I would urge caution. Men speak carelessly. It is a failing, not always a crime.”
“That depends upon the carelessness.”
“I have never wished Her Majesty harm.”
“I did not ask what you wished.” Harry leaned one hand against the table. “I asked what was said.”
Havering’s composure worked hard to rebuild itself. “There was concern. Nothing more. The Queen’s influence has been… much remarked upon since the affair in the square. Some wondered whether the court might struggle if an heir were born beneath such division.”
“Division,” Harry repeated.
“Yes.” Havering seized the word too eagerly. “That was all. A question of stability. Of perception. You know as well as any man, sire, that succession can calm a kingdom or inflame it.”
“And who said the realm would be lost if she gave me a child?”
Havering’s lips parted and his eyes flitted toward the papers before the king.
Harry smiled without warmth. “Ah. So that part you remember.”
“I did not say it.”
“No? But you sat in the solar and listened with a smile then?”
Silence tightened around them. Niall had not moved, but Harry felt the guard’s attention sharpen. The two men at the door stood straighter.
Havering’s voice lowered. “Majesty, I beg you to understand. There is fear in the kingdom. The Queen is not hated by all, but she is not trusted by all either. Some believe her mercy at the scaffold made her beloved of the mob and dangerous to the Crown. Others think she softened Your Majesty before the people. I do not say I agree. I merely say these things are spoken.”
“By whom then?”
“I could not say.”
“You can.”
“I would not wish to accuse a man unfairly.”
“How noble of you. Then you choose to take the blame?”
Havering flushed. “Your Majesty—”
Harry came around the table slowly. Havering held his ground, though the effort cost him. Harry stopped close enough that the man had to tilt his chin upward to keep eye contact.
“My wife walked past the old solar yesterday,” Harry said. “She heard enough. Captain Horan stood with her as witness. You were there. Royston was there. Corbin was there. Mr. Lionel Ashcombe was there. Not one of you thought to bring what was said to me, for all your worries about division and the Crown.”
Havering’s eyes widened faintly at the names.
Harry’s voice dropped. “So I will ask you once more, and I advise you to think very carefully before your tongue chooses cowardice. Who said there were those who would not allow my heir to live?”
Havering said nothing and that was answer enough.
Harry nodded, almost to himself, and stepped back. “Very well.”
The lord seemed to gather courage from the retreat. “Majesty, surely you do not mean to treat private concern as treason. I am a loyal subject of this Crown. I have served in council since before—”
“You served yourself.”
“I spoke no threat.”
“You heard one. Fresh after an attempt to poison my wife, and yet you remain silent and complicit when a new threat is spoken.”
Havering’s mouth closed.
Harry turned slightly toward Niall. “Lord Havering is to be confined under guard pending formal examination for sedition and conspiracy against the Queen’s person and the royal succession. His rooms are to be searched. His papers, letters, account books, and private seals are to be seized. No correspondence leaves his hand. No visitor sees him without my order.”
Havering stiffened. “This is outrageous.”
Harry continued as if he had not spoken, eyes pinned on the man as he continued. “His council seat is suspended. His household staff will be questioned. Any man found carrying messages on his behalf will be taken in irons.”
“Your Majesty, I protest.”
“You may do so from a cell.”
The color in Havering’s face was steeped with panic. “A cell? For overhearing a foolish conversation?”
“For hearing treason and keeping it warm. Her life has already been threatened once. To speak so casually and call it foolish conversation means you do not care about the Crown.”
“This is tyranny.”
Harry moved so quickly Havering flinched before he could stop himself. The King leaned in, voice quiet enough that only the men in the room could hear every word.
“No,” Harry said. “Tyranny would be dragging you to the courtyard and hanging you before breakfast because your silence endangered my wife and child. This is mercy for now. You would do well to recognize it.”
Havering’s breathing had turned shallow.
Harry straightened and gave the guards a glance. “Take him.”
The two men crossed the room and seized Havering by either arm. His polished dignity fractured at once.
“You cannot do this,” he snapped, struggling as they turned him toward the door. “I am Lord Havering. My family has held land in Thornekeep for generations.”
“Shame then,” Harry said, returning to the head of the table, “that you will sleep behind iron tonight.”
Havering twisted once more, looking back over his shoulder. “The court will hear of this.”
Harry picked up the pen from the table and dipped it into the ink. “I am counting on it.”
The guards dragged him out, still protesting, his voice echoing down the corridor until the door shut and cut him off.
For a moment, the chamber was quiet again as Harry wrote Havering’s name at the top of the first clean sheet, then beneath it, in firm black strokes:
He heard treason and did not speak.
He set the page aside, and looked to Niall.
“Bring me Corbin.”
Niall bowed and went. Harry set the pen beside the page and watched the shine leave the fresh ink. Havering’s outrage still seemed to hang in the chamber, though it had done the man little good. Titles, connections, and inherited seats at the council table had protected men for so long that they had begun to mistake their privilege for immunity.
The door opened several minutes later. Master Corbin entered with Niall close behind him, followed by one of the guards from the passage. Corbin had dressed carefully despite the early hour, but his haste showed in the crooked fold of his cravat. He bowed low before Harry, then remained bent a moment longer than courtesy required.
“Your Majesty. I was told you wished to see me.”
Harry gestured toward the far end of the table. “Stand there.”
Corbin obeyed. His gaze settled briefly upon the vacant chair before returning to Harry, and the nervous movement did not escape notice.
“You were in the old solar yesterday afternoon.”
“I was, Majesty. Lord Havering and I had invited several of the council to take a little wine and discuss matters of mutual concern.”
“What matters?”
Corbin wet his lips. “There were several. The northern leases, chiefly, and some question regarding the collection of—”
“Tell me what was said about my wife.”
The prepared answer died before it reached Corbin’s mouth. His eyes shifted toward Niall, who had resumed his place against the wall, then quickly returned to the king.
“I cannot imagine what Your Majesty has been told.”
Harry rested one hand upon the table. “You need not imagine it. I shall tell you. It was heard that someone said that if she gives me an heir, that I will be undone. If she gives me a child, the realm will be lost. And that there are those who will not allow it.”
Corbin’s face pinched inward.
Harry allowed the silence to settle before asking, “Which sentence was yours?”
“Majesty, words overheard through a door may easily be mistaken.”
“Then you are fortunate I have brought you here to correct the threats made against the queen.”
“It was no conspiracy. Men speak strongly when discussing the welfare of the kingdom we care so much for. A careless phrase ought not be dressed up as threat merely because it was spoken without sufficient caution.”
Harry’s fingers pressed against the wood. “I ask again. Which sentence was yours?”
Corbin drew a shallow breath. “I may have observed that there were those who would believe the realm lost if Her Majesty bore a child.”
“Mm.”
“Your Majesty, what I meant was—”
“I did not summon you to tell me what you now wish you had meant.”
Corbin looked down. The man’s obvious fear was useful. At least Corbin already understood that his silence would not shield him, unlike Havering.
“My words were poorly chosen,” he admitted. “I did not mean threat to Her Majesty.”
“Why did you speak it then?”
Corbin swallowed. “There is concern among the older houses that Her Majesty’s influence has grown too quickly. Since the business at the scaffold, she has gained a measure of affection among the lower wards. Some believe that if she provides an heir, that affection will become allegiance. Her position will be beyond challenge.”
“She is my lawfully crowned wife. Her position is already beyond challenge.”
“Of course.”
“Do not agree with me merely because you are frightened. You did not agree yesterday.”
Corbin pressed his lips together tightly.
Harry moved around the end of the table, still keeping his distance. “Who said I would be undone?”
“Councillor Royston.”
“And how did he suppose a child would undo me? What did he mean by that?”
“He said Your Majesty had already permitted the Queen to overturn a lawful sentence before the eyes of the kingdom. He feared an heir would make her influence permanent and that the Crown would no longer heed the counsel of those born and trained to understand its obligations.”
“My wife petitioned me for mercy. I granted it. The Crown was not overturned.”
“I only repeat his argument, Majesty.”
“You agreed with it.”
“No.”
“And then declared the realm lost.”
Corbin had no answer for that.
Harry returned to his place at the head of the table. “Who said there were those who would not allow it?”
Corbin looked toward the closed door as though someone might hear him through the stone.
“Lord Havering.”
“What did he mean?”
“He did not explain.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“No, Majesty.”
“Why not? To me, it sounds as though he makes a direct threat to the life of my unborn child. No one thought to question his threat?”
Corbin’s hands tightened together before him. “I believed he meant there were houses that would resist the child’s succession. They might petition the council or refuse to lend their support to an announcement. But no threat of life Your Majesty.”
“Were those his words?”
“No.”
“Then you have told me what you hoped he meant, not what you understood him to mean.”
“I understood nothing beyond what I have said.”
Harry stared him. “Did anyone in that room speak directly of harming the Queen?”
“No.”
“The child?”
“No, Majesty. Never.”
“Did anyone discuss her chambers, her food, her guards, or the places she is accustomed to walk?”
“No.” Corbin answered more quickly now. “Dr. Alderton’s visits were mentioned because they had already been noticed, but nothing was said of reaching Her Majesty. There was no plan against her person. I swear it.”
That much, Harry suspected, was true. Corbin remained frightened, but the frantic uncertainty had left his voice. No design had been openly laid before him.
Still, the gathering had not been harmless. Many plots begin in private rooms with whispers between what people believe to be respectable men all the time.
“Who arranged the meeting?”
“Councillor Royston asked me to attend but Lord Havering secured the room for us.”
“And Ashcombe?”
“He was present.”
“I am aware of that. What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Corbin shook his head. “He sat near the window and listened.”
“Did he object when you spoke of the Queen?”
“No.”
“Did he appear shocked when Havering said there were men who would not allow the child?”
“No.”
“Frightened?”
“No, Majesty.”
“What did he appear?”
Corbin considered the question, and the answer seemed to trouble him more than any he had given before.
“Attentive.”
Harry glanced down at the page before him. “Who left first?”
“Mr. Ashcombe.”
“Where did he go?”
“I do not know.”
Havering’s rooms were already being searched. If a letter, ledger, or private seal connected him to any organised design against Y/n, Harry would have it before the day ended. Corbin knew this too now, most likely. His eyes had begun to wander toward the papers spread over the table as if he could read his fate among them.
“Lord Havering is confined,” Harry said. “His rooms are being opened as we speak. Every letter, account, and private paper he possesses will be placed before me. His servants will be questioned, his messengers detained, and his seal kept from his hand.”
Corbin stared at him.
“The same will be done to you. There is, however, a difference between a coward who spoke treason among men he wished to impress and a conspirator who concealed a design against the royal succession. What is found in your papers will determine which you are.”
“I have concealed nothing. I have told Your Majesty everything.”
“We will soon know if that is the truth.”
Harry looked to the guards. “Master Corbin is to be confined separately. I will have the same order for him as Havering.”
Corbin took one step forward and the guards moved at once.
“Majesty, my affairs will be ruined.”
“You made my wife and child your affair yesterday. And because you chose not to come to me, you may endure the outcome of your words spoken in private.”
“I meant them no harm.”
“Then pray your papers prove it.”
The guards took him by either arm. Corbin didn’t resist, though his composure deserted him as they drew him toward the door.
“I spoke carelessly,” he insisted. “That was all. Your Majesty, I swear it was only talk. Forgive me!”
Harry waited until the door closed behind him before taking up his pen.
Beneath the sentence he had written for Havering, he added:
Royston began it. Corbin declared the realm lost. Havering spoke of those who would not allow the child. Ashcombe listened and left first.
The last detail held his attention. Of the four men, Ashcombe had spoken the least and had left before the others.
Harry set down the pen and looked at Niall.
“Royston,” he said. “Now.”
Niall returned less than ten minutes later with Councillor Royston between the two guards. Royston entered as though he had been summoned to dispute a tax rather than answer for treason. His bow was shallow, his jaw set, and an angry flush already stood high upon his cheeks.
“Majesty.”
Harry regarded him across the table. “You arranged yesterday’s gathering in the solar?”
Royston’s gaze moved briefly over the papers before him. “I invited several men to speak privately about the state of the kingdom. If that has become a crime, your gaols will be crowded before the week is out.”
“Master Corbin says you and Havering asked him to attend.”
“Corbin would swear black was white if the room were cold enough.”
Harry felt no need to defend the man. “Did you say that if the Queen gave me an heir, I would be undone?”
“I did and I believe it true.”
The answer came without pause or apology. Niall shifted beside the wall, but Harry remained still.
“Explain it.”
Royston lifted his chin. “Her Majesty was a poor choice. A grave one, in my estimation, though yours to make.”
“She is my lawfully crowned wife.”
“Yes. Unwise all the same. A foolish selection.”
Harry watched the man’s temper gather strength from his own voice. At least he was forthright so far.
“She came to the throne without lineage, alliance, education, or preparation,” Royston continued. “She publicly interfered with a sentence passed by her king, and you permitted it. You placed your affection above every expectation that has governed the Crown for generations.”
“I granted mercy. The authority remained mine.”
“After she brought you down from the scaffold before half the kingdom. What an embarrassment this regime had turned into because of her.”
Royston’s voice had risen. One hand closed into a fist at his side. Harry allowed him to continue. Honest anger might reveal more than anything.
“A king may survive an unwise marriage,” Royston said. “But an heir makes that folly permanent. It demands that the kingdom inherit his private indulgence and we are all burdened to call it duty.”
Harry rose slowly from his chair. “What remedy did you propose?”
Royston’s mouth tightened.
“You have shown little reluctance thus far,” Harry said. “Do not discover it now. Tell me what you proposed.”
“That the council ought to refuse its support to the child’s succession. And that if you attempted to force such an heir upon the kingdom, your own fitness to rule must be considered.”
“You believe I should lose my crown for fathering a child with my wife.”
“Your choices do not belong to you alone. You have made a mockery the traditions that placed that crown upon your head, and there is shame in it. If you choose to make the realm pay for your desires, then yes, Majesty. Perhaps you ought not remain king.”
Harry came around the table and Royston held his ground, though his shoulders stiffened as Harry stopped before him.
“Did any man in that room propose harming the Queen?”
“No.”
“The child?”
“No. I heard no such plan, nor would I have supported one. I object to your wife as readily in daylight as I did behind a closed door. I stand firm in my belief.”
“You might be honest, but that does not grant you safety now.”
“I expect nothing. You summoned me for the truth, and now you dislike hearing it.”
Harry stepped nearer until little more than a breath separated them. Royston was bold enough to meet his eyes, but the heat in his face had begun to recede.
“Then hear my truth,” Harry said quietly. “You gathered those men beneath my roof. You named my wife and child enemies of the realm, and pretend your objection is for the sake of tradition. If either of them is harmed, I shall begin with the man who called the room together.”
For the first time, Royston’s gaze shifted. It was no more than a flick toward the guards beside the door, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but Harry saw it.
“I shall begin with you,” he finished.
Royston swallowed. “That would be vengeance, not justice.”
“Then let us both hope I am not made to choose vengeance.”
The words struck where Harry intended. Something uncertain passed over Royston’s face before pride settled back into its place.
“Threatening me does not make her fit to be queen.”
“No. Her conduct makes her fit to be queen. My threat is nearly a reminder of where you stand underneath me.”
He stepped away and looked toward the guards. “Confine him separately under the same restrictions as the others. Search his chambers, his council office, and his house. His seal is to be removed.”
One of the guards reached for Royston’s arm. Royston wrenched it free and straightened his coat.
“Keep your hands from me. I know how to walk.”
He turned toward the door with his head still high.
“You may imprison every man who questions your authority,” he said over his shoulder. “But this does not erase what many of us in this realm think.”
Harry returned to his chair as Royston carried on without looking back. The door closed behind him.
Harry took up his pen and wrote beneath the other names:
Royston convened the gathering. He admits sedition and believes it virtue. He would deny the child’s succession and remove the King.
Of the men, so far, Royston had been the boldest. Harry did not think Royston had concealed a scheme of violence, but he was not innocent. His treason was political, arrogant, and spoken loudly enough for all to hear.
The quiet man remained. Harry set down the pen and looked at Niall.
“Bring me Ashcombe.”
Ashcombe entered several minutes later with none of Corbin’s disarray or Royston’s fury. He was plainly dressed, his cravat tied properly and his expression composed. Even his bow appeared measured.
“Your Majesty.”
Harry stood behind the table. “You were with Corbin, Royston, and Havering yesterday in the old solar?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I heard there was talk of a great many things, and yet you did not speak.”
“No, Majesty.”
“And you remained while the others spoke treason against my wife and child.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Ashcombe’s gaze rested upon him. “I wished to hear how far they would go.”
The answer was too easy. Like it’d been rehearsed. Harry considered him for a moment, recalling what Corbin had said.
“You left first.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
A slight pause came before the answer. “To the posting house.”
Harry’s hand settled beside the page. “Why?”
“To send three letters.”
Harry’s interest was piqued. “To whom?”
Ashcombe named three men, each belonging to an old and influential house beyond the capital. Harry wrote the names down before looking up again.
“What did you tell them?”
“That the Queen is with child. That there are men within the council who believe the succession must be opposed before the child is born.”
Havering, Corbin, and Royston had concealed that much between them. Perhaps they had not known. Harry suspected from Ashcombe’s calmness that they had not.
“Did any of them ask you to write?”
“No.”
“You took that upon yourself.”
“I believed others ought to know that concern existed within the palace. If objections are to be made, they must be made before the kingdom is presented with an heir.”
Harry shifted. Ashcombe had not sat silently out of fear. He had been committing every word to memory.
“What did you ask these men to do?”
“To gather support. To come to the capital when the Queen’s condition is publicly acknowledged and make their objections known if they have them.”
“With petitions?”
“Yes.”
“And crowds.”
“If enough men share the concern, yes.”
“A crowd gathered against a pregnant woman is not a petition.”
“It was not meant against the woman. It was meant against what her child represents.”
Harry swallowed. “A petition against a pregnant woman’s unborn child is a petition against her.”
“I intended no harm to Her Majesty.”
“You carried the words of men who spoke of what they would not allow and sent them across my kingdom in an effort to, what? Stop her from bearing a child? To remove the crown from my wife’s head before an heir born?”
Ashcombe’s composure shifted then, though only slightly. “I did not agree with Havering’s threat.”
“You gave it reach and told your king nothing of it.”
Harry turned to Niall. “Send riders to the posting houses at once. I want those letters taken before they are delivered. If they have already passed beyond reach, place every man he named under watch and seize any reply before it reaches the palace.”
Niall bowed and left at once.
Ashcombe glanced after him. “They have committed no offense.”
“If so, then they will be fortunate enough to remain innocent.”
Harry looked to the guards. “Confine him with the others. His seat is suspended and he is to have no communication with anyone.”
The guards moved to either side of Ashcombe.
For the first time, unease entered his face. “I told you freely.”
“You told me freely because you knew I would find the drafts. Someone told you what was happening before you arrived here to my council chambers. Who was it?”
Ashcombe did not deny it but he also did not respond as his gaze flickered toward the floor.
“You did tell me freely of the offense, yet you choose to protect the informant.”
“I sought lawful opposition.”
“You hoped to gather a mob against my wife and unborn child.”
One of the guards took Ashcombe by the arm. He offered no resistance as they turned him toward the door, but his careful composure had gone stiff.
Harry watched him leave.
The others had brought treason into a private room. Ashcombe had carried it beyond the palace. But the greater danger now lay closer. Before Ashcombe had been summoned, someone had warned him that the councillors were being questioned and their papers searched. That was why he had confessed so readily. Somewhere within Harry’s own household—perhaps among the guards or trusted footmen—was a traitor who had given Ashcombe time to prepare.
. .
Phoebe dropped the pearl-headed pin for the second time.
Y/n watched through the mirror as she stooped to retrieve it, nearly upsetting the little tray upon the dressing table in her haste. She had been unlike herself all morning. Her hands were clumsy, her answers distracted, and each unexpected sound from the passage made her glance toward the door.
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing, ma’am.” Phoebe returned to Y/n’s hair and attempted to secure the same curl again. “I did not sleep especially well. That is all.”
“Phoebe.”
Phoebe paused and she stared at Y/n’s reflection with a guilty expression. Then her shoulders sank.
“His Majesty caught Captain Niall and me together last night.”
Y/n turned so quickly that Phoebe had to release the curl to keep from pulling it. “Caught you together how?”
“We were only embracing.”
Phoebe looked petrified, but Y/n’s thoughts had already gone elsewhere.
“How did Harry catch you? When? He didn’t tell me of this.”
“It was in the little antechamber beside the north service stair. Niall and I stopped only for a moment. At least, I meant for it to be only a moment, but then he kissed me and—oh, ma’am, it hardly matters what we were doing. His Majesty found us, surely I will be told to leave now.”
Phoebe began pacing between the dressing table and the bed, twisting her fingers together as the rest came pouring out.
“I thought he would dismiss me of the job at once. I thought he might dismiss Niall as well, or have him stripped of his command. He looked so displeased. He ordered me to go to my chamber, and I scarcely closed my eyes all night for wondering what he meant to do today. But Niall was at his post this morning as though nothing had happened. He did not look at me, and I did not dare go near him. I have been expecting someone to come for me since dawn.”
“Phoebe, sit down.”
“I ought never to have allowed it. Not there. Niall knows better, and so do I, but I had hardly seen him alone in days, and he said—”
“Sit,” Y/n repeated gently.
Phoebe obeyed at last, settling at the edge of the bed. Y/n moved beside her and took both of her restless hands.
“Look at me. If Harry meant to dismiss Niall, he would not have permitted him to return to his post this morning.”
“But he might dismiss me.”
“I shall not allow that.”
Phoebe stared at her. “Ma’am, you cannot quarrel with the king on my account.”
“I do not intend to quarrel. I intend to discover precisely what he means to do.” Y/n squeezed her hands. “Leave Harry to me. Whatever he decides concerning where and when you may meet Niall, I shall insist that you continue in my service exactly as you have. You have been loyal to me through far worse than an ill-chosen embrace in a passage.”
“It was a little more than an embrace,” Phoebe admitted miserably.
“I had gathered that.”
A small, embarrassed smile appeared, but it did not last. “His Majesty saw enough to gather it as well.”
“And still, he sent you to your chamber rather than from the castle. That must count for something.” Y/n waited until some of the panic had left Phoebe’s face before asking, “What hour was this?”
“I cannot say precisely.”
“Was it before midnight?”
“Oh, no. Well after. The clock had struck twelve before I left my chamber to meet Niall. It may have been nearer one when His Majesty found us.”
Y/n’s fingers loosened around hers.
Harry had been in bed beside her last night. He had waited until she slept, slipped from their chamber, and gone searching for Niall. Or perhaps he was about for other reasons…
Yet when Y/n had asked whether he had left her during the night, he had told her he had not.
The hurt came before the anger. He had looked directly at her and lied. But why would he lie? What was he doing that was so nefarious that he couldn’t tell her of it? And only days ago, Harry had made her answer for her own deception and the danger it had caused. Now he had decided that his reasons entitled him to do the same.
“Ma’am?”
Phoebe’s anxious voice brought her back. Y/n realized her hands had gone rigid in her lap.
“Are you angry with me?” Phoebe asked.
“No.” She made herself soften. “Not with you. You have done nothing that cannot be put right.”
“But His Majesty—”
“Is my concern.” Y/n rose and drew Phoebe up with her. “You are not to torment yourself until we know there is anything to fear. Niall remains at his post, and you remain with me. Those are the only facts we possess at present.”
Phoebe nodded, though she still looked uncertain.
“Now let us finish my hair so I may attend luncheon. The king said he would join me. Let’s see if he remembers saying so.”
That earned a small laugh. Phoebe returned to the dressing table and managed the remaining pins without dropping another, though she became flustered again when they stepped into the passage and found Niall waiting with another guard outside the royal apartments.
Niall bowed. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes moved to Phoebe for the briefest instant before returning dutifully to Y/n.
“Your Majesty.”
“You will escort us to luncheon, Captain.”
“At once.”
Y/n glanced at Phoebe as the other guards fell into place behind them. Niall was still wearing his sword, still bearing his rank, and still entrusted with the Queen’s protection. Whatever Harry intended, he had not ruined either of them in a fit of temper. Phoebe appeared to understand the silent reassurance and drew a steadier breath.
Y/n could offer herself no such comfort.
By the time they reached the room where luncheon had been laid, she had smoothed every trace of anger from her face. The footman opened the doors, and Harry was already waiting beside the table.
She entered with Phoebe behind her, carrying the knowledge of his lie in perfect silence, but still, surprise displaced Y/n’s anger. Harry rarely had command of the middle of his day. Luncheon promises were easily overtaken by council meetings, petitions, and whatever fresh problem had arrived at the castle gates. Though he had told her that morning he would join her, she had half expected to find his chair empty and an apology sent in his place.
Yet he had come.
Harry crossed the room as soon as she entered. His hand settled at her waist and he kissed her forehead before taking her hand and leading her toward the table.
“I told you I would be here,” he said.
“You did.”
At least that he’d been honest about.
He drew out her chair and helped her into it, one hand stayed in hers until she was comfortably settled. His attention moved past her then, first to Niall and the other guard, then across the footmen waiting beside the wall. Phoebe lowered her eyes, likely believing his scrutiny concerned her, but Harry’s gaze did not remain upon either of them for long.
He took his own seat. “How has your morning been?”
“Occupied.”
“With what?”
“I answered several letters. The housekeeper came to speak with me about what linens I might like for our chamber, and Phoebe with my assigned guards accompanied me through the west garden before it grew too warm.”
“You did not tire yourself?”
“No.”
“And you have felt well?”
“Yes.”
Her answers had been clipped enough that on any other day he would have noticed. Harry ordinarily detected the smallest change in her manner, particularly when it was directed at him. Today, he merely nodded and glanced toward the servant who approached to place the bowl of fruit.
Y/n watched him follow the man’s hands. When another footman stepped forward to place a dish upon the table, Harry’s attention shifted immediately to him. He seemed aware of every movement within the room, yet scarcely conscious of the wife sitting across from him.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
His gaze returned to her. “Nothing.”
“You seem distracted.”
“I have had a busy morning.”
“So busy that you were gone before the sun had properly risen.” She lifted her cup but did not drink from it. “What required you so early?”
“Council business.”
“What sort of council business?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with.”
The dismissal was softly spoken, almost careless, but it whetted the anger she had been holding beneath her composure.
“I see.”
Harry reached for his tea. “It has been handled.”
She was unsatisfied with that answer. He had left her bed in the night, lied when she asked him about it, and then departed again before dawn to handle some mysterious business he had decided did not concern her. Y/n could have pressed him then, but Phoebe stood only a short distance away. Revealing how she had discovered his lie would drag her and Niall into an argument that had little to do with their embrace.
So Y/n said nothing. Not yet.
The first course had already been placed before them, a light broth Harry appeared to have no interest in eating. His spoon remained untouched while his gaze traveled once more to the door and then to the guards. Y/n reached for her bowl, intending to draw it closer.
Harry stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor and before her fingers reached the porcelain, he seized the bowl and lifted it from the table.
“What is in this?”
The footman nearest them stared at him. “Your Majesty?”
“This broth. What is in it?”
“Chicken broth, Sire. Pearl barley, carrot, parsley, and a little salt.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, Sire. It was prepared according to Dr. Alderton’s instructions to the chef.”
Y/n stared at Harry. His reaction belonged to a pistol discovered beside her hand, not a bowl of soup. He looked down at the pale broth as if the servant’s answer might have altered its appearance.
“Harry,” she said.
He set the bowl down, though not directly before her. A trace of color had risen beneath his cheekbones, and for an instant he appeared flustered by the attention he had drawn. But the unease remained in his eyes.
“I wished to know what had been served to you.”
“You might have asked without snatching it from beneath my hand.”
“Yes.” He adjusted the bowl needlessly. “Of course.”
Y/n pushed back her chair and stood. “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing is the matter.”
“You have scarcely taken your eyes from the doors since I entered. You have inspected every servant who has approached this table, and now you are interrogating a footman over my broth.”
“I did not interrogate him.”
The door opened before she could answer. A servant entered carrying a fresh pot of tea, and Harry wheeled toward him so quickly that the young man stopped at the threshold.
“What is it?” Harry demanded.
The servant’s hands tightened around the silver tray. “Fresh tea. Hot. Your Majesty.”
Harry stared at him for a moment before seeming to recall where he was. “Set it down.”
The servant approached cautiously. Harry watched every step he took, his body held taut until the pot had been placed on the table and the man had retreated.
Y/n had seen Harry furious often enough. This was not fury. He was frightened, though he was attempting to conceal it beneath clipped answers and an unconvincing show of authority. Something had happened that morning, perhaps even during the night, and he would not tell her what it was.
He had lied to her once already. Now he stood before her insisting nothing was wrong while behaving as if danger might be carried into the room upon a tea tray.
“That is enough.” Y/n turned toward the people gathered around them. “Phoebe, wait for me in the passage. Captain, take the guards outside and close the doors. The rest of you are dismissed until told otherwise.”
No one moved at first. Several uncertain glances passed toward Harry, awaiting his command despite hers.
Y/n lifted her chin. “I said, leave us. I need to speak with my husband.”
The room emptied slowly, and Niall ushered the last of the servants into the passage before drawing the doors closed behind him.
Harry remained standing beside the table near the pot and Y/n gestured toward his chair.
“Sit.”
He eyed her for a moment before doing as she asked. Rather than return to the chair across from him, Y/n took the one beside his and turned until she faced him fully.
She stared, waiting.
Harry shifted beneath the scrutiny. “What is this all about?”
“Tell me what is wrong. I want to know.”
“Nothing is wrong—”
“Do not.” She interrupted before the denial had fully left his mouth. “I can tell that you are lying to me, Harry, and I will not tolerate being lied to my face by my own husband.”
His expression tightened.
“What did you do this morning?” she asked. “What council business required you so early?”
Harry reached for his tea and took a slow drink. Whether he was attempting to compose himself or merely delay answering, she could not tell.
“I did not want you worried,” he said at last. “You ought not be subjected to needless strain. It is not good for you or the baby.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Do you think my husband acting like a lunatic is healthy for me?”
“Y/n—”
“You are what is worrying me. You and this strange display.” She gestured toward the bowl he had snatched from her. “You nearly frightened that poor footman out of his wits over a little barley and parsley. I must know what has you behaving this way. Tell me.”
Harry lowered his cup. For several seconds, he stared into the tea before speaking so quietly that she almost had to lean nearer.
“I had the men from the old solar brought to the council chamber this morning.”
Y/n’s indignation faltered. “All of them?”
“Havering, Corbin, Royston, and Ashcombe. I questioned each of them separately. They have been detained, and their chambers, homes, and correspondence are being searched as we speak.”
It was more serious than the vague council business he had suggested, but it was also something she could understand. Harry had acted upon what she had overheard. He had found the men and dealt with the threat.
“But it is not settled?”
“It is for the present.”
“No.” Y/n read the strain that remained in his face. “If you believed it settled, you would not be watching every person who comes near me as though they mean to draw a weapon. What else happened?”
Harry exhaled and leaned back in the chair. “Ashcombe knew what awaited him before he entered the chamber.”
“What do you mean?”
“He knew what I intended to ask before I asked it. He knew his correspondence would be seized and that I would find the drafts of three letters he had sent from the palace. That is why he admitted everything to me so readily. Concealment was no longer of use to him.”
The anger left Y/n entirely. “And what does that mean?
“Someone warned him.”
“Someone here?”
“They would have needed to know which men had been summoned, what they were being questioned about, and that their rooms and papers were being searched.” Harry’s gaze drifted toward the closed doors. “Someone near me heard my orders and carried word to Ashcombe before he was brought into the chamber.”
“A tattler.”
“Or a traitor. I do not yet know which name suits them best.”
The castle was filled with people. Guards, clerks, footmen, maids, council officials, messengers. Any one of them might have overheard enough to understand what Harry was doing.
“It could be anyone,” she said.
“Anyone who was near the council chambers this morning or had contact with someone who was.”
“Not Niall, surely.”
“No,” he said. “I do not believe it was Niall.”
Y/n nodded. She would not entertain the possibility. Niall had already placed himself between her and death once. Whatever improper use he made of darkened antechambers, he was no traitor.
“Then what will you do?”
“I have the name of every person who was present before and during the questionings. Every guard posted in the corridor, every clerk summoned, every servant who entered, and every messenger sent from that part of the palace. I intend to make my own inquiries quietly.”
“You will not question them?”
“Not yet. If they know they are suspected, the guilty one may flee or destroy whatever connects them to Ashcombe. I want them to believe he protected his source.” Harry reached for her hand. “No one must know I am looking. Not Niall. Not even Phoebe.”
“I understand.”
His thumb passed over her knuckles, but Y/n had not forgotten the other lie lying between them.
“And the middle of the night?”
He searched her face, brows pulling in.
“Was this why you left our chamber?”
“Yes.”
Y/n withdrew her hand. “So you did leave.”
“I did.”
“And when I asked you, you lied.”
“I did not want you to know I had acted upon what you told me until I understood what we were dealing with.”
“But you lied.”
He held her gaze. “I know. I am sorry.”
“Where did you go?”
“To find Niall. I needed the names of the men he had seen in the old solar so that I could alert Fred of the matter, and I wanted him to have his orders before morning.”
That explained how Harry had found Phoebe and Niall together, though it did little to ease Y/n’s displeasure at having been deceived.
Harry watched her face. “Did Phoebe tell you?”
Y/n said nothing. She merely stared at him, her expression flat and unreadable.
Harry sighed. “I saw them together.”
Still, Y/n waited.
“They were in the antechamber near the north stair,” he continued. “Far closer than either of them ought to have been in a passage.”
“And what do you intend to do about it?”
“At present? Nothing.”
Y/n’s brows lifted.
“It is the least of my worries,” Harry said. “So long as they remain professional and neither neglects a duty to pursue the other, I cannot be bothered with it now. Niall is one of the few men I trust with your life, and Phoebe has remained loyal to you when others have not. Removing either of them during a time when almost no one can be trusted would be worse than allowing them the occasional ill-chosen embrace.”
“Do you mean to dismiss her?”
“I do not.”
“And Niall?”
“He remains captain of guard.”
Relief eased some of the tension from Y/n’s shoulders.
“What I saw appeared harmless enough,” Harry added.
Y/n nearly smiled at the careful phrasing. “Harmless. So it was no more than an embrace.”
“I saw enough to know they were not discussing palace security.”
A little laugh escaped her. It faded quickly, however, as she remembered what had brought them to this conversation.
“You should have told me the truth last night.”
“I know.”
“If there is someone within the palace carrying information to our enemies, I need to know. It is my safety you are so frightened for. I cannot protect myself or our child from a danger you refuse to speak.”
“I thought ignorance might spare you the worry.”
“It did not. It only left me frightened of you as well.”
Harry reached for her again. “I am sorry, mouse.”
Y/n allowed him to take her hand. “You will not lie to me again.”
“I will not.”
“Everything that concerns my safety, Harry.”
“Everything.”
The clock upon the mantel chimed the quarter hour. Harry glanced toward it and muttered beneath his breath.
“You have another meeting,” Y/n said.
“I am already late.”
They had scarcely touched the luncheon he had made such an effort to attend. The broth sat cooling upon the table, and both cups of tea had gone nearly cold.
Harry stood, and Y/n rose with him. He drew her close, one hand settling at her waist while the other touched her cheek.
“Say nothing of the investigation,” he said. “To no one. Not even Phoebe. Promise me.”
“I shall tell her only that she still has her position. I will say nothing of the investigation. You have my word.”
“And tell her that she and Niall ought to find a room with a door next time.”
Y/n gave him a stern look. “I will not tell her that.”
“Then I shall leave it to Niall.”
She caught the front of Harry’s coat before he could move away. “No more lies.”
“No more.”
Y/n kissed him, and the last of her anger softened beneath his hand as it slipped around her waist. When they parted, he pressed another kiss to her forehead before letting her go to attend whatever new matter awaited him, leaving their luncheon almost entirely uneaten.
. .
By the time Harry returned to their chambers, the day had reduced itself to a dull ache behind his eyes.
He had spent the hours following luncheon working on his prescheduled affairs while lists of names were spread before him, tracing the movements of guards, clerks, messengers, and servants. Every answer had produced another question. Every man who appeared above suspicion seemed merely to leave room for someone else beneath it.
The possibility of treachery had followed him through every passage. He had caught himself studying faces he had known for years and watching hands that came too near his papers. Even the quiet exchanges between servants had begun to sound secretive.
He wanted no more of it tonight.
Harry dismissed the attendant waiting outside the royal apartments and entered their chamber alone. Warmth met him first, followed by the soft scent of rose oil rising with the steam from the bath that had been drawn.
Y/n stood beside it in her robe, her hair gathered on her head in a loose arrangement that exposed her neck. Several tendrils had escaped and curled near her temples. A painted dish of grapes and sliced pear rested upon the broad lip of the tub, along with two glasses and a small pitcher of water.
She looked at him without speaking, and he closed the door behind himself. The latch had scarcely settled before Y/n loosened the belt of her robe. The garment slipped from her shoulders and fell into a silken heap at her feet.
He parted his mouth and pulled in a breath at the sight.
She stepped carefully into the steaming water, one hand braced on the rim. He watched the graceful stretch of her bare leg, the curve of her hip, and then the slow disappearance of her body beneath the water. When she settled against the sloping end of the tub, the water rose just high enough to conceal most of her breasts. Their rounded tops remained visible, damp and gleaming above the surface.
For several seconds, Harry only stared
Y/n plucked a grape from the dish and placed it into her mouth as she stared back at him.
His hands moved at last. He tugged impatiently at his cravat, pulled it free, and began working open his coat. His gaze stayed on her as he shrugged out of it and dropped it across the back of a chair. She watched him remove his boots without offering any assistance or explanation.
Only after he straightened again did she smile.
“Hurry and join me, husband.”
Harry needed no further invitation.
His waistcoat followed the coat. He pulled his shirt over his head, cast it aside, and stripped away the remainder of his clothing with none of the care ordinarily expected of a king’s expensive wardrobe. By morning, his valet would likely have several complaints concerning wrinkles and abandoned stockings.
But right then, Harry could not bring himself to care.
Y/n’s eyes moved leisurely over him as he approached the bath. Her gaze settled low enough to make the last of the day’s troubles retreat from his thoughts.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asked.
“Long enough.”
He climbed into the opposite end. The water rose around him, and some of the strain began to loosen from his shoulders. Before he could fully settle, Y/n moved toward him.
She came between his legs facing him, and then her knees rested on either side of his hips when she settled. Her hands traveled up his chest, over his shoulders, and finally to his face. She held him as though she had spent the day waiting to touch him.
“I love you,” she said.
Harry’s hands settled at her waist beneath the water. “I love you too, little mouse.”
She smiled as her thumbs passed softly over his cheeks. “I do not think you understand. I love you very much.”
A tired smile pulled at his mouth. “That sounds rather serious.”
“It is.”
She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips smeared over his while her fingers slipped into the hair behind his ears, keeping him close. Harry closed his eyes and allowed the kiss to quiet the final restless corner of his mind.
When she drew away, her eyes looked unusually bright.
“What has brought this on?” he asked.
“I do not know.” She traced his lower lip with her thumb. “I have felt so full of want for you this last half of the day. I nearly cried when I heard you outside the door.”
Harry frowned. “Are you unwell?”
“No.” Y/n laughed softly. “I am with child and in love with my husband. I have heard both are very emotional conditions.”
He smiled and let his hands slide up ward on her back.
“I wanted you to come back to something pleasant,” she continued. “You looked terribly burdened when you left me.”
“I was.”
“And how do you feel now?”
Harry drew both hands slowly along her sides. “Ask me again when I have been here a little longer.”
“I shall.”
She rested against him, and he felt the softness of her breasts press to his chest. His hands moved beneath the water, following the line of her spine to her hips. He caressed them slowly before gliding upward again. When he cupped one breast, Y/n released a quiet breath against his mouth.
She had grown more sensitive during the past weeks. Harry brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple and felt it tighten beneath his touch. Her body shifted closer, inviting more pressure.
“How was the remainder of your day?” she asked.
“Long.”
“I had gathered that much.”
“Aside from my scheduled meetings, I reviewed the names of everyone who passed through the council corridor this morning. There are more than I expected. Guards changed their posts, two messengers were sent for, and several clerks came and went while the searches were being arranged.”
His thumb circled her nipple again. Y/n’s lips parted, but her gaze remained innocently fixed upon his face.
“I also sent a man to question the clerk at the posting house,” Harry continued. “Thus far, no one recalls Ashcombe receiving any message, though that does not mean—”
Her hand slipped between their bodies and traveled downward beneath the water where the tips of her fingers brushed his cock.
Harry stopped speaking.
Y/n’s eyes remained innocently on his face. “That does not mean what?”
He stared at her, blinking.
She touched him again, tracing him with maddening softness before curling her fingers loosely around him.
“I no longer recall.”
“Mm. That is unfortunate.”
“You do not appear troubled by it.”
“I am deeply troubled, my king.”
She began to stroke him.
Harry laughed, the sound low and helpless. He let his body relax into the back of the bath while she ran her hand slowly along him beneath the water. He was already hardening beneath her touch, and she watched his face with open satisfaction as his breathing changed.
“You looked very handsome when you came through that door just now,” she told him.
“I expect I looked half-mad.”
“A little. Still handsome. Very.”
His hand returned to her breast, his thumb passing over the hardened tip. “You have chosen a peculiar manner of improving my vanity.”
“I am not trying to improve it. It requires no assistance.”
Her grip grew firmer as his cock hardened completely in her hand. Harry flexed his hips upward, and her lips lifted into a grin.
“You asked about my day only to distract me.”
“I did wish to know. But now I have heard enough of it. I can see you need peace.”
She stroked him once more before drawing back. Water streamed from her hand as she looked down at what she had done to him.
Then she lifted her gaze.
“Stand.”
Harry’s brows rose. “Here?”
“Yes.”
He laughed again but planted one hand on the rim and rose. Water poured down his body as he straightened before her. Y/n kept him in her hand, guiding him closer until he stood between her parted knees.
She was beautiful like that. Of course he thought she was beautiful always, but right then, she was a queen, bearing his child, naked and drawing her lips near to his cock.
She lowered her mouth and placed a kiss upon the head of him and he inhaled a sharp breath.
Another kiss followed, then more along his heavy length. Her hand continued its slow movement as her lips traveled over him, touching him in a way that felt more intimate than anything hurried or hungry could have been.
“Y/n.”
She looked up.
“I told you,” she whispered. “I have too much love for you today. At least in the second half after you told me the truth.”
His free hand moved to her face. “Then it is lucky I confessed.”
Her cheek settled briefly into his palm. Then she turned her head, kissed the center of it, and guided him back toward her mouth.
She parted her lips and took the head of his cock between them. Her tongue moved beneath it before she drew him deeper, sucking with one slow, tender pull that sent Harry’s head back with a helpless sound.
All day, he had doubted every face and watched every hand that came near him.
Now he looked down into his wife’s loving eyes and remembered there was still one place in the palace where he need guard nothing.
Her mouth drew him deeper, and the kingdom disappeared.
There was no haste in her as she smeared her lips down his shaft. She tasted him with her tongue, drew him deeper between her lips, then eased back until only the head of his cock remained in her mouth and on her tongue. Every time she looked up, Harry thought his knees might give.
He kept himself braced with a widened stance as one of his hands rested against her face. His thumb swept over her skin as she sucked him and he could feel his length under her cheek.
“Little mouse, yes.”
She hummed around him, wet eyes blinking up at him, and he let out a breath.
The vibration passed straight through him. Heat gathered low between his legs and grew heavier with every pull of her mouth. He could think of nothing beyond the wet warmth of her lips, the soft drag of her tongue, and the vision of her damp, naked body kneeling in their bath before him.
He loved her when she was obstinate. When she challenged him in a room full of people. When she looked at him as though being king did not make him any less of a fool. He loved her when she demanded honesty from him. And he loved her now with lips wrapped around his cock and her eyes blinking up at him softly.
His hand slipped into her hair.
“Y/n.”
She took him deeper, and a sound came from her throat as she struggled but pushed herself further still.
His hips pressed forward, sinking in deeper, but she didn’t retreat. She held his gaze and cradled the underside of his length with her tongue, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked.
“Christ.”
His release was close. He could already feel the pressure building, his body growing taut beneath her careful mouth. And she must have felt the pulsing, the way he was holding himself as still as he could, thighs trembling under the need to let go.
She pulled away, lips drawing back from him as her hand held him, throbbing in her palm, leaking from the tip.
Harry groaned, looking down in time to see her place one last kiss against the head of his cock and lave her tongue against the arousal that had dripped from him.
Then she took his hand. “Sit.”
He was in no state to argue. Harry lowered himself carefully into the bath, sending water surging against the sides, and Y/n moved over him, placing one knee beside his hip and then the other, straddling his lap. Harry’s hands found her waist as she positioned herself. Her skin was warm beneath his palms, flushed from the bath and slick with water.
She reached between them and wrapped her hand around him as she tilted herself over him and his eyes were glued to the way the water bent what was happening underneath as she guided his cock against her.
She lifted slightly to her knees and pressed him against her entrance. Her eyes remained on his as she began lowering herself.
Harry’s fingertips flexed against her hips as she took him. Her body opened around him, hot and slick, like her mouth but tighter. She inhaled shakily as she moved, the water sloshing around them as she lifted and lowered until the thick ridge of his head was fully within her and she could draw the rest of him deep into her walls.
Once she settled fully into his lap, her insides stretched around his cock, her lips parted as another breathless little sound fell from her, and Harry let out a broken moan feeling the warmth of her close tightly around him.
Y/n touched his face, tracing the line of his cheek with wet fingertips.
“It always feels so good,” she whispered.
His head was swimming and the blood in his brain was drained to one narrow place on his body that was tucked deep inside of his queen, so his only response was nothing more than a grunted yes.
“And I like it best when you come inside of me.”
Harry groaned and his head tipped back. He wasn’t going to last long after what her mouth had just done to him, and now hearing her speak as she squeezed around him the way she was would have this all come to an abrupt end before it had properly begun.
His hands slid down to her hips and gripped at her soft skin as he lifted her slowly and guided her back onto him. Water splashed around their bodies as she found the movement with him, rising upward before sinking into his lap again.
Harry watched everything, eyes focused on her body. Her breasts moved with her, the hardened peaks brushing his chest whenever she leaned close. Escaped tendrils clung to her neck, and her mouth fell open with each slow descent as his cock filled her.
She tightened around him and pressed against him, letting her curls brush against his pelvis as she went.
Harry groaned and pulled her closer. “Just like that.”
Y/n began moving with greater confidence. The bathwater rocked against the porcelain, spilling over the edge in little waves as she rose and fell above him. Her hands settled at his shoulders while his remained at her hips, helping her maintain the slow rhythm.
She leaned in and kissed him, her moan disappearing into his mouth when he lifted to meet her. He spread his thighs and worked up into her harder as she sank down over him again. His hand moved up her back and then around her ribs, catching one breast as it bounced softly with her movements.
Y/n arched into his touch and he circled her nipple with his thumb, then bent his head and drew it between his lips.
“Oh, god.”
He thrust upward more firmly, feeling her slick, gummy walls expand and tighten over him as he did. The moan was choked from her as his head pressed further into her tummy, deep enough that her face pinched from the ache of it.
Water struck the sides of the bath. Y/n clung to him, her movements losing some of their careful rhythm as pleasure overtook her. She squeezed him each time she lowered herself, so warm and tight that Harry could feel his control rapidly slipping away.
“I love you,” she breathed.
He parted her breast and looked up at her. “I love you, my queen.”
She kissed him again and their bodies slid together in the weightless rhythm they’d found. His thighs began to shake, his heart was racing, and he felt his body tighten where he pressed inside of her.
Harry gripped her bottom spreading her as she rode him, tilting herself into him and she broke from the kiss with a trembling gasp.
“Again,” she pleaded.
He gave her what she wanted, taking her bum and moving her against him, lifting his hips to press sharper inside her. Her thighs tightened around his hips. The muscles in her belly drew taut, and her inner walls fluttered around his cock.
He knew he would not last through much more of it.
She stared into his eyes, mouth parted, while he guided her hips and plunged himself up into her. He felt her shaking and then she gave a wobbled cry, eyes closing as she fell into his chest.
Her entire body tightened. She shuddered in his arms, squeezing around him in strong, helpless pulses as her release overtook her and the sound of the splashing water in the room met her desperate moans.
Harry followed almost at once, as the feel of her suction around him was too delicious to hold back.
He held her hips down and thrust deeply into her as he came, a rough moan tearing from him. Pleasure rolled through his body while he emptied himself inside her, his face pressed into the warm curve of her neck as every drop drained from his cock.
The water continued rocking around them for several moments before gradually becoming still and Y/n sagged against his chest.
He wrapped both arms around her and held her there, breathing hard. She stayed seated in his lap with him still buried inside her, her cheek resting against his shoulder and her fingers tracing gently over the back of his neck.
He had nearly fallen asleep like that until she lifted her head and looked at him, hands caressing his jaw and then his cheekbones. Her eyes were heavy and satisfied. She kissed him softly, then reached toward the dish of fruit on the rim of the bath, plucking a grape from the stem and held it to his mouth.
Harry looked at it and laughed, his brain still trying to awaken and puzzle together everything that had just happened.
“You scarcely ate luncheon. And I know you did not get a proper supper.”
He smiled and then opened his mouth and allowed her to place the grape on his tongue. Y/n grinned and reached to select another.
“Is this to be my supper?”
“No. This is merely to keep you alive until we leave the bath.”
“That may be some time. I do not know that my legs work right now.”
“Good.”
She fed him the second grape and leaned forward to kiss his jaw while he ate it. Her lips wandered toward his ear, leaving small kisses along the way as she settled more comfortably against him.
Harry closed his eyes and smoothed his hand over her back as some of the day’s pressure began to return.
The traitor was still somewhere within the palace. Ashcombe’s letters still needed to be traced and intercepted, and by morning another dozen problems would undoubtedly be awaiting him.
But tonight, Y/n was warm and smiling in his lap, feeding him grapes between kisses. At least in this moment they were happy and safe and together. Tomorrow would come with all its venom, but right then he would breathe and he would smile and he would bask in the only person that made him fell truly at peace.
. .
Feedback/Thoughts | Patreon
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Fem!Omega Reader x Alpha!Harry | 𝐓𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 23k
In the far north, where the sea meets ice and the gods still walk unseen, a child is born beneath an impossible sun. Branded by ancient seiðr, haunted by dreams that are not her own, and bound to a prophecy whispered before she could even speak. YN has always known her life would never truly belong to her. Across the water, Harry has been raised to rule, to fight, and to become the wolf his people expect. Their marriage is meant to unite two settlements. Instead, it awakens something far older. In a world where fate is sacred, love is dangerous, and the gods never speak without demanding something in return, YN and Harry must decide whether prophecy is something that can be changed...or merely survived.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 — Woven
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈 — Called
... more chapters to be announced...
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒: 𝟏. This story contains adult themes and language, such as sexual scenes. If you are uncomfortable with any of those, please do not read. 𝟐. This is what I have dubbed my passion project, and I read a single book and inspired this! 𝟑. This is an omegaverse story but I have changed certain elements to fit in with more norse terminology, i.e. omega = seiðr-blood, alpha = úlfr-blood. 𝟒. This is very different than what I normally write and focuses a lot on the world building, and the norse/omegaverse terminology and ideas. 𝟓. If the is not for you I will not be offended but if this is something you might be interested in, please give it a read! 𝟔. The main thing, as always, is please enjoy my passion project! I really have loved writing and researching this!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: This story contains explicit language, sexual content, norse/omegaverse terminology and a very, very sexy viking alpha Jarl Harry with a braid!
Please let me know what you think of 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 HERE!
CW: hii!! this is a best friends to lovers x pussy eating fiend fic that i used to have up on my prev account!!! since writing is a bit slow for me right now im reuploading this to hold u guys over 😋 this one is a 3 parter so stay tuned!! MINORS DNI!! enjoy <3
WC: 3.8K
When Y/N told Harry she wanted to hang out with him Friday afternoon, she didn’t quite think it would end up like this.
The original plan was to essentially do nothing all night. After a long, tiring week at work, nothing satisfied Y/N more than lazing around on her couch and snacking on all the chocolate sitting in her pantry she had been fantasising about having while at her desk. It was always nice to have someone do these things with you, though, where both parties could lie in silence, munch on snacks and glue their eyes to the television to forget everything that happened in the past workdays.
Y/N quickly realised Harry was the perfect person for this. He didn’t have much going on for him either so there was no reason why he would turn down a night of gorging Y/N’s pantry and flopping over her hunched body on the sofa so they could watch whatever show she was recently obsessing over.
And that was how the night started.
Harry came over at about 7, with a pizza for takeaway and a large soda, and claimed the furthest right corner of the couch, snuggled up with Y/N’s cat Lola. While Lola took her time sniffing Harry’s fingers and tentatively licking his knuckles, Y/N warmed up some popcorn and ruffled Harry’s hair as she walked past him to her spot on the other end of the sofa. “Heeeeeey,” he began, a furrow in his brows, “you can’t just do that. I put a lot of work into making it look this good.” Y/N rolled her eyes, “if it looks like that after all the work I’m afraid you’re not doing enough, Harry.” He didn’t say anything, only scoffed and shoved her legs slightly from where she had swung them on his lap, “you need to let that stick out of your ass. Let off some steam or something.”
“Right and do you want to volunteer as my punching bag?” She retorted. She wasn’t really trying to be mean, a teasing grin on her lips when he feigned offence once more, “that’s not what I meant. There are other ways to release tension, you know,” he said.
“Harry, if you want me to drop-kick you, just say i—“
“What I want is for you to go out and get a good dicking so you can stop being such a menace to me.”
”Excuse me? I’m not being a menace, this is just how I am. I thought you’d know that by now.” Y/N’s eyes widen, looking at him like she can’t believe he hadn’t realised her quip-y and teasing comments have been entirely satire. “Menace or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been on edge lately and could go for an orgasm not brought to you by your vibrator.”
“Harry!”
”What? I’m just saying,” he said through a smirk. Y/N’s eyes narrow at his dishevelled sight, his hair just touching his collarbones and his black sweater swallowing him whole. “My orgasms are perfectly fine, thank you. And my vibrator does a very good job at helping me ‘let off steam’.”
He sighs, almost mockingly. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Why would I tell you?”
”Because I’m your friend. I promise I’m just trying to help,” he says sincerely. The dim lighting of the living room made his eyes sparkle and Y/N avoided eye contact by fiddling with her fingers. God, there was just something about the fucker that made a person want to spill every secret before his jade gaze. “I dunno. Maybe five, six months?”
”Jesus Christ Y/N, what the fuck? Weren’t you seeing Daniel like 3 weeks ago?” His voice goes up a few octaves, looking at her all bewildered. “It’s Danny,” she corrected him, “I stopped texting him a while back. He was a bore in real life and quite frankly, a bore in bed.” Danny was one of Y/N’s coworkers' brothers who she had tried setting her up with, and Y/N did have some fun with him at first. It was always nice having someone to flirt with back and forth and get compliments from every now and then but he just never scratched that itch for Y/N. She ended up ghosting him 2 dates in and she knows that's a dick move, but really a second more of listening to him go on and on about his mum and how much his new PC game cost would make Y/N want to gauge out her own eyeballs with a dinner fork.
“Did he ever get you off?” Harry asked. Y/N was incredibly appalled, not appreciating his prying hands all over her sex life. Or lack thereof. “No and that’s none of your business anyway, jeez.”
“There you go again, snapping at me. You know if you’ll ask me nicely I’ll stop.” He sat up against the arm rest, fingers grazing her bare leg from when he pulled it back on his lap. Y/N knew she could ask him to stop asking her all these questions and she would but was it really a conversation with her if she wasn’t being a little hard to read? Besides, maybe it would do her some good talking about it and whatever advice he had might actually help her out. Harry seemed to be more than well-equipped when it came to charming the heck out of someone and working his way into their pants. “Sorry,” she sighed, rubbing her eye, “no, he didn’t get me off. We never actually had sex, I just gave him a blowie once and he tried to go down on me.”
Harry smiled softly knowing he got her to crack and squeezed her calf, “tried?” He knew he was treading on dangerous waters here, wedging his fingers between Y/N’s brain and asking her to recall her time with Danny.
”Yes, tried. It was fucking awful.”
She didn’t meet his eyes, busying herself with the strings on her hoodie, “and he definitely came in your mouth?” Y/N’s cheeks went pink, and she quickly pulled her legs away from him, “Harry!” Her voice was high pitched and defensive, and while her mind told her that maybe confiding all this in Harry isn’t the smartest thing, her heart wanted to see where an odd conversation like this could lead.
”I’m just asking!”
She hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah.”
”Well fuck, Y/N, sorry to say it but you were seeing an absolute douche.” Harry makes this diagnosis like Y/N didn’t already know, his fingers reaching for her legs again, tugging them onto his thighs with a strength that made her tummy flip. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I know. It was fun but I didn’t want anything more with him.”
”Good. But you still need a good fuck. One where you actually get to come and don’t come back home all high and dry.”
Y/N gasps, trying to get off him again but Harry holds her down, laughing at her bright red embarrassed face, “you’re such a dick I hate you.”
His dimples dig deep into the soft of his cheeks, and he pulled her legs so she was sitting much closer to him. Her ass touched the edge of his thighs and she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, making her skin even hotter. Y/N remained frowning, shoving his chest when he wouldn’t stop giggling, “stop laughing, Harry!” For obvious reasons that doesn’t work and the little genuine crink in her eyebrows had him almost cooing and smiling wide at the same time. When she didn’t let up the frown and tried to move back to her spot, Harry only grabbed her hips and pulled her back, close enough that her ass was now on top of his thighs, “okay, okay I’m sorry. You’ve got a really funny angry face.”
Y/N was near seething at this point, gearing up for an attack, “I’ll show you an angry face,” she tried lunging for his hair again but very quickly realised she failed to take into consideration her position when he instantly caught her wrists in between his long fingers, holding them tight but not enough to hurt her, “okay, John Cena let’s take a breather.”
God, was he able to make her skin absolutely crawl at times. He was still holding her wrists when he brought them down, watching her blazingly. She didn’t realise how far she had shuffled into his lap and how close his face was to hers until now. Until she could smell the strawberry mints he was sucking on on his breath.
She made a half-hearted attempt to smack his chest, but his hold only tightened around her, suddenly dragging her even closer to him over the soft fabric of his sweats. Y/N held her breath. He was too close to her, his nose daring to touch hers. She’d never been in such a vulnerable position with him and she might possibly just faint if he didn’t stop staring at her mouth and then her eyes, flicking his gaze between the two like he couldn’t decide where to settle.
She moved her head back, trying to create some space between the pair, “what are you doing Harry.” The sound she makes is an odd one— one that she doesn’t make often and it’s desperate and needy, akin to a weepy whine. His fingers finally loosened enough for her to break free and she quickly moved her face away from his where it seems like it was magnetically pulling her closer and closer.
Harry didn’t say anything for a while and Y/N found herself frozen in her spot, still right on his lap. “What’s going on here, hmm?” He said, glancing down.
Y/N followed his gaze, confused at first and it took her a moment to realise what he was insinuating. His fingers grazed her hips. “What’s got you all squirmy on my lap?”
He was still staring right into her eyes, making her go crazy with the stolen glances at her lips with every passing second. Meanwhile Y/N’s chest heaved and she unintentionally shuffles again, “fuck, Y/N.” Harry’s voice was deep and groan-y, vibrating through her body when his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I’m not squirmy, Harry shut up.” She was lying right to his face and her poor attempt at covering her actions made him laugh again. The sound was teasing, nothing like the light-hearted giggles spilling from his lips when he found her angry face amusing.
“You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.” His fingers fell to her upper thighs, which he gripped harshly. Only then when she couldn’t move did Y/N realise she really was practically rubbing herself against him, milking even the slightest pressure against her heat from his warm, pliant lap. Her face pinkened again, embarrassment coursing through her veins and making her want to dig a hole and hide in it forever. She couldn’t believe what she had just been caught doing.
Y/N expected him to fully push her off his lap, disgusted by her basically humping his leg, but he didn’t.
Instead, he dug his fingers into her skin and slowly helped her move back and forth, pushing her down just slightly to give her the friction she was searching for. Y/N’s mouth dropped open in another little whine.
“Will you let me, then?” His eyes searched hers, gaze sincere, though Y/N didn’t know what he was implying, only half listening to him. She was clearly preoccupied with the delicious pressure pressing right up against her clothed clit.
“What?”
Harry laughed, a large, ringed hand slipping over her ass to squeeze lightly. “I said, will you let me make you feel good? Have you gone dumb already, baby?” Y/N couldn’t really do much other than nod frantically, afraid he might pull away if she didn’t say yes. The pet name melts her even further, paired with the way he was holding her like he was going to swallow her whole made her insides slosh.
She preens under his gaze, now holding the front of his sweater tightly between her fingers. “Yes,” Y/N breathed, “yes please.”
Harry wondered for a second if she was agreeing to being cockdumb or agreeing to him touching her but nonetheless he took it as his queue to push her off his lap and position her the way he wanted.
“I—what, I thought you we—“ Y/N protests, neediness evident in her voice and her hands which chased after his warmth, like she was afraid he was going to leave her be in this desperate state. Harry only pressed on her shoulder until she laid back on her back, hands coming to part her legs so he could fit between them, “shh.” A wet kiss was pressed to her cheek, like comforting a rabid animal, which Y/N was feeling exactly like as she stared at Harry’s frame cowering hers.
His curls hung past his ears and tickled her face when he slotted his hips between her legs so she could continue grinding down on him, “who knew you were such a needy little thing?” Y/N sighed in response. Another suckling kiss was pressed to her jaw, “do you need me to make you feel good, baby? Hmm? Need me to make it better?”
The way he was talking to her made her feral. She had trouble believing this was the same Harry who irritated her to no end and pushed all her buttons to rile her up. Except this time he was pushing other kinds of buttons, moving his body around hers so perfectly Y/N wondered if this was like second nature to him.
”Yes. Please don’t tease me.” She commanded him and Harry chuckled at her desperation, lips sponging these warm, slow, gooey kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. When she went to sift her fingers through his curly hair, he pulled back to look at her. “You’re so bossy,” he accuses, pulling her thighs further up his hips, “it’s okay though. I’ll fuck it right out of you.” He grinded down against her, one strong roll of his bulge against her heat. “Are we going to have sex, Harry?”
”No.” He grinned.
“Why?” Y/N’s eyes crinkled in pain like he just told her her cat died and her lip jutted out in a pout which Harry quickly tucked away with his thumb. “Because,” he started, using that same hand to wrap around her throat, “we need to talk about that before we do anything. Don’t want to lose my best friend, do I?”
His rejection almost made Y/N cry and she would have had Harry not tightened his hand around her jugular. The cold press of his rings sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “Why would you say anything then?” She asked, craning her neck to allow him more room to cover with his palm.
“I said I won’t have sex with you. Didn’t say I wouldn’t make you feel good.”
With that, he took the hand that made a home around her throat and patted her cheek, hard enough that the feeling went straight down to her tummy but soft enough that it didn’t hurt her like someone might think it would. He crawled further down her body, shoving her hoodie up with his hands and exposing her stomach to the cold air of the room. Y/N thinks he was trying to keep up some boundaries, bunching the shirt just below her tits like protecting some kind of modesty and pressing ticklish kisses across her skin and down her belly button. Her body tingled with anticipation, breath bated and eyes glazed as she watched him.
She felt him nuzzle into her tummy and inhale loudly, “you smell so fucking good.” Y/N giggled, taking pride in her extensive shower routine and incessant rubbing of various lotions into her skin, “thank you.”
When his mouth reached the waistband of her tiny shorts he murmured a small, “can I take these off?” To which Y/N hummed in agreement. She couldn’t agree with anything more. If Harry walked up and out of this room right now, Y/N was certain she would die.
Once they’re off, Y/N realised she was completely at his mercy. Her underwear is the only thing protecting her modesty, and with how wet she’s feeling, she doubts there’s anything left to the imagination down there, “would you look at that. You’ve soaked right through.” His fingers toyed with the edge of her wet gusset.
Another embarrassingly desperate sound left her throat and she pushed her hips in the air in search of some friction. Harry delivered a harsh slap to her thigh, “don’t move.”
His stern voice did unimaginable things for her but she complied and tried to stay as still as she could, which seemed like a task for the impossible with the teasing touches Harry delivered to her skin.
She never thought she’d be into something like this.
Something which reduces her to such a filthy, whiney mess.
That too from her best friend.
Harry doesn’t do anything for a while, just admiring how her pussy looked soaked through her panties, playing around with the lace lining of the fabric. He grabbed the gusset and pulled it tight against her so her folds swallow the cotton, “fuck. A little manhandling and this is what happens?” He more so makes a statement rather than asking her, punctuating by leaning down to lick a wide, sloppy strip across the cloth. It makes Y/N squeal and attempt to shut her thighs but Harry makes sure to hold her down, biceps bulging.
He pulled back to drop his fingers firmly against her clit, just keeping them there, feeling her heartbeat against the tips. “I thought I told you not to move.”
”Yes, I’m sorry please, please don’t stop.”
He went back to nosing at her covered clit, not making any attempt to wrap his lips around it. At this point Y/N was itching in anticipation, every ounce of her working not to rut her hips in his face and ride his tongue like she wanted to. When he finally touches her again, it's where the wetness pools, soft suckling kisses over the fabric which make Y/N’s heart and pussy flutter.
She was incredibly frustrated, wanting nothing more than to rip her underwear off and shove his face into her but she held back, not sure if Harry would appreciate that after he made it clear time and time again how he preferred her to remain immobile while he played with her. Instead she waited until he’s through with kissing every inch of her and when he finally peels off her panties, she could practically come just from the prospect of having his mouth on her.
He doesn’t give her a second to think though, because his mouth is unrelenting. Teasing the tip of her button with his tongue before circling his lips around it and suckling in sweet, soft pulses. The sensation has her panting and gasping, squeezing his head between her thighs while one of his arms swung across her hips to keep her down and the other wiggled between the two to push her lips apart in a V shape. With her clit now exposed to the cool air, Harry zeroed in on the nerve and worked magic with his tongue, flicking it up, down, left, right and circling the button with such fever Y/N could burst.
What electrified the experience was the sounds in the room, which were just sinful.
Her pussy squelched with each suckle Harry gave, making Y/N moan and pull Harry’s curls which in turn had him groaning lowly against her. It was an endless cycle of pornographic music.
When he pulls away from her clit, the pulsing it does is almost amusing, like it was personally begging for Harry’s attention. Instead he kissed down the length of her slit and took his time playing around with her folds, slicking her hole and letting his spit drip down to her ass.
It was so perfect and messy.
Before she knew it, Y/N’s thighs were shaking and Harry’s tongue was back to abuse her poor button. A couple more flicks and a harsh kiss pushed Y/N over the edge, her orgasm washing over her and nearly blinding her. It’s euphoric and the most intense she’s ever felt, no vibrator of hers or cock she’s ever had compared to what she was feeling and even then Harry didn’t let up on her pussy. He continued his assault, now both of his arms locking around her hips to tone down her thrashing. Only when she pushed his forehead away did he finally depart with a final lick across her slit and smiled at her fucked-out state.
He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and brought it to his lips, sitting up between her legs which she clinked shut. A second passes.
“Are you okay?” Y/N’s eyes were shut, an arm thrown across her forehead. “I think so.”
Harry giggled, leaning over her to remove her arm, “how’s it feel?”
”S’good. It was really nice. Thanks.” She was slightly dazed, too far gone to really understand what was going on. Her limbs felt like jell-o and she let Harry kiss her cheek again before lending her a hand to help her sit up. “I’m glad. Come on now. We need to clean you up.”
She doesn't know how she stood up from that godforsaken couch and how she made it to the bathroom, Lola returning from her retreat to her bedroom to wind around her ankles. Harry bent down to pet between her ears, “hello babydoll. Did you miss me?” He cooed.
She looked down at the pair and Harry easily sensed her wary gaze. A dashing smile is sent her way. “Do you need me to get you some underwear? Or are you afraid I’ll stumble across your array of sex toys?”
Y/N rolled her eyes. He was still the Harry she knew before he gave her the best head she ever received.
“You’re such a dick.”
”A dick that gave you the best orgasm of your life.” She couldn’t even argue with him on that. Instead, she flipped him off and disappeared into her room. Once she was all changed and wearing a fresh pair of undies and shorts, she walked out to see Harry passed out on the couch with Lola snuggled into his throat. It was then when her head finally returned to the ground and she realised the gravity of the situation.
The looming prospect of a long, painful chat in the morning hung over Y/N like a dark cloud, filling her with a gnawing sense of dread she suddenly couldn’t seem to shake.
A/N: hehhehe this one is just a silly little fic that you guys really liked the first time around!! i hope u still do!! it will have two more parts which i'll post when i don't have anything new to give u lol otherwise please let me know what u thought!!!! NEXT TIME I POST IT WILL BE VAMPRRY TRUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
“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.
as harrys assistant, u live by one thing—keep him satisfied. even if that means helping him cum over the phone. part 2 here
based on -> this request (loosely)
CW: age gap, assistant reader x CEO harry, inappropriate work dynamic, subby reader/softdom harry, phone sex, dirty talk, male and female masturbation, breeding kink, eventual heavy smut in pt 2
likes/reblogs sooo appreciated!
wc: 5.2k
“Mr. Styles, your eight o’clock is here.”
You stood perfectly straight in the frame of his doorway, finger tips resting at your sides and toying with the mesh of your pantyhose.
He peered up from his seat behind his long wooden desk at the sound of your voice, grazing your body over slowly until he landed on your face.
Pretty. Put together. Always nervous.
“Good morning,” he greets, not having seen you yet this morning.
Your cheeks fade a deep pink and your hands hold onto themselves to cope with your embarassment—somehow having completely forgotten to say hello to your boss.
It really wasn’t your fault. Just look at him. It was hard to remember how to walk when you were clocked in let alone say good morning.
“Good morning,” you quickly respond, a small grin on your face out of pure politeness. Slightly forced but nevertheless intentional.
He liked to look at you when you got flustered like this. Worked up at the thought of displeasing him and constantly doing your very best to succeed. You were a determined little thing, always kind and always on top of everything he couldn’t be.
You were cute, too. So new in the business and eager to learn. Adorned in sheer black tights and a beige mini dress that came high to your neck. You always had on the sweetest little pair of heels too—never too high but always doing their job at displaying your legs the right way.
“I hope your coffee was okay this morning,” you start again, “they ran out of the usual dark blend so I had to get a different roast. If it tastes off I can go run out to the coffee shop down the street and see if they have something similar. Or if you don’t want the coffee at all I can just go grab you a glass of water.”
You were always nervous to disappoint him. From the moment you scored the job, you only kept one thing in mind—keep him satisfied.
He stared at you intently as you spoke. A barely noticeable grin curving up his lips that you really would only be able to spot if you were looking at him as closely as you always did.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he scanned up and around your face and watched how you squirmed a bit. Even down to your legs, watching as they rubbed against each other in a nervous tic.
“That’s alright. Tastes fine.”
Simple. Calm. As all of his responses were. A small amused smile on his face that worked as a much needed sense of reassurance.
“Ok,” you nod, “should I send them in?”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
You send him one last kind smile before backing yourself out of his doorway, trotting back to your little desk as you come face to face with his clients.
“He’s ready for you now,” you call to the pair seated on the small couch, both of them sitting straight and tapping their feet against the floor nervously.
You noticed this was how most of his client meetings went. An extreme level of nervousness and a hint of them wanting to turn around and just go home.
It’s not like you could blame them. You were half sure he maybe even knew about your little crush on him. Of course it was unprofessional, you knew that. That’s why you kept it to yourself—you hadn’t told a soul. Not even your best friend. It was just too ridiculously immature and you figured maybe it would disappear if you never mentioned it out loud.
It didn’t.
The rest of the day went quite smoothly. Organizing his calendar and shifting his schedule when need be. Grabbing his lunch at noon and sitting in on an investors meeting at 1:00. 2:00 flew by quickly. By the time it hit 3:00, you were shuffling through paperwork when Harry opened the door to his office.
“What’re you working on?” His voice startled you, so lost in the papers on your desk that you missed his entrance.
“Oh, um, I’m just going over the travel details for the Milan trip. What can I do for you?” You asked, sitting up straighter in your desk chair with a soft smile.
He couldn’t stop his lips from curling upward at your sweet ask, always desperate to please him and ready to serve.
“Nothing,” is all he said, and when he started taking strides closer to you, you nearly fainted.
His hands were in his pockets as he walked, long sleeves tugged up his arms to reveal his inked skin. The rich smell of deep vanilla musk and wood wafted up to you the moment he stood beside you, leveling himself against your desk with his right hand as the other rested on the back of your chair.
You were going only mildly insane.
“Um, this is just how I sort out which driver I need in which car and such. I’m just figuring out how to get you from your lunch with Jack over to your showing without double booking the same driver.”
You don’t know why you felt like you had to explain. Why would he care? He hired you for a reason. He never had any concern about how he got where.
But he just nodded, leaning further into your desk and bringing the side of his face even closer to yours. You clawed at yourself to keep your composure, keeping your eyes on the papers beneath you instead of his face beside you.
“And how are you going to make that happen for me?” His voice was low, mouth not far from your ear and throat graveled.
And you were dripping.
And hated yourself for it.
You’re not sure what it was. Maybe the way he sounded or the way he asked how you would accomplish something for him. Maybe a mix of it all.
“Oh, well,” you took a deep breath as you flipped through the stack of papers, “First, I’ll coordinate with Marcus to handle your trip to lunch. I’ll confirm his availability, align his pickup time with your schedule, and make sure the car is ready to go. Then I’ll book Daniel for the pickup from lunch to the showing, timing it so he’s staged and ready right when you’re finished. You know, so you won’t be late.”
You spoke for too long. You felt it swarming around in the tight space and the suffocation that swam deep in your lungs.
He nodded, slow, analyzing the papers ahead of you as his grip on the back of your chair tightened.
“You don’t think it’d make more sense to keep Marcus on both?” He asked, no judgement. Not in a way to make him seem like it was the better idea. Just, genuinely wondering.
“Marcus is also assigned to Rita that afternoon. I’ve been in contact with her assistant to arrange both of your days. He is free to take you to your showing, but it’d be better to not risk it,” you keep it brief, not wanting to ramble on like you’ve been doing all day. Like you always do around him.
“Tell me why.”
You gulp. Thick and heavy and press your thighs together in the subtlest way you could. Hoping to god he wouldn’t notice your disturbing arousal at his demand.
But he did notice. He always did.
“That way, each leg of your schedule is covered independently. If I tried to keep the same driver on both, there’s a real risk of overlap; if lunch runs long or traffic delays the first leg, it could push into the next commitment and leave you waiting. When I assign two drivers, I avoid any double-booking conflicts and keep everything running on time, sir.”
Too much talking. Your face was hot and your palms were sweating furiously.
And he seemed to be shifting even closer to you with every passing second. Discreetly enough. But you could tell.
“Good.” He nods, finally breaking away and standing up straight again. You could take your first real breath.
There’s no response for you to say, so you just stay quiet. More than satisfied with his approval and tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“Take the rest of the day. I’m leaving early,” he knocks his knuckle twice on your desk before strutting away, hands back in his pockets and leather shoes clacking.
“Oh, thank you sir.”
He couldn’t help his smile. Your respect for him was honestly admirable, always on high alert and so polite. You were sweet behind your little wooden desk, palms flattening over your dress and back up straight.
“You’re welcome, y/n.” He grinned, eyes hung low as he preyed down on you. His bag was slung over his shoulder and his right hand wrapped around the silver knob of the door loosely, hanging there for a moment before letting himself out.
Even when he left the room, your body remained heightened. Limbs jelly and mind fuzzy. Like you’d been slapped from reality just from a basic interaction with your boss. Who you see every fucking day. And somehow, even after all these months, it’s never gotten easier.
It was embarrassing how worked up you got. He was far too old for you and you were far too immature. You worked so close to him everyday, following him everywhere and knowing each and every detail of his private life. It would never be a good idea. No matter how much you’d like to convince yourself it was.
The other part of you knew that’s what you liked about it. The forbiddenness of it all. The thought that touching him would ruin your life and change you forever. It was sickening how wet the idea of it had you.
But he was always so pleased by your work for him. So proud of how you kept his life together and always brought your sweetest smile to the office. He looked forward to seeing your cute little outfits, the way you styled your thick hair and kept yourself pampered.
It was your favorite thing—pleasing him. Seeing him feel satisfied at what you’ve done for him. You lived for it. In the least disturbing way possible, you felt like nothing if he wasn’t there with a nod and a smile. And you rarely ever let him down too—you always knew what to do and how to do it and worked until you felt he couldn’t be pleased further.
You packed up the few things you had and made your way home, calling small goodbyes and gentle waves to random coworkers as you pushed out through the big glass doors of the building.
Even then, with the gust of chilled air flowing across your skin, you were humiliatingly flustered and even more humiliatingly wet.
Shit.
-
Harry really did take the day to himself. He’d been out drinking with friends since 6:00, and now that it was nearly 11:30 he was more than gone.
Probably a bad idea, considering it was a Tuesday, but he worked hard and he didn’t let fun stop once it started. It felt unfair to himself. He preferred to let the night carry itself.
You, on the other hand, were restless on your bed. Planted atop your soft pink comforter as you rested flat on your stomach.
You’re not totally sure why you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the extra coffee you had with your dinner. Or maybe it was the stress of your job that always seemed to follow you. The pressure to do everything right.
Or, maybe, and just maybe, it was because your boss was whispering deep into your ear as his gruffled scent swarmed through your head.
You tried to ignore it.
It was exhausting how many times you had reminded yourself that you were his assistant. He was your boss. He was much too old for you. And you were far too young for him. It was unprofessional and honestly a disgrace to even think about such things.
But you couldn’t help your daydreams. The thoughts of his big strong hands tugging you down the bed by your ankles. Legs spread, eyes wide, dripping for him as he eyed you down.
You figured he’d enjoy manhandling your nimble body. Throwing you around and placing you how he’d like as if you were a little fuck doll. Ready to please him and do as he demands.
You groaned at your sick thoughts, so twisted and a disgusting display of your character.
You never showed this side of you to anyone. Not particularly because you were ashamed of it, but more because you’ve never found a man who could pull off what you wanted. Who could treat you the way you always dreamed of without giving you second hand embarrassment.
The moment you met Harry, on your first day, you knew he could be that for you. He could dominate you and fuck around with you and handle you the way you’d like. And it wouldn’t be embarrassing. He’d do it the right way. You knew he would. And you were so confident you could be good for him too.
What you didn’t know, yet, was that Harry’s mind wasn’t too far from where yours was. Of course he’d dreamed of his cock shoved far down your throat. Or his tip nuzzled deep into your tummy until you squirmed in a mix of pain and pleasure.
He knew you’d be so good. He knew you’d take him until you cried and suck him off until he was all milked out. He even dreamt of his cum coating your pretty perky tits, dripping down your pink nipples until it slipped into your cute belly button.
It was wrong. He knew he should focus on something realistic. On a woman his own age who he can settle down with, start a family. He really did try to remind himself of that.
But, now, several drinks deep and back at the privacy of his home, he was thinking anything but that. You were so sweet today. Dressed properly and your pretty face pampered.
He enjoyed listening to your darling voice explain your thought process. You had a beautiful mind, so smart and organized, and he loved it. He loved how keen you were to satisfy him and how soft you’d get at every praise.
He was stumbling through his living room as he lingered on the sick thoughts, cock hard in his pants and vision crossed.
He was fucked up.
Bad.
And if his feet tripping over one another didn’t say so, his decision to ring your contact sure did.
It was more than unprofessional, and part of him enjoyed that thought. He wasn’t totally sure what he’d say to you. If you answered, that is. It was nearly midnight after all, and you did both work tomorrow.
But you were awake. And the sight of his number calling your phone had you…to put it lightly…erratic.
Your breath hitched, staring at the big bold name and blinking a couple times just to make sure you were seeing it right.
Of course it was common for Harry to call you. You were his assistant. He actually called you multiple times a day.
But at midnight on a week night? When he would be seeing you the next morning? It was unprecedented.
You even considered pretending to be asleep. Apologize for missing his call the next morning and pretend it never happened.
But, at the slim chance of him having an emergency, you decided the profressionally correct thing to do would be to answer.
“Harry?”
Not a good greeting. But you just couldn’t hide your confusion at his call, even if you really tried. And you weren’t really trying.
“Y/n,” his voice was crackled through the speaker, “you’re awake.”
You pause. Blinking to yourself and squinting your eyes.
“Yeah…” you clear your throat, “what can I do for you? Do you need something from me?”
With a question like that, could you really blame Harry for what he said next?
“Mhm,” he hummed, “I need so much from you. All the time.”
His words were slurred, barely pieced together and it almost sounded like he was…touching himself.
But he wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. He was grossly aware of the tension in his pants, but for ethical reasons decided maybe touching himself to the sound of his assistant's voice wasn’t the smartest thing to do.
“L-like what? Are you okay?” You stuttered over your words as you swallowed what he said, knowing deep in your stomach what he was insinuating.
He chuckled through the line, “you want me to tell you what I want from you? What I think about?”
“Um,” you shift higher to your bed, “if you want.”
He pauses. For a moment you even think he may have gone on mute.
But then the silence breaks.
Heavily.
“I want you to tell me how you’re laying right now,” he starts, breathless.
And right before you’re about to respond, his next line slaps you stupid and leaves you dizzy.
“That way I can picture how I’d be fucking you instead of my fist.”
Of course it was a risk. More than a risk, really. It was a direct call for disaster and there was absolutely no way to turn back from that.
You froze for longer than you should have. Mouth agape, cheeks hot, legs clamped so tight together that you figured the friction would leave the skin inflamed.
He was on the other line, eyes rolled back while he basked in the silence over the other line. His fingers were wrapped tight around the girth of his cock as he stroked himself slowly, holding in a groan at the mental image of your shocked face. So pretty and in disbelief, he would give anything to see it for himself.
“H-Harry, are you drunk?” You whisper out, because what do you say when your boss admits that he’s masturbating while on the phone with you? While thinking about fucking you, too?
“Mhm,” he sighs, “doesn’t matter though. Would be doing the same thing if I wasn’t.”
And then, a deep, drawn out chuckle.
“Probably wouldn’t be calling you and telling you though.”
Your brain was fuzzy. Swarming around itself in your skull and prying for the right thing to say. The professional thing to say. The thing to say that wouldn’t get you fired.
“T-This isn’t right sir, I work for you.”
It only turned Harry on more. In fact, his hand worked quicker against himself the moment you said it.
He ignored your comment completely, “how are you lying? On your bed? On the couch?”
You swallow thick, nibbing at your finger nails as you try to tame the heat between your legs.
“I’m on my bed, sir.”
You probably shouldn’t have said it. You shouldn’t have given in and told him what he wanted to hear.
But that was the thing about you. You couldn’t not tell him what he wanted. Comply to him. Do what he asked of you. It was like a chemical imbalance in your head that had you immediately listening to every word he said.
“And how are you laying? Are you on your back? Are you sat up straight?” He flinched before asking his last question, “are you on your stomach?”
You could feel the red of your cheeks through your hot skin.
“Y-yes. Yes, I am.”
“Oh,” he groaned, long and drawn out and the furthest thing from innocent.
His palm was fucking against himself as he pictured you as you described—tummy flat against your mattress, ass perked up a bit and legs held so tight together. He imagined how tight the little slit between your legs would be, how it would swell when he spoke to you and dampen when he told you what he wanted.
“Need you to talk to me,” he breathed out, “so I can cum.”
Your chest heaved at his words, your teeth tearing apart your finger tips as rubbed your thighs together harshly. You were so fucking horny that it stung, your little clit aching for some sort of relief but you didn’t want to give in. You wanted to imagine you weren’t as weak as you really were.
“This is…um, unprofessional. I-I can’t,” it was cute how hard you tried to stand your ground. It was even cuter how miserably you had failed.
“You don’t want to help me? You can’t do what I asked? But, I need you to, y/n,” he was fucked up for saying it like that. Manipulative, even, but you liked it that way.
You always did as he asked. In fact, you lived for it. It was the only thing that gave you a sense of purpose. It was sad, but you knew that. You didn’t care. You loved how it felt when you pleased him, how he praised you when you made his life easier.
So, when you really thought about it, what was so different about helping him this time than all the other times?
“No, I want to help you, sir. H-how do I help you?”
The real difference was that this time he was fucking his hand to the sound of your voice and the thought of your naked body on your bed.
But you chose to ignore that. For the time being.
Another dark chuckle from his end of the call.
“You’re always so good, y/n. You know that? Never failed me. Not once. You do everything right for me. Always do such a good job,” he was rambling, nearly to himself, as his hand stroked quicker. He was embarrassingly close and you had barely even spoken. The idea of you, flat on your belly and legs held tight together, was enough for him.
“I try,” you nod to yourself. And then, hesitantly, you add, “I like to satisfy you.”
His face twitched, hand quickened, and breaths staggered.
“Yeah? Tell me about that.”
This was what he wanted. To listen to your sweet little voice ramble about how much you liked to please him. He was even convinced that the second you started talking, he’d have to pull his hand away so as to not cum prematurely.
“I like to feel useful to you. I like being helpful. Y-you give me good instructions, and you’re patient with me. I like to follow through and make you feel that I’m worth your while. I never want to fail you.”
You were in too deep, and you knew you were. Even just listening to yourself had you even wetter. You knew if you saw him, he’d be so proud to hear you say that. He’d let a low grin shine through and nod his head at your honest words.
On the other line, he was nearly there just at your first sentence.
“Good job, baby,” he pushed out through heavy breaths, “was that hard for you to tell me?”
You gulped at the nickname as you considered the question, desperately not wanting to disappoint him.
“Yes. It was,” you admit shallowly, biting at the inside of your cheek as your thighs press even tighter together.
“But you did it for me? Because I asked?”
He knew the answer. He also knew hearing it would take him over the edge.
“Yes, sir.”
It was two words that made him wish he’d recorded this call. Two words that he wished could swim around his bedroom on repeat until he came over, and over, and over again. All to the sound of your sweet voice telling him how desperate you were to please him.
“Want you to lay completely flat, ok? Press your face up against your mattress.”
It didn’t take much convincing for you to comply. You put the call on speaker phone and laid flat, stomach still pressed to the comforter and the side of your cheek now joining it.
“Now lift your ass a little bit…press your back into itself and spread your legs apart.”
With a shaky breath, you followed his instruction. Closing your eyes and imagining he was right next to you as he spoke, leading you through the motions with heavy breaths.
“Pick a number.”
Your eyes snapped open, staring at the screen with a cocked brow and your ass still high in the air.
You looked ridiculous, really. Like an idiot. But you liked the humiliation. You liked it because this is what he told of you. This is what he expected you to do for him and who were you to ever say no?
“A number?”
“Pick,” he spit quicker, growing more and more impatient as his hand fucks into himself.
“Four.”
He laughs at this, low and gravelled and truly amused.
“I don’t think you can take four,” he breathes, “but you will. I know you will.”
Your breathing picks up as your ass sways mindlessly above you, desperate for some sort of relief and searching for it in the open air.
“Take four?”
“Want you to put four of your little fingers inside of you. Fuck yourself and imagine it’s my cock.”
Your heart smacks against your chest as you take in his words, letting them float aimlessly throughout you head as you process the situation you’ve gotten yourself in.
Your boss, who you will be seeing tomorrow, fucking his fist as he asks you to do the same. It was a dream. A dream you’ve been helplessly trying to avoid and remain professional.
But you wanted it. No matter how hard your mind tried to convince you otherwise. You were dripping and clenching around the air and sick at the thought of his thick cock shoved deep inside of you.
So you obeyed. Reaching behind you and slowly pressing every finger, apart from your thumb, deep inside of you. You took your time as you stretched yourself out, your tight hole weeping at the sudden pressure and your gooey arousal doing its job as it’s aid.
You don’t mean to let out the soft whimper at the feeling of your pussy being stuffed, but it expelled itself loud enough to reach your microphone.
And now, Harry was shaking in his seat.
“Fuck,” he cursed, “you’re so—fuck.”
He was a mess, falling undone at one tiny sound that slipped through your lips and pumping against himself furiously.
“It’s—ah, feels so full,” you sigh as you arch your back further into your mattress, pressing your four fingers in and out of yourself in a sloppy mess.
You were half positive that he could hear the wet gushes of your pussy as you fucked yourself, slurping agaisnt the stretch of your hole and swallowing the volume.
“Keep going,” he breathed, “fuck, you feel so good around me. So tight. So wet, fuck. Fuck my cock into you deeper, press it into your belly.”
You pressed your fingers deeper into you at his instruction, ass raising higher and back pressing deep inwards. You quickened your pace as the heat in your tummy grew, lulling in the feeling of his hips fucking into you instead of your wrist.
“Oh-oh, Harry, fuck,” you whisper into the mattress as you adjust to the stretch of all your fingers, finally shifting to a point of pleasure that you know you won’t come back from.
“Feel good? Tell me what you feel,” he stutters before spitting a glob of his spit onto his tip to help in his strokes.
“I—ah! Shhhit, it’s…” you pry at your mind for any words but fall short, tears welling in your eyes as you fuck faster from behind.
Your arm was cramped, your back was aching, and your fingers were pruned in your slick but you didn’t care. You were already so close to an orgasm and it wasn’t even his actual dick. No matter how much your mind was convincing you it was.
“No. Use your words.”
You catch your breath, curling the tips of your fingers upwards until you hit that spot that has you dizzy.
“I—I feel your cock. So deep inside of me, in my stomach. So thick, fucking me so good,” you ramble on and feel your cheeks go hot, suddenly remembering that this is your boss and sinking into a pit of misbehavior.
“That’s right, good. Now tell me what I feel, and don’t stop talking until I come.”
You whine, mustering up the courage to speak again even through the distraction of your fingers. You could barely keep yourself upright let alone make coherent sentences.
“Y-You feel my pussy, so tight around you,” you moan, “so wet. It’s so small around your thick cock, so fresh and tugging you till it hurts.”
“Fuck, keep going, make me come,” he was so breathless that you cried at the sound, fucking into yourself quicker as your orgasm begin to build with his.
“S’gonna make you cum, fill me up until I’m full of you. Can I have your cum? Want you to fuck your babies into me, please, wanna make you satisfied, it’s all I want.”
“Y/n, fuck!” He groaned as he came into his own hand, palming at himself until he soaked his skin and made a mess.
You followed quickly after to the sound of your name rolling through his chest, dark and desperate and full of everything they shouldn’t be doing. You came hard, too. Soaking your fingers and clenching tight around them until they were lodged deep inside of you.
The only sound left over the phone call was the meshing symphony of your heavy breaths mixing within one another, your hands slowing down and your hearts returning to a normal speed.
And then, after all was said and done and you were both limp and sweaty, there was silence.
A long, drawn out silence that lingered heavy above you.
You pulled out your chunk of fingers and laid flat against your mattress, rolling onto your back as you stared up at the ceiling through flushed cheeks.
Harry, over at his place, slouched back into his place and wiped his hand against his thigh, heaving thick breaths as he shut his eyes in bliss.
You both sat like this for a while. Returning back to earth and giving your bodies and minds a second to catch up.
And while Harry’s mind was thinking, fuck, that was so hot. Your mind was thinking, fuck, I can never show my face at work again.
“Alright,” he finally broke the silence, “See you tomorrow morning.”
It wasn’t cold hearted. It wasn’t impersonal. It was just…typical Harry.
You still froze for a moment. Staring at your screen in disbelief at his calm demeanor. As if you two just wrapped up a casual business call.
“Ok,” you nod, “see you tomorrow.”
And he hung up, a smug smile on his face that only he could see.
A smile that soon found your face a few seconds later, masking over your nauseous and instead replacing it with the thrill of your misconduct.
You were melting into your mattress at the sensations rolling through your skin still, even minutes after your orgasm had ended and your breath had caught up.
He hadn’t even touched you and you were drunk off of him. Playing back certain lines in your head and drooling at the thought of what his real cock would feel like shoved so deep inside of you.
And then there was the anxiety of it all. The deafening realization that this was your boss and you were his assistant. This wasn’t just your coworker. You worked directly under him every single day and spent nearly ever single minute with him.
And now, walking into the office tomorrow morning, you’d come face to face with the man who you just begged to fill your belly with his babies. When he wasn’t even actually fucking there. Your sick little head just told itself that he was and he did the same for his hand.
Fuck.
read part 2 -> here!
pls like/reblog if u enjoyed!!
masterlist
ask/request anything!
all specific requests stay unanswered in my inbox until fully completed
A/N: i've been meaning to cook up something for the tour and also involve the heatwave so here it is! Some assistant!yn to entertain you in the heatwave!
WORD COUNT: 7k
WARNING: sexual content
SUMMARY: The London heatwave is bringing out the slutty little shorts and some complicated feelings between you and Harry. Then a plumbing disaster happens and you move in with him just until it's solved, however a broken AC forces the two of you to share a bed as well. A pop star, an assistant and lots of unspoken feelings in a bed. What could go wrong?
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
London is melting. The heatwave has been pushing the temperature to extreme measure for days now and it will most likely carry on for a couple more.
That’s not stopping Harry’s Wembley residency though. Show must go on.
It’s night seven and he is doing his usual pre-show shenanigans. Take a shower. Have a peek at Shania’s set. Get dressed while warming up his vocal chords in his dressing room. It’s always the same.
The extreme heat has switched up the planned outfits a little bit, going from pants to shorts at the past couple of shows, but the fans are definitely not complaining and Harry kind of likes flaunting his toned legs as well, so it’s a win-win.
Standing in front of the mirror he is humming Bridge Over Troubled Water while trying to fix his tie when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he calls out, eyes still fixated on his reflection.
The door opens and he doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. It’s like he has a sixth sense when it comes to you.
“Oh, I see the slutty little shorts are coming out to play again,” you tease him instantly upon walking into the room and closing the door behind you. Harry smirks as he turns around, though his smile halters for a second when he sees you.
He hasn’t been the only one the heatwave has been affecting when it comes to outfits. As his shorts got shorter, you, his long-time assistant, started putting on shorter dresses as well. Tonight you chose to put on a pale yellow sundress, one that’s short but flowy, demands his attention in an instant, making his eyes glued to your smooth legs and flirty neckline.
Fuck, he thinks to himself before recovering as quick as humanly possible. Truth is, he’s been crushing on you since… well, probably day one, but only admitted it to himself about a year ago, when the two of you somehow ended up sharing a bed at a mutual friend’s party and he woke up with you curled to his side, your scent filled his nose and as he listened to your quiet snoring, which you absolutely denied you did, he realized just how much in love he was with you.
But he’s been doing everything he could to keep his feelings at bay, not wanting to ruin your friendship and he also happened to be your boss, though your work relationship is quite different than at an office job. However at moments like this, when you completely take his breath away and make it quite hard for him to think of anything else than ripping your dress off and–
“You okay, Styles?” you snap him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah,” he smiles, shaking his head. “Not a fan of shorts?” he asks with a flirty smirk, still fiddling with his tie.
There’s a beat of silence on your end, something crosses your face, but it’s gone before he could catch it.
“Everyone is a fan of the shorts,” you end up saying. “Let me help you with that,” you offer as you step closer and swat his hands away so you can fix his tie.
The AC is working perfectly in the room, but suddenly Harry feels like he is burning up, standing so close to you, your hands brushing against his chest a few times and even though it’s only through the fabric of his shirt, it’s maddening. He can only hope you can’t feel or hear his hammering heartbeat.
“There,” you smile softly stepping back and admiring your work.
“All good?” he asks, squaring his shoulders.
“The best,” you reply, smile widening. “Everything is set, Shania just got off the stage,” you inform him. “Sarah and Mitch are here as well.”
Harry hums with a nod. His drummer and guitarist have been the last ones to arrive at the venue after doing bathtime with their kids and leaving them with the nanny before heading out for their night shift at the stadium.
Harry looks at you and notices a bit of worry etched onto your expression. Tilting his head he narrows his eyes at you.
“Something is wrong,” he says and it’s not a question. He knows you enough to notice these small details.
“Nope,” you shake your head.
“Oh yeah. Tell me, I can handle it, I’m a big boy.”
You chuckle, shaking your head.
“It’s nothing work related.”
“Okay, I still want to know about it.”
You hesitate for a second before giving up, knowing he’ll bug you until eternity if you don’t tell him.
“Just… I had some problems with a pipe in my apartment,” you say dismissingly. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if it’s bothering you. There’s still an issue?”
“Kinda,” you sigh. “I need to change the pain pipe in the bathroom, which means they have to rip the wall out. But they are coming in the weekend, so hopefully it’ll be settled.”
“But can you use the bathroom until then?” Harry asks suspiciously. You don’t answer and avoid looking into his eyes at first before shaking your head no. “So you can’t use your bathroom until the end of the week?”
“It’s fine, I’m gonna stay at my sister’s place until then.”
Harry gives you an amused look.
“Y/N, your sister lives in Southampton. That’s… what, like a three hour commute to London?”
“Two,” you correct him, earning an eye-roll.
“You’re not going to your sister’s.”
“Well, I’m not paying for a hotel either,” you stubbornly say.
“Of course not, because you’re gonna stay at mine.”
He says it out loud before he could even think it through. But as soon as his words land, he knows he might have brought hell on himself. It’s challenging enough to spend so much time with you during the day, but having you in his home might be another level of torture.
You bark out a laugh.
“No I’m not,” you simply say, not even taking him seriously.
“Yes, you are. I live close, I have two guest rooms, this is the best solution,” he argues, pushing his own doubts to the back of his mind, because putting his feelings aside, this is actually the best solution, saving you from the hours spent on a train every day just to get to London.
“Harry, I can’t just move in with you.”
“Just until your apartment is fixed,” he shrugs. “I’ll drive over to your place after the show, you can grab whatever you need.”
You stand there, just blinking at him for a couple of long minutes, like you’re expecting him to say he was just joking, but he stands his ground. As bad of an idea it is regarding his situation, he would never let you down.
“I mean… If you’re sure,” you give in. Harry nods with a satisfied smile.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, thank you then. Show time in twenty,” you remind him then, switching back to work mode before walking out of the dressing room.
The second the door clicks shut, Harry lets his head fall back with a quiet groan. Brilliant idea, he thinks to himself. Invite the woman you've been secretly in love with into your house, for several days. What an idiot you are, Styles!
A generous, caring idiot, but still an idiot, because he might have just made the worst decision in his life.
The show goes down without a hiccup. He puts on his best performance, as always and the fans love him, as always.
You watch most of the show from backstage, but you love Season 2 Weight Loss way too much not to go out, so you dance in Circle for a little and sneak back before any of the fans could recognize you. Harry however totally saw you and the smile that stretched across his face is the absolute sweetest.
When the show is over Harry quickly showers while you do your usual rounds settling things. When he’s ready the two of you roll out of the garage in his car, passing by the fans leaving the stadium.
You’ve just bought your apartment last year and Harry realizes he hasn’t even been there when he pulls up in front of the building. He follows you up to the third floor and bites back the excitement he feels upon stepping into the apartment.
“I’ll try to be quick. Make yourself at home,” you tell him before disappearing in the bedroom, leaving him alone in the open concept kitchen and living room.
“No need to hurry,” he calls after you, already curiously eyeing up the place.
The apartment is small, not cramped, but very lived-in. The vibe suits his expectations of your home pretty well. The couch is tucked beneath a large window overlooking the street, a knitted blanket carelessly thrown over one arm. Books are stacked on every available surface instead of neatly shelved, plants occupy nearly every windowsill and there are tiny trinkets everywhere, little ceramic animals, candles in mismatched holders, postcards pinned to a corkboard over the faux fireplace.
It looks exactly like you and it makes him smile as he wanders farther inside, hands buried in his pockets as if touching anything would somehow feel too intrusive.
His attention lands on the fridge, it’s covered in magnets, lists, sticky notes and quite some polaroids. He instantly moves closer to look at them. He sees his family, friends, crew members and random moments from the past years, including ones with him as well.
One of them is from Tokyo last year, the two of you squeezed into a photo booth, both pulling ridiculous faces.
Another one is from backstage at Madison Square Garden where you're laughing so hard your head is thrown back while he's clearly saying something dramatic, a moment Anthony caught on camera.
There’s one where he is giving you a piggy back ride in Italy and one taken in his mom’s backyard, the two of you posing like the worst models.
His smile stretches wider with each photo he spots that features him, feeling warm that you cherish these memories just as much as he does.
Then he moves over to the living room and the cushions seem familiar. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s because they have the cases on them the two of you chose out together at a flea market in Berlin two years ago. He teased you, saying you’ll probably never use them, but now you’re proving him wrong.
His eyes continue roaming the room until they snag on the wall opposite him. His smile softens instantly. There’s a painting hanging over the couch, one he gifted you for your birthday three years ago. An abstract piece he found in a gallery and instantly thought the vibrant colors would fit you so well. He was afraid you wouldn’t like it, but here it is, hanging in your home years later.
“Snooping around, I see.” Your voice makes him turn. You're standing in the hallway now, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, another backpack hanging from one arm.
“Nice decor you have,” he nods towards the painting.
“Ah, yeah, right? Some rando just gave it to me,” you tease him, pulling a laugh out of him.
“Dude’s got taste,” he adds. “You’re done?”
“Yes. If I forgot anything I’ll just swing by.”
Harry nods and follows you out of the apartment, glancing back one last time, a smile tugging on his lips knowing he is there, in your home in the tiny details.
Unlike him, you’ve been at Harry’s place a million times, so there’s nothing surprising there. Walking into the spacious townhouse he bought a couple of years ago in Hampstead you already know the way to the guest rooms.
“The one facing the backyard has AC, use that one,” he tells you.
“Ah, I get the fancy room?” you tease him, standing on the stairs.
“You’re VIP,” he grins before he disappears down the hallway leading to the kitchen and you make your way up to the room.
He pours himself a glass of water and stares out the window sipping on it. That’s when he hears you shuffling around upstairs. The faint footsteps, the closet opening and closing, the facet in the bathroom turning on before you shut it off. He’s so used to being alone here, it’s an odd feeling having someone else here, but knowing it’s you warms him.
A couple of minutes later you appear in the kitchen as well.
“Hungry?” he asks, leaning onto the kitchen island and he catches your gaze jumping to his biceps just for the shortest second before shaking your head.
“I inhaled half of the catering at the stadium,” you admit, making him laugh.
“Well, feel free to raid the fridge anytime. And… you know where to find everything,” he chuckles.
“Thanks,” you smile at him bashfully. “And for letting me stay here too.”
“I didn’t let you, practically ordered you to stay,” he corrects you, making you laugh.
“Whatever. I’m gonna shower and then head to bed. Good show tonight.”
“Thanks,” he smiles softly before you nod and then head back upstairs.
Minutes later he hears the shower running in the guest bathroom and his thoughts are quick to wander. Knowing that you’re up there, standing under the shower naked has him going crazy. All evening he tried to convince himself it won’t be any different than staying at the same hotel, but it is. There’s a kind of domesticity in your presence he is not used to and it has him spiraling a bit.
He shakes his head, annoyed at himself.
“Get it together, Styles,” he mutters under his breath, finishing his water and forcing himself to move.
He has spent years being around you. Years of late nights, long drives, hotel rooms, dressing rooms and airports. He knows what your coffee order is, how you like your fries, the exact face you make when you’re trying not to laugh during serious moments.
So why does hearing you move around his house feel so different? Probably because you’re not here because you’re working late or because everyone decided to stay over after a party. You’re here because he asked you to be. Because he wanted to make things easier for you. Because a selfish part of him wanted you here, sharing the same living space, spending even more time together.
By the time he finally gets ready for bed, the house is completely quiet again. He walks past the guest room on his way to his bedroom and stops for a second, staring at the closed door. The ridiculous thought crosses his mind that maybe he should knock and say goodnight, but he is quick to shake it.
Instead, he lies in his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking of you sleeping just down the hallway until his spiraling thoughts eat him away and he finally falls asleep.
He is gonna have a rough couple of days.
***
The next few days pass in a blur. Somehow, somewhere between rushed mornings, stadium chaos and late-night drives back home, the weirdness of having you in his house disappears. It becomes normal, having you around not just while working but at the end of the day as well, when Harry retreats from being Harry Styles, the pop icon.
It probably helped that he didn’t need to act like a host because you didn’t act like a guest. It was like you belonged there, in his home and he realized he liked it a lot.
Having coffee with you in the morning, running to the grocery store together or grabbing lunch from the nearby Chinese restaurant. He liked finding you on the couch, typing away on your laptop or making calls when he came back from his run and he liked that on show days you left together, did your own things and went home together at the end of the night, had a a glass of wine or two on the patio before going to bed and starting it all over again.
When you got a call three days into your stay at Harry’s that your bathroom works will be postponed to next week Harry tried to focus on easing your stress instead of the absolute happiness he felt for having you at his place even longer. It’s like even fate wanted him to enjoy more of the time spent together.
It’s another show day and Harry is already downstairs, getting ready to leave while you’re still upstairs.
“Have you seen my charger?” he calls up.
“Which one?” comes your answer.
“The black one.”
“It’s in the kitchen!”
He runs into the kitchen and is not surprised to find the item he’s been looking for everywhere lying on the counter. Laughing at himself he walks back to the front door while tucking the cord into his totebag, just when you come down the stairs.
Glancing up he freezes for a second, because you’re wearing jean shorts and an old band tee. His band tee to be precise and you look a lot better in it than he ever did. He doesn’t even care that it's one of his favorite ones, he would be fine if you wore it from now on.
“Is that my shirt?” he asks, recovering.
You look up at him innocently.
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” he chuckles.
“Ah, it must have ended up in my pile of laundry.”
“Interesting, because I haven’t worn it in a while, so it was not even near the laundry,” he keeps teasing you with a growing smirk.
“Your memory is shit, Styles,” you wave at him dismissingly. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” you say, changing the subject. Harry just shakes his head chuckling, but follows you out the door.
That stupid t-shirt messes with his head. Or to be more precise, seeing you wearing his clothes is what has his panties in a twist.
Every time you walk past him it’s like electricity buzzes through him. Then he starts picturing you more of his things. His running shorts. His shirt. His boxer briefs… It’s a trap he walked straight into.
When the show starts he manages to shut you out, but then you decide to go into the pit again. No matter how badly he fights the urge to ignore you, he can’t. During Dance No More he stops right in front of you, dancing while looking straight into your eyes. At first you just shake your head at him and try to shoo him away, but when he doesn’t, you end up mirroring his dance moves that makes him laugh.
“Okay, I accept defeat,” he says into the mic before finally moving on, the fans going crazy over what they just witnessed and that’s when you decide to return backstage.
By the time the show ends, Harry is still smiling. Partially because the show felt extra good tonight, but mostly because of the interaction he had with you and the thought that now he gets to go home with you.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mitch comments when they’re backstage, wiping sweat from his face.
Harry looks up from the bottle of water in his hand. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Anthony answers from beside him, his camera is still in his hand. “It’s actually slightly annoying.”
“Sorry my happiness is inconveniencing you,” Harry chuckles.
“Not the happiness,” Mitch says, pointing at him. “The lovesick teenage boy energy.”
Harry almost chokes on his water. “What?”
“Please, I’m kind of hurt you think I wouldn’t notice the change in you,” Mitch scoffs. “Besides, I know this exact feeling,” he adds, his gaze jumping over to Sarah who is talking to a crew member in the corner of the room.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry shakes his head, but he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips.
“Yeah, okay. Keep lying to yourself. See you tomorrow,” Mitch pats his shoulder before walking over to his wife.
Harry looks at Anthony who has his camera in front of his face and snaps a picture of him. Then he checks the screen and nods to himself.
“Yep, lovesick teenage boy,” he says before walking away.
Harry just shakes his head in disbelief before heading over to you, throwing his towel at you.
“Ew! Get your sweaty towel off me!” You cry out, throwing the towel right back at him.
“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave.”
“Take your time, you stink!” You call after him teasingly, to which he just flips you off before walking away.
By the time Harry finally finishes showering, you’re already waiting by his dressing room, scrolling through your phone.
“Done?” you ask, looking up from the screen.
“Squeaky clean,” he grins, proud of himself for quoting his own song. You just roll your eyes, but he spots the smile hiding in the corners of your mouth.
The ride home is the same. You’re talking about bits from the show and then sing along to some music, it’s been his favorite after-show ritual lately.
Arriving home you’re already heading into the kitchen to pour the usual glass of wine for the two of you while Harry heads up to his room to drop his stuff off before joining you downstairs. Just outside his bedroom he starts to feel like something is off, but only realizes what it is when he walks in.
It feels like hell in there. It’s hotter than in a sauna.
“What the…” He grabs his phone to check the app that’s connected to the AC system in the house and sees that the one in his bedroom is not working. He taps on it several times, but it just wouldn’t turn on.
Then he digs out the remote, hoping to start it with that, but that doesn’t work either. It’s dead.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” You walk in with two glasses of wine, but instantly feel the heat in his room. “Holy shit, did you set your room on fire or something?”
“The AC is not working,” he sighs in defeat.
“Damn, okay, no worries. We can call someone tomorrow,” you say, handing him one of the wines. He takes a big gulp, since it’s pretty cold at least.
“Sure. I’ll just sleep in the other guest room tonight,” he says, but then he quickly realizes. “Fuck, there’s no AC there either,” he groans, his head rolling back in frustration. “Okay, then the couch it is for tonight.”
“What?” your eyes widen. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, you need to rest, you have a show tomorrow.”
“Where else am I gonna sleep then?” he chuckles helplessly.
“In my room. I’ll take the couch,” you say right away.
“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head.
“Harry–”
“No.”
“You need to fucking sleep! In a bed!” you argue, slightly raising your voice from the frustration of how stubborn he is being.
“And you don’t need the rest? You’re working too, Y/N.”
“Yeah, but I’m not performing at Wembley.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch in my house,” he states, making you roll your eyes.
“Well, you’re not sleeping on the couch in your house either.”
“Y/N, I’m not taking your bed–”
“It’s your bed in your guest room in your house.”
“No, right now it’s your bed.”
“Jesus, you’re so fucking annoying!” you growl. “Then we’re sharing the bed,” you then say, surprising probably the both of you.
“What?” he chuckles awkwardly.
“It’s big enough, we can just share it tonight and then we can have the AC fixed tomorrow. No big deal,” you explain and this time he can’t argue.
Well, he would love to, but he would rather not say out loud his arguments. He can’t just say he doesn’t want to share the bed because it’s too intimate for him and he would very likely spiral, so he chickens out and just nods.
“Okay. I guess… you’re right.”
Satisfaction takes over your expression.
“See? There was no need to be this dramatic about the whole situation,” you say, taking a sip from your wine. Harry’s eyebrows arch.
“I’m literally the least dramatic person you know.”
You look at him and that look speaks for you.
“Okay,” he sighs. “That might be a lie,” he mumbles.
You carry on with the evening as usual. It’s still so hot outside that you don’t sit on the patio too long, just until you both finish your wine and then head back inside. Harry uses his own bathroom and you use the guest one just like every evening since you’ve been here.
But once he is done he feels ridiculous for being nervous at the thought of going over to your room and get in bed beside you.
“Get your shit together,” he mumbles to himself before finally making his way down the hallway.
The door is open and you’re already sitting on the bed, scrolling on your phone when he walks in. When you look up you smile softly at him that already has his stomach sinking.
“Come on in! Make yourself home!” you gesture at the bed. Harry chuckles.
“Well, it is my home.”
“Shut up,” you flip him off as he takes the right side of the bed.
Tentatively he sits on the edge at first, then a little awkwardly lies down.
“Are you going to lie like a board all night?” you tease him.
“What if I am?” he scoffs.
“Okay, do whatever you want. It really is your home,” you say teasingly.
Harry wills himself to relax and get under the covers finally. The bed is big. Big enough that you’ll probably not touch all night, but Harry is still worried.
“I hope you haven’t started snoring since the last time we slept in the same room,” you break the silence. Harry peeks over at you.
“You’re the one who snores.”
You gape at him dramatically.
“I told you I don’t snore!”
“Can you hear yourself while sleeping?” he arches an eyebrow.
“Well, of course not. I’m sleeping!”
“Okay, I have heard you. And you were definitely snoring.”
That’s a lie. It was just loud breathing probably, but he loves teasing you with that, he loves seeing you get all heated up while defending yourself.
“Yeah? Then you fart all night!”
At that, you both stay silent for a second before uncontrollable laughter bursts right out of you both.
“Fart all night? That’s the best you could come up with?” Harry asks, wiping the tears away from his eyes.
“Did you want me to say you pee your pants?” you wheeze out, making him laugh even harder.
It takes long minutes for you to calm down, silence settling over the room. Now Harry feels a lot less awkward about the whole bed sharing situation.
“Goodnight, Harry,” you whisper at last.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies and falls asleep with a smile on his face.
***
Harry wakes up before his alarm, which is unusual. With his eyes still closed he buries his face further into the pillow and at first the scent doesn’t even register, your scent all over the pillow. Then feels the warmth, not excruciating, but definitely warmer than what he feels in the morning. Almost like… A body. Pressed against his.
The memories of the two of you fighting over the bed situation last night creep back into his mind and then he slowly puts the picture together before he even opens his eyes, that it’s you who’s pressed up against him.
he is lying on his side, one arm stretched out forward, right under the pillow on which your head is resting. You’re lying with your back plastered against his front, his other arm thrown over your waist, his palm touching your bare stomach where your top has ridden up in your sleep. Your legs are tangled together and the cherry on top is what’s happening around your midsections.
Spooning you his crotch is perfectly pressed up against your ass and just to make things even more interesting, he is sporting an erection.
It’s all settling in slowly but surely, his pulse picking up and then he completely freezes when you stir in your sleep and rub your ass even more against his cock. A silent groan slips from his lips. He’s still groggy and half asleep, but he can tell this should not be happening.
The rational part of his brain is screaming at him to pull back and get as far from her as possible, but that voice is tuned out as he takes a deep breath and your scent fills his nose, making his cock twitch from the need to touch you. He stays put, slight panic creeping up his spine as he tries to figure out what to do, but that’s when you start moving again. At first he thinks you’re just wriggling in your sleep, but after a few seconds he realizes it’s different.
You’re rubbing against him. Like, fully rubbing.
His muscles flex as he tries to control himself, another groan bubbling from him as he dances on the edge of a very dangerous territory.
You must be still asleep and it’s just an instinct, it’s totally normal to get horny in your dreams, he tells himself, so he shouldn’t take advantage of it, but it’s getting so fucking hard to resist.
But then…
“Harry…” you breathe out, arching even more against him and that’s when he snaps.
His hand that’s been on your stomach grips your hip and he finally lets himself grind against you, creating more friction and making you both moan.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he keeps moving his hips, his cock straining against his briefs.
Your hand finds his on your hips and taking it you tug it towards your core. He is quick to realize what you need and he gladly slips his hand under the elastic of your sleeping shorts, cupping your heated cunt at first, before gliding two fingers between your wet folds.
“Yes, please,” you groan, head falling back and he rests his forehead against your shoulder as he keeps rocking against you, his fingers slipping inside you.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, feeling like he is losing his mind as you grind against his palm and cock at the same time, chasing your own relief while he is inching closer to his as well.
Your hands find his that’s under the pillow, gripping the sheets and you bring it to your mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss into his palm at first but then bite the tender skin when his fingers inside you hit the right spot.
“More,” you choke out.
The hand you bit moves to your chest, slipping under your top, palming your breast and you arch into his touch, eager to get more of him. You’re both close to the edge, panting and moaning, Harry is in a state of disbelief and overflowing joy at what’s happening and that’s when the bubble is popped.
His phone starts to ring on the nightstand, loud and sharp, making you both jerk at the interruption. You both move away and sit up, looking at each other like you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t have, the pleasure you were feeling quickly morphing into shock and panic.
The phone is still ringing and Harry snatches it clearing his throat before answering the call. He tries his best to focus on whatever is being said to him, but his mind is still stuck from just moments ago when he was basically dry-humping you and he was very much on the edge of coming.
“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Sure, I’ll head over.”
When he ends the call you’ve moved to the very edge of the bed, an unreadable expression on your face.
“I need to go to the stadium, something is wrong with the sound system, they need to do an emergency sound check,” he tells you and you nod. He hesitates for a second then tries to reach out towards you just when you jump out of the bed.
“Then we need to get ready,” you say, looking everywhere but at him.
“Y/N…”
“I’m gonna take a shower and then… You know what? You’ll have to go alone, I have some errands to run.”
That’s a fat lie, he knows. But he doesn’t call you out as you practically sprint into the bathroom, shutting him out. He stays there, sitting and staring after you for a few more seconds, absolutely no idea what to do. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated breath as he stands and walks out of the room. He is dying to go after you and talk to you, ask you what you’re thinking, but the look on your face sent a clear message that talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do. He definitely doesn’t want to push you too far, so he is left with drawing his own conclusions and right now those are pretty clear.
You regretted it and now everything is fucked.
***
You don’t go to the stadium with him and when he returns home you’re gone. He fights the urge to call you and beg you to come back and talk to him, but instead he just texts you that the issue has been solved, to which you just reply with liking his message.
He is on the edge, waiting for you to return until the very last minute he needs to leave for tonight’s show, but you text him you’ll just get a taxi to the stadium, he doesn’t have to wait for you. Harry swallows down the disappointment, but forces himself to carry on.
He has done this a thousand times. Walk into a stadium, leave everything else behind, become the person everyone came to see, except today he is having a hard time shutting his mind off. He keeps looking for you everywhere as he goes through his usual pre-show rituals, but you’re nowhere to be found. But he knows you’re there, because everything gets done, it’s just as if a ghost is doing your job.
When he steps out onto the stage he more or less manages to get his focus straight, but he can tell he is not giving his best performance. He can only hope the fans won’t notice it. When he runs out to his short break after Fine Line and he is on his way back, that’s when he runs into you for the first time.
“Hey, you’re here,” he stops in his tracks.
“Of course, where else would I be?” you ask with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. He is debating being late for the next set just to talk to you.
“Are we going home together afterwards?” he ends up asking.
“Sure,” you nod shortly, though your expression has him worried. He doesn’t have time to talk more however.
He somehow gets through the second half of the show, even kind of gets more into the flow after the short interaction with you, but once he is off the stage he is eager to get home with you as soon as possible so you can talk.
When he walks out of his dressing room and you’re there relief washes over him. Part of him was afraid you might ditch him and say you’re spending the night at your sister’s place.
“Ready?” he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder and you nod.
The ride home is suffocating. Silence takes over the car and it’s driving Harry crazy how just hours ago in the morning he had his hands on your body and now you feel miles away even though you’re sitting right beside him.
He is working up the courage to start a conversation when you walk into the house and that’s when realization hits him.
“Fuck,” he breathes out.
“What?” you ask him.
“I forgot… I didn’t get anyone to fix the AC.”
You stare back at him for a second, expression unreadable.
“That’s okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch,” you say at last.
“No, Y/N.”
“Shut up, I’m not arguing about this tonight,” you snap back, but it triggers something in him.
“Oh, okay. Then let’s argue about why you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I was not avoiding you.”
“What a fucking lie,” he scoffs in disbelief, his bluntness making your eyes widen.
“I’m not having this conversation, Harry,” you shake your head.
“Why?” he challenges.
“What?” you blink at him.
“Why are you not having this conversation?”
Your jaw tightens as you stare back at him.
“Because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” Your voice is low and steady, but he can see the tornado behind your eyes. Harry lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“Nothing to talk about?”
He takes a step closer, but stops himself before he gets too close. He’s not going to corner you, not when you already look like you’re moments away from running away again.
“Y/N, this morning we were moments away from making each other come.”
“I know,” you hiss.
“And then you just ran away.”
“I did not.”
“You locked yourself in the bathroom and didn’t come out until I was gone.”
“Okay, fine!” you snap. “I’ve been avoiding you. Happy? Can we move on?”
“No, not until we walk about this!”
“There is nothing to talk about!” Your voice is raised, chest heaving as you stare back at him.
“I beg to differ,” he scoffs.
“Then let me rephrase it. I’m not gonna listen to you say it was a mistake and we shouldn’t have done it.”
That hits him hard in the head and chest, his anger quickly morphing into confusion.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“Don’t give me this lost puppy face,” you huff out a dry laugh. “That’s where we would have ended up at. You saying shit like let’s pretend it never happened and just go back to how it was, so I was just cutting it short.” Your voice wavers at the end and it finally clicks for Harry.
You weren’t acting this way because you regretted it, you did it because you thought he would want to forget about it. The realization hits him so hard he almost laughs, except there is nothing funny about it.
“Y/N…” he breathes out.
You look away, suddenly uncomfortable now that you’ve said it out loud.
“Don’t,” you mumble.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t stand there looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel bad for me.”
Something in his chest twists as he takes a step closer.
“Y/N, that’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you ask, looking back at him. “Because I know you, Harry. I know you better than almost anyone. You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean it, that you were caught up in the moment, that it’s complicated and we shouldn’t ruin what we have.” A tear rolls down your cheek, but you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, it’s way too complicated and I feel stupid, because there’s no way you–”
He cuts you off with a rough kiss, making you instantly forget what you were talking about as you melt into his arms. It’s desperate, passionate and ignites a fire inside you in an instant. It’s also speaking for him, loud and clear, because as his tongue licks into your mouth you have no doubt he did not regret what happened in the morning, in fact, he is aching for more.
You’re fisting his shirt and his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you even closer, though that’s not possible anymore. His hands then start roaming your body, your back, your ass and then thighs before he grabs the back of them and urges you to jump, legs curling around his waist as he holds you.
He carries you up the stairs without breaking the kiss, but you both start laughing when he almost slips, throwing you both down the stairs.
“Fuck, please don’t kill us now,” you laugh, planting a hand onto the wall next to you.
“That would be pretty unfortunate,” he grins, but then his face turns serious for a second and he even puts you down. Standing on the step above him, you’re about the same height. “This is real, Y/N. I want you, so fucking bad, I’ve wanted you for so long and–”
Now you’re the one cutting him off with a kiss, though it’s a lot less aggressive than his. When you pull back, you just smile at him.
“It’s real. Now would you just keep talking or we could–”
The words turn into a laugh as he picks you up, running into your room so fast, you haven’t seen him move this fast before, not even on stage. He throws you onto the bed and once he is on top of you, the broken AC in his room is long forgotten, along with all the unnecessary tension you put each other through today.
***
The heatwave is still raging, melting London and Wembley Stadium, but the residency continues. The show blows up the place as usual and Harry parades around the stage in his slutty little shorts, as they are now officially called.
It’s the part of the show where everyone is moved out to the runway, bringing the show even closer to the fans in the pit. Harry is dripping from sweat as he dances past Mitch.
“Feeling hot?” the guitarist asks, trying to shout over the music. Harry laughs nodding as he saunters closer, Mitch then leans over to his ear. “Did you get your AC fixed?”
“What AC?” he asks, confused.
“In your fucking bedroom! Have you been sleeping in hell all week?” he asks, but then it clicks for the both of them. “Holy shit!” Mitch laughs as Harry just dances away with a knowing smile. “Holy shit! You and Y/N!” he shouts after him.
But Harry just giggles and grabs his mic and then starts singing.
“Ready, steady, go!”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
Harry has more money than he knows what to do with. He decides he's going to spoil someone that doesn't seem to need all that much to be spoiled. It just so happens that person is also the newest intern at Styles Incorporated. It also just so happens that Harry is completely and accidentally enamored with her too.
originally posted on patreon as a one-shot, then later turned into a series
MAIN MASTERLIST
older!harry | dad's friend!harry
Summary: Your hyper sexual tendencies get you into a lot of trouble. You're trying to be good, but you never seem to be able to shut off the voice in your head that keeps telling you that you need attention from unavailable men. When you set your sights on Harry, your dad's friend, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into.
Word Count: 9.1k
Warning: Inspection k!nk, rough blow job, humiliation k!nk, anxious attachment and validation/attention seeking behavior, unresolved neglect, d0m/sub behavior, smut, forbidden relationship, spitting, nipple play, + Harry's quite a lot older.
. .
You couldn't say exactly what was wrong with you. Maybe you really were the insufferable attention seeker your dad always said you were. You knew you needed to screw your head on straight, but you didn't know how. Seeking older, married, off-limits men seemed to make you feel better. Temporarily, at least. Was it because your dad was so cold and you were certain he didn't love you? Was it because your mother would rather drink and shop, and sleep her life away than spend any time with you? Was it because you liked the drama, the fallout, the fight, the tears?
You stared at Harry, your dad's friend, sitting at the table, just off the lake dock, drinking his third beer as he chatted with the guys. But you saw his eyes on you when your dad wasn't looking. You saw all your dad's friends' eyes on you. But Harry's were the only ones you were interested in. The lakehouse was one of your favorite spots to be. You could escape reality while drinking alcohol and wearing bikinis all day. Your dad hadn’t wanted you tagging along but you wore him down like always, nagging, needling, whining… until he gave in, rolling his eyes and told you to keep busy and not ruin his guys’ weekend.
Well, he should have known better. Certainly, there was a reason he didn't love you after all. Ruining things was kind of your go-to specialty. And right now, you wanted Harry to ruin you. He was the kind of man who could set you straight. At least he wasn't married.
You pushed up from the edge of the dock where you'd been sunning, and sauntered toward the table, just shy of the zone where your dad would bark. On your way to the cooler, you gave Harry a small, private smile, then bent for a beer and let him have the view. Tits, ass, whatever he chose to take. You just needed his eyes on you.
The first swallow of cold ale carved a clean line down your throat as you stood right where Harry could watch. He glanced, but not too long. You tossed him another look, then drifted toward the cedar-and-stone house, slipped through the sliding doors, and let the air-conditioning lift the heat from your skin.
Even as your sweat began to dry, you were still heated from all the inappropriate thoughts about Harry. His arms were strong and tattooed, his shoulders were broad, he was tall, big hands… There wasn't a single thing you could find about him that wasn't appealing. He was even a little bit boorish, which you loved. You wouldn't call him mean, but he definitely wasn't nice. He'd never been rude to you, but you'd let him if he wanted.
And best of all, you were positive he had a huge cock. You'd seen the bulky line of him after pulling himself out of the lake, the way he plucked his shorts away from the heavy lump that swayed in his navy swim shorts. Plus, there was no way a man like that wasn't nicely endowed. You wanted to see it for yourself, though.
You took another drink of your beer, your forearms pressed over the granite kitchen island, just as Mark walked in and set his dark eyes all over your skin before he walked behind you. Rolling your eyes, you took another swig and turned around, propping your elbows on the island behind yourself to look at him. "Like the color green. Or you just like my ass?"
He laughed and reached into the fridge to grab out a few more of the special beers. The ones that didn't go in the cooler because they were too expensive to sit amongst the common lagers and ales that sat drowning in water and ice in the Igloo cooler. "You got some mouth on you, Y/n."
"I saw you lookin'. Don't pretend you weren't. If Darius finds out, he'd probably kill you, though."
"If your dad finds out what?" Harry's voice cut through from the sliding door as he stepped inside, eyes on Mark. There was tension.
"Nothin'."
"He was looking at my ass," you smirked and then took another drink of your beer.
"She's right. Darius'll kill you. So will I. Go back outside, Mark."
Mark scoffed and gestured toward you. "I wasn't looking at her ass, Harry. She's just a kid. Why would—"
"I'm 23. Full-grown woman," you corrected.
Both Harry and Mark looked at you and laughed. You rolled your eyes. Harry kept his sight on you as he spoke. "Go outside, Mark, before you do anything stupid."
You licked your lips and grinned at Harry, swaying your hips just a little as you shifted. His eyes grazed your thighs before he stepped in front of you, jaw set hard.
"Don't be playin' with Mark. He's going through a lot right now."
"I know. Poor thing," you mock-pouted. "Heard his wife left him. Probably desperate to get laid. That's why he was staring at me."
"You need to behave, Y/n. You're lookin' for trouble." Harry glanced out the window then back at you.
You fluttered, your lashes innocently. "Hmm… Not looking for trouble. Honest. Not from Mark anyway."
He shook his head and sucked at the front of his teeth like what you'd said was unbelievable. But you think he got the hint. "God help me."
And just like that, he walked away. Left you standing there in the air-conditioned kitchen as he stepped back out to the patio with his friends. All boring older men his age who he knew couldn't entertain him the way you could if he just let you.
.
The wifi sucked at the lakehouse. That was one of the only things you hated about the place. The rest was kind of magical. You sat on the balcony off of your room, a joint perched between your fingers as you watched the sun slip down, and one by one, your dad and his friends began to come inside. Bedtime for the old men. But that meant go-time for you.
Patting out your joint, you stepped back inside your room and checked yourself in the mirror. Your button-up shirt was unbuttoned, nothing underneath. You grinned and felt your nerves ramp up as you tiptoed from your room, down the hallway to the one off the shared bathroom. Harry's room.
None of the men had made it upstairs yet. You could hear them all down in the kitchen still. Once again, the thrill of doing something you knew you shouldn't was too big to pull back from. Just one night with Harry would cure you. Definitely.
His room was dark when you stepped inside and closed the door behind yourself. The rush of what you were doing made your heart race as you climbed into his bed and pulled the shirt off, dropping it onto the floor next. You turned your head to inhale the pillow he'd used the night before.
It was like a dopamine hit to your brain. Harry always smelled good, and now, lying in the bed, he'd soon be coming to… your insides were churning, and your skin was prickling with heat.
Look, you knew you were ridiculous. You knew it was dumb. But you really didn't care. You should have cared. You should have gone to therapy instead of going to older, unavailable men to fill in the gaps of whatever it was that was missing in you. But for you, rational thought rarely won. For better or worse. You were a walking disaster.
When footsteps began to hit the stairs and deep voices laughed and lulled, doors opened, and then closed, you pulled his blankets over your head and bit your lip in anticipation. You had a feeling he was going to kick you out of his room. Tell you that you needed help and that you were barking up the wrong tree or something like that.
The moment his door opened, you held your breath. You heard his footsteps, the door closing behind him, then locking. When the light came on, you could see it slip through the edges of the blanket, and then everything went silent. You slowly inhaled and blinked your eyes against the dark of the blankets over you and tried to listen for any single noise, but there was nothing. Not a footstep, nor a breath. Was he playing a game? There was no way he didn't notice the clear outline of your body under his blankets, and there was no way he didn't know it was you.
Just before you were about to pull the covers from your face to find out what was going on, all of the blankets were suddenly ripped from you and pulled to the floor, cold air hitting your bare skin. You gasped and sat up to see him standing at the end of the bed, an unreadable expression on his face as he trailed his eyes down your nude figure sitting right in the spot he would be sleeping.
He pressed his lips together tight and nodded before he crossed to the side of the bed to casually plug his cellphone in to charge it. You blinked, confused, and shifted to sit with your legs tucked under your thighs as you watched him. Why wasn't he giving you some kind of reaction?
"Um…" You said thinly. "You gonna say something?"
He slid his gaze to yours, and he sniffed before he sat at the edge of the bed and began to remove his shoes. "What do you want me to say?"
Shaking your head, you frowned. "I don't know. I thought it'd be funny. Maybe make you laugh."
He pushed out a laugh, but it was missing its edge of humor. "Funny? This is you being funny, Y/n?"
"Well…" You looked down at your lap and suddenly felt like escaping. You could just grab your shirt and dash back to your room, pretend you'd never done it.
"Well, what?"
"I don't know. I don't know why I did it."
"Not every day a man steps into his room to find a naked girl in his bed. Worse when it's his friend's daughter."
Biting your lip hard, you lifted an arm to cover your breasts and hook your fingers over your upper arm, suddenly not feeling like your usual bold self. Harry's reaction had not been what you'd expected at all. You were used to an extreme response. But this?
He brought a hand up and pulled at your lip, voice soft. "Don't bite it. Make yourself bleed."
You blinked slowly, eyes on his as you parted your lips where he pulled and grabbed his wrist, pushing your lips over his thumb and sucking around it. It was automatic when you did it. He didn't pull away.
"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. But it came out sounding less like a man excited and more like a man with a conundrum.
You laved your tongue all around and moaned softly, pushing and then pulling your lips over his digit as he watched you. Shifting your hips, you scooted closer to him, his thumb still in your mouth. And you thought maybe it was just that easy. Show him how nasty you could be right off and he'd give in.
But he moved away and stood, your hand falling to your lap. He bent and grabbed the blankets, tossing them back over the bottom of the mattress. You watched him pull his wallet from his back pocket and place it on the dresser, with his back to you. You had no idea what was going on. But he wasn't kicking you out. Yet.
You were honestly used to one of two reactions from men when you pulled this kind of shit—not that you'd done this exact thing before, but still.
Men would either respond with a lot of enthusiasm in favor of getting to fuck you, or they'd freak out and leave (or tell you to leave).
Of course, your actual "body count" was not nearly as high as that makes it seem. You were no virgin, but you were also not really a "bop" either. Well, maybe you were a little bit, but you preferred thinking of yourself as a lover girl, really. Just a girl looking to be loved. Looking for something real, but probably in all the wrong places.
He turned to face you, bracing his hands against the edge of the dresser behind him. "Why are you here?"
You tipped your chin up to make it look like you had more confidence than you did, given that you were naked, in his bed, uninvited.
"I just wanted to see what would happen."
"To see what would happen," he repeated. You watched him nod and drag his eyes down your body to where your feet were tucked under your bottom.
"I think I already know what you want. But I need you to tell me first. Otherwise, you'll return to your room. This isn't a game. Tell me why you're here."
You swallowed and put your palms on your knees. "To see if I could get you to..."
He waited to let you finish your thought but when you didn't, he did it for you. "To see if you could get me to… what? Look at you? Pay attention to you?"
You nodded, your throat tightening. "Yeah. I wanted you to like me."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "You think I don't like you?"
Right then, you really wished you had some clothes on. "Hard to really tell."
He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. "If I didn't like you, you would not be sitting here right now."
It was pathetic but the edge of your lip nudged upward at that admission. So he did like you. At least enough to keep you sitting on his bed, naked.
"Tell me why you're here."
God, you were so out of your depth with Harry. You slowly inhaled and sank your nails into the skin on the outside of your knee. "I wanted attention. Your attention specifically."
"Attention. Okay. Well, you got it. You realize I'm not much younger than your dad."
"I know. I just… like you."
He laughed and pushed away from the dresser, stepping next to the bed closer to you. "I can see that. Not very wise, though. Is it?"
You shook your head, looking up at him through your lashes.
"No, it's not." He blew out a slow breath. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Nothing since dinner. I’m not even tipsy. Well, I smoked a half joint before I came in here.”
His eyes stayed on yours long enough to make you feel naked in a different way. “A joint? And now you're sitting here without any clothes on in my bed? Your dad would be very disappointed in you.” He glanced at the door, then back to you.
Your heart thudded as you let out a humorless laugh. “He won't ever know unless you say something. Besides, he doesn't care about me anyway. Mom either.”
Harry reached down and took your chin between his thumb and middle finger, palm cradling the underside. "Darius doesn't give you enough attention? Is that what this is? You're desperate for someone to take care of you?"
You nodded, chin padded by his palm as you rounded your eyes on his. You reached up to grab his forearm, but he tsk'd at you and moved his hand away. "Hands back in your lap. You want attention from me, then we're doing this my way. Is that clear?"
"Yes," you spoke in a whisper.
"Good." His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile he didn’t want to have, but you saw it. "Few rules first." He stepped away, moving toward the door to double-check that he'd locked it before he returned to your side next to the bed.
"You'll listen to me. You keep your voice down. If I say stop, you stop. That door stays locked until I unlock it. You'll go back to your room when I say. And in the morning, you are polite and distant, and you don’t make me a liar in front of your dad."
You nodded too fast, blinking your eyes as you swallowed.
“Understood?”
“Yes,” you said, throat tight. “I can do that.”
He lifted a hand toward your face, and you leaned into it. His knuckles skimmed your jaw, the heat of his palm cupping your cheek. The careful way he touched you made your bravado feel small and your want feel enormous.
“There can be no loud noises coming from you, much as I'd like to hear it,” he said. “Are you able to keep yourself quiet?”
“Yes,” you said plainly. You hoped you could.
"Good, because one peep too loud and you're out of here. I'm not risking my relationship with your dad so some spoiled, bored girl can get her kicks and play out her twisted fantasy on an older man. We're both adults here, Y/n. Let's call it what it is."
You frowned, brows pinching together.
"What? Did you think this was gonna turn into a love story? Honey, this is what you get when you play around with people you shouldn't."
You turned your gaze toward the edge of the room, your heart thundering so loud you could hear it in your ears. You just wanted to find a man to love you at the end of the day, but you knew the way you went about it was all wrong. The kind of men you went after weren't fit for that. Harry wasn't going to be your knight in shining armour and sweep you away to his city penthouse and take care of every want and need you had.
"I know," you said, your voice hollow like the space inside of you that you so desperately wanted filled.
The bed dipped when he sat down. "Hey. Look at me, Y/n."
Blinking, you shifted your gaze back to his. His clear rules were making you confront yourself in a way you didn't usually need to, and you felt very outmatched for it.
"Where'd all your sass go? Hm? Don't tell me you're this easy to break."
"I don't… Most men don't care about rules. I'm used to just…" You shook your head, picking at your nails in your lap.
"Most men? How many?"
"What?"
He raised his brows. "How often do you do shit like this?"
"Well, not like… all the time. Like a few."
"You usually go for older men?"
You nodded.
"Right. So this is a pattern. You could have picked any of the guys here this weekend, and you'd have been satisfied. Mark would probably already be fucking you if you'd picked his room."
"No. I didn't want anyone else. That's why I came here."
"And you're used to men not giving a damn about the consequences. Thought I'd be easy to seduce, didn't you?"
Shaking your head quickly, you spoke. "No. I honestly thought you'd just kick me out."
He tilted his head, a slow grin pulling at his lips. "You did all this thinking I was just gonna send you out of here? You like being humiliated, Y/n?"
You shrugged. "Just for attention. Even if you just yelled at me and told me to get out, that would've been fine. Take what I can get."
He blinked, eyes shifting between yours. "That's kind of fucked up. You realize that, right?"
You pushed out a breath of a laugh, embarrassed, and looked back down at your lap. "I know. I have issues that I should probably work out in therapy."
He slid his palm over your knee, and you flicked your gaze back to his. "Probably? Baby, this is a whole shit sandwich you got goin' on here."
You laughed, a little too loud, and covered your mouth quickly, eyes wide.
"Shh…" he smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get on your tummy. Tush up."
Your face went hot immediately, and every inch of flesh burned as your vision went bleary from the sudden shift in his demeanor and the drop in his voice. But you quickly did as he said, moving to your side and then lowering your tummy to the mattress. You kept your neck turned so you could see him in your peripheral. He didn't move at first, but you could hear his breath.
It felt like minutes that he sat there and just stared at your backside. Like he needed to make sure he was ready for it himself. But when he finally touched you, a big hand pressing at your low back and tracing upward along your spine, you smiled and sighed a soft moan.
"Jesus, Y/n." His hand paused at your shoulder blade. "Acting like you never get touched. Need it that bad?"
You breathed out and nodded into the crook of your arm. You didn't want him to stop touching you. However he wanted to do it, you'd be happy. You just needed it.
He shifted, his hands pressing flat into the mattress on either side of your waist as he leaned over you, his voice next to your ear. "Bet you like to be spanked, don't you? Like to get smacked around just to feel a man's hands on you? Like it rough?"
You nodded, your eyes pressing toward the limn of your vision so you could see the outline of his face over you.
"Not happening tonight. Too much noise. Understood?"
You nodded again. "Mmhm."
When he pushed away, he didn't move far. He pulled your hands down and placed them on your tailbone. "Keep these here."
You threaded your fingers together to hold your hands still as he moved behind you. A shift of fabric, the bed tipped under his weight and then lifted when he stood. He was taking off his shirt. Maybe everything, you weren't sure.
He turned on the lamp on the side table and then walked across the room to shut off the overhead light. Then you saw him grab his cellphone. A few moments passed before you heard the sound of white noise coming from his phone. The pulse of waves and the soft lapping of water receding from a shoreline. The constant, gentle drone of sound that could drown out small noises while putting someone to sleep. Only tonight, the white noise wasn't for sleeping. It would serve as a disguise.
With your hands still exactly where he put them, you turned your head to see him walking toward a small suitcase on the other side of the bed. He'd removed his shirt and his jeans, but was still wearing a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his thighs and glutes tightly. He pulled something from his suitcase that you couldn't see before he stepped around to the bedside table, and you turned your head again to watch as he laid down two condoms. Two.
"I'm on birth control," you said, your eyes following his movements.
"Oh, I'm sure you are, honey."
And that was all he said before he was kneeing back up onto the bed behind you, his hands moving up the backs of your thighs and pressing them apart. You squeezed your eyes closed, feeling more exposed and naked than you ever had.
Then he was touching you with purpose. His hands sliding over your skin and around the curve of your ass before he squeezed and pulled. You could hear his breath as he went. The warm span of his palm and fingers wrapped your sides and then he pinched gently. You rocked your hips and moaned softly.
"You let men fuck you without condoms?"
You swallowed. "Sometimes. Not usually."
"Is that why you told me you're on birth control? Want my cock bare?"
You nodded and lifted your head to look back at him, but your hands, being where they were, made it difficult to turn. "I'd let you."
"Lie down."
You lay back into the position you'd been in and waited. He took your hips and lifted gently and you heard him inhale through his teeth before his thumbs found your labia and he pulled. "Looks pretty. Would love to fuck you raw, but I don't think that's a good idea tonight."
Tonight. There it was again. Your heart beat picked up faster at just the idea. Not tonight, but perhaps another. Not that that was what he meant, but the way he said it…
His fingers prodded and pulled at your folds slowly. It was strange to be scrutinized so closely like that. You felt cool air hit your skin before his lips pressed against your pussy and you moaned, turning your mouth down into the blankets to muffle the sound.
"Good girl. You do know how to listen." He squeezed your ass again and yanked you up further, bottom higher in the air, knees digging into the mattress, before he shifted and you felt his thighs line up with the back of yours. You immediately rocked back against him and felt the line of him pressing into you.
He let you rub yourself against him, your hips pressing, swaying against him as you whimpered like an idiot into the blanket. His hands were light on your hips as you moved, like he enjoyed watching you do it. And given how hard he was under his briefs, you figured he did.
He pushed out something that could have been considered a moan when he tightened his grip on you and then rutted forward, his big dick pressing harder against your ass. But then he pulled back, and you felt his fingers on your crease again, sliding them through, up and down.
"Knew this ass would be cute."
The sudden press of two of his fingers inside of you had you gasping as you rolled against him. He groaned quietly and began to finger you with one of his hands, his other holding your hip loosely so you could still push back onto his digits.
"There you go. Fuck my fingers, honey."
You arched harder, letting your body rear back and shift forward so you could keep sinking down onto his fingers. The white noise coming from his phone did a good job of covering up the gushy, wet sounds your pussy made as you rocked. But then he moved again, his fingers were gone, and the mattress dipped.
"Sit up."
You released your hands and scrambled up quickly to face him, and he laughed at how obedient you were. He stepped onto the floor to the edge of the bed and pointed. "On your back, head at the edge here."
You moved right away, scooting your bottom until you were where he wanted you, head slightly hanging from the mattress, throat exposed. You looked up at him and just saw his tall frame, upside down, standing over you as he pulled his cock from his briefs. Long and thick… just like you knew it would be. You reached for him, but he swatted your hand away.
"Hands down by your side for now."
You pressed your arms to your sides and balled your fists tight as he grabbed your throat and bent enough that he could smear his tip against your chin and then your lips. You opened your mouth wide, and he huffed a quiet laugh.
"Love the enthusiasm. Stick out your tongue."
You jutted your tongue out as he reached over you, and his hands found your breasts for a quick squeeze before he took his cock in one palm and tapped it to your tongue. He ran his dick along your tongue and passed your lips a few times, wetting himself with your saliva.
He started off slow like that. Gently pushing in, not too far, and dragging himself back. He held his base as he went, working into you until you felt more relaxed with the angle and his girth before he snapped his hips down and thrust in past your gag reflex.
He chuckled darkly when he did it again, and you gurgled. His crown curved into your throat as he gasped and you swallowed around him with a quiet sputter. But you were determined to give him what he wanted and be the best you could be. Only when he moaned and reached forward to squeeze your nipples did you feel like it was a job well done. He liked it. You were making him feel good.
You'd had a couple of men fuck your face before and do it rough. You didn't mind because it felt like a reward when someone was enjoying your body. If he was having a good time, then so were you. And the small gasps coming from Harry, the salty precome dripping down your throat, the pulse in his thick vein, the way he was pinching your nipples… You felt like you were on your way to winning first prize.
"Fuck… That's it…"
Your face was numb, your throat was raw, saliva dripped down your temples and into your ears and hair, your eyes were blurry, and you could hardly breathe… But you were being enjoyed and that's all you wanted. It turned you on more than anything else.
Harry pulled out, his chest was heaving and he cursed under his breath. "Goddamn, Y/n."
You blinked tears from your eyes and moved your head to look up at him, still upside down from your vantage point. He walked around to the other side of the bed and you followed with your eyes as far as you could until you felt his hands on your ankles, pulling you to lie lengthwise on the bed before he climbed between your legs and pulled your thighs over his shoulders.
"Fuck, baby…"
Then his mouth was on you, soft, hot, wet… His tongue drew silent lines up and down your center before he sucked at your clit. You lifted your hips sharply with a gasp, throwing your arm across your mouth to keep as quiet as possible.
He moaned into your pussy and pressed in harder with his lips and tongue. But it was the way he slid the tip of his tongue quickly back and forth on your bud that made it hard to stop the noises from falling out of your mouth.
You reached down to stuff your fingers into his thick hair and rolled your hips up against his mouth. He didn't let up, and he didn't make you put your hands down. It was heaven being eaten out by Harry. It was like being loved on, which was something you craved constantly. Most men skipped foreplay with you because they figured you were just a slut who didn't need that kind of thing. But of course, you never asked for it because you figured they were at least partly right.
"Mmmm…" you moaned, mouth closed as your spine bowed from the bed. Harry pulled away and spat over your pussy and then looked up at you.
"Never seen a girl get this wet before," he said as he slid three fingers flat on your clit to rub his saliva in with your slick arousal. He kept his eyes on you as he rubbed your pussy, and then he reached up to your tit, wiping your wetness on your nipple and then then thumbing over your peak. He pushed his mouth against your hip and moaned before he sat back, pressing the insides of your knees further apart, pupils drawing through the space of your pussy and everything between your legs.
You moaned quietly and blinked up at him, your hands drifting up to your breasts as you lifted your hips in a silent plea.
"Shit." He shook his head and sighed. "Gonna want more of this." He traced his palms up your thigh and to your hips. "Which is dangerous. But I need to hear you beg til you're crying." He smoothed his hands around to your hips and then under to your ass as he squeezed. "Wanna take you over my knee and spank you when you make a mistake, when you mouth off. Can't do any of that here, can we?"
You swallowed and shook your head, a whisper of a no coming out as you lifted your hips again, impatient.
"Fuck. Hold on."
He reached over you, his strong arm stretching to the bedside table where he grabbed his phone and a condom. He laid the condom on your tummy and fiddled with his phone until you heard it ringing, speaker phone on. He put his finger up to his lips to signal for you to be quiet the moment a woman answered.
"Hi, handsome."
"Hey. Got a sec?"
"Sure, what's up?"
You blinked and pushed yourself up by your elbows as Harry laid the phone down next to your hip, glancing at you before he plucked up the condom and tore it open.
"Hate to do this on the phone, but it couldn't wait." He laid the rubber over his tip and began to roll it down as he continued speaking. "Can't see you anymore. Something came up and wouldn't be right to drag this out any longer. Really sorry."
"Wait. You're breaking up with me? What happened?"
"What happened is that something came up. I really am sorry. I just wanted to let you know before we took it any further. Okay?"
When the condom was rolled down as far as it could reach, he scooted closer to you and lay his cock over your tummy.
"Harry, I don't get it."
"Nothing to get. No hard feelings. I wish you luck."
He reached down and ended the call, the white noise returning with a soft crashing wave, and then he looked down at you, your brows pinched together.
"You had a girlfriend? I thought you were single?"
"She wasn't a girlfriend. Just someone I was seeing casually. Wasn't serious."
"So, why'd you end it with her if it was casual?" Your heart was racing.
He pushed out a laugh and dragged his hands to the underside of your thighs. "It was a courtesy. Was gonna break it off anyway. Least I could do was be a gentleman about it and break up with her before I fuck someone else. Shoulda done it before I laid my hands on you, but kinda forgot she existed there for a bit."
You smiled, a small laugh puffing from your lips. "You could've just texted. That's usually all the courtesy I get from men, and then they block me so I can't call back. Woulda made that a lot easier."
He stared at you blankly and ran his hands up your thighs to your hips. "You haven't been getting treated right, Y/n. Breaking up over text is for cowards. Not my style."
You bit your lip and ran your palms over your tits, pressing them together gently. It made you feel special that he broke up with some woman while he was there with you, sliding a condom onto his dick, fucked up as it was. "You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be."
The smirk that worked its way up on his mouth was almost villainous as he brushed his tip through your crease and pressed it just to your opening. "Is that what that was? Nice?"
"Well… yeah. Wasn't it?"
He breathed out a laugh and shook his head. "Was it nice of me when I made you choke on my cock before the call?"
You opened your mouth, but your response was cut off when he pushed himself in past your tight muscle, your insides opening up for his cock as he went. Inhaling sharply, you reached to close your hands around his biceps as he nudged deep into you.
"But you liked it. That's all that matters to you, isn't it? Like taking men from other women. Spoiled brat behavior."
You whined quietly, your mouth still opened wide as he forced himself in further, taking the back of your knees and pushing your legs apart for him.
"Think she'd agree it's nice that I'm fucking a cute young thing with a pretty, wet pussy just minutes after breaking it off with her?" He spoke low, rocking into you. "Feels really fucking nice," he moaned under his breath. "But this is far from nice, Y/n."
You puffed out a breath, and he reached down, taking your breast into his palm, squeezing. "She loves nice guys, but you? You don't want a nice guy, do you?"
You blinked, shaking your head, the breath of a no falling out of your mouth as he pushed himself in and dragged back, your insides splitting apart for him when he drilled down into you. It was hard to answer the question when he was plunging in the way he was, when he had you bent in half under him, one hand gripping tight under your knee and the other over your tit to hold you in place.
"Hm? Tell me. You want a nice guy, Y/n? Or are you lookin' for someone to sort you out? Someone to fix you?" He spoke quietly as he fucked into you, pushing his dick to the hilt every time he bottomed out.
"Hnnhh—" You wobbled out some kind of noise and gasped. "Yes… Fff… Need to be fixed."
He moaned, hips pumping into you harder, making the bed creak under your back. He slowed his thrusts, and the mattress springs went silent again. You watched his eyes flutter shut and his mouth drop open as he released your breast and placed his hand back to the underside of your knee, holding your legs apart. He dipped his hips shallowly, and you were so wet that the sound of his cock dragging in and out of you couldn't be disguised by the white noise coming from his phone. But he kept going.
When he opened his eyes again and looked down at you, the expression on his face was tight, pained. You'd seen that look on men before. When they were getting lost in lust. Lost in the way you felt around them. He panted a breath as he pushed his big dick deep into your tummy and ground down on your pelvis. You both inhaled, your body clinging snugly around him.
"Oh, baby. Shame I can't fuck your brains out like you need me to. Hear all those pathetic noises you want to make, turn you into a slobbering little mess on your knees for me."
"I want it, please…" You moaned, stretching your neck out as you gushed around his thrusting dick. Suddenly, his palm was on your mouth, stopping the noise from escaping further. He rutted into you hard, your body jolting.
"What did I say? You want to go back to your room?"
You shook your head, eyes wide on him, his hand still covering your entire mouth.
"No? If you want to stay here, then you need to be good and keep quiet. Let me work, and you just lie here for me. Should be really easy for you."
Easy? You'd hardly call it easy. Harry's girth pushing into your guts, his strong, solid body, tattooed arms and chest, wicked green eyes, the way he was speaking to you… You pinched your eyes closed and moaned, damp, into his palm when he drove in deep.
Then you felt him squeezing at your cheeks, and you opened your eyes to look up at him just as he slid his thumb past your lips. You sucked around it as he pumped his cock into you slowly, being careful not to move too fast or make too much noise.
"Know how hard this is for me? Having to be gentle with you like this…"
You laved your tongue over his thumb and moaned, his dick nudging to your end. You wanted his lips on yours. You wanted to know what he'd be like with his tongue against your mouth, sliding softly over you. One kiss from him and you'd never ask for anything else again.
"Knowing you like it a little rough, just like I do. Knowing you need something I can't give you right now."
You whimpered around his thumb and he hissed when he bottomed out, stuffing his entire length into you and feeling the tight squeeze of you pulling him in. "Sucking my thumb like a proper baby, aren't you?"
There was a time when he just thought you were an innocent young woman. It had been easy to ignore how cute you were when he met you just after you turned 20 years old, his friend's daughter with sweet eyes and a nice ass under your jeans. He wasn't interested in innocent and cute, especially not when you were Darius's daughter. And especially not when you were so damn young.
But then, as time went on, he started to notice your attitude. The comments you'd make when he'd stop by to see his friend. The way Darius would yell at you and you'd roll your eyes at him but then smile at Harry with a kind of sultry smirk that had blood rushing through his veins. Eventually, it became clear that you weren't so innocent. You were seeking something risky, and Harry certainly couldn't get involved with any of that. So he kept his distance.
Until that night when he walked into his room and saw you naked in his bed… pretty tits, soft hips, dirty grin on your face. He should have kicked you out, like you thought he'd do. He should have sent you on your way and pretended it never happened. But there was something about you that he needed to uncover, and right then, as he was balls deep inside of your warm pussy, he knew he was fucked cause he was thinking with his dick and not his head.
It was a terrible idea to give in to you, but he couldn't seem to help himself. You'd been a bratty temptress earlier, and now here you were all pliable and submissive, needy. You had something he'd been missing in the women he'd dated over the last few years. It wasn't easy to find a woman who liked what he did. A little punishment. A little guidance. He'd pretty much given up, resigning himself to vanilla sex, which was still fun, but didn't fulfill his deeper desires.
"Christ. What am I gonna do with you, hm?" He drilled down into you, hips pasted to yours as you sucked his thumb into your mouth with a whine.
Suddenly, he pulled out, rearing back, and pressed both of his hands down on the bed by your hips, your legs falling flat. You watched him drop his head, shoulders rising and falling heavy like he was trying to recharge himself. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to yours, green irises nearly hidden under blown-out pupils.
He sat back and grabbed your calf, lifting your leg, and used his opposite hand to squeeze your ass, fingers pinching into your skin with a painful bite. You pressed your lips flat to stop the yelp from falling into the room, and he smiled at your restraint.
"Good fucking girl."
Good fucking girl… You would have purred if it were possible. He'd been mixing in little drops of praise between scolding words. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head at the praise and moaned, mouth still closed. Then he let go and his hands were on your hips and then your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples, rolling them between the pads of his fingers and you arched your back from the bed with a gasp.
When he moved over you, he ran his tongue along the edge of a nipple before he pulled it into his mouth, a hand on your other one, pinching. He sucked your bud softly, wetting, tongue swirling, and then you felt the sharp nip. You wiggled, and your hands flew to his hair.
"Harry, fuck…" You breathed his name into the room, focusing really hard to keep your voice quiet.
He moaned against your breast and went harder before he moved his mouth to the other side. The room was spinning as he pinched and sucked. But every time you felt his teeth graze your nipple, everything halted, and your vision blurred.
You couldn't stop rolling your hips up into him. It was involuntary, the way you needed more and more. Little whimpers bubbled from your mouth when he lifted his lips and began to dot wet kisses up to your clavicle, along the column of your neck and then… oh god… when his lips pressed over yours, you grasped onto the back of his neck with both hands and wrapped your thighs around his waist to get him closer.
He grunted, tongue sliding against yours as he closed his mouth over your lips softly. When he plunged his cock back into you, thick head bullying its way through your little opening, it felt different than before with his lips on yours. Like everything you needed. He thrusted in, pelvis grinding against your clit, and you moaned into his mouth.
"Oh, you like that, don't you?" He murmured against your mouth with a smile as he buried in as far as he could go. "God… You just need someone to take care of you."
You nodded, lips brushing his, still clinging tight to him as your thighs began to shake. He lifted his face to look down at you. "This is a disaster in the making," he said, shaking his head. "Open your mouth, Y/n."
When you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out for him, he groaned softly at your obedience. He grinned and dipped down, licking your tongue, before you felt his saliva sliding into your mouth. Then he was kissing you again, making you swallow his spit.
You felt one of his hands smooth down your side to your hip and squeeze to hold you still, his other sliding under your neck as he worked his mouth against yours. He felt so good on you like that… his body pressed to yours, cock slid deep, pelvis pressed to your clit, lips smearing against yours…
Your insides were twisting, pulsing, gushing with every dip, every lap of his tongue. The muscles in your body began to tense as your orgasm slowly swelled in your tummy. And Harry seemed to notice it. He kept his pace and moaned, the bed squeaking quietly under the weight of his thrusts. But he didn't stop because your grip felt so good around him, tightly squeezing in little pulses that were making his cock throb.
And then your body gave in completely, limbs shaking, loud moan that he captured with his mouth, pussy shuddering and spasming around him with every wave of pleasure that leaked through your guts. Your nails carved the smallest little half moons into the nape of his neck as he pumped his hips, working you through it all the way until you went limp.
When it was safe, he pulled away to look down at your face, eyes closed, lips parted. He moved his hand around to brush his knuckles on your cheek. "Did good for me, Y/n. Gonna flip you over, okay?"
You knocked your head up and down, fluttering your eyes opened slowly as he moved, cock slipping out of you, his warm body lifting away. It felt so gentle the way he helped you to your tummy, hands gripping at your hips and waist and carefully laying you down flat as he whispered to you how pretty you were when you were coming, how good you'd done. Your heart was kicking hard in your chest at his words and the way his hands were holding you.
Then he squeezed the round of your ass and pulled you apart before you felt his cock dragging into you with a tight push. He inhaled as he went, lifting your hips up just enough that he could angle himself down into you properly and fuck into you a little harder. The plap of his skin against yours filled the room, and his moans were slowly getting deeper, breathier. You felt him faltering, hips jerking, breaths jagged.
He pressed a hand to the back of your neck and worked into you in deep, languid strokes. "Fuck baby… I'm coming… fuck…"
He slid his hand around to the front of your throat, lowered his chest to your back, and pressed his lips to the curve of where your neck and shoulder met as he pumped into his condom, cock throbbing heavy against your walls. You moaned into the blanket, a smile on your face. His release was your prize.
When he relaxed over you, he slowly kissed the skin at the back of your neck, and the weight of him pressed you hard into the mattress. You sighed, content. The sound of white noise from his phone filled the room again as you both quieted.
You could feel his heart pounding against your back, your own heartbeat racing with his. Your body felt like melty, gooey happiness as you closed your eyes and felt him lift off of you. He didn't kick you out of his bed and send you back to your room like you thought he might, which would have been totally fine given the circumstances. Instead, he slowly flipped you over, hands sliding over your skin before he wiped a clean t-shirt between your legs and then shut off the bedside lamp, pulled you into his arms, and let you drift off to sleep against his chest.
.
"Y/n. Wake up, honey."
You blinked your eyes open slowly and saw the shadow of Harry just above you. The room was still dark, and you had no idea what time it was or what time you'd fallen asleep as he shifted next to you.
"Gotta get you back to your room. Before Darius wakes up. Come on. Sit up."
You nodded, eyes fluttering shut and then open. He pulled your shirt over your back, helping you slide your arms inside, and then buttoned up the front for you. You were pulled to your feet, an arm sweeping around your low back to hold you upright before he walked you to your room quietly.
When he lowered you to your bed, you held tight to his forearms. "Gotta let go, Y/n. Can't have anyone seeing us."
You blinked up at him in the dark, suddenly aware that this was probably the last time you'd ever get to see him like that, and you sat up. "Harry, don't leave."
He sat down next to you. "I have to. You promised me you'd be good. Now let go."
"This is it, isn't it? Got what you wanted and now you're done with me."
"I shouldn't have even touched you, Y/n. But I did." He reached up to your face, thumb running gently over your cheekbone as you kept your hand gripped on his forearm. "And I should end it here. But I don't think I'm done with you yet."
You lifted to your knees, hands reaching up to his face. "Really? Don't lie to me."
He placed his big hands on your thighs and slid them up under your shirt to your hips. "Really, Y/n. Trust me. We'll talk about this later, okay? But your dad gets up early, and if he sees me in here with you, then there will be no later for us."
You wrapped your arms around his neck and grinned so wide your cheeks started to hurt when he had to peel you off with a huff. He gave your bottom the softest swat and spoke quietly into your ear, be good, before he got up and walked out of your room, closing the door behind him.
.
You rolled over to see the bright sun shining through your balcony doors and stretched your limbs. It was after 11 am so you were positive all the men were already up. You sat up and grinned, squealing quietly to yourself, throwing your body back down to the bed as you kicked your feet when you remembered Harry's promise of "later".
But you also remembered your promise to him—And in the morning, you are polite and distant, and you don’t make me a liar in front of your dad.
When you finally made your way downstairs in your little pink bikini, you could hear their voices in the kitchen. Taking a breath, you stepped in, eyes sweeping over everyone before you opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice to pour a glass for yourself.
"It's almost noon, Y/n. Do you really have nothing better to do than sleep the day away?" Your dad spoke.
You took a long drink of orange juice and put the carton away before you turned to look at your dad and sighed dramatically. "No. I don't. You guys are all boring, and WiFi barely works. My choices are limited to sleeping, drinking, and lying out by the lake."
"Just like your mother," his words cut through to your bones, and he laughed, looking at the other men.
Everyone laughed. Except Harry. You glanced at him quickly before quietly putting your glass into the sink and stepping past them to go outside.
“Beer's in the cooler, ready to go if you want one now. Or... later,” Harry said, casual. But nothing about it was casual. You understood it was an attempt to quell your dad's harsh words for you.
With your fingers on the sliding door handle, you turned to look at him and blinked, flicking your gaze to the other men and then back to Harry.
“Later,” you said, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “I’ll come grab it when I’m thirsty.”
You slid the door open and stepped into the wash of sun, the men’s voices dissolving into background noise. Outside, it was only the lake and the heat on your skin, but your insides churned with the sound of his voice. Later. It was a promise you were already restless to keep.
. .
Did you enjoy this? Would you like to read 19 more chapters of their story? Sign up on my Patreon to read how their story unfolds!
. .
Feedback/Thoughts | Patreon
Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕
Summary: At 3 a.m. in Amsterdam, Harry’s Instagram suddenly disappears, sending Jeff into panic and pulling you straight into crisis mode.
Amsterdam, N6 — 27/28 May 2026
At three in the morning, Harry’s phone starts ringing. The sound slices through the hotel bedroom with absolutely no respect for the fact that both of you have only been asleep for a few hours. Harry doesn't even open his eyes, he only reaches one arm out from beneath the duvet, pats blindly over the nightstand until his fingers find his phone, and declines the call with the kind of offended determination only possible in the middle of the night. Then he drops the phone back onto the wood, turns his face deeper into the pillow, and exhales.
For three seconds, the room is quiet again. Then the phone rings a second time and Harry makes a noise into the pillow. Beside him, you stir, half buried beneath the duvet, one of his t-shirts twisted around your body from sleep. The bedroom is dark, Amsterdam is quiet below, or as quiet as a city can be with canals and late-night taxis and a hotel full of people living in different time zones.
Harry grabs the phone again and this time, he answers without looking. “Unless someone is on fire,” he says, voice rough with sleep, “this is illegal.”
Jeff’s voice comes through fast enough to wake him by force. “Did you delete your Instagram?”
Harry’s eyes remain closed and there is a long pause as he processes Jeff's question. “What?”
“Your Instagram. Did you delete it?”
Harry opens one eye into the darkness, then shuts it again because the night is still too early to exist in. “Why would I delete my Instagram at three in the morning?”
“I don’t know, Harry, that’s why I’m asking.”
“Course I didn’t delete it.”
You shift beside him. “Who’s that?”
Harry rubs a hand over his face. “Jeff. Having some sort of spiritual crisis.”
Jeff doesn't appreciate the summary. “Are you with y/n?”
Harry goes still for half a second, confusion making it through the fog of sleep now. “What?”
“Is she with you?”
“It’s the middle of the night. Where else would she be?”
“Wake her up.”
Harry blinks at the ceiling and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “No.”
“Harry.”
“She’s asleep.”
“This is urgent.”
Harry pushes himself up onto one elbow, his hair messy, eyes narrowed at nothing. “Jeff, why are you calling at three in the morning asking if I deleted Instagram and demanding my sleeping girlfriend?”
You turn onto your back, blinking slowly up at him with the expression of someone trying to work out whether the dream has become very boring or real life has become very strange.
Jeff exhales sharply. “Your account is gone.”
Harry processes, nothing in his face changes at first. “What d’you mean gone?”
“I mean unavailable. Gone. Not loading. Fans are already losing it. HSHQ’s DMs are full, X is moving like someone announced the end of the world, and I’ve had three people personally text me asking if you’re retiring again.”
Harry sits up properly now, duvet slipping to his waist. “Where would it go?”
There is a brief silence on the other end before Jeff sighs. “Harry, please.”
“I’m asking, Jeffrey.”
“It obviously didn’t just wander off. It’s either deleted, suspended, hacked, or there’s some massive platform issue. I need y/n.”
Harry looks down at you. You squint back up at him. “Why does Jeff need me?”
He lowers the phone slightly. “Did you delete my Instagram?”
You stare at him. “What?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why would I delete your Instagram?”
“That’s also what I said.”
Jeff’s voice rises from the phone. “Can you hand it to her, please?”
Harry passes you the phone while still looking completely bewildered. You take it with one hand and reach for your work phone with the other, already more awake than you want to be. “Hi, Jeff,” you say, voice thick with sleep. “What’s happening?”
“Harry’s account looks like it’s gone. I can’t access it publicly, the team can’t see it, and fans are already acting like it’s a hostage situation.”
You sit up so quickly the duvet falls from your shoulder. “What do you mean gone?”
Harry points at the phone with faint satisfaction, as if to say, ‘See? Reasonable question.’
You unlock your work phone, thumb moving fast despite the hour. Instagram opens to the last account you used earlier, the tour account, where notifications are already piling in. You switch to Harry’s profile and the app stalls. You try again: nothing. Then a message appears and your whole body goes still. “Jeff,” you say carefully, “it says the account has been suspended.”
Harry turns his head towards you now. Jeff says something under his breath that is not fit for a professional call and Harry reaches over and taps your knee. “Put him on speaker.”
You do, setting his phone on the duvet between you both. The bedroom has gone from sleepy and warm to suddenly too bright, even though no one has turned on anything except your screen. “How could it be suspended?” Harry asks.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Jeff says. “Did you get any warnings? Any emails? Anything from Meta?”
You're already checking. Work email, backup email, security notifications, account status. Nothing useful. Nothing that explains why an account with over forty-five million followers and fourteen years of posts has suddenly vanished from the public internet. “Last time I was on it, everything was normal,” you say. “I checked comments for moderation flags, answered one message from a photographer, and logged out. No warnings, no violations, no restriction notice.”
“Could it have been hacked?” Jeff asks.
“I don’t know yet. It doesn’t look like a standard login issue. It’s not asking for identity verification. It’s just locked behind a suspension screen.” Your fingers move faster. “I’ll check the connected email, backup codes, security activity—”
“Do you need the Meta contact?”
“Yes.”
“I have a direct partner support number from the last time we had an issue with another client's account. I’ll text it to you now.”
Harry looks at you, but you're staring at the phone, posture rigid, eyes scanning every line as if you can force the answer to appear by reading quickly enough.
Jeff’s voice lowers a fraction. “Can you get it back?”
You inhale, then answer as professionally as you can. “I’ll do everything I can. I need to speak to them first and figure out why it happened.”
“Okay. Call me as soon as you know anything.”
“I will.”
The call ends, and for exactly one second, neither of you moves. Then you throw the duvet off and climb out of bed. Harry watches you cross the room in his shirt and nothing else, hair messy from sleep, work phone in one hand, personal phone in the other, moving with the sharp, focused panic of someone whose brain has decided the building is on fire even if the flames are digital. “It has to be a bug,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Or an automated enforcement mistake. Or someone mass-reported the account, but that shouldn’t take down a verified profile like that, not without— unless something triggered the integrity system. But we didn’t post anything risky. We didn’t even use copyrighted audio outside platform tools. Did I click something? No, I didn’t. Did I schedule something wrong?”
You don't hear him. “What if the archive is affected?” you continue, tapping through emails. “The old posts, the early tour photos, the album announcements, all the One Direction-era things still on the grid— God, if the profile is gone, people are going to think—”
Harry’s eyes follow you as you pace past the foot of the bed. Left. Right. Left again. He looks like he is watching a tennis match he never agreed to attend.
“Love.”
“Love.”
Now your head snaps towards him. Harry is sitting in bed, duvet low around his waist, hair sticking up on one side, looking far calmer than the situation deserves. “You're aware,” he says gently, “that it’s just an Instagram profile?”
You stare at him, the silence that follows is severe. Harry lifts both hands slightly. “I’m not saying it doesn’t matter.”
“It has over forty-five million followers.”
“I know.”
“It has fourteen years of your public life on it.”
“I know.”
“It matters to your fans. It matters to the tour. It matters to the team. It matters to your whole digital presence, Harry.”
“I know, baby.”
“And you’re saying it’s just an Instagram profile?”
“I’m saying no one’s going to die because it’s suspended for a bit.”
“You don’t know that.”
You look at him as if he has just suggested solving the issue by tossing the phone into the canal. He climbs out of bed and reaches for a shirt from the chair and pulls it on, then walks over to you slowly. “I know it’s important,” he says, voice quieter now. “To them. To you. To the team. To me, too, in its own way. But it’s not the end of the world. We’ll get it back.”
“No. But I know you.”
You look away, jaw set. That is when he sees it properly, not just stress, guilt. You're already halfway to blaming yourself for something that likely has nothing to do with you. He can read it in the way your shoulders are held, in the way you keep refreshing screens as though some mistake of yours is hiding between the lines, in the way you don't let yourself blink long enough to breathe. “Hey,” he says, but you keep looking at your phone. Harry reaches for it, but gently, giving you time to resist if you want, you don't. He lowers both your hands between you and steps closer. “Come here.”
“I need to—”
“You need to breathe first.”
“I can breathe while calling Meta.”
“You’re not breathing, you’re speed-running a breakdown in the middle of the night.”
Despite yourself, a tiny sound almost becomes a laugh, but the stress crushes it before it fully arrives. Harry pulls you into his chest, no big speech at first, no solution. Just his arms around you, one hand warm between your shoulder blades, the other resting at the back of your head. He holds you with the kind of calm certainty that doesn't ask you to stop caring, only to stop carrying it alone. You resist for about two seconds, then you fold into him. Your face presses against the soft cotton of his shirt, his skin is still warm from sleep, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The room is dark and quiet around you, your phones still alive with notifications, but for a moment, the whole disaster shrinks to the size of his arms. “We’ll get it back,” he murmurs.
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise we’ll handle it.”
You close your eyes, and that helps, Harry always helps. Not because he makes problems vanish, but because he makes them feel less like they are standing over you with sharp teeth. He is the place your panic goes when it needs somewhere softer to land. Then your phone buzzes, you pull back at once. “Jeff sent the number.”
Harry lets you go, though his hands stay on your arms for one more second. “Go call them. I’ll order coffee.”
“At three in the morning?”
“You clearly aren’t going back to sleep.”
“I might not be able to drink coffee. My hands are already shaking.”
“Then I’ll order fruit too. For emotional balance.”
You glance down at yourself. “I’m in your shirt.”
“Meta won’t know.”
“I’m going outside.”
“Take a blanket.”
You grab a blanket from the end of the bed, wrap it around your shoulders, and head towards the rooftop terrace with your work phone already dialling. Harry watches you go through the sliding glass doors, the city air catching the hem of his shirt around your thighs. Then he rubs both hands over his face, exhales, and calls room service. And because it is a luxury hotel, because Harry is Harry, and because the night staff has apparently seen stranger things than a half-asleep pop star ordering two coffees and a fruit platter at 3:17 in the morning, the tray arrives quickly. Harry takes it at the door, murmurs a grateful thank you, leaves a generous tip, and carries everything out onto the terrace.
The rooftop still holds some memory of the night you spent outside recently, the same outdoor bed sits beneath the pale curtains, now untouched. The lounge area nearby is cooler, washed in the dark blue of the hour before morning begins considering itself. Beyond the terrace edge, Amsterdam is a spread of rooftops, narrow streets, still canals, and scattered windows glowing like private little planets while you're pacing barefoot across the terrace, blanket around your shoulders, phone pressed to your ear.
Harry sits on the arm of the lounge sofa and listens. You pause, jaw working as you absorb whatever the person on the other end says. “No, there was no notice in the account centre. No email, no prior warning. We have full records of our recent posts and login activity. Nothing violates policy from our side.” Another pause. “Yes, I can send the account ID, the associated email, and screenshots of the suspension message. I can also confirm identity through the partner portal if you trigger the request.”
Harry sets the tray on the low lounge table. Black coffee for him, oat cappuccino for you, a plate of fruit arranged beautifully enough that he briefly wonders whether someone in the kitchen thought this was a romantic gesture rather than a crisis snack. You don't notice any of it anyway. “I understand that,” you're saying, voice controlled but tight. “But this is a verified celebrity account with active tour obligations and a major public audience. We need to know if this is an enforcement action, an account integrity issue, or a platform-side error.”
You stop walking. “Okay,” you say slowly. “So you don’t know why it was triggered yet?”
Harry takes a sip of coffee and watches you pace, he knows this version of you too. Sharp, competent, on fire. The person who can solve three problems before most people realise there is one. The person who remembers tiny details, keeps documents organised, knows exactly when to push and when to stay polite. He loves that about you, always has. But underneath the professionalism, he can still see your panic trying to claw its way through.
Harry’s gaze lifts as you listen, lips pressed together.
You hang up, and for half a second, you stand very still. Then you say one single word, “Fuck.”
“And there’s no option to reactivate manually at this stage?” Another pause. “Right. Yes. Please escalate it to account integrity. Mark it urgent. The account is tied to an ongoing international tour and there is significant public confusion already. You can reach me on this number at any time.” You listen for a few more seconds, then nod even though the man on the phone cannot see you. “Thank you. I’ll wait for your call.”
Harry rises immediately. Before you can refresh anything else, he walks over, takes the phone from your hand, and places it on the lounge table. You look offended. “I need that.”
“In a minute.”
“Harry—”
“What did they say?”
You drag both hands over your face, the blanket slipping slightly off one shoulder. “They don’t know what triggered it. The person I spoke to thinks it might be an automated false positive or an issue in their integrity system, but they can’t reactivate it from partner support because the account is locked behind an internal review state. They’ve escalated it to the account integrity team.”
Harry blinks in confusion. “So… computer said no?”
You glare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh breaks out of you. Small and exhausted and annoyed as you nod once. “Basically.”
“There we are. I understand now.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“It is not.”
“It will be later.”
“Maybe in five years.”
You say nothing. He presses his cheek lightly to the top of your head. “I know you’re trying to find the exact second where you ruined everything, but you didn’t.”
He steps close again and wraps you back into his arms. This time, you go without arguing, forehead against his chest, hands curled loosely at his sides. “It’s not your fault,” he says.
“I’m responsible for it.”
“You’re responsible for managing it. Not for Meta’s computer having a tantrum.”
“But if there was something I missed—”
“There wasn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you don’t miss things.”
You let out a breath, but it trembles with leftover adrenaline. Harry’s hand moves slowly over your back. “You’re doing a brilliant job. With the accounts, with the tour, with all of it. This doesn’t change that.”
“It feels awful.”
“I know.”
“Your fans are going to think everything’s been deleted.”
“And then it’ll come back, and they can all make dramatic posts about surviving the great Instagram disappearance of 2026.”
You laugh into his shirt. “They would.”
“They absolutely would. There’ll be edits.”
“Probably.”
He smiles against your hair. “See? Content.”
You pull back enough to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re freezing.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re barefoot on a roof in a t-shirt at almost four am.”
“And a blanket.”
“A heroic blanket.”
He leads you to the lounge sofa and sits you down with gentle insistence. Then he takes the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and adds it over the one already around your shoulders, tucking it around you with the kind of serious concentration he usually reserves for stage cues. “There,” he says. “Crisis burrito.”
You look down at yourself. “I look ridiculous.”
“You look adorable.”
“I’m in a social media emergency.”
“Very adorable emergency.”
He sits beside you and hands you the oat cappuccino and you accept it with both hands, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. “You ordered my favourite coffee.”
“Of course I did.”
“And fruit.”
“Mhm.”
You look at the plate. “That is a lot of fruit.”
“You pace fast. I assumed you’d need fuel.”
You take a sip of the cappuccino, and it's warm and familiar and exactly sweet enough and the first proper breath you take all night comes after it. Harry notices but doesn't comment on it. He only sits beside you, one arm along the back of the sofa, close enough that his thigh rests against yours. For a few minutes, neither of you speaks much. You eat fruit because he keeps nudging the plate towards you, and because stress is less convincing when paired with strawberries. He feeds you a piece of watermelon from a little fork, and when juice threatens to drip onto the blanket, you lean forward too quickly and nearly bump your forehead against his chin.
Harry laughs softly. “Careful.”
“You attacked me with fruit.”
“I offered hydration.”
“You lunged.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re a known lunger.”
He grins mischievously. “Am I?”
“With fruit, apparently.”
The lightness helps. Not enough to erase the problem, but enough for you to sit still.
After a while, you sink into his side with your coffee in hand. “I can’t believe this is happening now.”
“I noticed.”
“No, I mean now. When you’re finally back on tour and the account is alive again. Before I took over, it was basically a museum with occasional album promotion.”
Harry looks amused. “A museum?”
“A beautiful, very inactive museum.”
“I was on a break.”
“You were allergic to posting.”
“I value privacy.”
“You value purposely forgetting you have social media.”
“That too.”
You sigh, staring out at the city. “I just wanted everything to run properly. Not perfectly, but properly. Clean posts, good timing, fan engagement, a better balance of behind-the-scenes things without making it feel forced. And then the main account disappears in the middle of the night.”
Harry’s expression turns warm as he watches you and it's there again, that aching admiration he never quite knows what to do with. Your ambition, your care, the way you treat his work as if it matters because you know it matters to him, and because it matters to people who love him. He understands that kind of perfectionism, he has lived inside it for years. But he also knows what it does when nobody interrupts it. “Not everything goes to plan,” he says gently.
You look down at your coffee. “I know.”
“And it’s horrible.”
“I know that too.”
“But you’re still doing an amazing job.”
“You’re biased.”
“Very.”
“Harry.”
“I am biased,” he admits. “I’m biased because I love you. But I’m also right. The team trusts you. Jeff wouldn’t have called in a panic and asked for you if he didn’t think you were the person to handle it.”
That makes you pause and Harry continues, voice low in the quiet. “You’ve made the accounts feel human again. You’ve found a way to let people in without making me feel like I’m being watched every second. That’s not easy. And even if you were terrible at it — which you’re not — it wouldn’t change who you are to me.”
Your eyes lift to his, he holds your gaze steadily. “You’re not valuable because you’re useful,” he says. “You know that, right?”
You stare at him for a second, then you start laughing, partly because of the carrier pigeons and partly because if you don't laugh, you might cry. “Jeff in a cabin?”
The question lands softer than it should. You try to answer quickly, then realise you can't quite manage it. Harry’s hand finds yours under the blanket. “I love how good you are at your job. I love watching you work. I love when you get that little focused face and start saying words like ‘engagement strategy’ as if it’s normal breakfast conversation.” You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “But I don’t love you because you keep things running,” he says. “I love you because you’re you. If Instagram vanished forever tonight, and Jeff moved to a cabin to recover, and the fans had to communicate through carrier pigeons, I’d still be sitting here with you at four in the morning thinking I’m the luckiest person alive.”
“Flannel shirt. Very dramatic beard.”
“Fans would train the pigeons in three days.”
“Probably faster.”
You lean into him more fully, and Harry kisses the top of your head.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“For the pigeons?”
“For knowing how to calm me down.”
“Learned from the best.”
You smile against his shoulder. “That’s my line.”
“You can have it back tomorrow.”
The rooftop falls quiet around you, your phone stays on the table, screen dark for once. You resist the urge to check it every ten seconds, mostly because Harry is holding your hand and you don't want to let go. The sky above Amsterdam is unusually clear, the city lights make the stars faint, but not invisible. A few scatter over the dark like small pinpricks, stubborn against the glow below. Harry tilts his head back. “Look.”
You follow his gaze and for a while, there is nothing but the quiet sky. Then, suddenly, a line of light slips across it. Fast, silver, gone almost before your mind has time to name it. A shooting star. You both fall silent. It's childish, maybe, the way both of you instinctively close your eyes for a second. Neither of you says it aloud, neither of you needs to, some habits survive adulthood because they are small enough to keep. Make a wish.
Harry’s hand tightens around yours, in his mind, the wish isn't loud or detailed. It doesn't arrive with wedding bells or a calendar date or a house already chosen, it comes as a feeling. You in the morning. You on quiet rooftops. You laughing in kitchens. A smaller hand in his one day, maybe, with your smile and his eyes. A life built from ordinary days with you at the centre of them.
Beside him, your wish takes almost the same shape. Harry, years from now. Still reaching for you in his sleep. Still leaving socks in criminal locations. Still singing under his breath while making coffee. A home that isn’t dependent on a city. A future that has room for both of your work, both of your dreams, and maybe one day, if life is kind, a child who learns early that love can be safe and silly and steady.
You open your eyes at the same time and Harry looks at you. “What did you wish for?”
You smile. “Can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Then it won’t come true.”
He hums. “Thought so.”
“You tell me yours?”
“Can’t. Very serious wish rules.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Traditionalist.”
You look at him for a second longer, and there is a flicker of recognition between you. Not certainty, maybe, not words either, but something close enough to make your smile soften. Harry sees it too, but he doesn't ask again. Instead, he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles, slow and warm.
Suddenly the phone rings and you both jump slightly. Then you lunge for it so quickly Harry nearly loses his coffee. “It’s them,” you say, already answering. “Hi, this is y/n.”
Harry watches your face as you listen, he can tell within ten seconds that the news is better. Your shoulders drop first, then your eyes widen, then your free hand presses to your forehead as you nod quickly. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. So it was platform-side?” You listen. “A mistaken enforcement lock triggered by an automated review? Right. And the account integrity team is reversing it now?”
Harry mouths, “Computer said sorry?”
You hang up, and for one second, you stare at the phone. Then you collapse back against the sofa cushions with the deepest, most dramatic exhale of your life. “They’re bringing it back.”
You swat at his knee without looking at him. “Yes,” you say into the phone. “I’ll monitor access from our side. Within the hour? Perfect. Thank you. No, really, thank you. Please send the confirmation to my email as well.” A pause. “Thanks. Bye.”
Harry smiles. “Told you.”
You point at him. “Don't be smug.”
“I’m not smug, I’m right.”
“They said it was an automated error on their side. The account got caught in an internal review state by mistake, and their engineers are reversing it. I should be able to log back in within the hour.”
“Good.”
“Good?” You stare at him. “That’s it?”
“What else should I say?”
“I don’t know. Something more emotional.”
Harry sets his coffee down and turns towards you. “I’m very relieved that my beautiful, inactive museum will live to ignore posting trends another day.”
You laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And you are terrifyingly good in a crisis.”
“I was pacing.”
“Professionally.”
“I swore at the phone.”
“Also professionally.”
You shake your head, but the relief is so enormous now that everything feels funny. The panic, the pacing, the coffee, his calm face when he said no one would die from a suspended Instagram account. You glance at him. “It really doesn’t matter to you that much, does it?”
“What?”
“Your profile. I mean, I know you’re glad it’s coming back, but you were so calm. It goes back to 2012. There are posts from One Direction, your first solo years, everything. Doesn’t it feel… huge to almost lose that?”
He leans back, thinking about it properly. “It’s nice to have,” he says after a moment. “I’m glad it’s not gone. I know what it means to people, and I know there are memories there. But I don’t think those memories live in the app for me.”
You're quiet for a moment, then you nod. “I understand that.”
You look at him, he shrugs, sleepy and sincere. “The important bits are elsewhere. They’re in people I still talk to. In my mum’s photo albums. In songs. In strange little videos saved on old phones. In fans I meet out in the streets who tell me about a show from 13 years ago like it was yesterday. In rooms I remember because of how they felt.” His fingers move absently over yours. “The internet keeps a version of things,” he says. “And that version matters. But it’s not the whole thing. My life isn’t in there. It’s here.” He looks around the terrace, then at you. “It’s this. You. Coffee at stupid o’clock. Shows. Friends. Family. Real faces. Real life. That’s the bit I care about most.”
“But I’m glad you saved the museum.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Maybe I’ll post a picture of a pigeon to celebrate.”
“You won’t.”
“I thought you wanted me active.”
“Not like that.”
He laughs, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder again. The eastern edge of the sky has started to pale. It happens gradually, then all at once. The black-blue of night softens into the light blue of a sunny day, and the rooftops around you begin to separate from their shadows. Somewhere below, the earliest sounds of morning appear: a delivery truck, a bicycle rolling over stone, the city stretching before the day officially starts. Harry kisses your temple. “Want to go back to bed?”
You look towards the brightening horizon. “Not yet.”
He smiles before you even finish the sentence. “Sunrise?”
“Sunrise.”
“We’re going to be exhausted later.”
“You can nap.”
“So can you.”
“I have to make sure your Instagram comes back.”
“And then nap.”
You lift your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re very bossy at sunrise.”
“I care for you, at all hours.”
“That’s true.”
“No returns.”
You laugh softly, remembering the rooftop promise from a few nights before, or maybe every night before that just in different words. “No returns,” you agree.
Harry settles deeper into the sofa and pulls the blanket tighter around both of you. Your phone rests on the table beside the fruit plate, waiting to buzz again. His coffee has gone lukewarm, your cappuccino is almost finished. The panic has drained away, leaving behind only tired relief and the strange intimacy of having survived a tiny digital apocalypse before dawn.
“Never mind,” she held Muffy a little closer, “It seems like it’s been hard for you, though. Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head, a soft little noise in his throat, “Just keep being you, that’s all I need,” he said, in a voice so incredibly gentle she almost wanted to turn into a puddle, “You have no idea how nice it has been to come home to you, y’know? Usually, I’m dealing with all this bullshit and go back to an empty place, but it’s just – so good,” he turned to face her, lying his cheek against his palm, “To come back here, and it’s just cozy and sweet, it smells good, and you and Muffy are always here so cute. It settles something inside me.”
Y/N smiled, feeling like she could buzz out of her skin, “Really?”
“Yeah,” he told her, then reached out, and for the first time awake, he’d scooted across the mattress preemptively, looping an arm over her waist and wiggling his legs between hers, “It’s nice.”
or
Y/N just wants to be engulfed by Harry, if that's possible
[WARNING: there is VIOLENCE, a little stalking, and kidnapping in this part of the fic!! If that is something you are uncomfortable with, then this is NOT. the fic to read!!]
part 1
part 2
part 3
(18k+ words)
iv.
“Hey, who is ‘Daddy’?”
Y/N thinks she should probably crawl under a rock.
Her dynamic with Harry was different now, after that run-in at the park. It had shifted and morphed into something else, beyond whatever weird friendship that they’d crafted out of necessity and proximity. They weren’t vocal about it, by any means; both had just accepted it and continued as they normally would. Like, what was she going to say? Hey Harry, I feel like we’re close enough now that I sort of want to fuck you all the time, but I don’t know if it’s because you protected me and take care of me, or if it’s something else? That would probably be the healthier form of communication, which means Y/N would not be able to go through with that. She preaches it, but she doesn’t always practice it – Niall and Aki haven’t noticed that yet, so they can’t call her a hypocrite when she waxes poetic about how they should be open with their feelings.
And, seriously, she’s more open with her feelings with Harry than she’s probably been with any other man in her life (save for Ni). This is just something outside the range of being open about. There’s a difference between telling Harry that that entire night was scary, and she appreciated that he’d been understanding with her even though she went against what he said, and how he made her feel safe, and then there was telling him that she’s been wanting to ride him until her thighs burn and she gets a cramp in her calves. One of those is innocent and sweet, and there’s no room for rejection, and one of those Harry could politely decline and then stop sharing a bed with her, and honestly, she isn’t ready to give that up yet.
She thought it would only be that first night. After the initial scare, she figured that one night with him directly at her side would make her feel safe, and then she could work on getting over the encounter the subsequent nights. However, the following day, when the sun lowered in the sky and black started inking over the sunset hues of oranges and pinks, Y/N felt a pit of anxiety well up in her stomach. It must have shown all over her face, because Harry clocked it instantly as he collected the plates off the coffee table from dinner. “What’s wrong, Bunny? Was something not good?”
“No, that’s not it,” she shook her head, scratched worriedly at her arm, and tried desperately not to nibble at her nails, still fresh and pretty from her manicure, “I’m just. . .um. . .would it be weird if we shared a bed again? Like, just for tonight?” She wriggled in her spot, dodging eye contact at all costs so that when he refused, he wouldn’t see something stupid on her face, like a frown or tears. “I’m just sort of – y’know – about it still.”
Harry was quiet for a second, and at the time, Y/N convinced herself it was because he was trying to figure out an easy way to let her down. What he’d really been doing was carefully setting the plates back on the coffee table and stepping closer to her, leaning over to wrap his arms around her body. Y/N squeaked, because she isn’t sure Harry realizes how tight he hugs or not – his arms feel huge around her though, and he squeezed like he might be trying to crush her lungs from the outside. Honestly, given how strong he is, she didn't doubt he’d be able to if he wanted to.
But even with all the strength in the hug, it’s immediately softened by his sweet tone, “Of course I will,” he replied, “I’ll sleep in there every night until you’re absolutely sick of me, yeah? Anything to make you feel better.”
Y/N let herself melt into him when her arms looped around his body. She decided to pretend that this wasn’t because she was sort of a charity case, but because he was secretly hoping that she’d ask him to spend another night in her bed. That made her smile to herself, a little – she’d always been prone to delusional thoughts to get her through things. If she imagined that Harry was just obsessed with her and not that he felt bad for her, then this was actually pretty sweet.
She could never claim to be touch-starved. Niall and Aki had actually made it their personal mission to be touching a part of her at all times, at any given moment, and vice versa. They were just a very touchy-feely, ‘all up in your business’ kind of friend group. But Y/N hadn’t shared a bed with someone like this in a while. Niall is a horrific bed and blanket hog, so she’s just shivering on the edge of the bed if they’re forced to share. And Aki gets too hot to cuddle or anything, so Y/N is still freezing, but at least she has plenty of blankets because Aki kicks them all off.
With Harry, though, it’s really nice. Like all things, he was a perfect fit for her and her bed. He took up the perfect amount of space, he moved the right amount, he shared an appropriate amount of blanket, and he was always the appropriate temperature. They would fall asleep shoulder to shoulder, mostly, sometimes back to back, and it would feel warm and comforting to have his spine pressed against hers. No matter what position they’d fall asleep in, they managed to meet in the middle somewhere.
Y/N was always waking up in the middle of the night, sometimes several times – it’s something that had always happened to her, even when she was little. With Harry in her bed, it still happened, but far less, and that itch beneath her skin and under her bones to get out of bed and do something has all but disappeared. The first time she woke up when she was sharing a bed with Harry, she’d found his arm slung around her waist, her back pressed to his chest, and their legs all tangled up with each other. She was just awake enough to register that they were cuddling, but not conscious enough to panic about it. When she’d woken up the following morning, alone in bed, she’d wondered briefly if she had dreamt the entire thing.
But then the next night, she woke up in a similar but different position. This time, she was the one wrapped around Harry, his head all but buried against her chest, and her arms cradling him to her body. She had a leg stretched across his hips too, like – it was a very intimate position for the second night sleeping together. That night, she did wake up just enough to panic a little over it and was able to successfully wiggle her arms from around him. Not because she was uncomfortable, but because she didn’t want him to feel suffocated by her presence. Especially when she was the one who propositioned them to sleep together – even she could look past her deluded thoughts to recognize that this might be too much.
However, when she tried to pull her leg away, there was a soft, sleepy whimper and a hand gripping her thigh tightly before she could move it. Y/N struggled not to make a startled sound in her throat. She wasn’t nearly awake enough to stay awake – her head felt heavy and melty against the pillow, and that, coupled with the warmth of his hand on her thigh – well, she fell back asleep pretty quickly. Though once again, when she woke up, she was alone in bed.
(Harry was an early riser, even though he was late to fall asleep. It’s on the weekends that she saw how intense a napper he was; sure, he’d be awake before her, but he was passed out on the couch after lunch, and K.O’d for a couple of hours at least. Y/N tiptoes around the flat when he’s napping because he’ll wake up at the sound of a glass being set on the counter.)
She’d suspect that she’d been hallucinating the whole thing if not for how often it happened. Six nights in a row, she’s woken up tangled in Harry’s limbs and snuggled pressed against his body. Maybe Harry was the touch-starved one? She hadn’t considered that. Though she couldn’t be absolved of all the initiation to cuddling, she surely wasn’t tugging his arm across her body, or snaking his bicep beneath her head. She might have been the one to roll over and rest her cheek against his chest, but he was the one who had his other hand stretched across his torso to rest on her forearm. When’s the last time he shared a bed with someone? Maybe he was the needy, clingy one in their sleep, but neither of them was awake to know it.
Nevertheless, neither of them brings it up. It seemed silly to; a fat lot of good it would do, because it isn’t like they could stop it – they were asleep. Or, well, they could stop it, but that would mean Harry not sharing the bed with her anymore, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t necessarily want the cuddling to stop either, actually. So the only route to take was for Y/N not to bring it up. What if Harry didn’t even know about it? What if, by the time he woke up, they had already found themselves on the opposite sides of the bed again? And then Y/N would bring it up to him, he’d probably suggest that he leave her bed so that they could put an end to it. And, yeah. . .Y/N is just not super chill with that happening.
She likes it, sue her. It’s not even like she could tell anyone about it, either. She’d finally had to come clean about him staying with her to Niall and Aki, who all but exploded with the information handed to them. Of course, she doesn’t give them the real reason that he’s staying. They think that he needed a place to shower and sleep because his flat had a crazy plumbing issue, and the unit above his had a pipe that burst and flooded his living room and bedroom. So they’d be working on it for a while, and in the meantime, Y/N had politely offered her building because it was close to his job.
It was a dodgy lie at best, and again, she’s not the best at lying, so she had to tell them via message. It was starting to get suspicious that Harry was taking her to work every single day, on top of her telling them that the ‘girlie pop sleepover’ couldn’t happen at her place this month. She had to come clean, at least a little bit, and when she did, the thread was filled with all caps, exclamation points, and stupid, meme-ified emojis. Niall was flabbergasted. Aki inquired if she’d gotten in his pants yet, and both wondered if he would really mind them spending the night since they’d initiated him into their circle at the club. He passed all of their checks and balances for what makes an appropriate fourth to occasionally interweave in their group.
Y/N told them she’d ask if he minded, because it really didn’t hurt to. And she meant to ask a while ago, really, but she’d completely forgotten. Not until Niall was blowing up her phone while she had it face up on the counter, spooning her seconds of the stew he’d made into a bowl. Y/N had been playing music through the speaker hooked to her phone. She told him to skip the song that came on for her while she was serving herself. Not thinking, of course, that Niall has zero filtered, even knowing that Harry could be looking over her shoulder at any moment.
“Hey, who is Daddy?” He’d asked it so innocently that Y/N had almost confused herself trying to figure out what he meant, until he explained it, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be nosy or anything. It just sort of stuck out on your lock screen.”
It was then, with sudden and horrific realization, that he was talking about Niall, who was probably calling him Daddy on the phone. Harry, who was standing beside her, carefully plucked the ladle from the pot so he could get more too. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and the soft whisper of ‘oh my god’ made it out of her mouth before she could stifle it. When she looked over at him, his brows were pinched inward, like he was concerned and maybe a little irritated.
Oh god. . .oh god, Niall pissed him off? Was he really mad about the nickname? Y/N never wanted him to know that’s what they called him, but she’d always thought if he accidentally found out, he’d just chuckle and move on. But what if he was legitimately pissed? Shit, this is so bad, it’s – “Oh, uh, Niall’s just. . .you know. Being Niall.”
Harry’s head tilted, the irritation not leaving his face, “Hn,” he murmured, “So, in reference to ‘Y/N, did Daddy say we could come over’. . .Daddy is. . .”
God, of course, he wasn’t going to let her get away with not sharing! He may not have been trying to be nosy, but Harry – at the end of the day – is nosy as hell! So is she, so she couldn’t even blame him, but shit. Couldn’t he have just let her move on from that? Did he really need to know what some offhanded nickname was? Also, if she were smarter, then she wouldn’t have stalled with that last statement and made something up about how Niall’s talking about this guy that he met recently or something. He surely wouldn’t believe her now that she’s dragged it out this long. Plus, all it would take is scrolling through her messages once before realizing that the ‘Daddy’ mentioned is often mentioned in relation to her.
She was going to have to just come clean. It was easier than trying to keep some rouse up, especially with someone who seems like they have an innate ability to sense a liar. Not that she’d ever seen him utilize these moves before – she just knew that her stomach and chest felt squidgy and guilt-ridden anytime she even considered a lie to him. This did not bode well for keeping up a good lie – he’d be able to see right through her.
“Ah, well, that’s kind of his nickname for you,” she admitted, feeling hot in the face, wishing she could blame it on the steam from the stew, but both of them would know and realize what it was actually from, “He’s never been great at doing non-vulgar nicknames.”
Harry stared at her for a second before his smile broke out into a grin, and he started to chuckle like that couldn’t be funnier. Something lifts from his gaze – Y/N was unsure what exactly had been there in the first place, but it was much darker than it had been at the beginning of the night. Had he been irritated with the thought of someone else being referred to as Daddy in their chat? Especially when she was being sort of suspicious about it. Honestly, maybe she was making things up, but he seemed sort of relieved, actually? Like him being ‘Daddy’ was the best outcome.
“Wow, really?” His dimples were dotting either side of his big grin, “Now why is Niall referring to me as Daddy?”
Because we talked in detail about your BDSM history and potentially all of the things that you could be into, including – but not limited to – a daddy kink.
“Ah, is there ever really an answer for the inner workings of Niall’s brain?” She answered instead, “He’s just wanting to come over for a sleepover, is all. Aki, Niall, and I do one every month at one of our flats, but I told them you were staying with me, so it might not be best to have it here.”
Harry pouted his bottom lip, “No, you can have it here!” He assured her, “I don’t want you to change how you live just because I’m around. Could I set up shop in your bedroom or something? I could even leave if you wanted, and like – hang in my car or something.” He motioned around them, “I’ll make my presence as brief as possible, yeah? That way, it’d just be like a regular night for you, yeah?”
Y/N raised her brows, “Really? Wouldn’t that be annoying for you, though?”
“Not at all,” he told her, “Besides, I like seeing you with them. You’re so pretty when you’re having fun.”
Y/N’s face feels warm from the compliment, but she looks away to her phone before he can say anything about how shy she gets when he says things like that. She pulled up her message thread with the two of them and cleared her throat, “Okay, well, then I’ll tell them, sure,” she feels like the hair on the nape of her neck is raised, because Harry is actually way too close to her right now while she’s got their thread open. Honestly, his knowing that Niall called him Daddy was probably the least ridiculous thing he could find in here. Y/N didn’t even want to think about Harry figuring out what the omegaverse was.
“They usually get here around dinner time,” Y/N tells him while her thumbs move across the screen, “Um, we order in and then do stereotypically cute sleepover things. Nails, sometimes we practice make-up on each other, face masks at the end of the night, watch movies, and talk over them – things like that.”
Harry smiles, “That sounds great. Let me pick the food up for you guys.”
“Oh, Harry, you really don’t have to –”
“Delivery fees are killer, especially on a Friday night!” He reasons, “Just let me, yeah? It’s the least I can do.”
Her brows crinkle, “Why are you saying that like you owe me something?”
“I do! Did you forget the whole park incident or. . .”
“No, of course I didn’t, but you’ve already made up for that. Like, you’ve been sleeping in my bed for a while, I feel like that’s more than enough.” Muffy toddles from wherever she’d been hiding, bonking her head into Y/N’s calf before looping around her legs.
“Is it really paying you back if I’m benefiting from it?” He inquires, a soft, teasing gleam, and Y/N’s eyes go wide, “Anyway, I’m not taking no for an answer, so you’ll just have to deal with it, ‘kay? Gotta pull my weight somehow.”
Y/N does eventually give up, because sometimes that’s just easier. Harry is very headstrong, and it’s never about things she’s uncomfortable with. Honestly, everything he offers and enforces just makes her life easier and better in the end. So she relents – the food would be warmer if Harry were the one picking it up anyway.
“Oh, and I’ll get you guys some cute matching things while I’m out,” he adds, “You know what. . .you’re going to need ice cream and stuff too, aren’t you?”
“Wait, Harry –”
“Hold on, I’m making a list.”
. . .
Niall and Aki turn up around 5 PM, already dressed in pajamas with their overnight bags slung on their shoulders. Aki has a stuffed bear that she has to sleep with her cheek pressed up against since she was little (for as old as it was, it was well taken care off, and didn’t look incredibly worn or carry the scent that old things seem to carry), and Niall carries one of his many board games (that they no doubt would be arguing over in the next couple of hours). There’s a kaboodle in the mix, too, for the makeup they’ll try on each other. Y/N barely has time to step to the side to let them in before they’re pushing past one another through the door.
They drop all of their things in the living room, where Y/N had carefully constructed a massive pallet on the floor for them to sleep on. There were a ton of blankets making the base, and a ton of additional blankets bunched and crumbled up around the edges so that they could pull them up when they got chilly. She had a dozen pillows too, because she always has a thousand pillows (with enough left over for Harry to have four to sleep with in her room), and stuffed animals that she’d gathered and collected through the years. Harry had watched her create it, praising her pallet-making skills, saying something like, “Maybe I should’ve had you make me a pallet instead of sleeping in bed together.” She clicked her tongue and told him to shut up.
This is why they always have it at her place, because Y/N has all of the fodder for the perfect sleepover vibe. Down to the lighting that she’ll hang up, the LED strips that light the back of her telly, and her candle selection is amazing, she would be the first to say. So the room is warm, cozy, and pink, and Y/N thinks this might be her best work yet.
“God, I love when you make us an omega nest.” Aki drops her things at the edge of the pallet before lowering to her knees and flopping face-first into the pillows, “These are new scent beads you’re using.”
“She started using my brand,” Harry’s voice chimes in, his keys in hand, “Isn’t it nice? It’s so fruity.”
Niall gasps, “Harry, are you going to let us put makeup on you? Aki can do a killer makeover.”
“It’s true.” Aki muffles into the pillow, twisting to look back at them, “I probably should be doing makeup for weddings and charging them thousands of dollars, but my calling is music marketing for whatever reason.”
Harry grins, “Ah, as fun as that sounds, I’ll just be working in Y/N’s room tonight.” He points toward the door, “But I’m going to pick up dinner before that! I need to stop at the store before that, so just message me what you guys want to eat.”
“Oh, what?” Niall seems surprised, “Harry, you really don’t have to –”
“He doesn’t listen to reason,” Y/N cuts in, also lowering down into the pallet, less theatrically than Aki, but she does huff out a breath when her head hits one of the pillows outlining the edge of the. . .nest, as described by Niall, “I tried to tell him he didn’t need to, but he insists.”
Harry nods, “Yes, I absolutely insist. She’s helping me out by letting me stay here with the plumbing issue and all that, so it’s the least I can do.”
In this situation, Y/N couldn’t necessarily fight him without exposing everything in front of Aki and Niall, so she keeps her mouth shut. Harry left with a wave and the soft click of the door, and both Aki and Niall turned to her with wild eyes.
“Have you fucked yet?”
“What? No!” Y/N shakes her head, not entirely surprised that this is Niall’s follow-up question as soon as Harry steps out of the door, “Of course not, it isn’t like that.”
Aki snorts, “I mean, he definitely wants to,” she pointed her thumb toward the door. “Did you see how he was looking at you? Those are ‘fuck-me’ eyes.”
Y/N rolled her own, “No, they aren’t, stop it,” she shakes her head again, “You two are hellbent on me being just as delusional as you! You’re trying to set me up for heartbreak.”
“But your heart is in a place to get broken?” Niall presses, finally dropping onto the pallet and leaning his weight onto his right hand, arm outstretched. Muffy crawls into his lap cautiously, balancing on his thighs.
Scowling, Y/N reaches for her phone so she doesn’t have to look them in the eyes, “It’s complicated,” she tells them, and she wishes she could explain just why it was so complicated. This wasn’t just some random meet-cute where she reconnected with a university crush years later. The first time Harry met her, it was with a knife to her throat. He spent the first few weeks of their interaction lowkey stalking her to make sure she didn’t say anything, and, weird enough, stuff keeps happening; he feels obligated to stick around her to keep her safe. They get along well, their chemistry is good, but at the end of the day, he isn’t here because he chooses to be. It’s not because Y/N is so amazing that he has permanently made himself a spot in her life.
Y/N likes him, yeah. She has a crush on him. It would be difficult not to develop some sort of feelings when they were around each other all of the time, and when he made her feel safe and protected. Plus, there’s the issue of his generally very flirty personality that starts putting brain worms in her head, making her think that there was something there between them. And how could you not have further developing feelings when that same person who makes you feel safe, holds you at night like you’re something very precious to them. Cooks for you, takes you out, spends an insane amount of time with you, and doesn’t even seem burnt out by it.
She stood no chance, really. And then there was the whole fact that his job was dangerous and scary, and that he had killed people before. Was she really okay with that? He says they were bad people, and she trusts Harry, sure, but. . .well, she doesn’t know. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Especially when that very same Harry, up until recently, she couldn’t imagine doing more than a threat or two. Even after experiencing him the first night they met, he’d done a good job at washing away any semblance of the person she first stuttered a plea to let her go.
God, but he’s so fucking honest, too. Like he has absolutely nothing to hide from her. She thinks she could ask him to show her proof and evidence of every single person he’s ever had a case on, and he would pull up the documents if they were available to prove himself.
“Complicated or not,” Aki began, taking Y/N’s phone and clicking on the Italian place she’s been pressing for them to try, “You get all gooey and sweet when you’re with him. Just try it out, baby, or Niall might.”
“I’m bros before hoes, but if it makes you act faster, then I’ll start flirting.” He nudges her leg with his toe, “I can see you’re getting all shy about it, so we don’t have to keep going. Or – actually, one more question – his dick size? Do we know it yet?”
The rest of the night goes by with little fuss. It’s fun – Harry comes back with the food that they wanted and grocery bags full of things: fancy wine, extra blankets, matching sleep masks, bags of crisps, toys for Muffy. He also has a box of baked goods from a very pricy bakery near the Italian place he picked up their food from.
“Sorry,” he laughed, “I – uh – got a little excited. I think this is a really cute idea, and I reckon I should convince my friends to start doing something like this.”
All of them had wide eyes, staring at the bags. “Holy shit,” Aki gasps, “What is your Venmo?”
Harry does eat dinner with them, sits on the pallet with the lap trays Y/N has for eating since her coffee table – for the most part – she usually has shoved away from in front of her sofa so that she could have more space. But after, he packs up, tells them to have fun and not to worry about noise or anything, that he’s usually listening to music while he works anyway. When he shuts himself away, Aki lowers her voice, just above a whisper, “Y/N,” she said, very seriously, “You need to lock him down now, baby, because if someone else snatches him we’ll have to kill them to take him back, and neither of us wants to do that.”
Their night continues as they always do. They talk about pop culture, Niall’s recent conquests, Aki’s recent conquests (Aki is keen on situationships and they’re always a little messy – most recently she found out the woman she’d been sleeping with was married with children), new make up that’s come out, current trends that they think are awful, this show that Niall is heavily invested in and has been trying to get Y/N and Aki to watch for months at this point. Just fun things, cute sleepover things – make Pinterest boards with concert outfit ideas and watch music videos on her telly. Drinking wine, getting a little tipsy, Niall and Aki convincing Y/N to figure out what Harry’s dick size is.
That last bit was. . .well. . .
“I cannotttt, do that,” she tells them, but she’s giggling, because whatever wine Harry got them was some fancy brand that she thinks has more alcohol per serving than a normal one. Y/N wasn’t feeling dizzy or anything bad, but she was existing in a fun, giggly, little hazy bubble. If she drank one more glass, then she’d probably be drunk, but instead, she was eating one of the croissants that he had brought home. She had crumbs on her mouth and all over her hands, but she was leaning over the nest so she didn’t dirty it (her floors, however, were a different story), “He would – he would totally not answer.”
“A non-answer means below 5,” Niall informs her, tipping his glass back to get the last swig, “I think he’ll answer, though, he gives that honest vibe. Even if he’s small, which I know he isn’t.”
Aki rests her chin in her hands, snuggled around her bear, “Aren’t you curious? I’m curious. He walks like it’s heavy.”
“Tell him it was a dare!” Niall says, voice quiet so that – if Harry was listening in – he wouldn’t hear.
And, like, Y/N is pretty curious. She couldn’t help but wonder how big he was, like – isn’t she allowed to wonder things? They’re right, he is pretty honest, and he does walk like it’s massive. It would satiate some of her curiosity, like. . .y’know, if she’d be able to take him comfortably or not. Not like that would happen, for any reason! Just in case one day she wanted to get a dildo his exact size and figure it out. If she’d even have time to do that – Harry spends a lot of time here, and even when he leaves, she doesn’t necessarily feel like she has enough time to get herself off, so she hasn’t in a while.
Y/N chooses to blame it on a combination of curiosity, Niall and Aki’s goading, and this pervading level of horniness that seems to strike every time she has had a drink or two. She does scramble up after she swipes her hands on her legs and her face on the inside of her shirt to rid herself of any crumbs. Y/N doesn’t stumble, but she does have to steady and steel herself for a minute, turning back to look at her friends one more time before pressing forward to her room.
She does have the courtesy to knock on the door, but when he doesn’t answer, she remembers he said his headphones would be on. So she pops it open and peeks through to find Harry, sitting at her desk with his computer and everything out, headphones tucked around his ears. He seems to be doing his actual, normal job if the spreadsheets were anything to go by. And he must sense a secondary presence in the room, because he twists in the chair to face her, a soft smile twitching over his lips when he pulls the headphones down around his neck.
“Hey, is everything okay? Were you grabbing something?”
“Oh, um, yes,” she answers at first, but then shakes her head, “I mean – I’m grabbing information.”
Harry chuckled a bit, “Information, yeah? What information?”
She steps forward and shuts the door just barely enough that it isn’t open all the way, but Muffy would be able to butt her head against it and get inside. “This is a dare, by the way.”
He seemed more pleased by this, leaning back in the chair a little with his hands resting over his tummy, “Oooh, okay, I love a game of truth or dare, no matter how old I get. Hit me with your question, I’m ready!”
Y/N swallows thickly, because he may be ready, but she definitely isn’t. She’d made it this far, though, even though her liquid courage seemed to run out right when it was most imperative. “Ah, well. . .I was just wondering how big your. . .well, how big you are?”
He blinks rapidly for a second, like the questions registering in his brain, “How big I am?” Y/N nods, her face feeling hot, like you could crack an egg and cook it right on her face, “Like. . .like, my. . .” he trails off, then looks at his crotch, the loose shorts he was wearing, that would be looser if his thighs weren’t so big and strong (and in desperate need of biting, from her mouth, actually), “That?”
“Uh, yes, that,” she agrees, “If that’s okay for me to know. And then relay.”
Harry laughs a little, breathless and a little stunned, it seems like. Which is fair – they really don’t talk about things like that together. Ever since Y/N had embarrassingly cried after asking about his BDSM experience, and then he later on explained it to her via text – they’d actually pretended like that never happened. Or, at least verbally – Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it most of the time.
“Sure, I don’t mind if you know, or if you tell,” he shrugs, “I haven’t measured myself in a while, but I don’t think it’s something that changes over time necessarily?” Y/N also shrugs, because she does not know, actually, but she’s holding her breath waiting for his reply, “So, I’m around 8ish inches? I think, give or take a couple of centimeters.”
Her eyes went wide, mouth falling open, “Ah, wow,” was all she could muster to say, “That’s – you’re huge.”
He has the nerve to get all pink, “Mm, yeah? I guess it is quite big,” the blush spreads from his face, down toward his neck, “Is that. . .a good enough response?”
She swallows hard again, nods again, “Yep!” Because words escape her at the best of times, and especially in moments like these, where she’s certain all the blood in her brain has rushed below her pajama bottoms, “Thank you! Enjoy your – enjoy your night!”
He laughs breathlessly, “You too, baby,” he waves and twists back to the computer while Y/N tries to be normal, walking out the door, closing it behind her, and walking back out to the living room.
Aki and Niall are awaiting the news anxiously. Aki held Muffy against her chest, where she was purring and making biscuits, and Niall was cradling a fruit pizza slice like it was pure gold (it sort of was). “So?” Aki breaks the silence.
Y/N closes her eyes, then lifts 8 fingers.
“Oh my god, I fucking knew it!” Niall exclaims, maybe a little too loudly.
. . .
Y/N’s scared.
She didn’t start the day scared. No, she started the day feeling safe, as she always does with Harry snuggled around her body. Really, she hadn’t realized how much she had started depending on him until she was sleeping – or trying to sleep – on her pallet she’d made for their sleepover. Y/N never had trouble sleeping on it before, but that night, she had needed to be pressed against Niall’s blanket-stealing self to feel even a little like she could fall asleep. And even then, she was struggling more than she usually does. Part of her, several times, almost thought she should get up and crawl into bed with Harry. Instead, she just pitifully pretended he was the body beside her and imagined how his arm wraps around her and holds her close, the rise and fall of his chest, the sleepy little murmurs he does when she wiggles even a little. That did eventually push her into sleep, though a fitful rest at best.
Anyway, this morning in particular, she was snuggled up against him, feeling peaceful and soft. Y/N had work this morning, and usually he was up before her, but he’d been sleepier lately. The last couple of days, he’d been out late into the night, only coming home when Y/N had already started shutting down for bed. He looked tired too, even though he was still smiling sweetly for her, and kept apologizing nonstop for not being home for dinner.
“The end of all this should be soon,” Harry told her one night, after brushing his teeth. He’d started ditching a sleep shirt, so Y/N was being greeted with an eyeful of bare torso that she knew she’d be pressed against later that night, “I can feel it. They’re doing stupid shit – the kind of stuff you do when you’re backed into a corner.”
Y/N’s face was flush against her pillow. Muffy snuggled against the curve of her belly, “What stuff?”
Harry paused, a dark look crossed over his face – not at her, necessarily, but just like he’s remembering just exactly what they did, “Are you sure you want to know?” He asked, and it made something in her chest stir.
“Never mind,” she held Muffy a little closer, “It seems like it’s been hard for you, though. Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head, a soft little noise in his throat, “Just keep being you, that’s all I need,” he said, in a voice so incredibly gentle she almost wanted to turn into a puddle, “You have no idea how nice it has been to come home to you, y’know? Usually, I’m dealing with all this bullshit and go back to an empty place, but it’s just – so good,” he turned to face her, lying his cheek against his palm, “To come back here, and it’s just cozy and sweet, it smells good, and you and Muffy are always here so cute. It settles something inside me.”
Y/N smiled, feeling like she could buzz out of her skin, “Really?”
“Yeah,” he told her, then reached out, and for the first time awake, he’d scooted across the mattress preemptively, looping an arm over her waist and wiggling his legs between hers, “It’s nice.”
So, yeah, she woke up feeling all warm and cozy, happy. Y/N tried not to wake Harry when she was crawling out of bed, but failed miserably because he could probably wake up to the sound of an eyelash falling. His arms tightened around her, and Y/N huffed, “Harry, I need to get ready for work.”
“No,” he whined, and it was so cute that Y/N could have turned around and bit him, “Not ready for the day yet.”
Y/N giggled, slid her hand over his wrist and then his hand, slid her fingers into the spaces between his, and pulled up, “I can tell.” She told him, “You’re never asleep longer than me. But I gotta get ready.”
He let her get up just a little further, but then his arm tightened around her again, and this time his body moved, his face pressing into her lower back. Y/N laughed a little louder this time. She batted at him, ticklish from his nose digging into her spine, “Harry!”
“Ughh, I know, I know,” his voice vibrated against her, but still, he nuzzled against her, then breathed in deep and giggled when she gasped and wriggled. Y/N is all tangled in the blankets, twisted to look at him. He was staring at her with one eye squinted closed still, and a sleepy smile. Harry looked extra cute when he was just woken up – she couldn’t believe that this was a gaze she hadn’t been privy to before. His voice was lower too, rougher, and Y/N hated that it made her insides all twisted up, “I’ll make breakfast.”
She got ready, she ate breakfast, and Harry took her to work. All normal things. He dropped her off in the garage, Y/N met Niall outside of the elevators, they rode up to their floor, and Y/N had a semi-boring work day. Nothing super exciting happened. Now that the album rollout had finished for the bigger artist from before, they had separated the floor into different segments for a variety of smaller artists to start working on their marketing plans. The music industry was oversaturated with a lot of the same stuff, so sometimes it’s difficult to get people hyped for artists without a largely established fan base. Still, they try their best to help push them into the public eye a little more.
Y/N doesn’t hear from Harry much today, but that was the usual as of late. He’s been busy, so she mostly gets a couple of messages from him in the morning and nothing else until she sees him to pick her up later that night. Even if he has to turn around and drop her off at home, he never misses the timing to come get her, so she hasn’t ever felt the need to remind him. It’s why she isn’t worried when she hasn’t heard from him, after she blew kisses to Niall and Aki, who – both of their groups had to stay back for a meeting with the artist that their group was assigned. Y/N would have her meeting with them next week, so she didn’t have to worry about it.
It’s quiet when she’s going down the stairwell, not interested in the borderline traffic jam of the elevators that comes with clocking out and everyone rushing home. Her feet echoed on the stairs, the click of her flats. Y/N was humming to herself, a song that Aki got stuck in her head from an edit she saw, but she had no idea what the song was, and when she looked through the comments, none of them said what it was. She’s tired, excited to take off her shoes in Harry’s car, and she wondered if they would have time to stop and get a fruit tea on the way home.
But when Y/N exited the stairwell, into the parking garage, Harry wasn’t in his typical spot. Which was weird. . .was he parked a little further down? She isn’t sure – she clutched her bag a little closer to her shoulder and started to walk between the cars. As she does so, she starts to unzip her purse so that she can grab her phone and make sure that he hadn’t messaged her saying that he’d be late, or that she’d need to take the subway.
Maybe it was her intuition that made her stomach twist a little. That same cold feeling of panic rushes through her thighs that had been there the night that they’d been getting followed, like her brain was telling her something was wrong, Harry wouldn’t be late without calling her, and –
As soon as she turned around to hoof it back inside, the SUV she’d been standing beside opened up. She’s almost immediately discombobulated, like when you trip and fall but you don’t realize you’re falling yet, and which way is up doesn’t make sense, and you aren’t sure that you fell until you’re on the ground looking up. Y/N opened her mouth with a mix between a gasp and a scream, thrashing against the sudden force pulling her. A piece of fabric is stuffed between her mouth and quickly tied behind her head. Her body collides with the backseat of a car that wasn’t Harry’s, and another scream builds up in her throat, though it’s muffled.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” a voice she’d never heard spoke to her, and Y/N’s eyes are suddenly covered too, she isn’t sure by what, but no amount of her moving her head and bucking her body is getting it to stop, “You need to calm down and stop screaming.” Y/N doesn’t listen, because why would she, but then the voice gets serious again, more stern, “I’m serious. I don’t want to knock you out, okay? I just need to transport you from point A to point B, and I’d rather do that with as little force as possible. But I will, if I need to.”
Y/N is breathless, her chest heaving as she’s repositioned in the car that she can tell is already moving. She doesn’t know what to do. Her heart is beating faster than a rabbit’s, and her stomach is turning. Her eyes want to swell up with tears because she’s feeling incredibly helpless, and what’s worse, she doesn’t know if Harry’s okay.
“Okay, okay, just relax. You aren’t wanted for anythin’ bad, yeah? Honestly, this is probably the least violent reason we’ve taken someone.”
“Promise you that ain’t gonna make her feel any better.” Someone else said they were further away – around the front seat, she thinks, most likely the one driving. Her toes curl up in her shoes, Y/N whines in her throat, but feels herself getting buckled in. “Really, we’re hoping that if this goes south, that bloke you’ve been with don’t try killing us. Our job is transport, nothing more, nothing less; we don’t want a scratch on you.”
Y/N makes another noise, the fabric tastes bland and rubs against her tongue weirdly, getting wet from her spit. Through muffled words, she asks them where he is, but they really can’t understand her. Now the guy in the back with her tucked his fingers into the fabric and pulled it down. Spit drags down her chin, and it’s a sensory issue that she’d deal with later. It smells like leather in here, even though the seat she was on wasn't leather. The air is blasting, and though she’s sweating, she’s got goosebumps all over her skin.
“Where is he?” She won’t say his name. Y/N remembered distinctly Harry telling her the night they met that he normally doesn’t tell people his name – that he’d only been honest with her because he felt bad, and it was a show of good faith. “What did you do?”
“Nothing, nothing,” the guy beside her said, and she hated that she couldn’t see him or read his face, “Seriously, they just sliced a tire or two to keep him stuck. Is he a cop or summat? He was sort of scaring us when we were following him.”
“Yeah, what’s up with the gun, hm? He’s got it strapped ‘round his waist like he needs it in a quick second.”
“We are not interested in any of that if he comes looking for you.”
Y/N is confused. Did they not know Harry was who he was? They must have really thought he was merely her boyfriend who carried a gun around. Does that mean Finley didn’t know who Harry was? Did he also just see him as her dutiful boyfriend who was just always around? They were worried about him coming to kill them, but they must have just been weirded out by the gun. Which is fair enough – Y/N is also concerned when she sees someone with a weapon and no uniform out in public.
“Where are we going?” Y/N asks – for no reason, she isn’t that scared of these guys. She isn’t, by any means, feeling any warm and fuzzies, but they do seem adamantly against hurting her, at least. Was Harry’s presence really that frightening? Or did they actually know what he did, and they were pretending not to?
“Can’t tell you,” the one beside her says, “But it’ll be a quick drive, yeah? They just need you for something.” He pats her shoulder, and Y/N startles, “Oh! Sorry – don’t know what it is, but it ain't bad.”
They talk amongst each other the rest of the way while her brain supplies her with the worst possible scenarios. Yeah, they’re telling her that it isn’t bad, but they could also just be trying to settle her so she doesn’t keep fighting. She doesn’t know these guys – they have no reason to be telling her the truth or anything like it. She would move her hands, but he’s got her wrists gripped in one of them, and he’s holding firm. Didn’t Harry tell her there was trafficking going on? Guns and drugs for sure, but she couldn’t help but get a sick feeling that there could be more to it than just that. Like maybe Harry had been sparing her, so she thought it was only those two and nothing more.
Y/N guesses that she and Harry never discussed what she should do in a situation like this. Maybe they should have had some sort of game plan for her. How she should act or what she should do. For now, she thinks it might be smart to conserve her energy in case an opportunity to run away arises. Still, the feeling in her legs is all but gone from fear alone. She thinks if she were to stand up right now, then she’d crumple to the ground almost instantly. They would probably have to hold her up to get her inside of. . .wherever it was.
It smelled like leather and cologne; it was clogging up her nose. The air in here felt thick from smoke, but she guessed they wouldn’t be cracking a window because of her right now, and the chance she would scream. The windows were tinted when she’d been walking by them before, so she knew nobody could see inside. She hears cars pass them, so they still must be in a heavily populated area, which brought her some comfort at least. If they were headed toward country roads or highways, then she would’ve contemplated just chucking herself out of the car and hoping for the best.
There are about ten minutes that pass before they slow to a stop somewhere. The car hums softly, and the sound of a text being sent echoes in a near-silent car. Y/N stays still, like she’s hoping they’d forget she was there if she didn’t move a single muscle, but of course, she had no such luck. Movement comes from her right, “Again, I don’t want to knock you out or nothin’, just want to take you from point A to point B.” Something is looping around her wrist, then twisting it behind her back, and the fabric is pulled back into her mouth despite a murmured protest from her. That was her last warning, before the car door popped open and she felt herself being tugged outside. Or, well – outside of the car, at least. From the echo and the lack of wind, she could tell she was in a garage of some kind.
Y/N is ushered into what feels like an elevator. Her heart speeds up again, and the rush of her blood roaring through her ears is all she can focus on. She whips her head left to right like that would help her see through the fabric at all, but it doesn’t. It does, however, earn her a small grunt from whoever has their fingers wrapped around her bicep. “Watch your head,” he tells her, voice a little lower than it was in the car, “You’re g’na knock us both out if we hit each other.”
She would love to knock him out, probably, but she would like to stay awake and lucid through the duration of whatever this was. The tears that would have spilled had been rescinded for now, like her body knew it was not the time to get emotional. She really couldn’t afford that, right now. If she were hiccuping and snotty, sniffling, it’d be harder to focus.
When the elevator comes to a stop, she’s brought off of it. There are no voices or anything heard in this new area they have her in; their feet click and echo on what she would guess is linoleum or something. The staticky hum above her head is giving fluorescent lighting vibes – it sounds like her job when she turns up early enough in the morning that the only people there are the manager and smut-reading Holly. Was she in an office?
She’s brought somewhere and pressed down into a chair. It bounces slightly and rolls, before there are two sets of shoes walking away, out of the room, “I reckon you hurry,” one of the voices calls back, the one who was driving, “The bloke she’s with seems like he could change a tire fast.”
Y/N swallows thickly, then flinches again when the fabric is pulled from her mouth again (and seriously, they need to get this damp piece off her neck before she freaks out). Then the fabric is pulled away from her eyes, and it takes her a second to adjust to the blinding light, blinking several times until they adjust to the world after being hidden away. When her vision finally clears, she sees she’s in an office, like she thought. It looks like she’s in the boss's office, though, on a high floor if the windows were anything to go by, showing the tops of several buildings. In the chair across from her sat Finley, and behind him, leaning on the desk, stood someone with a similar complexion to hers and hair that was maybe just one shade away from being her own, even pulled back in the same style that Y/N had hers in. Their outfits, however, do not match, because this woman, whom she’s guessing is Antonyia, is dressed in designer clothes from head to toe. Y/N had a linen button-up and a skirt that Harry had called her a garden fairy this morning.
“You’re fucking joking.” Is the first thing Y/N says, her fists clenching behind her back, “What the hell?”
“I know,” Finley grimaces, “I really didn’t want it to come to this, but you practically ran away from me in the mall when I tried to set up a date, so –”
“Yeah, because it was fucking creepy!” Y/N exclaims, “You stood me up once and then expected me to just jump at the chance to get coffee?”
Finley raised his hands, “Listen, I’m well aware that that hadn’t been the best way to go about it,” he motions toward Antonyia, “She actually told me that I couldn’t have come off creepier. But you seemed pretty resolute in not speaking with me, so I had to take a more. . .intense approach.” He then motions toward her, referencing the state of her. Y/N’s heart is still thudding, but with something like anger too – this is so fucking stupid!
“Where’s – where’s my boyfriend?” Y/N phrases it instead, trying to gauge if Finley had any idea who Harry was. She was still careful not to give his name or anything, though she stumbled a little over her words.
Finley peeks at his watch, like they’re on a time crunch. “He’s fine,” he waves her off, like it’s not a concern. “The twins slashed his tire somewhere with dodgy cell service. It’s why he couldn’t come get you.”
Y/N huffed, “So what, you’ve been following me? Is that why you knew where to pick me up?” He nods, “This is fucking crazy.” Because why has Y/N gone almost all of her life without being followed, only for two different sides of the same debacle to have followed her at some point in the last couple of months? This is ridiculous!
“Listen, I know, and we really don’t have time for all of this, okay? We have a flight out of here, but we have some people following us. I’m hoping we sent them on something close to a wild goose chase to buy us a bit more time, but they’re smart – they’d be able to find us eventually. There was a mic in my house, I found, so we gave them some false info as to where we’d be. Where she’d be –” he nodded again, toward Antonyia standing behind him, still silent for now, “So really, we just need you to pretend to be her. We’ll get you changed into her clothes and have you down at the pier, where they think I’m meeting her at my yacht for a private dinner. While they are confused by who you are, she and I will be elsewhere, sneaking out. Nobody gets hurt, everything is nice and easy.”
Y/N’s brows are furrowed, pinched right in the center.
“Why would I do that?” She inquires, “What do I get out of helping you? Why would I want to when you kidnapped me off a lot!”
Finley patted his pocket, “I’ll cut you a check.” He said simply, because all rich people think that everything could be solved with money, “10,000 quid? More?”
And, had Y/N had no idea what was going on, she might have been convinced. Money for pretending to be someone? It was kind of hard to beat, when the most she’d have to do is probably walk onto a yacht, as long as nobody started shooting at her or something. But she couldn’t be a part of whatever the hell this was. And she didn’t want money that was pulled from a gun trafficking ring, or drugs, or anything that is meant to ruin people’s lives.
“I don’t want to.” She told him.
Antonyia rolls her eyes, “I told you this was a waste of fucking time.” She pushes herself off the desk and storms off, shouldering through the door and leaving Y/N alone with Finley, who gave a deep, heavy sigh.
“How about you think about it, hm? I’ll give you some time.”
He follows after her, and then Y/N is alone. Or, at least she thought she would be. Another person replaces Finley – this guy is quiet, with what definitely looks like a gun underneath his shirt. He stands with his hands behind his back and a bored look on his face, and Y/N wants to cry again.
“Just don’t move or anything.” He tells her, and then goes back to being quiet.
Y/N nods.
Surely Harry would realize something has happened to her, right?
. . .
Harry is immediately thrown off when his low-pressure light comes on for his tire. He’s thankful that he has a spare, sure, and that he knows how to change a tire, but he had literally just started driving when all of a sudden it felt like he was practically on the rim. Something nasty settles in his gut when he checks the time – it’s too close to when he picks Y/N up from work, and when he tries to send a message to her to stay inside, or to go with Niall and Aki – it won’t go through. He has no service at all.
All of this was very horror movie sketchy, and he half expected Jeepers Creepers to roll up on him or something in some big, evil truck. It does put a more intense kick in his step so that he can get to her.
What really makes him feel sick, though, is when he checks out his tire and finds a thin gash right between the grooves. Too long and precise to have been an accident. This was definitely on purpose, and if there hadn’t already been a sweat building up on his neck, then he would have broken out into one almost instantly. This was bad. This was really, really bad.
Harry started working even quicker, looking at the time, imagining Y/N walking out of the doors into the parking garage waiting for him. Someone else being there instead of him. Fuck. Fuck!
The spare goes on easily, thankfully, but he has to waste time airing it up, so there weren’t any other mishaps on the way. He’s too far fucking away, even if he drove well over the speed limit, Y/N would have already been out of work. Did someone know who he was? Or did they just notice he drives her around all of the time? They had kept the fuck who was following them around, and, from what he’d told them, he had no clue who Harry was or what they wanted from Y/N. That he was paid 10,000 quid to follow a girl in her mid-20s and see what times she would most likely be alone (Harry had punched him again for that – he couldn’t help himself). He’d just thought Harry was her boyfriend – an overly dutiful one. And he hadn’t been released until all of this was done, so that he couldn’t expose Harry or Adam for being involved.
Harry felt like something was coming; he just didn't know what. They finally had a lead that he’d be down at the pier tonight with Antonyia on his yacht, which would be a perfect escape route because it does take some time to steal and rig up another person’s boat to chase after them. They could be off into the night sea, and nobody would have a clue where they disappeared off to. But his assistant is the one who spilled, after being snatched outside of his house by Adam and being scruffed up a bit. They had plans to stake the place out until they showed up – Harry had been down at the pier, but was hurrying to take Y/N home, drop her off where he knew she’d be nice and safe, and then come back.
He stopped for gas, and then he came out, drove for a while, and his tire is completely fucked. Wherever they had sliced into it had been perfect to only lose steam when he was far from the gas station – enough that he wouldn’t be able to make a call. This is so fucked.
Harry steps on the gas. He’s whipping and weaving through cars in a way that would give his driving instructor from his teens a reason to go back in time and never pass him. His palms are sweating, and his mind feels frantic – this is the first time in a very long time that Harry feels legitimately scared. Scared for what they’ll do to her – scared for what she’ll say. They never talked about what she should do if something like this should happen, because he didn’t want to worry her. He had vowed to always be there for her so she wouldn’t ever need to worry about something like this.
God, he doesn’t even want to think about what could be happening. His only solace is offered in the fact that they want her for their own benefit. That they need her to be a stand-in, and to be a stand-in for some wannabe kingpin’s girl, you can’t really have them limping or bleeding anywhere, or else it would be too obviously a ruse. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself to calm down. He needs to check her location – he keeps his phone up on the little tracking dot for when it finally switches from ‘No Location Found’ to a little blue dot.
His poor baby – she’s probably so fucking scared.
If they laid even a single finger on her, he’ll fucking kill them.
. . .
Y/N thinks 30ish minutes pass before Finley comes back into the room. It’s longer than she imagined him giving her, since they seem like they crunched for time, but if they don’t know who Harry is, then they must think the most he’d do is call the police or something. They wouldn’t know that Harry has her location, and honestly, whoever took her didn’t seem to be digging around in her purse at any point. Her purse was on Finley’s desk, actually, just out of reach. If anyone was calling her, she’d have no clue because she has the ringer off during work days, but she could only imagine that Harry realized something was fucked by now.
“Any thoughts?” Finley inquired, “We really don’t have time for you to sit and chew on it for any longer.”
“Well, I’m still refusing.” She huffs, swallowing hard.
This time, he rolls his eyes, “Okay, listen,” he began, lowering so that his face was mere centimeters from hers. She could smell liquor on his breath, and her nose scrunched because of it, turning away so that it was hitting the side of her face. He grabs her chin, though, and yanks her to look at him, and a distressed noise leaves her throat, “I was trying to be nice, yeah? Give you the illusion of a choice and even put some money in your fucking pocket, but if you’re going to be a bitch about this, then I can be a bitch too. Either you come willingly, get paid, and keep your mouth fucking shut, or we force you, no money, and you’ll be lucky not to end up at the bottom of the fucking oce–”
There’s commotion outside. Finley gets distracted in whatever he was saying, eyes darting to the side like he was looking out the door. Y/N cranes her neck the best she can to look as well, his hand still on her chin. There were more people than it had sounded like when she first came in, all scattered about, moving, some rushing toward the left and some rushing away. Y/N is confused – she can’t make out what they’re saying, but muted whispers become shouting.
There’s gun shots, and Y/N almost screams, a full body jump where she nearly launches herself off the chair. Her blood runs cold – is she really about to get trapped in the middle of a fucking shoot-out? Oh my god, this seriously could not get any worse. Unless – was it Harry? Was it Harry’s team? Or was it the cops?
Antonyia, who had previously been out of the room, rushes in while the guy who had been armed rushes out. Just as she does, Y/N sees the glimmer of Harry around the corner. Relief floods through her almost instantly, and her mouth opens, “Harry!” She screamed before a palm collided with her mouth, muffling her, but it was too late – from where he was, he may not be able to see her, but he definitely could hear her. Y/N can’t see anymore because Antonyia slams the door shut and locks it.
“Fuck!” Finley yells out, especially because now, Y/N does start fighting against him. Harry’s here; he could get her out of this. If she fought before, she wouldn’t know the first thing to do to get away, especially since there were fucking armed guys lining the office floor. But now, she stood more of a chance. Now it would be better. She wriggles and bucks and tries to flail, but he grips her tight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Antonyia, get the gun.”
“The gun?” She asks, shaking her hand, “What gun? What gun?”
“The – fuck, the one in my drawer.”
Antonyia runs over to the desk and starts to pull at the drawers, but all of them are locked. She keeps yanking and yanking, noticeably worked up, frantic, panicking. Y/N thinks both of their hearts are bouncing out of their chests – honestly, hers too, especially the more she hears happening outside. There’s yelling and hitting; there hadn’t been any more gunshots, but Y/N doesn’t particularly trust that.
“They’re all fucking locked!”
“The key is on the table, idiot, you have to –”
The door handle twisted. Finley stops talking, Antonyia stops moving, Y/N swallows hard, and wonders if her heart is going to burst right out of her throat. Once whoever is turning it registers that it’s locked, they let go of the handle. All of them can hear the person take a couple of steps back, the shift in the flooring outside the office. Then there is a thud. It makes all of them jump, the door rattling against its hinges.
Then there’s another one.
And another one.
On the fourth, there’s a sickening crack and the door busts open. There stands Harry, pissed off, and intimidating with his gun in hand. Finley scrambles up and covers as much of his body with Y/N’s as he can. Y/N says breathlessly, “Harry,” before her eyes really do start welling up with tears. Her hands are shaking – she knows she’s safer now than she has been, but she wants to be with him, pressed up against him, up under his arm.
Harry points his gun at Antonyia without thinking twice.
“Get your hands off her,” Harry’s voice is low, demanding, and Y/N doesn’t doubt for a second that he means his next sentence, “I’ll shoot her, and then I’ll kill you, if you don’t let go of her right fucking now.”
And Finley is an idiot, in most things it seems, but for once, he does appear to make a smart decision. Y/N feels the pressure around her body loosen as his arms fall from her, and Y/N trips forward toward Harry, while more people rush in through the door behind him. They’re swarming with orders and yelling, Y/N doesn’t know if they’re cops, or detectives, or just people in Harry’s group. She doesn’t know, and she really doesn’t give a fuck either, as she stumbles into Harry’s body and collides against him.
Y/N buries her face into his chest while he presses the back of her head with his palm, “I know, baby, I know, I know, I’m so sorry, I’m here now.” He loosens the ties around her back so her arms are free. She nods, and when he pulls her face from his chest to have her look at him, he locks eyes with her, “Yeah? I’m here now, baby, I’m here now. You’re okay.”
She peeks to the side to see Finley face down on the floor, and Antonyia with her arms tied behind her back. Harry guides her face back to his chest, “I’m taking you home.”
“But – but don’t they need you to –”
“No, none of that shit matters anymore, okay? I’m taking you home,” he is resolute, scratching gently at her scalp with his nails, when someone hands him her purse, “C’mon, baby, we’re going to leave here. But when we do, I need you to keep your eyes closed for me. And I mean it, don’t open them for anything.”
Y/N takes a shaky breath, nodding, having some idea what that means. She huddles closer to him, squeezing her eyes shut, and Harry starts walking her through the door, moving her around. There’s still a lot of commotion and ruckus around her, but she keeps her eyes closed as he told her to. Y/N doesn’t want to see anything that was going to traumatize her further. This was traumatizing enough without any visuals, really.
But they make it to the elevator, Y/N keeps her eyes closed the whole way down, and is guided out to the car. It’s very similar to how she’d been taken up there, only this time she feels safe. She doesn’t open her eyes until Harry has her seated in the car and she lets them flutter to the darkness of a parking garage again, feeling as he snaps the seat belt across her. Harry, for the most part, looks relatively unscathed. Clear of any bruises or scratches, no sight of blood, whether it be his own or someone else's. Harry holds the side of her face again, petting over her forehead, then her temple with his thumb, “Did they hurt you anywhere?” He pulls the gag off of her, and tosses it on the floor of his car, shaking his head, “Did the kick you or punch you? Cut you? Anything?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “No, no they didn’t I – they were worried to, the guys who took me – they said you seemed scary, so they didn’t want – didn’t want to do anything.” She answers, “Finley sort of started to threaten it, but nothing happened. My wrists are just a little sore.”
He nods, like he’s cataloging everything she’s saying while also doing a brief overview of her. Then, in a moment extra tender, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead, “Okay,” he nestles his nose against the top of her head, “Okay, good. As long as you’re okay.”
Harry shuts the door and comes around on the other side. He doesn’t even wait a second before he pulls out, “I hope you don’t mind, but early today I installed a more intense security system in your flat.”
“I don’t mind, but –” she pinches at the fabric beside her thigh, “I – if you have to leave tonight at any point, I understand, but –”
“Baby, listen to me,” he cuts her off, then reaches over and places his hand on her thigh. It’s warm, where the heat from his palm seeps into her skin. “The only way I’m leaving your side is if you tell me you want me gone. Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” she replies, “Of course not, I want – I want you to stay.”
“Then I’m staying.” He replies decisively, “I’m staying until you ask me to leave.”
Y/N hardly thinks that will ever happen.
. . .
Once they got home, Harry showed her the security system and explained to her that if she didn’t type in the keypad and use her fingerprint within one minute of entering the home, it would send an alert to his phone, and subsequently, the police. He registered her index finger into the system and told her that he could delete his if she wanted, but Y/N told him it wouldn’t be necessary.
She feels too shaken to eat, but Harry warms her up a little bit of the soup he’d made yesterday for dinner. Y/N can stomach it at least, since it’s light, and she tries to scrub her brain clean of any memories of the last couple of hours. When she realizes that it is not going to work, she says she needs a shower, and Harry gets it started for her. He sets the temperature and tells her he’ll warm her towel in the dryer again.
But she was still shaken, nervous, and a little jumpy.
“Do you think you could maybe stay in here with me? Like – like while I’m in there?”
Harry’s gaze, which had already been quite soft, softened even more. He agreed, folding the towel in his lap and sitting on the toilet, “Okay, Sweetheart, I can do that,” he told her, “How was your morning, hm? Was separating into different teams stressful?”
Y/N knows he’s trying to get her mind off of what happened, and she lets him. She prattles on about the new artist, about some of their newer marketing tactics they’ll be utilizing, how streaming has influenced the industry beyond physical copies. . .a ton of shit that she usually doesn’t bother getting into. It made her feel better, though. When she was done, she turned the water off, and he stuck his hand past the curtain and into the shower. Y/N took it from him, looped it around her body, then tugged it open.
“I want to wear one of your shirts.” She sort of demanded, and Harry got on it right away. Y/N followed after him while he dug in his suitcases, and made a noise when she saw the one she wanted. It was just a plain shirt, but it’s one he slept in before he started forgoing a shirt altogether. She wears that and just some underwear, and then brushes her teeth before crawling into bed.
Harry showers with the door open while Y/N scrolled on her phone and snuggled a concerned Muffy, who kept purring and pressing herself further and further against Y/N’s neck until the kitten fell asleep. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, threatening to pull her into the mattress. She went from a wired adrenaline rush to feeling waterlogged. Her brain was begging her to sleep.
But she couldn’t quite settle until Harry crawled into bed beside her. Neither fake any pretenses. Y/N scooted over to him instantly, and Harry opened his arms for her readily, until she was pressed as close to him as Muffy was to her.
“It doesn’t have to be now,” he murmured softly, “But I think you should talk to a therapist about what happened. We have one that works with us – I see them every now and then. They already know what we do, so there’s no risk of them exposing anything if you’re worried about it. It’d be good to work through some of these. . .these experiences, you know? Only when you’re ready.”
Y/N hummed softly, let her eyes close, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
It lasts for only a few hours. Eventually, she stirs like she always does, still in Harry’s arms but faced away from him. She batted blindly around for her phone before finding it, squinting open, and seeing the time. It was late – 1 AM, and the moon was seeping through the curtains. Y/N didn’t let Harry turn all of the lights off last night, so her fairy lights twinkle, lining the ceiling and bringing a sense of warmth and comfort that not being submerged in total darkness provides. Her left shoulder aches, so she has no idea how long she’s been lying on it. She twists around in his arms carefully so she wouldn’t wake him up, but when she turns all the way around, she finds his eyes already open, gaze already set on her.
She jumps a little, a soft sleepy sound in her throat that makes him smile, “Sorry,” he says quietly, “Did I scare you?”
Y/N pouts at him a little, “Have you not – have you not been to sleep?”
He shakes his head, “No, but I’ve been watching you.”
His hand, as it has several times that day, finds her face again. He cradles the side of it, petting her like the feeling of her skin beneath his thumb is confirming that she’s real. That things ended the absolute best that they could, and that she was uninjured. Like it was his fault, and he would be spending a great deal of time trying to rectify it.
“This wasn’t on you,” she speaks as his fingers trace down her cheeks, over the curve of them, “It wasn’t your fault. I hope you’re not blaming yourself.”
“How could I not?” He replies, “I should’ve been there.”
Y/N’s brows furrow, “You can’t be everywhere all the time, you’re one man,” she feels like she’s reminding him, “And they slashed your tire. There was no way.”
“But I –”
“There’s no buts about it.”
He still seems unsettled, “I put you in danger.”
“I was in danger the moment they realized I looked like her – they didn’t even know who you were.” She reasons, “You’re the only reason why I’m safe and sound right now.”
“I just –”
Y/N doesn’t know what came over her. Maybe she wanted him to stop doubting himself and blaming his actions for why tonight went how it did. Maybe she wanted it so that he could feel how real she was and how okay she was, despite all of it. Maybe it was really just for herself, actually, because she wanted to be close and feel close to him. Whatever the reason, she surges forward and presses her mouth to his in a searing kiss.
She feels a little dramatic to say it, but it feels like two pieces coming together – like something meant to click into place finally has. Harry only takes a second before he reciprocates, deepening it, leaning into her mouth, and sliding the hand that had been on her face to the back of her head again. He holds her tightly, and when she parts for her tiny breath, he only chases after her lips until they meet again. It’s nice, his lips are soft, she feels warm and puddled.
Once he does part, the tip of his nose brushes against hers, his eyes closed as he mouths over her again. He presses her from her side to her back, covering her body and supporting himself with a forearm on the opposite side of her. A soft noise leaves him, like he’s been wanting this – needing this. The way you moan after taking a drink when your mouth is so dry.
Y/N parts her lips and carefully slips her tongue out, caressing the seam of his mouth. Harry opens readily, slides his tongue against her own. She moans a little this time, from her throat, feeling the careful weight he presses against her chest, the way his leg slides from her side, between her thighs with a knee bent to keep himself even just a little raised. Y/N wanted his full body weight on her, though. She liked how it felt to be completely covered by him. It’s why she snakes her arms around his shoulder and drags him down further. Her hands press against his back, feeling the strength of the muscles there, how easy it is for him to support himself on mostly one arm while still kissing her.
One of his hands finds her throat. Not to do anything, just to lie there, dragging his thumb across her pulse. He nips on her bottom lip, she thinks so he can feel her throat vibrate with the whine that leaves her, before he soothes it over with his wet tongue. When he drags himself away, it’s only to smear kisses against her chin, down her jawline, against the opposite side of her throat where his hand isn’t resting. Not only is he kissing her, but he’s rubbing his nose against her, breathing in slowly and deep, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin. Parts of her he sucks into his mouth, between his teeth to make blooming marks. Y/N’s okay with it – she likes it. She’s calling into work tomorrow anyway, so he might as well mark her all up.
If he’s satisfied with one spot, he moves to another. He does it again and again, until his lips are dotting around her collarbones and his teeth are meeting her shoulder. His hand slides from her neck, down, and he hovers just above her breast before he leans away. Y/N’s eyes had been closed, but at the sudden departure, she blinked them open.
“You have to tell me to stop,” he says, breathless, chest heaving as his gaze darts around her face, her neck, where his hand hovers, “I’ve wanted this for so long, baby, but if you don’t want it, then tell me to stop.”
“I want you,” she mewls, rocking her hips to press herself closer, “Please, I want to feel close, I want you.”
He kisses her again, this time with his hands skating up her shirt and finding her boobs. Harry kneads them, squeezes them – he seems to like how they feel against his hands, and how if he holds just right and squeezes just so, the flesh will start to pool around his knuckles. He flicks her nipples beneath his fingers before kissing down her neck again, only this time he goes further, stopping at her tits and dragging his tongue over the fabric. Y/N whines again, reaching for the hem of the shirt and hiking it up, up, up, until she can pull it over the swell of her breasts.
From her POV, it looks like Harry had just been bestowed a feast before his very eyes. He pulls her nipple into his mouth and swirls around it until it pebbles up for him, feeling the ridge of each bump with the tip of his tongue. Harry doesn’t do the annoying thing she’s seen plenty of men do in porn, where they just keep popping on and popping off. He sticks on, only pulling his lips back when he’s sucking at them, before pulling more skin into his mouth so he can lave against it again. Y/N’s nipples haven’t ever been the most sensitive, but the show he’s putting on is making her feel like they are. She’s getting wetter, the thin material of the panties starting to stick to her lips as he dots kisses across her chest to her other nipple.
Y/N’s fingers find his hair, carding through the strands and gripping tightly at the nape of his neck and at the top of his head. Her chest heaves with every little breath she takes, and he chuckles against her when she starts to press his head down, arching her back.
“I didn’t take you for a head pusher, Sweetheart,” he murmurs against her skin, but he gets the memo, dragging the tip of his nose and his upper lip down her torso, like he was drawing a line. Her stomach jumps, ticklish from these feathery kisses he starts giving her just below her belly button, “You want me to make you feel good, hm? Want Daddy to make you feel good?”
She shakes all over and moans, a heated coil twirling in her belly the way it always does when she’s reading something she’s surprised that she’s into. His hands are slipping down her sides, skating along the skin until he gets to her hips. Her hips twitch under his hold, but he presses her down and makes sure she can’t move, and she thinks if she tried hard enough, she could cum just from this and her clit pushing against the fabric of her underwear.
“Use your words,” he orders, “What do you want?”
“Make me feel good,” she twitches again, only to be held down, and yeah – she really could cum from just this, “Please, please, I want to feel good, I haven’t in so long.”
Harry noses down to her folds, the tip of it dipping against the wet fabric, “Poor baby,” he murmurs softly, “Just need someone to take care of you, yeah?”
“Just want you to take care of me,” she whines, “Just want – just want Daddy to.”
Harry makes a noise between a moan and a growl before he buries his face against her pussy. It’s almost animalistic in the way that he doesn’t seem to care how much of his face gets wet. He breathes in deep and hangs his tongue out so that it’s stroking past her with every swipe up and down. Like he couldn’t even wait to get them off of her – like he needed this more than he could even put into words.
Y/N spreads out her legs for him, knees pulled up on either side and split open. His fingers pressed into the bottom of her thigh like he needed something to grip onto, to maintain his handle on reality. That’s how she felt, holding onto his other hand that she’d noticed on her right side, just lying there, digging into the blankets. Maybe it was too sentimental and mushy for whatever they were, but Y/N slots her fingers between his anyway, and he held onto her like she was something sweet and precious to him.
When he finally tugs her panties to the side, he must overestimate how much strength he would need for it because they rip in half. It wasn’t helped by the fact that they already had a tiny tear in the seam, but he widened it, stretched it out, and the show of strength was enough to get her moaning again. Harry doesn’t seem concerned by it, just immediately slips his tongue between her folds like there’d been a magnet drawing him there. He presses in firm and deep, the tip just barely fluttering against her hole that she can’t help but pucker a little for him. He drags it up, wet and full, against her clit, before he briefly sucks it into his mouth.
Y/N gasps, her legs jerk like they might try closing around his head, but he keeps her pressed open as he does it again. Starting low and dragging his tongue up, barely suckling her clit before going back down. He does it until she’s rocking her hips against his tongue, whining at him, “More –” she feels greedy, but she can’t help it, “More, please – suck on me more.”
“Filthy little thing,” he says, his words vibrating against her pussy – he stays close, like he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling his lips any further away, “Want me to keep this tasty little button in my mouth, yeah? Suck on it until you cum?”
Her other hand is digging into his scalp, tugging, “Yes,” her toes curl so tightly they pop, her clit throbbing like it heard that they were talking about it. He’s unrelenting on her slit, slurping up everything she drools and leaks for him, before he licks around her clit. This time, instead of the tiny little sucks, he treats it how he’d been treating her nipples. He takes her clit and just a few centimeters beneath it, into his mouth, suctioning against her, fluttering his tongue back and forth while she pulsed around nothing. It’s hard for her thighs not to tremble; it feels too good, better than anything she’s ever felt before. She could tell he was practiced and enjoying himself, not just doing it as an obligatory precursor to fucking her.
Two fingers carefully prod at her hole, circling in her slick before sliding in slowly. Harry’s fingers are long and on the thicker side, so the stretch is felt, but it wasn’t horrible. She was wet enough and horny enough that her walls were coaxing and accommodating, like she’d been waiting for something to get inside of her this whole time. He pulls off her clit for a small breath before latching back on, and when she squeezes tightly around his two fingers, he moans a soft, “Mhm,” that makes her eyes flutter and roll back. Now that he doesn't have a hand on her thigh, Y/N tries to hold herself up and open for him, but she’s doing a bad job of it. Especially when his fingers curl and nudge at her G-spot.
Once Harry finds it, he doesn’t let up. He only retracts for a moment to slip a third finger in as he strokes against her spongy bump, sucking on her clit in the way no man has ever done for her. Her eyes brim with tears – it’s too much, and it feels too good. Her orgasm feels like a lightning bolt zipping down from her brain to a hot coiling spring in her belly. He must be able to feel it, because he moans another hum against her like he’s encouraging her. But he doesn’t go any faster – he doesn’t change his pace at all, while Y/N’s eyes are squinted closed, her spine starts to curl inward, as she pushes her hips closer, shoving herself against his mouth.
“Cumming, I’m cumming,” she whined, when it finally hits her, full body waves rolling through her as she jumps and twitches against him. At first, she’s quiet, her breath stolen from her, but when she finally sucks in air, the sound that leaves her is a little guttural and sort of embarrassing. She’s worried she’s going to get a cramp from how tight she has all of her muscles.
When she finally comes down, she’s sensitive, pressing his head away, melting into the mattress. It opens her up further for his fingers, which spread out and stretch, opening her up even more. He places kisses on the tender insides of her thighs, nosing against the junction of where they meet her pussy.
“How do you want me, baby?” He asks, “Do you want to be on top? Do you want me on top of you?”
She thinks about it – thinks about what she wants right now, and right now, she sort of wants to be surrounded by him. Engulfed in him, and if he’s inside of her on top of that, that was even better.
So she flips around onto her belly when he eases his fingers out of her (and pops them into his mouth – he was a real eater, for sure), “I want your – your bicep wrapped around me, kinda like a chokehold but not actually choking me. Just there, y’know, I’d – I’d like that.”
Harry chuckles, sliding his hand down the center of her back toward her bum, spreading her open, “Yeah, Daddy can do that for you.”
She whines when his thumb brushes past her other hole, tightly puckered, and she reaches back to bat at him, “Don’t – don’t look at my butthole,” she grumbles, and he laughs again.
“Sorry, baby,” he positions her legs beneath a pillow, before leaning over to her bedside drawer and finding a condom, “S’just a cute little hole, I might need to play with it one day.” The head of his prick tap, tap, taps against her drippy slit. He paints it up and down, stroking the tip through the mess of spit and slick before he slowly starts to press forward.
The stretch of his cock is more intense than his fingers, with less give, and a little girthier than 3 stacked on top of each other. She thinks this position, too, in particular, makes it feel more intense. She doesn’t even have a chance to be upset that she didn’t actually get to look at it before he slid it inside of her, because it’s so much. So big and thick, she thinks she can feel it in her throat when he finally bottoms out, his balls swollen and full, tucked against her pussy.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, stretching over the top of her. She feels his chest and belly press against her back, and his arm carefully loops up under her head, curling around her neck. It isn’t tight, but it’s reassuring, holding her close, and she can rest her cheek comfortably against his bicep. “That’s it, pretty girl. How do you feel?”
Y/N has to urge every brain cell that controls her mouth to work, “Full,” she feels herself squeeze around him, and Harry’s hips jerk a little deeper, “So full.”
“Yeah?” He pets her side before he brings his other arm around her body, across her shoulders, so she can fully rest against his arms. “You like feeling full.”
She nods, eyes closing as she soaks it in, “Is it good for you?” She inquires, “Do I feel good for you?”
“You feel perfect.” His cheek is pressed against the side of his head, so his words are right in her ear, “So perfect for me. Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
Harry’s careful as he starts. First, he grinds slowly and deeply, letting her walls get used to the stretch and size of him, before he rolls his hips out just a little, then sinks back in. Then he does a little more, and sinks back in, then even more – he does it again and again until just the tip is in before he fucks back into her. Each thrust is punctuated by the slap of their skin meeting, and Y/N gasping and whining with each movement. He’s all around her, just like she wanted. In her ear, around her torso, tucked inside of her. Every part of him crowds her, and she feels safe, and full, and good, so, so good.
“Talk to me,” she demands, her hands curling around his arm, “Wanna hear your voice.”
He giggles softly, “Yeah? You’re so soft, Sweetheart. Want me to tell you how badly I’ve been wanting this?” He keeps his pace, and even talking during it, it doesn’t even sound like he’s breaking a sweat, “How every night that I’m holding you, I just want to make you feel good? Have you cum on my fingers, my tongue, and my cock until you’re too worn out to wake up in the middle of the night, even for a second? My restless girl.” The way her pussy is stretching is probably obscene, if she could see it. All she can do is imagine how wide she’s spread for him, and how tightly her walls hug him. Y/N can feel it, how she sucks him back in every time he pulls out.
“Want me to tell you that I’ve been thinking about you calling me Daddy? How, when you had that stupid little dare to ask me the size of my cock and couldn’t stop looking at my crotch, I wanted to flip you over the desk and show you just how big it was?” Y/N moans, her thighs trying to close, but with how he’s positioned, his knees keep her spread open, their legs locked together, “Yeah, baby, I’ve been wanting you since the moment you teared up when I asked if we were friends. Fuck, I needed to eat you right then and there.”
With a whine, she tilts her face and bites into his bicep, “Don’t bring that up,” she fusses, “It was embarrassing.”
“It was perfect,” he murmurs, “You’re fucking perfect. I almost can’t stand it. Need to feel you like this every day – need to feel this tight, wet pussy sucking me right in, soaking my cock. Need to be pressed close to you like this. So happy you’re okay,” he noses at the side of her head again, “So happy to have you in my arms like this.”
The coil twists, warm, hot, and bright, “Harry,” she feels pathetic, how much she’s whimpering, how pitiful she sounds, “Again, m’g’na cum again.”
“Cum for me,” he murmurs, “Love making you feel good, baby, cum all over my cock.”
It’s more intense with him inside of her like this. More intense now that she can feel herself pulsing and squeezing, milking around his cock. Just like with his fingers, Harry keeps pace, the same ease, thrust and buck of his hips while he works her through it, curling tighter around her body to hold her still. It somehow manages to prolong her orgasm, she thinks. It feels like it lasts forever, trapezing through her body.
Harry cums soon after, only speeding his hips when he knew she was completely finished. He grinds in deep when he finishes, and Y/N is bummed that she’s not feeling it inside of her, spilling all over, slipping out when he keeps going. Still, the elation and pure bliss she feels outweigh any negative emotion. Her brain feels buzzy and tingly in a good way – one she’s never experienced before, as her body completely melts into the mattress, and therefore, further into his arms. They stay like this for a little while, catching their breath, feeling the sweat of each other’s skin pressed together.
When Harry eases up and carefully pulls out of her, he is only away from her body for as long as it takes to twist the condom and throw it away. Then he’s right back against her, “Did so well for me,” he murmurs, “Such a good girl, feeling so good for me. Do you want to cuddle some more, baby? Before I clean you up?” She nods, and Harry pulls her back in against his body, like he read her mind. Like he knows she wants him to completely swallow her up, wrapping his legs around hers, his arms around her, pressing her face into his neck. It wasn’t even too warm – it was perfect. So perfect, and she feels safe, secure, and satiated.
His fingers play carefully at her nape, doing light, feathery touches that tickle a little in the best way. Y/N giggles, wrapping her arm around his body, letting her fingers feel each nob and bump of his spine.
“Yeah?” He hums, “Are you feeling good?”
Y/N nods, because she’s doing better than that even. All things considered.
“I’m feeling great.”
“Good,” he hums, “You’re all mine now.”
. . .
Things settle out quite nicely, after all the drama of it is over. In the following week, the news is released to the public about Finley and Antonyia. Their mugshots are all over the news, and she gets a frantic call from Niall, who is crying about the fact that he almost set her up with a criminal. Harry gets to have some time off from his dangerous job, because that’s how it is after working for months on a bust like this – there’s vacation time in order, so he gets to relax a little, only working on his “normal” job.
He stays over more nights than he doesn’t. It had been so long since he’d been to his flat before, he told her he had to go and make sure the place hadn’t been actually flooded with sewage water, since they put that into the universe. At least twice a week, he goes back home to make sure everything is in order, but he always comes back with new clothes to store here for when he spends the night. Y/N doesn’t mind it at all – she likes her alone time, sure, but she prefers to have it knowing someone else is in the flat with her. Then it’s not as scary or creepy.
They aren’t like. . .officially anything yet. Y/N wants to ask him about it, but she doesn’t know how to without seeming clingy, even though he’s definitely the clingier of the two of them. But every version of her asking turns into him telling her they’re better off as friends who fuck sometimes, or him giving some half-baked excuse about his job being dangerous, or just anything that doesn’t end with them running off into the sunset. Niall and Aki tell her she’s being stupid, but that’s easy for them to say – they’re never the ones who need to confess first. They always have people falling at their feet practically, begging them to date before they’d even need to ask.
But one day, Y/N comes out of work one day with her coworker Jacob, who makes her laugh and slap his arm before they part ways (he never comes down the stairwell, but he told her about how he’d gotten stuck on the elevator this morning, and how the firemen actually had to come and get him out, and it was the most humiliating experience of his life – but he’s a funny guy, so it all comes out very hilarious), she doesn’t think anything of it when Harry asks, “Who is that?”
Y/N hums, because she’d been looking at the picture Niall sent her, and she lifted it higher for Harry to see, “It’s this guy Niall matched with on Hinge, we’re trying to find out if his profile is real or not. He’s Russian, apparently.”
“No, not him – but tell me more about him later, I have some software we can use to see if he’s a fake or not,” Harry motioned toward the door, “That guy you walked out with.”
“Oh! That’s Jacob! He’s one of the secretaries,” she answers, slipping her phone back in her purse, “He’s really funny.”
“Not funnier than me, right?”
“Well…..”
“Hey!” Harry made an affronted sound, “You’re not supposed to think any man is funnier than your boyfriend, didn’t you know that?”
Y/N paused. Her eyes widened when she turned to look at Harry, who did not appear like he’d said anything out of the ordinary. She blinked a couple of times, registering it, before repeating, “Boyfriend?”
“Uh, yeah?” Harry replied, tilting his head, “I am your boyfriend. You’re supposed to think I’m the funniest guy in the world next to Niall.”
“I – I mean, yes, you’re very funny, I just didn’t know – I mean. . .we’re dating?”
A look of pure horror warps Harry’s face, “Oh my god,” he says quietly, then immediately turns into a different parking space, pushes the gear shift into park, and turns to face her, “Baby, what? Yes!”
“Oh!” Y/N exclaimed, “Oh, I just didn’t know! You never asked so –”
“Oh, wow, this is what it felt like the night I asked if we were friends, isn’t it? I think I’m going to cry,” he looks as shocked as Y/N feels, “We’ve – I mean, yeah, according to me, we’ve been dating.” Then, he looks a little worried, “I mean, are you not interested in –”
“No! That isn’t it at all,” she denies, “I – no, Harry, I want to be dating you very badly, I just didn’t know we already were,” Y/N puffs out a disbelieving laugh, “I’ve been spending the last like three weeks trying to figure out how to tell you I liked you more than just friends.”
Harry seems to relax, shoulders slumping a little as he melts back into his seat, “Well, great news for you, baby, that’s unnecessary. I don’t kiss my friends. If I did, I would’ve been laying them on you the moment your eyes watered that night.”
“I really need you to stop bringing that up.”
He grins at her, leaning forward and pushes a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.
“I guess, I could ask properly, instead of just assuming we were on the same page.” He slid his hand into hers, squeezing when the sides of their knuckles met, “It feels a little backwards, since we’re already coparenting a kitten, but Y/N – I like you a lot. I like you so much, in fact, that it makes me look so stupid sometimes. I want to be around you all of the time, and I want to sniff you, and cuddle you, and be weird about you. Would you maybe want to date me?”
When her relationship was struggling, on the brink of no return, Y/N’s boyfriend suggests bringing someone else in- to teach him what she liked and indulge in the view- and he had just the person for it.
She just didn’t expect for the person he had in mind to be her close friend, Harry, who she had been struggling with her feelings for since they met.
Hi! This won’t be for everyone, but if you’re feeling adventurous, come on in. Please mind the warnings before each chapter!
If you like these guys, head over to our Patreon for more.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
All three main parts are on tumblr, but the relationship is continued on our Patreon!
Hiiii my lovebugs! Here is the last part of a better fit. I love writing this and Idk what that says about me lol but I hope you enjoyed this little three parter. It was out of my comfort zone and I think I need to do that sometimes because I ended up loving the end result!
Part Two
Check out our Patreon for exclusive content for these two (3 more parts already), early access to our other works and 350+ exclusive writings and series!
WC- 4.7k
warnings- toeing the line of emotional cheating (Y/N w H), C!ckolding, degrading of Y/N's partner, soft Dom!Harry, smut, manhandling
Y/N just wanted to be close to him. As close as he could get, because she couldn’t crawl into his skin as much as it seemed tempting to, and she could feel him throbbing against her skin. All it would take is a bit of a shift and he’d be inside of her.
“You can have me.” His smile was overly fond, like he was completely endeared by her before he pressed a kiss back to her lips. “Let me get the condom on, okay? Just a quick moment.”
She nodded, her eyes flickering down to his crotch where his hard cock was still straining against his boxers. The thought of him inside her made her worked up even before she had been in this situation, but to have him so close and promising she could have it? She felt light headed, giddy. The nerves from before that had lingered were all but gone as she watched Harry quickly rise to his feet and peel his boxers down, freeing his cock properly.
She’d known it. Every time people had said he had the energy to be hung, she had agreed, but seeing it was something else. Thick and hard, with a slight curve to the left and ruddy tip, it was perfect. Before seeing his she wasn’t sure one could be considered such, but it was exactly what she would have wanted. It felt silly to be gawking the way she was, but seeing his proud smirk as he noticed it made it a whole lot better.
“Not what you’re used to?”
“No. It’s better.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she listened to him bark out a laugh.
“That’s what I like to hear.” He grabbed a condom from the nightstand where she had left it and rolled it on swiftly before settling back between her legs. His hands gently pushed her thighs apart wider, giving them a soft squeeze before taking himself in his hand, giving a few strokes with a little hiss from behind his teeth. “How do you want it? Like this?”
“Can I be on top? At first?” She requested it as she sat up, her elbows digging into the bed. “Just… You’re big. I want to feel it like that first, and then… You can do whatever you want to me.”
"Oh, I like that plan, baby.” He rumbled, shifting to lie back against the pillows while guiding her up with him and settling her atop him. “Get comfortable. Take your time. I want you to feel good.” His hands settled on her hips as she straddled him, her wet heat pressing against the tip of his cock. "Ride it slow. Get used to to it.”
The position change gave her a little bit of perceived control, and she appreciated it. He was definitely the biggest she’d ever taken before and it was slightly intimidating to know all of him was would inside of her, so she let herself take her time to breath as she settled over him, feeling the tip brush against her clit.
It felt like a defining moment as she felt his hands gently stroke up her hips and settle at her waist, eyes locked on her. He didn’t let his gaze stray from her, a little encouraging nod making her let out a little sigh.
His cock was hot in her hand as she guided him to her entrance, feeling the tip nudge against her still-sensitive cunt, rubbing it over her to get him wet. She was plenty soaked, embarrassingly so, over her inner thighs and down to her ass, so she had forgone anything extra yet- but she wasn’t sure she’d need it for him.
Another first. A Harry exclusive.
Letting out a shaky breath, she lowered herself onto him, inch by inch. The stretch of him was intense-far fuller than what she was used to, especially in the last few months- and she had to stop midways to catch her breath. “Jesus, you’re big.” She repeated in a giggle, looking down to his form laid back against her pillows. It wasn’t just his cock, but all of him. He was big in every way that counted, in his arms and his hands, his chest, his personality. All of it laid out for her on display gave her the understanding of why he’d wanted to see her splayed out for him.
It was quite a view.
He was a steady presence, strong hands fallen back to her hips to help guide her the way she needed. No pushing, just reassurance as he ;et her take it at her pace. "There you go, sweetheart. That's it." His voice was low, patient, his thumbs rubbing back and forth against her skin. "I've got you. Just take your time. I’m here as long as you’ll let me have you.”
Her throat felt thick as she heard him say it. It felt like it had a double meaning, one she didn’t have the bandwidth to process right now, but it was filed away for later. She could only hope that's what it meant, anyway.
Slowly, she pressed herself down further, letting the stretch consume her as she took more and more of him. His hands squeezed reassuringly against her hips, encouraging her to move at her own pace as she finally felt his thighs against her ass. It was a long moment where she just breathed through the feeling of being so completely full to the brim, letting her head drop down as her hands settled on his chest.
“God, baby. You’re so beautiful.” His voice was hoarse as he looked up at her, letting his hands roam. Harry wasn’t in a rush. He seemed content just sitting here with her on top of him, soaking it all up- while she soaked him. “I know it’s a lot to take. Just sit for second and then I want you to grind yourself on me a little bit. Get used to what it feels like to have a real cock inside you.”
She nodded, her hips shifting experimentally as the pressure slowly shifted from borderline overwhelming to growing pleasurable, his hand guiding her as she started to roll them against him. A light moan escaped her lips as she found a rhythm, the shift of him against her making her breathe a little harder. Slow, gentle, grinding herself against him as she found the pleasure in it.
"There you go. That's it, sweetheart." His fingers dug slightly into her hips, anchoring her as she found her footing, slowly rolling in his lap. “You feel so good. Just like this, feeling you wrapped around me.” His words were quiet but she could hear them clearly as she leaned her weight into her palms. Splayed out against his chest and the tattoos on them, he didn’t seem bothered by it at all- if anything, she could see his eyes flutter when her nails lightly dug into his skin in return.
“It’s like… Like it’s in my stomach.” Her voice was slightly strained, feeling the slick of herself start to rub into the spot right above is cock. Getting him wet, pubic hair and all, she felt the slip of it making it easier to nudge her clit and the sensitivity making her hips stutter.
The stretch of him made her feel owned, marked in a way she hadn’t even known she wanted until this moment. Her inner walls fluttered around him, adjusting to his girth as his hands held her steady, thumbs brushing over the dimples of her lower back. "That's right," he rumbled, voice thick with pleasure. "Take your time, baby. Learn how you like it." His hips lifted subtly, just enough to grind up into her when she rolled down, hitting a spot that made her vision blur.
"Oh fuck." She whimpered, her hips twitching as she found the spot. It was like heaven, his cock head pressing against something inside of her that had her toes curling. "Harry..." She moaned his name, her body wracking with a shudder as she found herself grinding down on him harder, chasing the feeling. "Shit."
“Already? Found that spot so easily… I thought I’d have to work harder to find it.” It was a surprise for both of them. “Think you just needed my cock right up there, didn’t you?” The tone was smug as he looked between them, seeing her move, stretched around the girth of him, feeling the clench of her cunt around him.
“Mhm… I needed it so badly.” Y/N nodded, nails digging back into his chest as she found the spot again. It was so simple, grinding on his dick, but it felt better than anything she’d had in months. The ease of how their bodies worked together made her feel the heat all over her, especially when he lifted his hips again and let the tip nudge that spot again. “Oh fuck, that’s what I needed. I need to be f-fucked right, I knew you could do it. I knew it.”
"I know, honey. S’alight. I’m here now to take care of it." He cooed, hips lifting again to punctuate his point, making her gasp as he hit that spot perfectly. "Knew you needed a real man to take care of you. To fuck you like you deserve. Like you've been craving." His voice dropped, possessive in the way that had her head spinning.
It was a repeated theme. Y/N shouldn’t love it as much as she did, the way he was looking at her, the way he was talking about her like she was his now, but she didn’t stop it. Maybe she should. Maybe it would be good to reset those boundaries- but if she didn’t want them, and there was no safe word being used… Was there a point?
"Now look at you, riding my dick like it's the only thing keeping you together." He gripped her hips with a firm hold, guiding her movements with more certainty now that she had found her footing, watching every little reaction. It felt like she was being studied- she had a feeling she was- but it was to her benefit. Harry was finding exactly how she liked it and giving her what she needed. “You don’t need to keep it together though. You can fall apart with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Y/N whimpered, her body already responding to his words. The way he was speaking to her, the way he was handling her- it was like she was a completely different person. One that needed this kind of attention, one that needed to be praised and taken care of in this way. “H…” She moaned his nickname, feeling the stretch of him inside of her as she ground down onto him again. “Fuck me like I deserve.”
Was it possible to be cockdrunk when she had only been on it for a few minutes? It was a mystery, but it felt like it. Picking herself up and dropping down, even just a little more had her wanting more. There was more he could give her and she could feel that he was holding it all back.
There would always be appreciation in the care that he took for her to adjust but now that she could take it, she wanted to take it. “Please? I can take it. I promise, I can- I want it.” Begging wasn’t something she really did, but it came out of her mouth anyway. It felt amazing even just like this, the slow shallow bounces and deep grinds, but she remembered just how easily he had picked her up. He trained in the gym, he used his body for work, and she wanted to feel him use it on her.
“Baby- Sweet girl, you don’t have to beg. As pretty as it sounds-“ His hips pushed up into her, the motion sending him into her as he pulled her down. “As much as I love hearing your voice, I’ll give you what you want. Hold on t’me.”
Y/N didn’t have time to respond when a corded arm pulled her to his chest, shifting his knees up and pinning her to him. Cheek pressed against his slightly sweaty shoulder, a gasp escaped her as he thrust up into her. Heavy, deep, enough to knock the breath out of her. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice was a deep groan, feeling it again, and again. One arm latched over her back, keeping her pressed to him as he fucked up into her, she felt every little bit of him.
"There we go, beautiful girl." He murmured against her ear, feeling her tighten around him with each deep thrust. It was messy. Sticky. The squelch of her was audible as he took her, obvious to how much she was loving it. "Taking my cock so well. So fucking perfect for me." His other hand snaked down to grope her ass, pulling her cheeks apart. Selfish in his handling, he indulged in what he wanted, too. Her ass had always been a weak spot.
"You like this better, baby? Need it faster, deeper?" He demonstrated with another powerful push that had her crying out, her nails digging into his shoulder.
“Just like that. Don’t stop that. Keep it.” Her voice was slurred as she felt her eyes close, letting him take over. The feeling was so full, so thorough that it left nothing to be desired. No wishing for a little bit to the side, or just a little more- what he was giving her was perfect.
"Good girl. Let me know what you need. I’m right here. You’re what I’m here for.”
Not for Devon’s pleasure. The other man was in the corner, hand wrapped around his cock as he watched Harry fuck deep into his girlfriend. He got off on it just as much as he knew he would, but that wasn’t either of their focus.
No, it was clear that Harry only gave a fuck about Y/N. He liked showing off, he liked that the man who had neglected her would know by the end of this that Y/N deserved better, and he wasn’t afraid to voice the fact that he knew he was better for her.
"Yes- yes, Harry. Just like that." Her voice came out broken, whiny as his thrusts pounded into her. Her thighs squeezed around his hips, body jolting with each hit to that spot that had her seeing white. "I need it- I need it like this. Don't stop, please don't stop. I need you."
"Never. Have no plans to stop, sweetheart." He bit down on her shoulder, the feeling of his teeth making her cry out, grabbing at the pillow next to his head. The sting of the pain melded into hot pleasure, a sticky shot up to her stomach as her pussy pulsed on top of him. “M’yours until you’re done with me.”
He meant it, too. The way he gripped her body, the way he marked her skin, the way he fucked into her like he was trying to brand her- and it all spoke to a level of possessiveness that she hadn't expected from him. But god, did it feel good. Every thrust, every bite, every growled word in her ear pushed her higher and higher until she was a mess of moans and whimpers, her entire body trembling with the heated pleasure shooting through it.
It was when he turned them over, laying her out that his words dropped just for her to hear.
Y/N had squeaked at the change of position but it had been quick enough that he’d only pulled out momentarily, a moan melting her into the bed under her as her legs wrapped around his hips. She needed him close, feeling the pants of his breath as he kissed her hard. The taste of her was still on his tongue. She could smell it on him in a way that was primal and heady, the desire to give, give, give and own making it hard to do anything but give right back to him.
There was a whine when he pulled away from the kiss, but the sloppy kisses down to her ear as slowed the pace of his fucking and gave it a bit harder hard her distracted. That was until his lips met her ear.
“Wish I wasn’t wearing this condom.” He mumbled, breath hot and heavy against her. “Wish I was fucking you bare. He’s never gotten to do that, has he?”
No, he hadn’t.
No one had, and that had been by design. But in the moment, having Harry without a barrier sounded like the best thing ever. If he wanted that, she would give it to him. In a way that was slightly irrational and definitely irresponsible, she would give it up to him in an instant and likely wouldn’t regret it.
Now that he’d put the idea in her head, that’s what she wanted.
“Do it. Take it off.” She goaded, loosening her legs slightly around his hips. “You can do it. No one else has but I want it. I want to feel it.” Her voice was whiny, pleading for it, but he responded with a pained groan.
“No. Can’t… Not when you’re not mine yet.” He nipped the lobe of her ear, pushing all the way in and staying there to make her squirm from the depth and fullness she had from his body as close as it could get. “When you’re mine; when there’s no one else around, you can have it all. As much as I want to show that pathetic little fuck that I can fuck you better, the fist time I take you raw s’when you belong to me.”
Y/N would have believed someone if they told her what she’d heard was out of a dream, but her sex hazed, needy brain wanted it. She was gagging for it, really. Just feeling the differences of it all, feeling how he handled her, it made her want to give herself to him.
“Harry, please?” Her plea only made him shake his head, pulling back to thrust again. “I want… you said you’d give me what I want.”
Was she bratty? Yeah, a little bit, but when he dangled that in front of her and made her want it so bad she could cry, it felt appropriate.
“And I will. But you need to be mine properly first.” He pulled from her ear and gave her a kiss that was far sweeter than the environment called for. “We can talk about that later. But right now m’gonna make you cum on my cock, run you a bath and let you sleep for a little bit after. Take care of you the way you need.”
And God knew she needed it.
The conversation was closed for now, it seemed, but the fucking wasn’t. The kiss he finished with was filthy, pushing her legs further up his hips and let himself in deeper as she moaned against his mouth.
It was the best sex she’d ever had.
Y/N was being fucked by the friend her boyfriend had supposedly hated while he was watching and she couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that she couldn’t only do this once. She couldn’t just settle for this.
One single taste had shown her who the better fit was.
“Oh, I felt that.” He crooned, loud enough for his voice to carry. “You’re about to cum on my cock. Listen to that wet little pussy, how messy she gets for me.” His nose nudged hers as he pulled back slightly, looking over to the side.
She didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at her boyfriend.
“Tell me you love this cock, baby.”
Y/N did. She really, really loved how it felt inside of her and how he used it, so the response was immediate. “I love your cock, Harry.” She bleated, hands running up his shoulder blades. “So much.”
“Yeah? Am I the best you’ve ever had?” He was goading Devon, using the humiliation he clearly liked to prove a point- but the answer was obvious.
“Yeah, it’s… You’re the best. So good. It fits the best, I’ve never felt so good.” She wanted to stroke his ego and it was working by the way his hips stuttered.
“I’ll always take care of this cunt. It’s mine- You’re mine now, aren’t you, beautiful girl?” He looked back at her, sweat dripping down his brow. It was hard to talk with how close she was, her legs tight right back around his hips as he adjusted just enough to hit where she needed. Clit brushing his stomach, cock as deep as she could get it, it had never been this intense.
“Yours.” She gasped, the flood of heat starting to roll over her body again. “Oh my god, it’s yours if you- if you want it, it’s so much better, I… I’m gonna cum, H.” Wild eyes met his dark ones, the feral grin returning to his face.
“Go on, baby. Give it t’me. Show me it’s mine. I’ll never leave you without orgasms, never make someone else fuck you to give you what you need. I’ll take such good care of you. Let it all go.”
It was enough that she screamed. Silent at first, gurgling into a groan as she arched her back off the now damp with sweat duvet cover, clawing at his back as she sobbed out his name. The way it had rushed over her like a sudden storm after the clouds turned dark shouldn’t have been a surprise but it was, body shuddering as she felt his body grow tense on top of hers.
The snarl was a sound she’d never heard from him, head dipping into her throat as his hips bucked and cock pulsed as he filled the condom. Arms shaking a little as he lowered himself and snuck one under her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace as he pumped himself into her a few more times before stilling, she felt her toes cramp from how hard they’d curled.
The panting was loud. The smell of sex permeating the room. His body sticky and sweaty on top of hers, holding her as close as she could get, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
Her body was lax underneath him. The feeling was unfamiliar, but all she could focus on was Harry as he pulled himself from her neck and kissed her again, saying her name a few times before she gave him what sounded to be a drunken giggle, pouting her lips for another kiss.
He said something, looking off to his left, but Y/N wasn’t paying attention to that. Her pout remained, watching him change his expression to tight and irritated before it lightened, the sound of a door clicking shut making her refocus back onto the man.
“Hi.” The girl grinned up at him, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. It got a smile from him, the dimple returning to his cheek enough of a temptation to poke. “You’re so cute. S’not fair.”
His chuffed laugh was quiet as he shook his head, pulling his arm from around her and reaching off to the side. “First time I’ve been called that after making someone orgasm so hard they cried.” The sound of her water bottle being popped open was what alerted her to the top being pushed to her mouth. “Drink for me, sweetheart.”
She hadn’t been able to tell the difference between tears or sweat, but for the first time, that was a good thing.
Y/N did what she was told, only dribbling a little when he pulled it away. “I feel so tingly.” The admission was met with a hum as his thumb brushed the water from dripping all the way down her cheek. “Think you fucked me dumb, maybe.”
“No. You’re not dumb.” Harry mumbled, pushing the hair from her face in return. The strands were longer, making her sputter when she realized she had a little in her mouth but he didn’t miss a beat as he tucked it behind her ear. “Just a bit overwhelmed, is all. But I’m going to take care of you. I have t’pull out and it’s going to be a little uncomfortable but I need to get you cleaned up. Okay?”
“Do y’have to? I want you to stay in.” Her frown was enough to make him want to stay in and she could see it, but he stuck with his response.
“Next time. You’re gonna have to wee too, but I’ll give you some time to find your legs before that.”
Harry was right about it being uncomfortable, but she tried to be brave and only winced without the hiss she wanted to let out. “I know. M’sorry.” He soothed her with a kiss between her brows before standing off the bed, wavering only for a second before finding his footing. “You defintely fucked me dumb though, baby. Christ.”
A hand ran over his face as he looked her over for a moment, splayed out on the bed before he cursed to himself, forcing himself to look away and pull the condom off. “You stay seated, Miss. I’ll be right back.”
It didn’t take him long to return, a warm, wet cloth in hand that he tenderly swiped over her swollen pussy. It made her hiss this time but he whispered his apologies, cleaning her up in a strangely chaste way. Sweet. “You said that I’m bigger than I’m used to, so I knew you’d be a bit uncomfortable later.”
The reminder had her thinking of Devon.
Truthfully? Besides Harry talking about himself being better (which was very true) and the strange interruption they’d had after he’d eaten her out, she had forgotten he was there. That had been her own goal, really, but she hadn’t expected to be as lost into Harry as she had gotten.
The way she had gotten so into Harry’s possessive remarks and the way she had liked the idea of being owned by the other man while her boyfriend watched wasn’t boding well for what she had thought could have been their relationship. It had been an attempt to fix it, maybe, but she had known going into this that she was possibly, definitely, far too excited to have Harry inside of her.
To explore that connection was a gift- but now she knew that it had become more than that. It was palpable in the way he was treating her even now.
It was strange to feel like his reminder was a cloud over her, but her frown was enough to make Harry pull her back to him. “Hey. Don’t know where you went, but you’re needed here.” The words were lighthearted and enough to make her smile, thanking him when he placed the cloth to the side and settled himself in beside her. “Come here. I need a snuggle.”
Y/N knew that they’d need to talk about what it all meant soon. His proclamations of what they could do once she was really his weren’t something that she thought to be just dirty talk- but for now, she was just going to enjoy this. Sitting in the afterglow of getting what she needed for all this time, the bubble of curiosity finally popped.
Being pulled into his arms, her sigh was satisfied as her face nuzzled into his chest and his fingers ran down the length of her bare back, the sound of the front door closing making her relax. Another thing she wouldn’t have to face today, even if it was cowardly to be thankful for it.
All she could think of now was that the man holding her was a much better fit.
Y/N’s eyebrows raised, “Oh?” She shook her head, mouth falling open, “Oh, Harry, that’s so sweet, but really, you don’t have to do that! I’m just whining, is all.”
“I insist,” he told her, “I want you to – if that’s something you want to do. See it as me showing my gratitude for letting me stay here.”
“Your gratitude? Harry! I’m not sure you realize it, but you’re staying here to protect me, yeah?”
Harry pouted, “For my peace of mind. It’s not entirely selfless, so I think that helping you get your nails done is in order. Now, either you’ll take the money in cash, or I’ll transfer it into your account, you can pick.”
Y/N scoffed, “Harry, I –”
“I won’t ask it again,” he clicked his tongue, “Choose or I’ll choose for you.”
or
Harry treats Y/N better than any boyfriend she's ever had
part 1
part 2
(17.1k+ words)
iii.
The heat was suffocating.
Really, Y/N was being a little dramatic; she could admit that. It was still technically Spring, so it wasn’t even the hottest that it could be, but it was the warmest day of the year so far. The kind of heat that had her wondering if her tiny laundry day shorts were really that inappropriate for her office, or if she could make it work as long as she had granny panties for full coverage of her bum. If she showed up in a tank top and those itty-bitty shorts, she knew Niall and Aki would be supportive (probably wouldn’t even mention it, honestly, because at the end of the day, they are not going to fuss over what she was wearing and would actually try to start an HR case if someone else did), but their floor manager would definitely have an issue.
Still, she wore her airiest dress that was still work appropriate, but there wasn’t even the whisper of a breeze in the air to keep her cool. It was the sort of stifling, still heat of a desert that she’s never been to. Where you could see heat waves in typically motionless air, and even the sight of them somehow made it feel that much warmer. Y/N so desperately wanted to crawl inside of this video she’d seen of the Japanese countryside this morning, in the cold stream of clear water running over rocks near a bridge. She could just plop right in there and dip her body back, then float her way anywhere that it ended up. It was almost like her homepage had been teasing her with what she couldn’t have before she stepped into the unforgiving heat outside.
It could be much worse, though. If she had to do her usual commute, then she’d have had to walk like ten minutes in the heat to the subway. Underground was always just a little cooler, but with how many bodies were packed together in the station and then subsequently in the train, there was always more heat generated. Which was nice in winter, when the freezing temps would make her fingers stiff, but at this point of the year, it was not going to work for her. After a heated subway ride, they’d pile out of the subway car, and it would feel nice for all of 2 minutes once she was in the fresh air again, and then the sun would get quite hot again. A lot of this wouldn’t be as bad if she weren’t on her way to work, but everything is always exacerbated tenfold, since chances are she had been rushing around that morning trying to get ready.
But, instead of having to go through that, she was getting the princess treatment and being carted to and fro, via Harry Styles Car Services.
It’s not like she’d asked! Harry more or less demanded, actually, and Y/N wasn’t in the business of denying something that would benefit her in the end. Just as she hadn’t denied him when he told her that he should probably hang around her flat for a couple of weeks after what happened at the mall. If it kept her safe and less paranoid, why would she tell him no? Even though her flat wasn’t necessarily hostess material – she thinks that hardly mattered when Muffy was there.
That first night, after her run-in with Finley, Harry had brought her home and stayed with her until she woke up from her post-adrenalin-rush nap. He offered to buy her dinner (which meant he’d already bought it), then proposed that he at least stay the night if it was okay with her, just to make sure nothing weird happened. Y/N had been relieved, because she had no idea how she was going to trick him into staying the night before he offered. That had removed any trickery needed, so she made a nice bed for him on her sofa and settled Muffy on his belly, with a bottle of water on the coffee table so that he could drink it.
“I understand if you need to close or lock your door or anything.” Harry told her, “To feel safe, I get that.”
“Oh, well, Muffy and I kind of have an open door policy,” she explained, “I don’t know if she’s willing to sacrifice that. Once the door shut when the air conditioner kicked on, and she cried at my door for 30 minutes.”
“To be let in?”
“To be let out,” Y/N stressed, “She hates a closed door. Anyway, as long as I don’t wake up to you staring at me from the side of my bed, Paranormal Activity style, then I’m okay.”
Y/N slept better than she probably should have with Harry in her flat. She woke up once to pee, and when she dipped her head around the corner to peek at him, he was snoring on the couch, one leg kicked out of the blanket, and on the back of the cushion. Muffy was cuddled to his throat, which was a little traitor-esque, but she’d accept it for now. When she went back to bed, Y/N fell asleep in all of two minutes.
She had suspected he would only stay that one night to make sure nothing sketchy happened, and then he’d go back to his flat. However, the following morning, during the breakfast that he’d woken up early to cook for her, he plated a waffle and eggs; he’d found her fruit that she had not bothered taking out of the package yet to wash, and he washed, prepped, and sliced it. It was the sort of breakfast that your boyfriend makes you after he cheated on you and has no intention of telling you, but his guilty conscience compels him to do something kind (not that she’s ever been in that situation or something).
So, Y/N was slightly suspicious, narrowed eyes on him on her sofa where she’d balanced on the folded blanket he’d placed at the right end. “What’s with the 'I’m sorry I cheated on you' meal?”
Harry’s head tilted, “I’m sorry I cheated on you?” He repeated, but then shook his head, “Well, no, there was no cheating involved. You’re the only person I’m in an unintentional mutual stalking dynamic with. This is more so, ‘Hear me out, even though it might be a little crazy’ meal.” Y/N had dipped a piece of waffle into the syrup, feeling it sticky and sweet on her lips when she slid it into her mouth, “I’ll be honest, I don’t like the Finley thing at all. He's suddenly showing up at a mall, full suit, just 'happening' to run into you, and recognizing you, then wanting to go out for coffee? Either he’s the world’s dumbest prick, or there’s some weird ulterior motive. And with how similar you look to Antonyia, I just feel like. . .they might be trying something. I don’t know – I need to do more digging, and I need Adam to look into it too, while I’m preoccupied with. . .well, with you.”
“With me?” She repeated, the syrup sugary on her teeth.
“Yeah, so – I propose that I sort of hang out with you for a while, a little closer than we have.” He motioned around them with his hand, “Like, if it is okay with you, I’d stay here with you. Maybe I’d go to the store and things with you, stuff like that – just for a bit, to make sure everything is status quo. They don’t know who I am, hopefully, but maybe if anyone is following, they might be deterred from approaching with me around.”
Y/N raised her eyebrows, lulling her tongue around the syrup sticking to her mouth – she loves waffles, but it’s a sensory nightmare to eat, “I mean – do you have time for all of that?”
She actually didn’t mind. Maybe she should, but she didn’t even really care that much when she thought Harry was legitimately following her around. At least he would be right at her side rather than somewhere in the shadows, making the back of her neck tingle. Plus, it would sort of be like having a bodyguard to some degree, right? That would make her feel. . .nice, actually. Harry was the one she called when she was scared anyway, so why not cut out the middle man and just have him with her?
“That’s okay,” she poked into a strawberry, “I probably would have bothered you calling every time I got scared.”
Harry seemed surprised by how easily she’d agreed. Y/N was a little surprised with herself by how easily she agreed, but again, if the assassin for hire is paranoid, she’s going to be paranoid too. Also, she thinks, even if she said no, Harry would have still just followed her out of a sheer sense of guilty responsibility. He probably would have gone ahead and installed that camera outside her door, too. This made things easier for both of them, right?
“Right,” he agreed, “Um, okay, yeah! You don’t mind if I sleep here?”
“Nope,” she shook her head, “I think Muffy would like it too.”
So, yeah, it was sort of easy to agree to it. That was just a couple of days ago, and so far, Harry had integrated himself into her flat with little fuss. He brought two computers and a suitcase of clothes. . .well, she thinks it’s clothes, but she didn’t want to dig through it to see what else he might have put in there. Harry had offered for her to thumb through the fabric, but she denied it. Typically, the offer was enough for her.
There was no arrangement for him to take her to and from work. On Sunday, they didn’t do much of anything together. Y/N lived her life as she usually did on Sunday, stressed about the upcoming week, sad that the weekend was over, doing her laundry, and taking a nap. Harry offered to cook for her, but since he’d cooked breakfast, Y/N told him that she would cook dinner. Not that it was anything elaborate – just pasta, and she did nothing but heat up the noodles and warm up the sauce, but Harry acted as if she’d made the noodles from scratch. He praised her, ate seconds, then washed the dishes and dried them afterward. Now that Y/N thinks about it, they did not leave the house.
In the mornings, Harry makes her breakfast before Y/N goes to work. The first day, she commuted like she normally did (they discussed it, that the general morning traffic between here and her job was deemed safe enough that someone couldn’t try anything too nefarious out in the open), but that evening, Harry just came to pick her up instead of her getting on the subway. “What use am I just milking your energy bill while you’re at work without doing anything to deserve it? At least let me drive you to and fro.”
And she would hardly say that he’s doing nothing to deserve it, but Y/N wouldn’t say no to a free ride. Which ended up being super beneficial on a day as hot as this one, so his air conditioner is on the highest setting, almost cold enough that goosebumps were starting to pebble across her skin. It was good though, otherwise she would have caught aflame. To start off a date at work blistering hot and sweaty was just asking for her to be in an overstimulated, horrific mood the entire day. She should probably have Niall and Aki send him thank-you cards because she’d be in much better spirits than she would have been otherwise.
He had rolled them through a coffee drive-through – a little shack that Y/N had always passed and thought looked sort of suspicious, but Harry swore by them. He bought her a drink and a little sweet pastry for her to eat later (she tried to hand him her card, and he took it between his index and middle fingers, slid it back into her purse, and then slid his wallet from his pocket to grab his card). Then he pointed all of the vents toward her, which made her laugh, holding the sweating cup in her palm, listening to the ice cubes click together.
“Thank you,” she breathed out, “I can’t believe you left the air-conditioned flat to take me to work. You’re a better man than like. . .any of the people I’ve dated.”
“Babe, every anecdote about your prior relationships is starting to break my heart. Where were you finding these men?”
Y/N scrunched her nose, “Inside the tortured tiles of a frat house,” she told him, “Then the tormented wooden grains of the bar.”
Harry groaned. He really did hate every dating story she’s ever told, no matter how mild Y/N thought the offense was. She had learned a little while ago that her taste in men was piss poor, and somehow all of the dickheads found her like lost ships spotting a lighthouse in the night. They just never left her alone, and Y/N must have a big, bright sign floating above her head that says something along the lines of ARE YOU A SHITTY GUY WHO LIKES TO LIE? THIS GIRL IS FOR YOU!!!
But when she tells the stories, they’re more of a haha funny rather than a ‘this is a horrible thing that happened to me.’ However, when she tells Harry these stories, he legitimately seems horrified. No giggling or eye rolling and clowning the men of her past. Actually, he seemed set on reminding her that this behavior was unacceptable and that there was no reason she should have ever gone through any of these scenarios with any of these men. Y/N is on the fence about how she feels with it – she appreciated the sentiment, but unless he planned on fixing everything these men had ever done to her, she’s going to need him to giggle with her.
They pull up to her job, and Harry always takes them into the parking garage, then drops her off at the door to the lobby on the first level. Y/N gathered her things up, heaving her purse up over her shoulder, and gave him a sullen look with a deep pout, “Well, I guess I’m off then,” she complained, because she hadn’t realized how hard it was to leave the house when someone else worked from home, even though he was chauffeuring her. The fact that he gets to go back to her flat and hang out with Muffy, sit on her couch, where he could probably take a nap if he wanted to – sort of drives her crazy. He gets cutesy-girl flat ambient lighting, and Y/N has to bake under the fluorescent light of an office for the next 8 to 9 hours. It’s totally unfair, “Enjoy my beautiful, comfy home.” That is, unless he has some mission or something. Y/N still very loosely understands what he does exactly.
“Poor baby,” he raised his hand, plucking her bottom lip, and it forced Y/N’s brain to shut down, then promptly reboot. Has he ever touched her like that before? The closest he’d gotten was when they were LARPing at the BDSM club, or whatever, and speaking of – she didn’t nearly get enough information about that as she thought necessary. Like, what, she’s just supposed to continue her day-to-day without knowing the exact ins and outs of what Harry was doing with someone else? She is so nosy, she has to know every nook and cranny of it; every nitty, gritty aspect of something that has nothing to do with her. But in the same breath, she also doesn’t want to know anything about it at all, because it sort of makes her feel sick with something like jealousy every time she imagines him with someone else. And that’s nothing, she is ready to confront just yet.
“Do you want me to bring you something for lunch?” He asked, and he meant it; his hand slipped from her mouth to rest back in his lap, “I can bring Niall and Aki something too?”
“You already packed me lunch, though?” Y/N’s gaze flitted to the lunchbox she had buckled to the strap of her purse, “It’d be rude not to eat it. And you sliced my kiwi so nicely.”
Harry sighed, almost dreamily, “You’re the only one who appreciates my doting,” he told her, “Honestly, I haven’t been able to in a while, so it’s nice to take care of someone a bit. Send me pictures of you eating the kiwi.”
“Okayyyy,” she finally popped the latch of the door, “Kiss Muffy’s head for me.”
“Course I will.”
It’s domestic, all of it. So weirdly domestic for such a weird situation, but it just works.
Y/N knew that she should ask more questions. She knew it would be beneficial to have some idea of what was going on, but as nosy as she is about some things, for others, she just didn’t need to know. In a spiritual sense, she wanted to keep the peace in her life as much as she could, given the circumstances. If that meant only knowing vaguely that Finley is just some sketched-out pet food company CEO who does shady shit, then so be it. Because she knows herself, and she knew that if it was deeper than money, or more violent, it would keep her up at night, even with Harry sleeping so nearby. Then she’d just be stressed out about what Harry was getting up to when he wasn’t with her, and if he was safe. Not that the safety of an assassin should be her biggest concern, but it definitely ranks pretty high when said assassin has vowed to keep her safe. And when said assassin makes her stomach feel all flippy floppy, and her heart twists up in erratic, messy knots.
So in her head, he’s just following some people around. He watches from afar and stays relatively safe, free of any bumps or bruises. Nothing she needed to worry about.
He wished her a good day, and she could hear the car idle behind her until she waved her work ID in front of the badge reader. Only when she walked through the security entrance did she hear him actually drive away, as the gruff-looking man behind the desk signed her in. Niall is waiting for her inside by the elevators, and Y/N tilted the straw of her drink toward his mouth before he could whine or ask.
“Yummy,” he sighed after a sip, “Did Daddy get you this?”
“I need you to stop calling him that,” Y/N kept a lot of Harry and hers interactions a secret, once again considering the circumstances they were under, but if she said absolutely nothing about him, then Niall would have gotten suspicious. Harry’s her type, and he’s around a fair amount; not speaking about him screams an omission of guilt about something. Niall wouldn’t know what, but he would know to start probing her, and she can never keep a secret from him for long when he knows that she’s hiding something.
Which is why she started telling him the truth about little, inconsequential things. Like, when it finally clicked in Niall’s head four days after they went clubbing that for Harry to send her to the right club, he would have had to be at the BDSM club to begin with. So she told him, not that Harry was actually there spying on some guy, but that he’d had a previous BDSM relationship and it was something he was interested in. She isn’t technically lying then, is she? She’s just not telling him the entire truth, but to be fair, he didn’t ask, ‘Was Harry spying on a friend of the guy that I set you up on the blind date with?’ he’d asked ‘Wait a minute, what the hell was Harry doing at a sex club?’
Of course, all truths come with the responsibility of dealing with Niall after the fact. He was as floored by this realization as Y/N had been, and demanded to know every single aspect of it. Y/N gave him her limited knowledge of the situation, to which he asked for more, and Y/N had to tell him she sadly only knew that scant amount. “And he barely told me that,” she explained, “I had to go through a lot to get that little bit.”
So, Niall had no choice but to let his mind run wild, and in turn, run Y/N’s mind wild. Thus far, he’s decided that Harry likes being called Daddy, is into tickling, and probably leaves an ass bright red from spanking. He’d also deduced from his limited time spent with him that Harry is great at aftercare, that he can go for hours, and from his catching print efficiency, he’d determined that his dick was big. According to Niall, big enough to “change your life and make you believe in deities you’d never even heard of,” and. . .well, she could buy that.
“How lucky are you that some hot rando from your psych lecture just stumbled upon you with a fat cock and dominant, caretaking tendencies?” He clicked his tongue, “The other day, this guy hit me up on Hinge and said for a blow job, he’d take me out for steak. I should be getting the steak for my beautiful eyes alone.”
Aki appeared like an apparition, stepping into the elevator with them, “You need to find a Daddy like Harry.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“God, guys, shh!” Y/N whined, and she couldn’t necessarily say it was because he had proposed the idea of mic’ing her again so that if she needed him, she wouldn’t even have to bother calling. He would just listen all the time. But Y/N knew who her friends were and what they liked to talk about, so she asked if he’d let her think about it. Which, sure, she told him to hold off on it, but that didn’t mean he had to listen to her. For all she knew, he was hearing everything right now, which is precisely why she needed Aki and Niall to shut up, “You’re going to get another HR case against us.”
Aki pouted, “See, and that one wasn’t even fair, because why were they eavesdropping on our very private conversation?”
“Yeah, it’s like they’ve never seen someone demonstrate the mating press before.”
Despite their grumbling, they both do settle into a different discussion. Aki tries a sip of Y/N’s drink next, and they all whine about how hectic the weeks following this particular album’s release have been. Usually, there’s a little bit of a lull right after release. Everything has been scheduled and ready, so all they needed to do was click some buttons, make a few calls, and let things fall as they do. Hell, they even had Aki making edits to popular shows and movies with singles in the background to generate more hype and encourage more sales. For whatever reason, it just seemed like the entire process was determined to be difficult. Interviews cancelled, radio shows claiming to have never gotten access, Spotify forgetting to send a ‘new album’ alert to monthly listeners. It was one thing after the next, so everyone at work was pretty on edge.
The days were going by quickly, at least, and before she knew it, Harry would be messaging her an hour before she clocked out to let her know that he was there, but to take her time. He really was like the boyfriend that she had read about online, but never got to experience for herself. It was messing with her head a little, but she could admit that it was, which she thinks would benefit her in the long run. To be too delusional and think she didn’t have feelings would make a problem, and to be too delusional and create feelings on his end toward her would also be a problem. As long as she kept these feelings in check and recognized that Harry was doing all of this out of a sense of responsibility and guilt for accidentally tying her up in all of this.
Y/N had begun to wonder recently what her part was in all of this. Was she really just some accidental acquisition? Or had this been something preplanned by people much richer than her, with much more money? Y/N did find it rather weird that the CEO of a company would need a blind date to be set up with someone, especially when he isn’t bad-looking. And yeah, it was a blind date, but was the date ever really that secretive? She knew what he did for work, so she’s certain he knew what she did, and unless he had a sudden interest in music talent marketing, she couldn’t imagine why he’d want to even pretend to give her a chance. Unless there was some ulterior motive. Unless there was someone involved in all of this that she allegedly looked a lot like.
But what would they even use her for? As a stand-in? Had someone really tipped them off the night of the blind date that Harry would be waiting? Or had he ever even planned on showing up to begin with? Maybe he tipped off Harry’s team that he would be there with Antonyia or whoever, then didn’t show up, but see if she was mistaken for the woman? Maybe they would threaten her to pretend to be her, like in a spy movie or something. Y/N leading them on a goose chase through the city, jumping over fences and ducking behind buildings, only for them to catch up and realize that she’s just wearing a wig, and she’s actually someone with much less money and power. Then the real version is flying off on some private jet to the countryside of some remote country, where she’d carry on correspondence from the safety of a farmhouse.
All of it is too much to even try to sort through. She’d like to ask Harry what was going on, his theories and thoughts, what he thinks about the situation that she’s in. . .that they’re in. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Harry is normally so happy and open, but she suspected that this would be the one thing he’s sort of cagey about. And Y/N just cannot bear the thought of making it awkward for even a moment in time, especially when Harry is staying at her flat. If she asks and he, for once, refuses to answer, well, that will just keep her awake for days. Maybe she could ask when he was drunk? Or maybe, one day, he’ll give her an opportunity accidentally, where it would make sense for the conversation to head that direction.
Y/N sighed, digging the pad of her thumb into her temple, “What’s wrong?” Aki asked, already reaching into her purse, “Do you have a headache? Need a pain killer?”
“No,” she shook her head, “Just wondering why it feels stifling in here. Don’t they have industrialized air conditioners?” Y/N already reached behind her computer monitor to reveal her pink, portable fan that was a little loud, but always cooled her off instantly.
“They probably have it rigged so it only pipes cold air to the top of the chain,” Niall added unhelpfully, dangling off the side of their cubicle while Y/N and Aki get settled inside of it. Stringing their purses on the hook, clicking on their computers, and rearranging things in a manner that suited Y/N’s brain more. “We’ll feel like this all day, most likely.”
Y/N did for a moment think about whether she was at home. How Harry would probably offer to routinely switch out cold washcloths on her head or the back of her neck and have all the fans pointed at her. He’d be enforcing her water intake for sure, but she knew he would be the one bringing it to her, even if he was in the middle of working. Harry just liked to do things like that – it was how he showed his care; pampering people with the devotion of a servant with his royal member of the castle.
Maybe it was an act. Maybe it wouldn’t last long, and this was all a ploy to trick her into thinking that he was a good guy (though she believed that was highly unlikely). Y/N doesn’t know; she just knew that she was going to enjoy it for as long as she could.
. . .
“Do you want to get your nails done?”
Y/N looked at her bare nail beds – she couldn’t even remember the last time they had something on them. She used to be pretty good at that, keeping up with them. She’d get just gel sometimes, she’d get acrylics the other, but the price got too high, and she had become far too impatient to sit there for an hour while they did it. No matter how much she liked the results or how pretty and girly they made her feel, at the end of the day, Y/N is lazy and spends too much money on a Gacha game to justify the cost.
But she’d been complaining about how bitten up her nails looked, and how long it’d been since she’d gotten a pedicure. These were conversations that Harry had to get used to while he stayed with her, because some days, even after spending all day with each other, Niall or Aki (or both) would end up on the phone with her for most of the evening too. And usually they’re doing all the whining and complaining that they couldn’t do throughout the day, at risk of creating a “negative work space,” so they do it at home instead.
Y/N offered to get up to leave the room, but Harry assured her it was okay, that she could live as normal without having to worry about him changing her typical routine. And somehow, someway, he’d figured out how she didn’t like getting into her bed with outside clothes on, so before she showers, she usually rots for a little while on the couch. She’ll eat, scroll on her phone, decompress from work, and then finally take her shower, brush her teeth, wash her face, and get ready for bed.
So she’s on the floor while Harry is on the couch – he’d spent all day out too, and had some minor bruises on his knuckles that she’d caught sight of. Y/N had been trying to figure out how to ask about them, but kept choking over the words and bringing something else up instead. She did that about three times before her phone started ringing, and it was Niall and Aki.
They had spoken about a lot of things, just this and that, new tops, Aki bottoming for the first time in like three years, a game that she and Aki had been playing that they’re slowly convincing Niall to start with, Niall’s newest movie hyperfixation, this album they’re excited about, this one edit song that’s made them want to live in 2000s cyberpunk architecture. Aki was showing off her new set of nails, and Y/N gushed over them, how long she gets them, and how cool they were – a deep purple-y red that had jewels glued to the tips. Aki said she’d give her the number to the salon she goes to.
“Ah, I wish, but I can’t defend the cost, y’know, with all the other random shit I buy,” she sighed, “It has to be budgeted into your life because your nails are at least 20% of what makes you, you.”
“True, true.”
“But I think about it sometimes,” she continued, plucking at the hangnail on her pinky, “They’d probably gasp if they saw the state of them now. Hey, Ni, did you –”
To be honest, an hour later, by the end of the conversation, Y/N hadn’t even remembered what they’d talked about. She had just been relieved that neither of them had brought up ‘Daddy’ referring to Harry, and Y/N having to explain herself out of that. When she twisted around so she lay on her side on the floor instead of on her belly, Muffy had been mid-zoomie and slid, then slammed on the hardwood right into Y/N’s body. She laughed, plucking her up by the belly and mocking her big meow to pull her close to her chest.
That’s when Harry asked her if she wanted her nails done. Now she’s wondering if he noticed how eaten up her fingers looked, and he’s about to start encouraging her to drop the money on them. She’s deciding if she should feel offended or not, pouting, “Yikes, do they really look that bad?” She tilted her head to look at him, where his legs are tucked in a criss-cross, his laptop balancing on top of them. His bruised knuckles are in full view when he scratches above his ear, and she wonders if they ached at all, “I mean, I’d like to, but I –”
“No, no, I know, you said you can’t justify the cost, but I can,” he smiled softly, “Just pick a day, and I can pull out some money.”
Y/N’s eyebrows raised, “Oh?” She shook her head, mouth falling open, “Oh, Harry, that’s so sweet, but really, you don’t have to do that! I’m just whining, is all.”
“I insist,” he told her, “I want you to – if that’s something you want to do. See it as me showing my gratitude for letting me stay here.”
“Your gratitude? Harry! I’m not sure you realize it, but you’re staying here to protect me, yeah?”
Harry pouted, “For my peace of mind. It’s not entirely selfless, so I think that helping you get your nails done is in order. Now, either you’ll take the money in cash, or I’ll transfer it into your account, you can pick.”
Y/N scoffed, “Harry, I –”
“I won’t ask it again,” he clicked his tongue, “Choose or I’ll choose for you.”
There’s a curl of something tight in her belly, warm and hot, and it sort of makes her feel like she’s sweating a little. Her heart skips a beat, and she imagines this in a little different context, but immediately almost shakes her head like a dog to throw it out through her ear. She huffed a little breath, opening her mouth to tell him that she won’t accept it in any form, but her phone vibrates on the floor. When she looked at the screen, it was a notification from her bank, 150 quid transferred into her account.
She gasped, shoving herself up from the floor, “Harry! That amount is –”
“Not enough? I can send some more.”
“Too much! Oh my god,” she grabbed her phone, swiping it open, “How did you even –”
“It’s easy when I have your account numbers,” he told her, then shut the lid of his computer. “You should never allow a man in your house without him spending money on you.”
She was frowning, “But I have been letting you. You buy me coffee almost every day before work, you’ve sent me lunch, and you’ve been paying for groceries for the last like week and a half, Harry. Not to mention all the money you’ve spent on gas getting me to and from work.” Y/N looked around for something to throw at him, but came up short, unless she wants to chuck her phone across the room, but she’s trying to make a point, not bruise him.
“And that’s bare minimum necessities. Let me spoil you with something fun.”
“But –”
“Y/N,” his voice is serious, stern, her heart feels like it’s thundering in her chest now, “It’s a done deal, Sweetheart. I’m excited to see what nails you get.”
Y/N sighed a little, pressing the pads of her fingers into her floor and watching them blanch. She’d learned very early on that Harry is hard to deter once he has his mind set on something, especially if it has to do with making her life better. Which is nice, really, she doesn’t think anyone apart from Niall and Aki has had her best interest in mind to this extent. Y/N really could not see any ulterior motive for this with him. He merely wants her to get her nails done on his dime, for whatever reason.
“Well, I’ll. . .I’ll have to get a pedicure too. You sent me too much for just one.”
Harry grinned widely and brightly, showing each dimple. “That’s a good girl,” he praised her, and Y/N’s belly curled hot and tight in a way that is getting very difficult to ignore now. Did he have any idea how he sounded when he said things like that? Did he know how it made her feel? Y/N felt like he was teasing her right now. “Just let me know the day, and I’ll take you.”
That night in bed, after her shower and her skincare, she rolled around helplessly. She hadn’t really been ready for bed yet, but she thought if she spent any more time with Harry in the living room, he’d start trying to buy her a car, so she fled. The reprieve is nice, and just for a moment, there’s a little relief from the intense twisting and fluttering in her chest. But knowing he’s just right down the hall doesn’t do anything to settle her either.
Especially with her and Muffy’s open-door policy, and an overactive (as well as horny) imagination that Y/N has, she just kept imagining him slipping inside. Telling her that he needed to sleep in the same bed with her to keep her extra safe, before wrapping his arms around her body and sneaking his hands into her undies. Or something – she doesn’t know. Maybe she’d have a filthy dream, and he’d hear her, come to her room to make sure she was okay, and find her writhing and rocking her hips into the bundled up blankets on her bed that she stuffs between her legs for hip alignment. Then he’d get hard and have to go back to the couch and touch himself to her breathy, needy sounds or something.
Wow, like, typically, she isn’t this worked up over next to nothing, but she can’t help it. She can’t explain herself either. The air conditioner is working overtime, and the ceiling fan is whipping soundly above her head, creating a mindless hum that she is trying to let lull her to sleep. Goosebumps dot along her arms from where they are outside of the covers, so she stuffed them back beneath them, mindful of the sleeping kitty stretched long ways at her left side. Muffy typically started half of the night with one of them, got up to pee, then ended the night with the other one, like true shared custody. She was thankful to have her warm little body to fall asleep with, but would miss waking up to her purring the following morning.
It’d be easier if Harry just slept in her room with her. . .but that wasn’t a good idea. Y/N wouldn’t even suggest it because she knew he’d say no – he probably wanted to sleep in the living room so he’d be closer to the front door than she was. And she had a suspicion that her safety would nullify any feelings that she had, like wanting the cat to be with her all night without shutting the door.
So she’d have to deal with it for now. It’s for the best anyway – she’d definitely do something embarrassing if she had unremitted nightly access to Harry in her room. And when would she have time to tilt her face into her pillow and squeal quietly? Harry would ask what she was doing right away, because he’s as nosy as she is, and wouldn’t let it slide.
Y/N plucked her phone up from the nightstand, where she had laid it to charge and hopefully to sleep, but went on Pinterest instead. If someone is paying for her nails, she'd better make it count.
. . .
The day starts with her nail appointment.
Well, technically, it doesn’t start like that. It starts with her being at work, but they had a half-day scheduled for them to work on the pipes or something (she didn’t know, and she didn’t care, because a half-day was a half-day no matter what the circumstances were), where she revealed to Niall and Aki that Harry was taking her to get her nails done. She’d mentioned it offhandedly, not even thinking about the reaction she was bound to get when she told them, but she regretted it almost instantly when their twin gasps just about echoed off the cubicle.
Niall, who once again was nowhere near his desk, is sitting on a mini roller chair with his iPad in his lap (he gets his work done well enough that nobody can really complain at him for never sitting where he’s supposed to), grips her arm tightly, “Oh my god,” he squeezed, “From start to finish, how did this happen?”
Y/N laughed a little, realizing her mistake only then, “Ahh, well, it wasn’t anything crazy. I just said I hadn’t gotten my nails done in a while, and so he offered to pay. He wouldn’t necessarily take no as an answer, though.”
“So he’s Sugar Daddy now, instead of just Daddy,” Aki spun back around, holding her chin in her hand. “Wow, I already liked him, but now I really like him. When are you locking him down? Men like that don’t stay single for long.”
Her face felt hot, “It’s not like that,” she told them, “He’s just being nice.”
“Men are never this nice unless they want to get their hands in your pants at least a little bit,” Aki replied immediately, “Or maybe he wants to see your nice manicured nails on his. . .you know. I’d say it, but we have snitches around here that like to start HR cases,” she glared over the top of their cubicle at their coworker pair beside them (Aki refers to them as their evil, prude counterparts, but their names are just Stanley and Holly; they’re both early 40s and Holly definitely reads smut, so they were all a little surprised she didn’t like sex convo), “You ought to ask him if that’s what he wants.”
Even Niall gasped, scandalized, “She can’t just ask, Aki, that’s way too bold!” He turned to look at Y/N again, “I’ll ask for you. Is he coming to pick you up today?”
“I’m not asking, and you’re definitely not asking,” Y/N denied him, “It really isn’t like that, guys, he just owes me one for –” For mistaking me for someone one time? For holding me at knifepoint when he thought I was some bad person, involved with some bad thing? For accidentally getting me entangled in something beyond a measly little music marketing office worker? For going through my messages and internet history and tracking my location for weeks? For sleeping on my sofa to keep me safe, even though he drives me to work and cooks for me? “For helping him embroider this present for his Nan,” she lied through her teeth, wiggling her fingers, “It took a lot of time, and I broke my nails messing with the embroidery hoop, so he felt bad. He thought that I should have them pampered or something.”
“Still,” Niall grabbed Aki's hand, mindlessly plucking at her acrylics, “To pay for your nails is so boyfriend. So,” he lowered his voice, just above a whisper, “Sugar Daddy Dom – if you will. I think you have a chance if you just let him know the feelings are reciprocal.”
Y/N shook her head, “You two are as delusional as I am, so I really can’t trust your take on this.”
Aki peeked her head up over their cubicle wall and looked around before catching the attention of Levi, one of their coworkers. She all but calls him over like a dog, with a click of her tongue and a call of his name, and he trotted over like a dog, too. He had a big crush on Aki, she thinks, and he also may have had something for Niall at some point (or still does). Honestly, Y/N always got the feeling that Levi wanted to bury her under a rock and take her spot as their friend, so it makes sense that he barely looks at her when he dangled over the wall.
“Would you pay for someone’s nails if you didn’t have a crush on them?”
Levi tilted his head, “Uh, no?”
“Perfect, thank you,” Aki grinned, then waved him off, “Talk to you later.”
“Seeeeee,” Niall’s hand was still on her thigh, squeezing, “An undeluded source.”
“Ugh, I don’t know,” she covered her face with her hands, hid in her palms, and groaned, “He’s just really nice, guys, I don’t want to make anything weird.”
Niall rolled closer, slotted their legs together, “You won’t,” he promised, “Just say you want to kiss and see where it goes!”
It sucked not being able to tell them the whole truth. Had they known, then they would have realized why Harry was being as nice as he was to her. Even if they were technically friends now, and shared the same interests, and spent so much time together, Y/N knew that it was mostly tied to a sense of guilt and responsibility. Plus, Y/N has always believed that the more time you spend with someone, the more likely you are to feel attracted to them, and perhaps develop a teeny crush on them. Even if he did find her attractive right now, once the need to be around her disappeared, any sort of desire he might feel for her might disappear too. Like all of the guys and girls in UNI lectures that she’d convinced herself she was in love with, only to forget about them as soon as she passed her exam and walked out the door.
Yeah, the context was a bit different, but humans are all the same when you really think about it.
Still, she tried not to think about it when Harry picked her up because it would put her in a sad mood, and this was not a sad-mood kind of day. This was a good day, a fun day, because the sun was out, but it wasn’t blisteringly warm, and Y/N was about to get her nails done for the first time in a year. When Harry pulled up to get her, he had a milk tea waiting in the car for her (and a Lactaid so it didn’t mess with her stomach too badly), and he had the album she’d been listening to on.
“Hi, Sweetheart,” he all but sang when she crawled into the car, “Have you decided what design you want?”
“Yeah, I think so,” she told him, “But I’m still unsure whether or not I should get acrylics.”
“My vote is yes,” he replied without a beat, “Then you can tap on things ASMR style, I like listening to that.”
At first, when they pulled up to Aki’s regular place, Y/N imagined Harry just dropping her off and coming to get her afterward, but instead, he parked the car and unbuckled.
Y/N’s brows raised, “Oh, you’re coming in?”
“Duhhh,” he pocketed his keys and hopped out of the car, “I love watching nails get done. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No! No, not at all, just – I guess I just wasn’t expecting it,” she waited patiently in her seat, because Harry fussed at her when she didn’t let him open the car door. He looped around the front, tucking his sunglasses up into his hair like a headband to keep his flyaways out of his face. He always dressed like he had a lot of money, Y/N noticed, even his comfy clothes at home were cashmeres and silks. Today, he wore an olive green knitted tank top that made his shoulders look massive, and nice white trousers. She wondered what he’d gotten into today, while she was at work for the brief period of time she was. And felt severely underdressed in her own work clothes, because office-appropriate meant rocking summer camp jorts, and that’s just how life has to be.
Y/N signed in for her appointment, and they got her back right away, since it’s the middle of the day during a work week. There aren’t that many people there, which is a relief. Another big reason she hadn’t been going was that she could only go on the weekend, and there were always about 3000 people who were also there, so it was crowded, took forever, and her whole Saturday was practically gone by the time she was free. This is much better. And they let Harry shack up in the spot beside her, and – like always – Harry did very well in assimilating himself in the space. It was a Vietnamese-owned salon, and apparently, Harry had spent half a year in Vietnam for his father’s work.
This was news to her, so Y/N is as engaged as her nail technician, asking him questions and poking his brain. It’s things like this that make Y/N realize she doesn’t know Harry all that well. Y/N is so intrigued, looking at the photos, listening to him share stories, hearing similar childhood stories from her technician, and Y/N didn’t even notice when they were done with her pedicure. She had collagen socks on, ice cold on her feet that were now lacquered in a pretty, sparkly Boysonberry color.
“Yeah, it was pretty cool.” He told her, “We moved around a lot when I was younger, but that was one of my favorite places to live! I wish we could have stayed longer.”
Y/N stretched her toes when the socks were pulled off, “Have you gone back since?”
“Yeah,” he grinned, nodding, “A couple of years ago! I stayed for a month after a pretty bad breakup. I was just hopping from country to country for a while. I said it was to 'rediscover myself, ' but really I just didn’t want to face my friends and family afterward.”
The nail tech, Tracy, asked the question Y/N probably would have been scared out of, “Why was it so bad?” It was the sort of question that only older women could get away with asking (or maybe Niall). Y/N wanted to know desperately, though, so she didn’t say anything to stop him from sharing. She just stared at him with big eyes, waiting for him to tell them.
Harry’s face gets a little rosy. “Ahhh,” he started, awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck while she slid the foam flip-flops onto her feet for her to waddle over to the manicure chair, “Well, that’s the thing – we were going to be engaged.”
Y/N gasped – she couldn’t help herself – and Tracy gave her a look that said Girl, do not ruin this, he’s about to divulge secrets, be chill. So after the gasp, Y/N attempted to stay chill, once again quietly listening, which was – in itself – a prompt to continue again. Harry is a very open person, about all things (besides the obvious), and Y/N thinks it’s one of the reasons people begin to favor him so quickly. It feels like you know him before you ever truly do, because he answers openly and honestly, no matter the question being thrown at him.
That being said, this is the first time that Y/N has ever witnessed him seem hesitant to share a story. She wondered if it still hurt him, or if he was embarrassed by what happened. Oh god, had he cheated? Was he a bad guy? Finding out like this would totally blow. Morally, Y/N could not be developing a crush on a cheater.
“I mean, it’s sort of a long story, but like a Cliff Notes version? Basically, I had bought the ring, told everyone I was going to propose, and went on vacation with our families to Fiji, hired a photographer. . .all of the things. I’m pretty sure someone had already ruined the surprise and told her my plan with everything,” he motioned his hand around in the air. “She’d been crazy giddy for the entire trip. More giddy than normal, and I had even caught her looking at wedding dressers over her shoulder one evening. But when it came time to drop on one knee I. . .y’know. I just couldn’t do it,” Y/N held in another gasp, but her eyes went wide. Harry scrunched his face a little, a small, pitying smile, and a shrug of his shoulders, “It just felt like I couldn’t be my true self with her, y’know? Not to be crass, but like. . .I couldn’t burp, toot, have morning breath, or be in a bad mood. And I wasn’t necessarily honest about some aspects of my job, you know. . .I used to have to travel a lot for it, but she wouldn’t have been able to come along—things like that. So I didn’t get on one knee, and like – I actually broke up with her right then, which if I could go back, I would do that differently. She smacked me, ran off, and then. . .well, yeah, so did I. I booked a flight home and moved out all my things, then booked another flight to Vietnam.”
Y/N didn’t know what to say. She could barely wrap her head around it, so he broke up with her because he couldn’t be himself? Or he called it off because he hadn’t been honest about the whole hitman thing? Was it both? Or was he just really not ready to commit yet?
“Wow, that’s. . .” Y/N nodded, “That’s heavy.”
“Yeahhhhh, but you know, it was for the best. She’s much happier now, with a bloke who took her to Maui and proposed to her by the seaside. We’ve since reconciled, as much as we could have, all things considered. I deserved her tearing into me, and she really tore me a new one, and then a new one, inside of the new one. But yeah, there’s my story.”
Tracy clicked her tongue. “Crazy,” is what she offered, nodding her head toward Y/N, “What about you? Any stories?”
Y/N startled, “Oh, um – I’m not sure, all of my exes kind of sucked.” But you don’t really have to pay her to go on a tirade about a couple of them, namely her last serious-ish relationship. It was around the time Harry was fleeing Fiji, Y/N was getting cheated on by a situationship turned boyfriend because he’d gotten jealous she was talking to other guys. At least, she’d thought that he was her boyfriend, but she soon learned that he actually wanted to siphon his emotional needs off her while barely putting in any effort on his end, and continuing what their “original arrangement” was. Only this time, he gets to fuck whoever he wants, and Y/N is left in the dark, thinking nothing of it.
She hated him for it, and unlike Harry, there was no reconciliation that they faced together down the line. Y/N actually had decided that if she ran into him in public, she would have no choice but to swing at him on sight.
Harry seemed horrified by her story, “What a dickhead,” he tapped Y/N’s phone screen for Tracy so that the image of her nail design wouldn’t disappear, “If we ever run into him in public, let me know, and I’ll swing on him.”
It makes Y/N laugh. They move on from exes and start talking about a new movie that’s supposed to come out, and sort of make plans on seeing it together. By the end of it, Y/N has a nice, pretty set of acrylics that look like jelly and a big smile on her face while she clicks them against the table. Harry praised Tracy’s work, complimenting something about her technique, and then slid her a tip (at the front desk, it said they preferred cash). Y/N hadn’t seen how much it was, but she knew it was enough to make Tracy grin widely and thank them profusely, so that was nice.
She walked them to the front, but when Y/N reached into her purse to grab her card, Harry all but hip checks her out of the way with his card already pulled out and shoved in the reader.
“Wha–hey! Harry, I –”
“Hm? What?” Harry looked around, then to Tracy, “Do you hear something?”
Y/N scoffed, “Harry, I have the money!”
“You can’t tell me a story about your shitty ex and expect me to let you swipe your card,” he typed his code into the PIN pad and removed the card when the reader started alarming at him, “Use that money for something else.”
Y/N huffed again, but ultimately, it was too late. She didn’t know Harry’s information to send him the money back, so it was going to sit in her account until she used it. Maybe she could use it on him or something? Would she be able to beat him in ordering them dinner? Or buying them drinks?
It just feels wrong, like she takes, and takes, and takes from him. Even if he’s okay with that, there’s still a guilty welt that sits in her chest that she won’t be able to shake unless he lets her do something for him. She’s unused to this unremitted selflessness, even if it’s because he’s feeling guilty. Nobody had ever tried to take care of her to this extent before, so she’s unsure what to do with it.
Harry looped his arm around her shoulder and guided her out of the salon, humming, “C’mon, let’s look at them in the light.”
They are very pretty, inside under the regular lighting, but even more so when they glitter in the sun. Harry gushed at them, even slotted their fingers together so that he could flip her hand over and move them how he wanted to let the light catch them. His hands are a little rough, still slightly bruised around his knuckles, and parts of his hands are calloused. “How does it feel, hm? Do they hurt?”
“No, not – not too badly,” she kept hold of his hand – did hers feel soft to him? Y/N felt sort of dainty with him holding her, which is a way she has never felt before, really. Even when she wears dainty jewelry or dainty shoes, she’s always felt more like a bull surrounded by blown glass rather than a gazelle carefully maneuvering through a room of ceramic. But Harry, all broad, roughed, bruised hands, and she thinks if she sat between his legs, he could crush her between them – he makes her feel all soft and cute. “They’re pretty?”
“They’re gorgeous,” he squeezed her hand, kept a hold of it as he led her back to the car, “But it’s hard for anything not to look gorgeous on you.”
Y/N rumpled her lips, “Okay, okay, wrap it up,” she wiggled his hand off, listening to him giggle when he popped open the door, “Sweet talker.”
“This sweet talker is starving, baby,” he murmured, “Do you want to get something to eat?”
They end up staying out all day. It was around 2 PM when they got out of the nail salon, so they went for a late lunch. Harry chose a Mediterranean place that he said she had to try, and Y/N trusted him, so she went along with it. Y/N was starving, so she’s happy that it isn’t technically a sit-down with a waiter kind of place, and more of an order at the counter and they’ll bring the food to you kind of place. Harry ordered first so that she knew what to do, but she had her card in a tight grip and used all of her force to slam Harry out of the way to Tap-to-Pay. Does he barely budge? Yes, but he’s startled enough by it happening that Y/N is able to pay.
The man at the cashier let out a startled laugh, along with Harry, who soon complained with a big whine, “Heyyy –”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Y/N cut him off quickly. It was nowhere near the price of her nails, but it was something at least, and it made her feel better.
The food is good, and Harry told her about this new craft store that opened up about twenty minutes away, so after they eat (she does try some of Harry’s food out of his basket, but not without asking – and a sip of his drink, which is very Niall/Aki/Y/N behavior, but Harry seemed okay with it), they head there. It’s new enough that it’s pretty crowded, so she sticks to Harry’s side like he’d glued her there, and he is happy with that. He actually told her a couple of times not to stray too far from him.
Then, after the craft store, they piddle around at different shops in the area. They get ice cream and decide to walk through a park nearby, and Y/N is thinking about how good of a day she’s been having. Spending time with Harry is always quite fun, but she could admit that being spoiled was pretty fun too. She liked how he kept close to her, a hand on her shoulder or at her waist, maybe even her lower back as he guided her around. The sun was starting to get lower in the sky, so she knew they would go home soon, but there was joy in knowing that they could still spend time together. Not at any point in his stay with her had she been annoyed or wanted to not see him, which was nice. But it also meant she was going to be really sad when he finally did have to leave. The flat was going to seem very empty. . .Muffy would probably be pretty upset, too.
Everything is good and normal until it isn’t.
There’s a shift in Harry from one moment to the next. They’d been walking around the newly planted flowerbeds, idly talking about the glow bugs that would pretty soon start lighting up the open fields closer to late Spring. Y/N had been reminiscing about catching them in her hands and letting them crawl around over the creases of her palms and the dips of her fingers, when Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The first one he ignores, but the second and third happen in rapid succession. When he slid it from his jeans, he read over the messages, and it suddenly wasn’t a lighthearted, fun little walk anymore.
Harry quietly took hold of her wrist with his free hand, “Come on, baby.” Her eyes widened at the pet name, startled by the sudden use of it, “Let’s go back to the car.”
“Oh? Yeah, okay,” she agreed, her eyes started to dart around – what had he seen? With a lowered voice, she asked, “Is. . .is everything okay?”
He’s silent for a moment, apart from a soft hum that was neither a reassurance nor a denial. The grip on his wrist is firm – it isn’t too tight, but it’s still the sort of grip that lets her know it was pretty serious. Y/N’s heart is starting to thud against her sternum, a prickle along the back of her neck, and the sort of empty, “losing feeling” thing her thighs do when she starts to feel scared. There is this sort of fight or flight tingle that starts to knock around her cells, but Harry had already chosen flight for them.
The car is nearby at least, and Harry opened her door, then buckled her in, which was also new, “I’m going to need you to stay in the car, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Y/N’s eyes go wider, “Wait, what? Don’t – no, don’t leave me alone!”
“I have to, Sweet Girl, but it will only be a minute.” He shut her door, then wrapped around the car, went to the front seat, and clicked open the bottom half of the seat as he had told her it did. Y/N’s eyes widen when she sees what’s there – most of it is covered and in cases, but he pulled a gun out, and a shocked sound escaped her throat, “Ah, fuck, I was hoping I could at least show you how to hold a gun if you needed to, but –”
“What? Harry, what the fuck!”
“I know, I don’t have time to explain, okay. I’m leaving the keys with you. Don’t unlock this door for anyone but me, okay?”
Y/N hated how whiny her voice sounded when she spoke again, but she couldn’t help it, she was freaked the fuck out! “Harry, I’m scared, I –”
“I know, I’ll explain everything when I come back, okay? I’m so sorry, I really – I have to go, I’ll be only a second.”
He clicked a button on his door, shut the door, and then jogged off back into the park. Harry followed the pavement to a trail that led into the wooded area before disappearing from her sight entirely. Y/N doesn’t like this; she really, really doesn’t, and she hates how hopeless she feels just sitting here. Y/N checked her phone, but she isn’t sure what for. Her heart is racing, and she’s looking around. As soon as the car door had been closed, the silence in the car was deafening; he hadn’t even turned it on. She can hear her blood roaring in her ears, her lip threatening to tremble – this is fucked up! What had he seen? Or, what had been sent to him? Why did he rush her off like that? Y/N hadn’t noticed anything sketchy – fuck, they were the only ones in the park! What could have happened? Was someone following them?
Y/N does wait. She waited, and she waited, and she waited, until her stomach felt sick, and she couldn’t wait anymore. It was stupid to get out of the car, she knew that, but she at least reached over and lifted Harry’s seat. Her hands were trembling as she reached toward the bags, carefully peeling them open and reaching in. She finds a taser, which she has a very loose understanding of how to use, but she knows better a taser than a gun, and wielding a knife just doesn’t seem smart.
She needed to stay in the car. Y/N needed to be smart, wait patiently, as she’s meant to, because if Harry’s okay in there, he’s going to be so pissed at her for coming out to find him. But that’s only if he’s okay. If he isn’t okay, then he might be happy that she came to see what was taking him so long. She’d just never been good at being a sitting duck; if he wanted her to stay put, then he probably should have tied her up or knocked her out, she doesn’t know. There was just no way she was going to sit and wait in the car any longer.
The park is eerie now, under these circumstances. Before it smelled like spring, the air was nice, and Y/N was just thinking about how beautiful the world is. Now it feels like she’d been plucked out of whatever romantic comedy film she’d been in, and into the horror movie this was turning out to be. She’d always had light footsteps, which had never benefited her (unless she was sneaking to the kitchen late at night for sweets when she was younger, but this is her adult life) until right now. She swallowed thickly and walked briskly until she disappeared behind the tree line and strained her ears to hear something.
There were low, murmuring voices coming from the left, she thinks. Y/N was no Eagle Scout, but she could tell where sound was coming from, and there was still just enough light from the setting sun to make out where she was going. The further she went in, the louder the voices were, and when she picked up on Harry’s, there was a tiny little part of her that settled. His voice sounded clear, not like he’d been getting his ass beat or anything, and really, that should have probably calmed her down enough to go back to the car.
But she pushed forward, listened closely, though she could only make out a few words here and there, beyond the shuffle and shifting. There were two other voices that she didn’t recognize. She squinted until she could sort of see them coming into view.
“. . .lucky that we didn’t. . .”
They’re barely talking above a whisper, which is the problem. Or, Y/N guesses that makes more sense than in movies where everyone is speaking at top volume when they’re in public about to kill someone in an alleyway. This was a public park, and while not a well-trafficked one, there were still enough people coming through to be careful.
“Fucker,” there’s a spitting sound, “Mind your fucking business –”
“No, I think you need to mind yours,” Y/N could hear better, pressed her body against the bark of a tree, one palm against the trunk, and then her cheek against her knuckles, “You’re fucking stupid to follow her.”
There’s a scoff from the other end – Y/N can’t see them well, but she thinks if she stepped out anymore, she’d definitely be in view of them, “What, are you mad that your bitch is involved now?”
Y/N grimaced when she heard the crack of what she imagined was a fist meeting a body part, the huff of air leaving someone’s lungs. More scuffling sounds, while her heart is still doing flips, taking her stomach along for the ride. There’s a sweat building at the back of her nape – she’d never really been around anything violent before, and the sounds are horrible.
“Fuck, okay, okay, let up, man, shit,” the man spoke again – “S’not. . .it’s like I said before, I’m just following orders. I don’t know what they’re planning.”
She swallowed thickly, still trying to catch her breath. Y/N lulled her tongue over her mouth, her lips feeling dry and cracked as the wind started to pick up, rustling the leaves surrounding them. Her mind was at least a little at ease now that she knew Harry was okay. It was also a little tied in knots because, from her eavesdropping, she’s just found out this guy has been following her. Has it been for a while now? Or just today? How did Harry find out? And who was with Harry beating this guy up? The aforementioned Adam? Or someone else he worked with.
There’s another thud, like a body hitting the ground, and a low groan, “Will you take care of him?” Harry sighed, “We need to get back to the car.”
Y/N mouths ‘fuck’ to herself before pivoting on her heel. Would she be able to make it back to the car without Harry seeing her? Stupid idiot, she should have left as soon as she realized that he was okay! Now he’s going to know she chased after him, because there’s no way she’s going to be able to maneuver these trees, get to the path, and get back to the car without him noticing at all. Her heart is racing for a whole different reason now, as she tries to avoid any twigs or leaves that would crunch beneath her feet. She’s lucky it wasn’t autumn, or else every single step would’ve echoed like a plate shattering in a silent room.
Still, she was out of breath, panting as soon as her feet hit the actual pavement. It’s only when she’s out of the treeline that she realizes Harry said We need to get back to the car, instead of I need to get back to the car.
“Y/N,” Harry’s voice emerges from behind her, and startles her so bad, she thinks if she needed to pee, it would’ve been down her leg by now. His tone is nowhere near the silly, softhearted one he usually gives her. “I thought I told you to wait in the car?”
Slowly does she turn around to face him. The image is shocking, to say the least – the cute knitted top was spared, but his fist was covered in blood that wasn’t his own. There’s a smear of dirt and something dark on his bottoms too, near the cuff on the left side. She’d never seen Harry like this before – whatever he was getting up to during the day, he’d always been relatively cleaned up before he came to get her from work. All dimpled smiles and fresh clothes, with cuts and bruises lining his knuckles. If someone asks about them in public (namely, the sweet old women he bewitches into loving him at all their regular stores), he tells them that he boxes in his free time and his gloves aren’t very good.
And sure, he kind of does box in his free time, only it’s someone’s face, not a bag of cut-up textiles and rubber mulch. Her brain is swimming, slurring around as she tries to make sense of this. The sinking sun leaves shadows all over, dancing across her pupils, obscuring her view, and confusing her further.
Harry looked down at himself, his brows raised like he hadn’t realized there was blood on his fist, on his arm, up to his elbow like he’d really hit the guy hard. He looked back up at her, gaze much softer, “Baby, are you scared?”
Was she scared? Y/N is really confused. She’s frightened that someone was following her, yeah, and Y/N wondered how long that had been happening. The fact that someone could be trailing behind, and she didn’t have even an inkling of an idea, made her insides twist uncomfortably. There’s room to go down a rabbit hole of panic-inducing thoughts about how many times she could have been followed, but she has to wipe that away. What was scarier was that someone wanted her for something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. That guy didn’t even know, or at least he said he didn’t. Did Harry know?
And the other scary thing. . .the elephant in the room (or in the park, she guesses). Harry had only ever been fun-loving and silly after the mess of their first meeting. That night, he had truly scared her, with a knife to her throat and a threat in her ear, but as soon as he realized she was telling the truth, he was all giggles and apologetic smiles. Even at his freakiest, when she knew he was tapped into her phone and probably stalking her every move to make sure she didn’t go to the police station, she wasn’t that afraid of him. It was hard to be when he went to bowling parties for his niece, liked to embroider, and sweet-talked Gladys at the fruit tea place, when he was always so gentle with her, and sweet, calm, and patient.
To hear that serious, stone-cold, threatening tone again was scary, yeah. To hear him beat that guy up was scary. But could she really fault him for any of that? This was his job, she knew what it was, even though he tried to keep her as separate from it as he could. But she knows what he does – she’s known. Seeing it in person is just a different thing entirely.
The thing was, too, that he was in this predicament, with this particular man, because he was protecting her. At least that’s what she’d gathered from the limited amount of conversation she’d heard.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of wet towelettes – the same ones he used to wipe her hands when she’d gotten ice cream all over them. He runs them over his knuckles and up his arm, a hasty clean up, though there was very little he could do about his bottoms. Harry pockets the messy napkin, tucked away out of sight, like the gun that she has no idea where he put it.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N’s voice sounds hoarse, like she hadn’t spoken for hours when it’d only been just a few minutes, “I’m – ah. . .I’m really sorry, I just. . .I got worried and –”
“No, I’m sorry,” he rushed forward, using his cleaner hand to turn her, pivoting them in the direction of the car, “C’mon, baby, let's get you home. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
Technically, it’s Y/N’s fault that she saw it, but she doesn’t fight him on the semantics. She just lets him guide her to the car, still with great haste, but less urgent and scary than before. He takes the keys from her (that she’d stuffed in her jort pockets, knowing they’d be way harder to grab), then takes her to her seat, buckles her in again, and shuts the door. When he pops open his seat again, he reveals that the gun had been tucked in his waistband before he carefully deposits it back in its proper bag. Y/N is suddenly re-aware of the taser she’d shoved in her cardigan.
“Oh, I –” she pulled it back out before he could close up his seat, “I took this. Just in case.”
Harry’s eyes lit up, surprised, and a soft smile graced his mouth, “Good girl,” he murmured, and the praise stroked something inside of her that longs to be petted and patted. Especially when she thought he was going to lay into her – which is still an option, probably, but at least not right now.
Before he got in, he did a quick sweep, it seemed. Y/N isn’t sure what he’s searching for, but he checks the little pockets, nooks, and crannies of the outside like he’s searching for something. He seemed pleased when he came up short, with a little nod. He crawled into the car, started it up, and immediately pulled them out of the parking lot. There were no other cars there at all, besides a random bike and the owner of it sitting on a bench with his dog and a coffee cup. Y/N wondered if he was sketchy too, but he didn’t even look up when they were driving off (she knew this because she stared at him through the rearview the entire time, now swallowed with paranoia).
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to drive us around for a while, okay? Just to make sure nobody is following us. I’ll explain what’s going on while we do, okay?”
She swallowed hard again, “Yeah,” she agreed, “That sounds good.”
. . .
They drive for an hour.
Y/N is unsure where they all go; she just knows that he’s taking roads and ways that she’d never been before herself. Once they leave the more city area, she gets lost in the roads that make up the suburbs, but she guesses that’s for the best. It’d be more obvious if someone were following them on roads where there were only a few cars in each lane, rather than the near-constant influx and flow of taxis, SUVs, and sedans downtown. The trees are really flourishing here; there are long roads where there are only trees on either side of them, and houses hidden at the end of paths and trails that start from the road and disappear inward. The silence out here is more eerie than it is comforting, and for that reason, Y/N is glad that Harry is not only talking, but has music playing very low in the background, just as some additional noise.
How he explains it is that when Harry is unable to put his full focus on monitoring their surroundings and/or is in a situation where he can’t really “work” to the extent that he needs to (i.e. fucking around with her all day instead of high-speed chases and gun fights, or whatever it is that he does) – he has Adam cover some of the slack. Adam is someone he works for/with, so he trusts him wholeheartedly. Harry explained to her some high-tech software that they utilize, but most of it goes over her head, so the long and short of it was that there was an unregistered vehicle that had been flagged once at the nail place, which wasn’t too concerning, but once again, in a gravel parking lot adjacent to the one she and Harry were in, on the opposite side of the wooded area he’d been hidden in.
So Adam messaged Harry, snuck into the woods, and. . .well, yeah – they beat the guy’s ass but didn’t get much out of him.
“Ugh, I really try to keep you out of most of it,” he tells her, “Because I don’t want you to worry about anything or think too deeply about shit, but now that you’re like, pretty much directly involved, I feel like you have a right to know more.” He combed his hair from his face, shaking it out, “Finley, the pet food guy? The whole pet food thing is a pretty big rouse – I mean, he definitely does sell it, but it’s shit quality, and full of fillers and severely limited in nutrients, like it’s seriously worse than –”
“Harry.”
“Right, sorry,” he got back on track, “Basically, there’s a lot of drug and gun trafficking going on – real sick shit, y’know? It’s not a big ring, by any means, he’s no cartel, but it’s polluted enough of the city that government officials started to take note of it. And with a relatively sharp and random increase in crime rates, it looks bad on them, is bad for funding, things like that.” He waved his hand around, “A ton of legal B.S. gets involved when you’re trying to take something like this down, even at a small scale, so sometimes it’s easier to hire out, y’know? Which is where my, uh. . . “company” comes in. Adam and I have been following this for a very, very long time. The night you were meant to have your blind date, he was supposed to meet up with Antonyia.” He took another turn, through a little town area with grocery stores, fast food, and sit-down restaurants, different furniture stores, and chains. It’s bright, and there are a lot of people.
“Antonyia, we believe, has connections to his seller. You know, when you hire an exterminator for bugs whose main diet is other bugs? You have to get rid of the bugs that are being eaten, as well as the bugs that are overrunning your house. Take away their food source, and then they don’t come back, y’know? We could get rid of Finley, sure, but then they’d distribute to another stupid bloke that’s hungry for a power trip. And we could get rid of them, but then there’d be another, again, and again, and again – so we need to take out their food. Right? Was that a good metaphor or was it shit?”
Y/N giggled a little, “No, it’s good, I understand what you’re saying, I’m pretty sure,” she scratched her thigh around the bottom of the jorts, which went from being more comfortable than itty bitty shorts digging into her crotch, to being just as irritating. Y/N thinks she just can’t stand denim against her skin, honestly, “So you were hired by the government to do illegal shit like kidnapping and. . .I’m guessing like violence or whatnot?”
“Yeahh, pretty much. So we find out who they are, where they are, tell who needs to know, they get the FBI involved, blah, blah, blah. All that. I couldn’t have you telling the police what you saw, though, because it would’ve put a huge wrench in everything. This is all a very ‘need to know’ kind of situation. I think their chief might be aware, but nobody else in the precinct.”
Y/N’s mouth feels dry – she wishes she had water or something, “So what does this have to do with me?”
Harry heaved a hefty sigh, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he almost whined a little, shaking his head, “I reckon he really just wants to use you, to trick us, not knowing that we know you are not Antonyia. Like, I think he wants you as a body double to fool us while they sneak her somewhere. She’s still in town, though. All the calls he makes to her come from a 40-mile radius of us, but they ping and bounce off the cell towers, so we can’t pinpoint her for sure. It’s seriously annoying. Anyway,” he glanced at her, and she was already staring at him, so of course she noticed, “I know this is all upsetting, and scary, and you deserved to know more about what was going on even before someone started following you. But baby, seriously – if I tell you to stay in the car, I really need you to, okay? If there was someone else with him. . .if they had gotten to you before you’d found me, I just. . . I can’t even stomach thinking about it. I need you to listen to me, yeah? I need you to trust me.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she reached up, pressing her knuckles into her eyes, and was reminded by the poke of her nails that she got them done today, “I was so nervous, and I was worried that you were in there by yourself, like – like getting your ass beat or something. I knew I wouldn’t be of great help, but I thought I could be like. . .at least a distraction so you could get the jump on them.”
Harry laughed, and with one hand, reached over and squeezed her bare knee, “I don’t know if I should be touched that you would’ve put yourself in danger for me, or offended that you think I’d get my ass beat.”
They drive around for a little over an hour and a half in total before Harry feels comfortable taking her home. Y/N doesn’t ask what Adam is going to do with the man who was following her, because she doesn’t know if she actually wants to know (she’s okay with being in the dark about some things, actually). Her brain is so overstuffed with everything that she can barely wrap her head around all of it, but having a clearer picture of what’s going on does sort of make her feel better. She thinks it does, at least. She isn’t really sure.
Harry parks the car, he hops out first, and rounds the car to get her again. He opens the door and holds his hand for her to take when she climbs out, then follows behind her so closely she might as well be standing on his feet and letting him walk her. She gets it, though, and honestly, she appreciates it. It feels like he’s shielding her from the public eye, and that relaxes her a little. He ushers her inside, escorting her like a bodyguard, and at this point, she doesn’t know how she could think of his role as anything but that. He is her bodyguard, keeping her safe.
Once they get to her flat, Y/N goes in the shower immediately. She had to get these jorts off her body before she had a panic attack, so she wriggled out of them and turned the water scorching, let it pelt hot at her skin. It was weird – the day had felt like 2-in-1. Maybe even 3 – the fact that she had just been at work doing her normal job, giggling with Niall and Aki in her cubicle, not even 10 hours ago, was sort of insane.
Y/N scrubs the day off, soaks in one of her nice oils, and lets it seep into her skin before she washes it off. By the time there’s a knock on the door, Y/N had just been sort of standing underneath the spray for a little bit with her eyes closed. “Um, yes? Come in.” She called out, peeking an eye open to make sure that, for whatever reason, she wasn’t showering with the curtain pulled wide open.
“Sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” Harry began, “But I warmed up a towel in the dryer for you. I can just leave it on the counter?”
“Oh! Wow, thank you, yeah, you can just leave it on the counter, I’m getting out of here in a second. Then you can have one,” she grimaced, “I guess I should have offered you the shower first since you – y’know – and the blood.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he clicked his tongue, “Enjoy your shower, yeah? You deserve it.”
Y/N hardly thinks she deserves it, but she appreciates him. Still, shortly after he closes the door, she gets out – steam has filled up the room and is even lifting off her damp skin while she curls the warm, fluffy towel around her body. It’s so nice, and almost immediately soothes away the goosebumps that are dotting all along her skin. How his brain works is a mystery to her – he’d just done this to be sweet? Y/N knows she should stop comparing him to past boyfriends, but she just really can’t think of any of them who treated her nearly as sweetly as he has. And she was putting out with them.
After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she shuffles to her room to get dressed for bed, while Harry slips into the bathroom behind her. The washing machine was going, so she imagined he was running his pants through a cycle. Muffy toddles into her room, jumps onto her bed, and waits patiently on Y/N’s pillow because she knows it's almost time for sleep.
But Y/N knew she’d be restless, no matter how many stops she pulled out. She could spray her lavender scented room mist, read her favorite fanfics until her eyes grew heavy, or scroll mindlessly on an app for hours, but she knew that her brain wouldn’t shut off. Even after a hot shower, underneath her blankets with her fan whipping above her, and her kitten snuggled warm against her belly – Y/N’s body is exhausted, but her mind is absolutely wired. She could probably stay up for hours and rattle on about anything.
For a while, she just listens to Harry bop around her flat. After his shower, he typically gets dressed in the bathroom and comes out smelling like his body wash and lotion. He’ll get a glass of water and drink it in one sitting, go to her door and make sure it’s all locked before securing it with three mobile locking mechanisms. He does the same for her windows, only he just reinforces their locks with one single mechanism beyond their usual. Y/N can hear him pull the blankets out of the basket she keeps them in, in the living room, and then she can hear him get on the couch too.
“Harry!” She calls out to him without thinking, and can hear him pause in his routine.
“Yeah? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she reassured him, “Could you – do you think you could come in here?”
Harry appeared at her doorway in a little under five seconds, face drawn into a concerned pout with a soft tilt of his head, “What do you need, hm? Is it too cold? I can adjust the thermostat.” He must be referring to how she’s completely bundled up to her neck, the blankets and sheets hiding all of her body besides her head.
That’s not her issue, though – she’s actually nice and warm under her blankets.
“Do you think. . .” Y/N shuffled a little, “Do you think you could maybe sleep in here tonight?”
Harry’s gaze was already soft, and yet, it somehow softens even more, “Of course, baby,” he murmurs, “Do you want me to make a pallet on the floor?”
She shook her head, “You can just get in the bed,” she told him, “I don’t mind. Besides, I hardly think the couch has been good for your back.”
He laughed. He was in briefs, and he had some random shirt on that looked big and worn, the print on the front so faded she couldn’t make out any of it. His fabric softener smells so good, though, when he peels back the blankets and crawls in with her (Y/N thinks he usually sleeps shirtless, because sometimes she’ll go out in the living room and he’ll have pulled it off in the night, in a bundle on the back of the couch). There’s a flush of cold air that zips beneath her covers as he sets his phone on the nightstand, before he stretches out his legs and lies on her other pillow, and tucks them both back in. But still, even at his most “comfortable-looking”, after he pulled the blanket over his body, she could tell that there were all of two centimeters between him and the other end of the bed.
Harry looked over to her, then startled at the fact that she was glaring – eyes narrowed and lips in a frown.
“What, do I stink? Why are you all the way over there?”
“Well, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so – oh!” Y/N wrapped her fingers around his arm, digging the new nails into his biceps a little and tugging until he got the hint and started to shuffle over to her. They’re still a little sore after getting done, but not as bad as they had been before. Harry had her take a paracetamol when they got home anyway, because she’d been complaining about a little headache, and it had alleviated it a bit.
“If I were uncomfortable, I would’ve told you to make the pallet on the floor,” she reassured him. They were much closer now; Y/N was on her side, and Muffy was still nestled up against her belly, but she was really the only thing stopping them from being pressed right up against each other. Y/N hadn’t shared a bed with someone in a very long time, now that she thinks about it. The additional weight on the mattress and the shared body heat were even more reassuring to her than she’d imagined when she suggested it.
Harry makes a soft noise in his throat, a small shiver rattles through him in the way it always does when you crawl under warm blankets after being in a cold room. And then she watches him physically melt into the mattress, with one big deep breath, sinking into the cushions around him. He even tilted his nose down a little, pressing the tip into her comforter and taking a big, deep breath in.
“This is nice,” he told her, his head turned to the side so that he could look at her. Y/N wasn’t even trying to be secretive about staring at him – she had no energy to, “Your room smells so good. Same with your sheets. And, wow, this bed is really soft too.”
“Thank you,” she replied, then realized her hand was still gripping his bicep. She lets go, but she does skim the tip of her index nail along where she knew the boat tattoo was, looping a little design, “And thank you for protecting me today. And everything else.”
Harry stretches his other hand over to her and slips his fingers into the slots between hers, “Don’t thank me for something like that. Protecting you is a given.” He squeezed softly, “I’m sorry for scaring you, and I’m sorry for what you heard and saw, Bunny.” Bunny – that’s new. Y/N likes it more than she probably should. “And all on the day you got these pretty nails? I’m so irritated.”
“Noo, don’t, it’s – it’s okay. I mean, aside from all of that, I had a really good day with you,” she’s being maybe too honest right now, but she doesn’t care. Harry being in her room, in her bed, makes her feel warm, safe, and all too cozy. She went from a wired, overexcitable brain to something softer and quieter. Something way closer to sleep than she thought she’d be able to get tonight. “I always have a good day with you.”
Her eyes were closed – she doesn’t remember closing them, but she knows that she doesn’t see Harry smile, but she can hear it in his voice when he replies, with their fingers still locked together.
“That makes me happy, Bunny,” he tells her, “I’m so glad.”
. . .
Y/N is a snuggly little thing.
Harry had his suspicions. He saw how she was with Niall and Aki at the club, how she was always slouching and snuggled close to someone’s side. Or in the way she melted into him when they were at the sex club, when he looped around her back and made her pretend to be his kitten. She was gentle and sweet, prone to turning soft as putty and mold along whoever was at her side. There had been a few times on the couch, even, just sitting side by side, that he could tell she wanted to rest against him in some way. She was someone who thrived on contact, and Harry always thought people like that were so cute. How adorable of the human body to love being pressed against another warm being, feeling dopamine and comfort from just their presence close to their skin.
So, Harry had felt self-denying by not cuddling with her a ton, but he also didn’t want to overstep an unspoken boundary. He hardly thought he was Niall and Aki's status, who were able to receive these cuddles with next to no warning or forethought. It’s why he never really took the chance to pull her in close without permission.
But she’d been scared today. The beginning of it had started so nicely, only to sour toward the end, and he knew her head was filled with confusion and a little distress. He isn’t sure how much she saw or heard of him talking to the fuck that was following them, but it was enough to have her shaken up at the sight of him. Enough that, when he saw her face, any form of scolding for leaving the car had faltered from his mouth. She’d seemed startled stiff and unmoving – like a poor bunny that was caught off guard eating clovers in the forest or someone’s front yard, unsuspecting.
Had she not asked him to share her bed, he probably would have slept outside her door anyway. He’d been getting on the couch afterward, but something was unsettled in his bones. Harry needed to be closer, for his own peace of mind. He wanted her within an arm’s reach, but he’d been willing to settle for being a meter away.
So it really wasn’t a problem for him to share the bed with her. And as soon as she fell asleep, it was like her body was a magnet to whoever was nearby. Muffy readjusted, going near their heads and getting comfortable on the pillow above her sleeping form. In an instant, Y/N was glued to his side, legs slipping over his, arm pushed up against him, her face close enough that he could feel her breath on his neck. Who was he to deny this sweet, sleeping thing, anything at all? Harry turned on his side to better accommodate her, opened up his arms, and felt as she burrowed into his chest.
Then she truly melts into his hold, and he even hears the tiniest little snore. It’s all she needed to be sent deep into her dreams, and he’s glad. Y/N doesn’t sleep very well – he hears her get up throughout the night because he doesn’t sleep very well either. But as sleep starts to pull at him, he can sense that they’d both be sleeping pretty well tonight, snuggled together like this.
your co-star, harry, discovers you’ve never had an orgasm before. he offers to help you for your next scene by giving you your first, for purely professional reasons.
based on -> this request
CW: actor harry (moan), fingering, p in v penetration, first ever orgasm, nothing too freaked out just two normal ppl fucking for the first time lol 18+
likes/reblogs soooo appreciated!!
WC: 6.8k
It was your eighth take of the same scene.
A scene that you’d been fucking dreading, so yeah, why not make you do it 8 times?
“Cut!” The director calls again, “I'm getting nothing. One last take and then we’re calling it for the day.”
You gulp, hard and frustrated at his words. You were trying your hardest. It’s not like you were purposely fucking it up. You just genuinely had no idea how to perform.
“Do you want me to try something different?” Harry, your co-star, asks from above you as he reads your frustrated face.
“No,” you shake your head, “it’s just me. It’s fine.”
He just nods, not questioning any further and settling back into position. Overtop of you, forehead against yours as you simulated sex for the camera.
“And, action.”
You pick up from where you left off before—the rise of your orgasm. Harry performed beautifully and the two of you melded your eyes into one another passionately, breathing heavily and sweating against each other.
And now, here it comes. The part where you’re supposed to finish.
You breathe heavier, even moaning a bit, shutting your eyes and trying to desperately recall what an orgasm looked like in porn. You moaned and grabbed him tighter and really put on a show, all for the scene to be brought to an abrupt cut! once again.
“We’ll pick up here again tomorrow,” the director said, “and be prepared to do better then. Please. For the sake of all of us.”
And he left, pushing the door of the studio open harsh and slamming it shut behind him.
You huff as Harry lifts off of you, watching you in concern as your cheeks fade red and you shake your head in disbelief. You were fucking pissed. You genuinely had no idea what else to change about your performance and were convinced it would never be satisfactory to the director. It was unfair and ridiculous.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s just tired and-”
“It’s fine,” you cut Harry off, “it’s just bullshit. Whatever.”
You couldn’t contain your huffs and puffs as you threw your shirt back on and hopped up off of the bed. He was just watching you, a small frown on his face as he took in your frustration. He desperately wanted to help make you smile.
He was also, however, still mounted on top of the bed. He really couldn’t go anywhere anytime soon. After a full day of listening to your moans and groans and kissing you all over, he was…just slightly tense. In the sense of having a rock hard erection between his legs that was ridiculously unprofessional. So, he’d stay there until he calmed down.
He was only a little embarrassed at his absurdly immature crush on you. He was always usually very professional, getting through jobs easily and never really letting personal relationships falter over the line. But with you, it was really just human nature. What was he supposed to do about it?
You were beautiful. Incredibly talented and always held yourself well. Everyone was always captivated by you. So, of course, working close to you as your love interest over the span of a multi-month filming process, meant he was the most captivated by you.
And, specifically, in this scene. The scene where your two characters finally slept together in a passionate fit of love. Heavy, sensual, and long. Very long. A huge part of the movie that needed to be absolutely perfect. Which meant the filming time was about double compared to what’s already been done. It was torture.
After a bit of waiting and a slow drop of his embarrassing erection, Harry was up and wandering the set as usual. No real direction, just slumming along sets and running over miscellaneous lines in his head. Eventually making it into his trailer to decompress. As he always did at the end of a long day of filming.
You, however, weren’t so calm. You were spiraling. Completely swarmed with anxiety from a very unsuccessful day of shooting.
You were great at what you did. Landing roles in projects most actresses would dream about, and you were always perfect. It was rare for you to ever need more than 2 takes for a scene, let alone 8 long takes. 8 failed takes. You couldn’t believe you’ve wrapped for the day with an unfinished scene. It was humiliating.
So, through scrabbled brains and wonky walking, you found yourself stomping around set until you made it to the sweet safety of your trailer. Head to the ground and twiddling with your fingers anxiously as you tried to rid yourself of your self-hatred.
You pushed into your trailer and took a long, deep sigh of relief, shutting your eyes and cracking your neck on either side. The pops rolled through your body and up to your ears like firecrackers, a true proof of your stressful day.
Pulling your hair out of its pony tail, you shook your head loose and rubbed at your scalp to release some of the pressure. It was a heavenly feeling to finally get to unwind.
And then, as you go to pull up the hem of your t-shirt-
“Hi.”
You quickly shoved your shirt back down onto you, snapping your head up with wide eyes and a thudding heart.
“Shit! What the hell? You just scared the living shit out of me,” you breathe out with a hand pressed over your pounding chest as you stare at a shirtless Harry, resting lax on a chair.
“M’sorry,” he chuckled, “I thought you knew I was in here.”
You’re confused now, staring at him with a corked brow as you continue to settle your shaky breaths. He really did scare the life out of you.
“Uh, no, I don’t usually expect my coworkers to be lounging in my trailer," it was rude; your tone. Tired and snarky. But he didn’t take it too much to heart, you’ve had a hard day.
He just looked up at you, a small smile pressing his dimple outwards and an amused raise of his lids. He was still shirtless from your scene, shirt slung along the back of his neck lazily. There’s nothing you can do except stare back, looking at him with an impatient stare that says ‘what? Can I help you?’
“This is my trailer.”
You paused. And if you weren’t already embarrassed enough from your awful performance in front of him today, now you were shrinking. Silently begging the universe to pick you up and put you back in time so that you wouldn’t have to live through this.
You take a slow look around now, realizing that yes, this is in fact not your trailer. A step you probably should’ve taken upon first arrival.
“God, I’m sorry,” you let your head fall into your hands, “I’m sorry to be rude, I’ve just had a hard day.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking up at you as if he was waiting to see if you’d continue. And when you didn’t, he took a slow and steady breath, shifting in his seat carefully.
“You know, he’s just giving you a hard time. Pushing you. It’s his job,” he refers to our director, trying his hardest to be helpful.
“Yeah, I know that. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”
You bring yourself to sit on the chair next to him, bringing a knee up against your chest as the other rests against the floor.
“I know you’re used to acing your scenes, but this is normal. It’s okay to need a couple takes,” he adds on, letting his legs spread outwards as his knee grazes over your leg. Subtle. So subtle that you really hadn’t even noticed the contact.
“I’m trying to remind myself of that,” you press out an uneasy laugh, “it’s just…I don’t know. This scene is just…complicated. For me.”
Your words seem to intrigue him. His body shifting up just a hair straighter as his face turns inward in wonderment.
“Complicated?”
You take a beat. Consider telling him. Consider letting him know that, yeah, you’re a full grown woman and actually haven’t ever orgasmed in your life. Not like that would be embarassing, or anything.
But your silence reaches a deep place in him. He can’t help himself when his brain digs to piece things together. He’s landed on two things throughout the duration of your silence: Either you had weirdly sensual feelings for him, or you just didn’t even know how to do the scene because you’ve never experienced it. Considering he’s pretty much totally sure you've never thought of him romantically, he stuck with the latter.
“Have you, um,” he adds in an awkward cough, “have you never…had an orgasm?”
You wanted to die.
Like seriously and truly just pass away right there. Lazer a big old hole open in the bottom of his trailer and just let it take you to another dimension.
“Um,” you swallow thick, “if I say yes does that make me the strangest woman you’ve ever met?”
No, not to Harry. To Harry, this was a bright and shiny door opened wide for him. He was practically ripping through his shorts at the new knowledge of his secret crush.
“No,” he answered quickly, “not at all.”
You smile, brief and uncompleted. Just a tiny press of your lips together to silently thank him for not further humiliating you.
“Have you not ever tried? Like, by yourself?”
He knew it was a risky question to be asking. Totally crossing a line and he was fully prepared to be shut down the moment the question left his lips.
“Of course,” you shrug casually, “I’ve tried pretty much everything. Nothing works for me.”
“Hm.”
And then he thinks. Looking at you deep and leaning back into his chair calmly. He presses his lips together into a firm line and nods softly to himself, like he’s swallowing what you’re telling him and waiting for his brain to think of something for him to spit back out to you.
“Toys?”
“Yup.”
“Fingers?”
“Yes.”
“Porn?”
“Once.”
“Vibrator?”
“Mhm.”
He was stumped. Taking a deep breath as he tried to come up with a solution for you.
And when he thought of it, he had to bite his tongue hard until it bled a bit. He couldn’t ask you that. He just couldn’t. It’s a ridiculously unprofessional thought and you’d never go for it. Not with him. Not in a million years.
“Are you a virgin?” He asks instead. Still unprofessional. Still crossing a line.
“No,” you laugh, “I’m definitely not a virgin.”
“Multiple men then?”
“6.”
“And you’ve not orgasmed with a single one?”
“Nope.”
“Close?”
“Eh,” you shrug.
“Hm.”
He sits back again. Taking an even deeper breath as he peels further back on your sex life. Well, your lack of a sex life more like. He figured you had to really have little interest in it at all at this point.
He thought long and hard. Similar to what’s been poking at him through his shorts, stuck on the thought of being the thing that robs you from this sad life.
“I can give you one.”
You choked. Taking in the words that he said way too casually. As if it was the simplest offer he’d ever given you.
“Youre not going to be able to make me finish. I just can’t orgasm,” you laugh at him, tugging your knee tighter against your chest as you adjust to the new energy in the room. Hot, shallow, tense.
“I can,” he nods, “if you’d want me to. Purely for professional reasons, of course.”
He was lying. He’d been dreaming of this since the moment he saw you. But, you didn’t have to know that. Not yet, at least. He’d wait to tell you that part until he was between your legs.
You hesitated, staring at him as he keeps him composure strong and sure of himself. There was something about the way he spoke, so confident of himself, that had you wondering.
“You’re pretty confident for a guy who just found out I’ve never came in my life,” is all you can think to say.
It was risky. Too risky for you and you were far too professional for this sort of behavior. But, then again, as his legs spread further and he kept on his calm demeanor, it was hard to ignore the tingle between your thighs.
“Well,” he shrugged again, “I just know I can give you one. So, I’d like to help you out and give you your first, if you let me. If not, just forget about it. We can pretend I never offered.”
You sat there quiet for a little while. Bouncing back and forth between the idea which was already surprising to you. But, he had made a good case for himself. Not too demanding. Not any pressure. Just…offering up his skills. Politely. Professionally.
Or at least you’d tell yourself that.
“Hypothetically,” you start carefully, “let’s say I said yes.”
He nods, inhaling and lifting his back off of the chair. He lets his elbows rest against the tops of his thighs now, hunched over a bit with his bare chest as he looks up at you, considering his options.
“Ok, hypothetically, if you say yes, I could really go any way you’d want. I can use my fingers, my mouth, or even my dick if you wanted. I don’t mind. It’s up to you.”
He was so unbelievably calm about this that it was sickening. So sick in the way that it turned you on. And you hadn’t really ever thought of Harry this way before…sure, he was very physically attractive. But anyone with two eyes could notice that. This was different. This was him, his confidence, the way he held himself. He was unknowingly dampening your panties with every passing second.
“Ok…” you nod slow, “and, hypothetically, if you don’t make me orgasm?”
He’s grinning now, deep and smirked and prominent. Like you’ve truly amused him now.
“Y/n, I’m gonna be able to make you come.”
You’re not sure what it was; the way he spoke, the way he was sitting, the low drop of his voice, but you were…convinced. Truly and genuinely. He’d put it right into your head that he was fully capable of doing a thing that’s proven itself impossible over the span of your life. You were crazy to believe him. In retrospect, it was even stupid to believe him.
“Okay.”
He forced himself to ignore the twitch of his tip beneath his shorts at your acceptance, instead widening his eyes at yours with a wide grin.
“Yeah?” He was ecstatic, and you could tell. His excitement didn’t disturb you, if anything, it had you excited too.
“For professional purposes, of course,” you preface, smiling back at him as you press your thighs together.
“Right,” he nods with a grin, “strictly professional.”
And then you stare at each other, in the awkward way that two do when they know they’re about to start playing with each other. In the way of silently not knowing who should move first or if this is a good idea or not.
“So, should I tell you like, what I like? So you have a better idea of what to do?” You ask unsurely, breaths deepening without him even starting. It was his look. His gaze. Deep and darkened from how it usually rests on you.
“No,” he shakes his head calmly, “I’ll figure it out.”
And that, knowing he’d take care of you without you even having to think, was the sexiest thing you’d ever been told in your life.
“You can go sit over there,” he gestures towards the small couch in the back of his trailer. “Get yourself comfortable, lay how you want. I’ll lock this.”
You nod at his instruction, trotting over to the little red couch that rested at the end of his long room. He follows close behind, locking the door shut on his way and closing any blinds that are peaked open.
You weren’t sure what the rules really were with this stuff. You should probably look further into it before you get started, you know, check if this is a job ending decision or not. But you don’t. Because why would you when he’s walking towards you, abs clenched and jaw tight, with the promise of your first orgasm?
You were lying on your back against the soft couch, a small throw pillow behind your head and propping it up just barely enough. You were comfortable, very nervous but very comfortable.
He sat at the edge of the sofa, a hand resting mindlessly on your thigh as you two settled. His hand was cold, rugged against your smooth skin and brushing over you softly.
Thankfully, with the constant strum of music that was always going on around set, the quiet felt less intense. Muffled sounds of singing on the loud speakers crawled through the walls of the trailer and hummed around you two in a gentle blanket, breaking some of the tension that would’ve been there otherwise.
“Comfortable?” He asks, shifting his hands further up to your shorts in a non-chalant motion. Your mind barely processed the slide, but your body didn’t miss a beat. You were throbbing, a feeling that was already so foreign to you in general, let alone with your co-star Harry.
“Yeah,” you breathe out, slightly shaken.
“Hey, y/n,” he pulls your attention to his face, “don’t be nervous, ok? M’gonna make you feel good. Gonna help you with our scene…just relax.”
You nod, taking him in as he slowly starts to tug down on your shorts. He was pulling them off smoothly, leaving the thin material of your thong on along the way.
And now, this was real. This was really happening. Harry was taking your pants off in his trailer and there was absolutely no part of you that wanted to stop it. Not even for a second.
“Want you to close your eyes, and take three deep breaths,” he’s whispering now, pulling your shorts passed your ankles and letting them rest neatly next to you.
You do as he says, grateful that he suggested to keep your eyes shut. It was intimidating to stare at Harry while he sat beside you, hands up where they haven’t been before and eyes locked onto you. You were worried if you’d kept them open you wouldn’t get yourself to fully relax.
Your lungs fill and empty to their full extent three long times, and you melt into the sofa at the feeling of your body’s tension releasing. You were calm, fully at peace and absorbing into the cushions beneath you.
And then, you felt his fingers press against the cotton of your panties and your eyes snapped open.
“It’s ok,” he coos, “close them again. Just relax. Gonna get you wet for a bit and then use my fingers.”
So you did. You shut your eyes, letting your thighs fall open as his fingers pressed delicately over your clothed core. Your breath was heavier than expected, rising and falling quickly as the mix of nerves washed over you.
He used his middle and ring fingers to slide up the soft texture of your thong, smirking to himself when he felt the damp spot in the fabric that he really didn’t expect to be there. He thought he’d for sure have to get you there. But to feel you already soaking for him? He felt like he was floating.
“So wet already,” he whispered, “keep yourself relaxed. Keep breathing. Just like how you’ve been.”
He really wasn’t sure if he should’ve said that or not—the comment on your wetness. It’s not like you two had any sexual history and he wasn’t sure if the comment would embarrass you or not. It really just slipped out.
But, at the sight of your tiny smile through closed eyes and the subtle roll of your hips into his hand, he knew you liked it. He knew he could talk you through it and say what he pleased to get you going.
And when he pulled your panties to the side to reveal your dripping slit, you desperately tried to stabilize your breathing. You were so nervous that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You even thought about snapping your thighs back together right then and forgetting the whole idea completely, but all it took was one press of his finger onto you to drop that thought.
“Shit, y/n,” he breathed out, “you always get this wet?”
You exhaled softly at his words as he ran his finger tip up your wet folds, sighing at the slick that was drenching his fingers. He’d dreamed of this feeling—your sticky arousal coated around his fingers as your hips bucked against him.
“Mm-mm,” you shake your head no, “feels good.”
He smiled at this, a little boost to his already overflowing ego.
“Gonna start slow, work your clit a bit,” his voice was lower than it was before, locked in a trance as he watched you squirm at his barely-there trance.
You just nodded, eyes still closed, feeling a little silly having him walk you through basic pleasure. But you didn’t care, not when his touch had you this sensitive and his voice had your thighs weak.
He brought his fingers to your swollen bud, watching as it hissed beneath his touch and your face squinted slightly inwards. He rubbed soft, small circles to test the waters, watching what hit you hardest and what had your breath catching.
He took his promise as a challenge—keeping an intense eye on your expressions and body language with every touch. He watched how your brows turned in when he pressed harder and how your stomach tensed when he circled in a certain direction. He was figuring you out, desperately searching for the best way to get you there.
“Feel good?” It was an empty ask, as it was quite clear that you were. If your face didn’t say so, your muffled moans and heavy breaths gave him just the smallest clue.
“Y-yeah,” you nod through heavy breaths, “really good. Faster?”
He grins at your cute ask, happy to hear you using your words and even happier to oblige. His fingers pick up their pace within a half a second, rubbing steady circles against you now and waiting to see your body react.
You squirmed harder beneath him, gentle moans slipping out now that you couldn’t hold inside.
He continued this way for a while, watching as you fell apart beneath him and reddened your cheeks with every hitch of your breath. He was patient as you fell into the pleasure, using his free hand to dance against the skin of your thighs in soothing drawings.
“Gonna use my fingers now, that ok?” He asks softly, never stopping the rhythm on your clit as he could tell you were building to something.
“Yes! Please,” your yelp has him smirking to himself again, so pleased with himself to see you stuck in a haze of his fingers.
And when he replaced the pressure on your clit with his thumb and pressed two thick fingers inside of you, he knew he had you.
Your back sprung up at the pressure, stretching your little hole as you clenched desperately around his fingers. He pushed in slow and curved, brushing against every sweet spot until he landed on the one you groaned at.
“F-fuck, Harry,” you groaned softly, head thrown back against the pillow as his girthy fingers rolled up into you.
The pressure was sickening, pressing into the same spongy spot over and over again as his thumb rubbed magic to the ball of your clit. He had you at every place you needed him, never missing a beat and zeroed in to the last millimeter. It was a talent far more impressive than what he brought to the camera.
And him? He was reeling at the treat in front of him. His wet dream sprawled out for him as he finger fucked you, basking in the sweet sounds of your moans and groans and airy words.
They were different from the ones he’d heard you force out on set. These were full, wrapped in the moment you two shared and threading out of your chest with no effort at all.
“That’s it, it feels good, huh?” He spurs on, quickening his fingers once he starts to feel your walls flutter around him.
“So good! So good, fuck,” you were breathless as he pumped in and out of you, his forearms burning but he didn’t care. Not when you look like this, weak and spasming around his skin with just the simple touch of his fingers.
Before you knew it, a deep heat brewed in the bottom of your stomach so foreign that it actually freaked you out. You were completely overwhelmed with the sensations spreading through you, pumping through your blood and racing to your brain. It was indescribable.
He felt it too. Your soaking wet insides gushing around his fingers with every curl and the way you tensed around him so tight. You were trapping him deep inside of you, walls clenching firm around his fingers in a patternless fashion.
And you were…quite vocal. More than you knew, considering you were stuck in such a blurry haze that you could barely hear your own voice. But Harry was well aware of the loud sounds swimming out of you and the way you stumbled over your own breaths. He was fucking aching beneath his shorts and silently praying to himself that you’d let him fuck you properly after this.
“You’re close, y/n, you feel that? You feel that pressure in your belly? Gonna ride it out for you until you come on my fingers,” he quickened everything, rubbing faster against your clit and thrusting into you at an unfathomable pace.
Your mind was spinning and your chest was tight, heart throbbing harsh against your bones as it echoed up to your ear drums.
“H-how will I- fuck! How will I know? H-how do I know if I came?” You can barely speak as you ask your naive question, too lodged in your pleasure to worry about embarrassment. Besides, you knew you were passed the point of embarrassment. To Harry, anyway.
He chuckled, low to himself but not in a way that had you feeling made fun of. Just a quiet knowing laugh that had your pussy clenching even tighter around him.
“You’ll know, y/n.”
Your breaths picked up, heaving at this point, as you legs vibrated and spasmed against the red velvet of the couch beneath you. Your brain was mush and your knuckles white, spinning helplessly into his touch as you thrashed against yourself beneath him.
And then, you knew.
Your mind went fuzzy as your body surrendered to the feeling, consuming you whole as you froze into the pleasure. Your body stilled, cunt locking tight around his fingers as it pulsed throughout his movements. You trembled and your voice held silent, breath stuck inside of your lungs as you unraveled beneath him.
He watched in a daze, mouth flaking apart unknowingly as he watched you pulse beneath him. It was intoxicating—to watch such a vulnerable moment in time inflicted by his own hands. Still shoved deep inside of you to extend your orgasm for as long as humanly possible.
It really was long. You were flooded in the warmth of your peak and riding through your surging orgasm like it was the most heavenly thing to ever grace your life. You were sure you’d be chasing this feeling from the moment you come down, craving the addicted tingle that’s been swarming through your body for what’s felt like hours.
As you finally come down, breaths resuming and body falling limp, Harry slows his movements before removing himself completely, careful of your sensitivity and not wanting to push it. Your slick pussy quenched at his fingers as they left you, splurging in wet sounds and clenching around the air at the loss of his touch.
“Good?” He asks calmly, as if he’s not completely bursting through his pants right next to you.
You laugh, finally opening your eyes to look at him again. He looked proud. Genuinely pleased with himself and desperately awaiting your review.
“Harry,” you shake your head through a laugh, “fuck.”
He smiles wide now, tossing his hands up softly at your lack of words.
“So? Anything? Good? Bad?”
You squint at him, shifting your legs back together with a hot face.
“What if I told you I faked it,” you shrug, slipping further back into the pillow beneath you.
“You didn’t fake it,” he laughs, shaking his head.
“You don’t know that,” you say, a twinge of a smile laced through your voice.
“I do know that. I've watched you orgasm 9 times today and all I can say is that 8 of them were definitely faked.”
You cover your face with your hands to muffle your laughter, rolling into the couch further and still basking in the afterglow of your first orgasm.
“Thank you,” you slip through a smile before peering down to the sudden shift of his arm. He was readjusting what was beneath his shorts, trying to be sly without you noticing but failing miserably.
The moment he noticed your stare he removed his hand quickly, snapping it down against his thigh in a not-so-casual manner.
“Are you-?”
“Sorry,” he cuts you off, “S’hard to not be when you’re making a girl cum for the first time.”
A soft grin finds its way to your face at his shameless honesty, and you’re even further drawn towards him. The way he held himself was intoxicating, sucking you into him with no way to stop it.
“I can help,” you gesture your head towards his lap.
He’s grinning now too, peering down at his crotch and then back up at you as if to silently ask, …really?
You smile, curving further upward as you start to daydream about what he’d look like when he came. If you’d also get turned on from watching him just as he had for you.
He takes your smile as a quiet agreement, pulling for his dick before you stop him.
“But, I wanna cum too. Again.”
You don’t know why you said it. You could’ve kept it to yourself, save the desperation and just suck his cock like you probably should’ve.
But, no. You were greedy now. Already wincing at the thought of a second orgasm and even more worked up at the thought of his hard cock giving it to you.
“Ok,” he smiled with a nod, “I can make you cum again first. What do you want? My mouth?”
You shake your head, even knowing that you should probably say yes because fucking your co-star in their trailer is definitely a terrible idea.
He’s smirking again now himself, catching onto your cryptic wish with a quick palm to his erection. Who was he to say no? This was purely professional, after all. You two consider it…homework.
“You want me to fuck you?” He knew the answer was yes. He needed to hear you say it.
“Yes,” you nod, “please. Can you? I wanna try to cum from that, you know, for the scene tomorrow.”
“Ah,” he nods along with your little play, “right. This is just good practice.”
He shifts closer to you with every passing word, absentmindedly drawn to your lips without really having to think about it.
“Mhm,” your voice lowers as he pulls closer, “good practice.”
He hover over you for a moment, lips just above yours as you both breath hot silent breaths into one another.
“I don’t have to kiss you, if you don’t want,” he tells you, so close to your face. You two had obviously kissed before in the film countless times. But this was different. The cameras weren’t rolling. Yes, he’d been touching you and he’d be fucking you soon, but kissing was intimate. It’s the kissing that could make things one big sloppy mess for the two of you.
You flick your eyes between his, still buzzing from your orgasm and hot in proximity.
“You can kiss me, if you want,” you nod as you repeat his same words back to him, watching as his lips smile just briefly before lowering themselves again.
He kissed you soft and rushed, groaning into the taste of you as if he hadn’t tried it so many times before.
Now he could fall into it, touch you where he wanted and not pretend to be calm about it. He was kissing you and no director was about to yell cut.
“All honesty,” he breathes into your kiss, "M'probably not gonna last.”
You grin, pressing your teeth to his lips accidentally at his confession.
“That's okay,” you say, “still wanna feel you inside.”
He groans, low and grumbled like you’ve broken him. Like those were five words that he’d imagined coming out of your lips for months.
“Can’t say stuff like that when I'm trying to last,” he chuckles against you, letting his hands shift around your midsection for the first time. It was chilling, his hands on the bare skin underneath your tshirt, hovering over the area in a way he held back from on film.
“Can I? Now? I’m fucking aching,” he grasps harder at your skin, desperately trying to avoid the growing pain between his thighs.
You nod profusely, “please.”
He slips his cock out of his loose cotton shorts and you peer down between your bodies to gauge what was coming your way. He was thick and heavy, dripping in precum and strained in a throb. You were practically drooling at the sight, wincing at the idea of the stretch yet craving it all the same.
He pulls for a condom from a random drawer in his trailer, and you really didn’t care why he had them. You were just relieved, over the moon even. He could just fuck you right now and not have to go run off to find a condom somehwere.
“Sure?” He asks one last time, rolling the latex down his dick with heavy breaths.
“Please,” you nod quick, watch intently as he aligns himself with your weeping hole.
You were soaking, so wet that he didn’t even use his spit at all before pressing into you slowly. You were so tight wrapped around him, suffocating his cock inside of you as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. This was pure bliss, everything he’d been dreaming about and beyond that.
You were feeling nothing short of the same, stuck in a loop of euphoria as he pushed his hips further and further inside of you. Once he bottomed out you fell sewn into a state of shock, surrendering to what’s taken you over completely.
“Harry, oh my god,” you groaned, face twisting as he nudged his cock around your depth. He was playing with you, feeling you out and testing your limits. He was nearly to your cervix, inflicting just the right amount of pain to have your head spinning.
“Shit,” he drops his head, “feel so good wrapped around me like this.”
He didn’t really stop to think of how this would change things for him. How it would bring him back here each time he stared at her beneath him while they filmed. How everytime he forced fake thrusts into her for the camera he’d be glistening in the memory of his tip kissing the inside of her belly.
He brought a hand to your clit, stimulating the sensitive area again as he felt himself already building to an orgasm. He’d make sure you came again before he did, but it would have to be quick. And, according to his breathing, very quick.
“Ohh,” you groan out at the feeling of his fingers back to your clit, the sensitive sensation rolling around with the feeling of his dick shoved inside of you through your head.
Luckily for Harry, you were so freshly taken by your first orgasm that your second one took less than half the time of the first. You were nearly already there the moment he started to pound into you, sharp and steady and a perfect pace.
He was struggling. Living through his fantasies in real life while stuck on the very important goal of helping you orgasm. He needed to wait for you to cum. Not only because he always makes sure a girl finishes before him, but also because he wanted to know what it’d be like to have your pussy stutter around him and drag out his own.
It wasn’t long before you were there. He held your hips firm in his grasp as he pressed solid blows into you over and over and over, smacking into the perfect spot every time and massaging over your swollen bead.
“Oh- fuck! Yes!” You moan out, “fuck, Harry!”
He squeezed his eyes shut to drown out your words, your screams bringing him much too close for comfort. And you were right there, he could feel it. He could definitely hear it.
You came hard after a particularly deep stroke, shaking around his cock as you clenched and engulfed his aching shaft. This was different than the first, and you maybe thought it was even better. He was shoved so deep inside of you that you could feel him pressing up into your tummy, tingling your insides and rubbing your through your high.
Harry filled the condom as he continued to fuck into you, groaning out between you two as he revelled in the feeling of his long-awaited orgasm. He’d literally been hard because of you all day.
You both whined and sighed out into one another as you tricked to the end, breath slowing as you came back down to earth. Absolutely exhausted and fucked out of your mind. You’d never felt this relaxed in your whole life.
“Good?” He asks the same question as before, out of breath and panting above you.
You smile, nodding lazily though closed eyes, “good.”
He pulls out slowly, pulling the condom off and tossing it to the can beside him. He sat back against the couch, neck tossed back as he began to catch his breath. You were resting on your back still, eyes closed and soft breaths and a cute attempt to try to stay awake.
“I think we can shoot this thing in one take tomorrow,” he breaks the silence, peering down at you from his spot on the couch.
“Maybe. If I don’t accidentally mess it up and we have to do it again,” you let a lazy grin fall to your face as you tease him, soaked up in the floaty haze of a second orgasm and a good dick.
He laughs with you, letting hand fall to your ankle without thinking too much about it.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
You hum with closed eyes, resting back into the sofa and stretching your limbs to get comfy. You don’t know how long you stay here—him sat up and rubbing your legs as you doze off on the couch—but it was peaceful. Unrushed. Just, happening.
And suddenly, you couldn’t wait to resume filming tomorrow.
i’ve reread this so many times now through editing that i kinda hate itttt, so im sorry if my writing is off in this!!😭😭
if you enjoyed, please like and reblog!
check out my recent work on wattpad -> here.
masterlist
ask/request anything!
*all specific requests are left unanswered in my inbox until fully written to help me stay organized*
you’re used to people thinking you don’t belong in the fancy hotels that harry books for the two of you to sneak around in. when you struggle on your own and he has to come sort out your shit, don’t you think you owe him?
based on this -> this and -> this
CW: eventual smut, current harry, age gap, subby reader, angry/mean harry, !HEAVY DEGRADING! (consensual), kinda tattoo worship, size kink, wealth kink, dom harry, oral sex (m), veryyyyy mean harry if u don’t like that this prob isnt for u!! this is just fucking filthy.
likes/reblogs sooo appreciated!!
WC: 5.8k
You were used to it.
The glares. The corked eyebrows. The subtle tinge of ‘I’m sure that I know what you’re here for and our business does not allow it.’
But you were no prostitute, and you weren’t out of place here. You belonged here and were overly exhausted of stingy employees thinking otherwise.
So when you got the text from Harry, you had already mentally prepared yourself for what would come of your night.
H: Booked us a room at the Ritz on West 28th. Finishing up in the studio and then I’ll meet you there. It’s under your name.
A usual text to receive from your secret lover.
He was older than you, ridiculously older than you to the point where you were sure it would cause some controversy if the public gained any awareness. So, sneaky over-nights at fancy hotels and cryptic stares are what you were used to.
And you liked it—the forbiddenness of it all. You were his cute little thing, a pretty girl to play with and spoil however he pleased.
So when you walked through the big glass door of the luxurious building, you found yourself wet just at the smell.
That was the thing about what you and Harry had going on. He’d opened up new parts of you that you would’ve never known existed if it weren’t for him. You were addicted to the riches of it all. His money. His wealth, more like.
Smooth tile and obscene light fixtures and quiet jazz turned you on, at this point. And it wasn’t because of the fine craftsmanship, it’s because his money brought you here. Allowed you to echo your tiny feet across the slick flooring and take in the thick smell of an expensive room spray.
You pattered confidently over to the front counter, dressed in a cute little outfit that was to Harry’s liking, and placed the tips of your fingers against the tall podium.
“Hello,” you smile politely, “I have a room for tonight under Y/L/N.”
The receptionist peers up from her desk to scan you over, a soft smile on her face as she takes you in silently.
And then, there was that look. The one you were more than used to, at this point.
“Hello,” she finally greets you, “you said you had a room at this hotel?”
A smile smacked on her face so condescending that you nearly screamed.
“I do, yes,” you keep on your smile, remaining composure as you readjust the duffle bag against your side.
She peers down at the movement to take in the bag that was hung over your shoulder, staring at it for a bit longer than you appreciated. It was a soft pink, white stripes down the fabric with your initials embroidered on the side. It was childish, you know. But it’s been yours since you were small and why change something that’s not broken?
“Let me take a look, dear,” she nods, slow and unhurried.
So you wait. Tapping your finger tips against the sleek wood of the counter as she takes her sweet time.
And then, another buzz from your phone.
H: Get to the room okay? I’m wrapping up.
Y: just waiting to be let up
You keep it brief, knowing not enough time has passed to really know if the staff was judging you just yet. You’d like to think the best of them. Maybe your reservation was just dug deep in their files.
H: Are they giving you trouble?
You take a thick swallow, reading over the 5 words like they were here in front of you, low and threatening.
Y: i don’t think so, probably just super busy tonight
He types, stops, types, and then the bubbles go away completely. You just shut off your phone, slipping it back into your purse before peering back up at the front desk.
And when you look up, she’s peering behind you, looking at the nicely dressed man that stood after you in the line of the lobby.
“Hello, sir. How can I assist you?”
Your brows furrow, peering back and forth between the man and the receptionist with innocent confusion.
But then, you think, this is a nice place, right? You’re sure they’ve got you all checked in and probably sending down a concierge to lead you to your room as we speak. Nothing to worry about.
So, you stand off to the side with a sweet smile and toy with the ends of your hair as the two start their conversation.
But then she gave him a room key. And a kind smile, one different from the one you had been given just a couple minutes prior. And ushered him to the elevator with directions that would lead right to his door.
Now, you were stumped.
“Um, excuse me,” you ask so quietly that she doesn’t hear you at all.
You were always like this. Too sweet for your own good and always afraid to rub off the wrong impression.
The receptionist was busy (or so she looked) at her desk, scrabbling through papers and binders that you were only half sure actually had anything written on them. So, you mustered up the courage to speak again.
“Excuse me, ma'am?" A bit louder this time, but still never without your fragile twinge of politeness.
She looks up at you as you stood in front of the tall counter. Glasses hung low on her nose and her red lips glued to a straight and very unamused line.
“Yes?”
“Um, was there a problem with my reservation?” You ask, lacking confidence just a little bit too much. You knew it. The receptionist knew it, too.
She takes her glasses off, glaring up at you from her seat behind the thick counter and takes a deep breath.
“What was the name again, hon?”
You cringed at the nickname.
“Y/L/N. Maybe Y/N.”
She pauses her fingers though the stack of papers and tilts her head at you in a stare of disbelief.
“You’re not sure what your reservation is under?”
Yes, you were used to this. But no, that didn’t mean it got any easier for you. This was always stress for you. An unbelievable amount of anxiety and you almost never handled it well.
“I, um, I’m not totally sure, no. I wasn’t the one who made the reservation,” you say through red cheeks.
She smiles up at you, cold and knowing, like she’s got you all figured out now. Like she’s seen this sort of thing before.
“I see,” she nods, “let me take another look.”
You just nod, backing away slightly and trying to ignore the growing need to nib at your nailbeds and twist around your hair. You didn’t want to seem even more immature.
Another phone vibration from your purse.
H: Assuming you’ve gotten to the room now? Just about to leave.
Y: no not yet, its ok tho they’re looking again now i think
H: Looking for what? You’re still in the lobby?
Y: for our reservation, i think maybe i gave them the wrong name or something. and yes i am
H: I put it under your last name. If that helps.
Y: yeah that’s what i told them, im sure they’re just looking for it
But you weren’t sure. And Harry could smell bullshit right through his phone screen.
H: This is ridiculous. You’ve been there nearly 20 minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
You couldn’t ignore the ping between your thighs at the message, slightly embarrassed to feel so turned on by a string of black letters across your tiny phone screen.
“Here you are,” your texting is interrupted by the shove of a thin black card in your face, sudden and disruptive.
“Oh,” you grab onto it, “ok, thank you. Where is my room?”
She sighs again, acting as if your simple question has seriously disturbed her peace.
“The room number is on the card. There are signs on the walls.”
Your brows turn inward with a small frown, literally having just watched her direct the last young man to his room. You really didn’t want to spend the next couple minutes following plastic signs on the walls like an idiot.
But, you don’t fuss. Don’t put up a fit and don’t mention it. Instead, you just nod, walking away from the counter with really no idea of where to go at all.
You were clearly confused as you walked around the first floor of the luxurious hotel, desperately searching for the signs on the walls and any indication of where an elevator could be.
The staff saw you. They saw how confused you were and they watched as you dawdled around the big tall lobby. Yet, they remained mounted in their place, even looking somewhat amused at your struggle. As if you were a baby deer trapped in the overbearing headlights of an 18 wheeler.
Once you land on the sweet sight of the elevators, you b-line over the large room with your little pink bag clinched tighter against you. You were desperate to get to the safety of your room.
“Can I help you?” A man, tall and dressed formally in a suit, asks as he guards the buttons to the elevator.
“Hi, yes please! I’m in room…” you look at your card, “614. Is that the sixth floor?”
He stares at you. Takes you in, grazes over your cute little outfit that was surely not a fancy dress or a designer brand. Then peers to your bag. Then back up at you—young. Naive. Cute.
“I’m sorry, these elevators are for hotel residents only.”
If you weren’t already confused before, now you are stumped.
Are you not a hotel resident? Are you more of a…hotel guest? Do residents have some sort of special card or something? You were too nervous to ask, so you didn’t.
“Oh,” your brows turn in, “ok.. Can you please tell me how to get up to my room then? I’m sorry, I guess I'm having some trouble finding it.”
“I’m sure,” he chuckles. “You can go speak to the front desk. They will escort you to your room.”
He drew out the word like he was claiming that that’s what you were. Nothing other than a little escort for some rich slob of a man who couldn’t find a woman on his own.
“Um, she already directed me to the…signs. So, should I try to follow those again? I just feel like maybe I'm supposed to be going up the elevator.”
You were rambling now, soft and unsure and all he could do was stare at you unamused.
“The signs will lead you to where you’d like to go,” is all he says, with a nod.
Defeated, you slump away and now you’re left right back where you just were. Wandering around the lobby, peering at every sign you see, desperately trying to get the hell out of this situation.
It wasn’t ‘where you'd like to go,’ it was where you should go. Where you belonged. You knew it, but you just couldn’t muster up the courage to tell them that you knew it.
After another couple minutes of walking back and forth and desperately trying to find any signs other than roof top or pool or buffet, you give up and tip toe your way back over to the front desk. Back in front of the woman who looked like she was already tired of you before you even opened your mouth.
“Hi, you gave me my room key a bit ago but I just can’t seem to-”
“I remember.”
You blink, not sure what to think of her rude interruption but continuing anyway.
“I, um,” you were even more nervous now, “I guess I’m just not sure how to get to my room and no one really seems to be helping me out.”
“And what exactly would you need help with?”
You blink again. Slower this time.
“Finding my room…” you’re confused, feeling like you literally just explained that not even 4 seconds prior.
“I have already explained this to you, as long as you follow the-”
“Is there an issue here? Does anyone want to explain to me why she got here half an hour ago and is still standing in this lobby?”
There he was, Harry, tall and broad and two creases stuck between his brows that were only there when he got angry. Two creases that had your crease dripping.
“Hi, baby,” he drops his voice softer as he comes behind you, letting his big hand rest on your tiny frame as he presses a kiss to your forehead. Your cheeks fade pink at his gentle greeting as you smile up at him kindly, a contrast from his fury towards the staff.
“Mr. Styles, hello! It’s lovely to see you, we were just getting her set up to the room-”
“But you weren’t,” he cuts her off, “if you were half competent and even somewhat decent at your job she would’ve been resting in the privacy of that room ages ago. So really, does anyone want to tell me what’s been going on here?”
He was… terrifying. Deliciously terrifying and just who you needed to come and save you. You were helpless without him and he knew it. Too trusting for your own good and ever so naive.
“Mr. Styles, really, we were just gathering some documents together and then we were going to send her straight up to your room.”
Other staff members were slipping away while they could, leaving the lonely receptionist to take all of the blame. And, to be totally honest, that was fine with you.
“Up to her room,” he corrected, “a room that was booked under her name and a room that she should have had no issue getting into. So, and I do ask that you be honest this time, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”
She stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as she stutters on her own breath. You just stood there, protected in Harry’s grasp as he stood behind you.
“I apologize on behalf of the hotel for any trouble that this misunderstanding has caused and-”
He’s laughing now, deep and cynical and just truly in disbelief.
“And what exactly was misunderstood? I’m yet to hear the reason and I think I’ve asked quite a couple times now,” he knows what went on. It hadn’t been the first time something like this had happened. But he was stubborn. For you, at least. And if anyone even dared to make life difficult for you, he’d wait til they were fully humiliated before he was done.
“I-I’m sorry, we were under the impression that she may have been here for reasons against our policies as a company and we were mistaken.”
He lets out a deeply intimidating smirk before peering down at you, waiting for your attention before he speaks to you.
“I’m sorry, is she speaking some language that only imbeciles can understand? Or has she still not explained why you weren’t let up to your room?”
You shook your head up at him with your big round doe eyes, basking in his behavior and clenching your thighs together tight.
“We were under the impression that she was here for some sort of explicit work, sir. I’m very sorry for this incredibly wrong misunderstanding.” She corrected herself under a mumbled breath, ashamed and terrified of the man on the other side of the counter.
He nods, slow with a deep breath like that’d been what he was expecting.
“Full refund.” He mutters, closer to the desk now with a diving stare that you were lucky you weren’t on the receiving end of.
“I-I’m sorry?” She’s taken aback at his well justified request, but he doesn’t budge.
You knew how much this room cost…it was the largest and nicest room in the building. It was tens of thousands of dollars a night and to stay there for free would be detrimental to them. Harry knew it. He didn’t care. They were lucky he wasn’t shutting them down.
“Full. Refund.” He enunciated sharper this time, pressing his fingers into the wood of the counter and pressing his body closer.
“Y-yes, of course, sir. Again, we apologize for any-”
He walked away before she could finish, hand in yours as he tugged you over to the elevators. His grip was tight and his long legs moved quickly through the dazzling lobby, steps echoing up and down the tall ceilings until we reached the elevators.
And this time, with Harry at your side, the man at the doors pressed the up button hastily and stood to the side with a shaky smile. The wide gold of the elevator doors crank open, and Harry calls out one more thing to the receptionist before you both step in.
“Breakfast sent to the room by 10:30.”
She nodded quickly, “Of course! What would you like?”
“The menu.”
She swallowed thick and nodded without argument, and her reaction had your panties even more soaked than they already were. You were obsessed watching him dominate everyone around him. Controlling them with every little word and watching as they slip further into their fear. It was erotic.
And as the two of you walked into the private confines of the elevator, you were trembling. Nervous to what he would say and daydreaming about how he’d man handle you after this.
They seemed to shut in slow motion, swallowing all the outside noise with them and leaving you two in deafening silence. You gripped the handle of your bag tighter.
“Jesus, y/n,” he shook his head, “You ever gonna be able to speak for yourself? Or are you gonna need me to come and pick up your scraps every fucking time?”
You rounded your eyes as you peered up at him submissively, just how he liked, to find him already staring down on you. Preying on you. Jaw clenched tight and jutted outwards.
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought I could handle myself without you. I thought I was doing good,” you know you weren’t. But you wanted him to tell you that you weren’t. You wanted him to tell you that you were nothing without him.
“You didn’t do shit,” he spits, “you stood there all pathetic and let them walk over you. Fucking embarassing.”
The elevator dinged open. You were dripping. Cheeks red. Lashes fluttering up at him. Legs wobbly and mind fuzzy.
He waited for you to leave the elevator before following suit, staying close behind until you reached your room.
And once you heard that click of the door unlock and the handle twist open, you were quivering in excitement for what would come next behind this closed door.
The room was ridiculously ginormous. Big for a group of fifteen, let alone two people who were constantly attached at the hip. They might as well have counted as one guest.
It was shimmering and spacious and gloriously luxurious. The curtains were pulled open to reveal the most beautiful view of the city you had ever seen, dazzling and high and something you knew was a treasure to get to lay your eyes on.
He followed you into his wealth, barely even acknowledging the space as he was used to it. This was an everyday encounter for him.
But he was watching you. He liked to watch your pretty little face as you took in what he gives you. How he spoils you. It was his favorite thing. He’d even felt himself growing hard just from your reaction to the hotel room.
“All this shit I do for you,” he tossed the key onto the entryway table, “fixing your problems. Treating you to expensive hotels. Buying you whatever you want. Don’t you think you owe me some gratitude? To give me something in return for once instead of swimming in my money like a brat?”
You knew he wasn’t serious. You knew it was play. He’d never expect anything from you in return. And, besides, you did well enough for him already. More than he could ever beg for.
“You’re right, sir, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so greedy,” you say, walking closer towards him as he stands in front of the big window.
His eyes turn into themselves as he locks them on you, resting low and staring into your own with a straight face. So monotone that you nearly faint.
“Get to your knees,” he waves his head forward in demand, signaling for you to drop.
And you do, slow, teasing. Staring up at him with those big glossy eyes during your whole way down.
“Want you to choke on my cum,” he spits, “think you can piece together in your dumb little head how to do that right? Or do you need my help with that too?”
You were dizzy, drunk off of the man in front of you as you bruised your knees for him. You were embarrassingly wet and thought you might even cum while you sucked him off.
“I don’t know, sir,” you played, “Maybe just some help to get started…and then I’ll do it all by myself.”
You weren’t stupid. And he knew you weren’t. In fact, you were smart enough that you knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly how he wanted you to speak to him and exactly the kind of fuck toy he’d been dreaming of.
But, now, with you below him as he peered down to you, he wanted to imagine that you were that fucking dumb. That you were so ridiculously helpless that you couldn’t even shove a cock down your throat without stumbling.
“Fucking useless,” he mutters, taking off his belt for you like you weren’t smart enough to figure out how to do it on your own.
You watched in a daze, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in concentration. He undid his button after too, pulling the zipper down and even shoving all of his clothes off. So helpful to you.
You instinctively hummed at the sight of his rock hard cock in front of you, so big and rigged and swelling for you. His tip was a pretty bright red, aching for relief and glistening in the glory of his precum. It swung heavy against his thigh at the release, steadying now as it adjusts to the world outside of his boxers.
His balls hung low beneath his thick shaft, framing it perfectly and resting against the dark hairs of his thighs.
That was another thing that had you shaking—his thighs. Bare and exposed and paler than any part of his body. A piece that only you see. So raw and meaty and inviting. You lulled on what it feels like to have your wet folds dragging up them, running over his roaring tiger until you hissed just like it.
You lick your lips to keep in your drool, staring at the treat in front of you and not even noticing when your jaw goes slack. It was pure reflex—to open wide for his cock. You hadn’t even known you’d done it until you heard the dark scornful laughter above you.
“You’re a joke,” he taunts at the sight, and it does something sick to you.
Your thighs pressed even harder together than they already were as you kneeled, begging for some sort of friction.
You looked pathetic like this. Squirming on your knees and mouth spread open mindlessly. You even let your tongue fall out flat without thinking too, a silent beg for what was in front of you.
He grabs the base of himself, pulling his hips forward until his salty tip is laid against your tongue. He taps his crown three teasing times against the muscle, watching as your lips flinched in rejection of their reflex to close around you.
He pushed forward, holding your head still with his hand. His hand covered your entire scalp, the heel of his hand at the line of your forehead and the tips of his fingers curved to the back.
He fucked himself into your mouth slowly, pushing deeper than he should. But you didn’t care. You gagged and gurgled around his thick head and even sucked around the length as he did it.
“There we go,” he breathes low, “good for something.”
You moan around him, vibrating up him until it tingles at his balls. His hips stutter and quiver just barely against you, but it’s enough for you to notice and feel satisfied with yourself. You were making him feel good.
You were completely stuffed with his cock, dripping in bubbling saliva and throat aching. It throbbed back into you and slipped around and between your swelling lips, so pink and pretty wrapped around him.
He pushed into you again and again as your hands stayed resting on your lap. You hadn’t been given any instruction to touch him, yet. He was happy you behaved without being asked.
And you looked so pretty. Your rounded eyes were welling in tears and your cheeks were flushed in a deep mauve. You were taking him down your throat so good and you would never dare to complain of the pain he was inflicting onto you. It felt like heaven. In fact, you craved it. You were worried if you showed how much it stung that he would stop.
“Gonna fuck my fist to the thought of this later,” he groans, “letting me treat you like shit just like you let everyone else.”
You were crying around his cock at how turned on you were, how badly you wanted him to fuck you until you passed out. But you wanted this more, this was more fulfilling to you than any orgasm of your own.
He pulls his dick out of you and pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting your head further upwards to look at him. He examined your fucked face. The way you panted and the way you were swallowing to try and ease the pain in the back of your throat. The way you were looking back up at him, pleading and ready for more.
“Now do it by yourself,” he nudged, “like you said.”
You nodded and grasped the girth of him into your small hand, stroking softly around the skin covered in your saliva.
He exhaled long and deep at the feeling of your sweet hands around him, where they belonged. Hands grasping the hem of his shirt before tugging up and over his head, revealing his ink and the valleys of his abs.
You whimpered at the sight, darting your eyes around his bare chest in defeat. He just smirked at the little sound you made, pushing your hair out of your face as he took in your stare.
You grazed around every inch of him, going stupid at the distracting sight of his dark tattoos and the way they shrunk and stretched with every breath. You watched as they flinched with every sudden flex of his muscles, specifically when you squeezed his cock a little harder or stroked up a little closer to his tip.
“You see that?” He gestures to the butterfly on his stomach. You gasped soft as it moved, deep and slow with every breath he took. Staggered through the pleasure of your hand tugging on him.
“Yes, sir,” you nod, batting up at him as your strokes quickened absentmindedly. You were getting quite worked up, after all.
“Suck me off and watch it flap, baby,” he whispers low and gravelly as he watches you whine.
You obey instantly, locking your lips around his tip again and keeping your eyes up at his stomach. He looked incredible like this, the curve of his pecs so firm from this angle and covered in dark hairs.
You sucked and swirled and gagged around him. Taking him so good and you could tell by the way his face twitched that he liked it.
But you weren’t all that focused on his face. You were doing what was told of you, watching his pretty inked butterfly flutter and flap above you with every breath he took. Sometimes you could make the creature fly quicker, if you licked a certain spot or tugged a bit harder. It was an addicting game and even more addicting sight, one that you were sure you’d masturbate to for weeks on end.
And when you released the suction of your mouth with a pop and instead sucked around his balls, that butterfly flew.
He groaned at the dirty act and you hummed at the taste of them, sucking and rolling them around in your mouth like a filthy whore. Your hand continued to pump at his shaft as you did so, sometimes even massaging his frenulum at the same time which you noticed he liked the most.
His deep ink shuttered and flinched and shape shifted so many times that you felt dizzy, drooling around his heavy balls at the sight of his work melding over you.
“Fuck, y/n,” his hand found your head again, “just like that.”
It was the best thing you’d ever heard. You were so proud and so hungry for him still, even after all that you’ve been fed. He was squirming and twitching and falling undone right before you.
You pull off from his balls to reattach to his cock, replacing your mouth with a hand down there instead which he was relieved about. You peered up at him, exhausted but desperate as his stomach heaved.
“Am I doing good for you? Making you feel good?” You ask, hand still stroking his cock.
“You are, baby. Making up for all your other shit,” he nods, twitching into your hold as he tries to contain himself.
You smile to yourself as you wrap your lips around him again, sucking him hard and watching as his face corrupts into itself. You lapped your tongue around his throbbing head and shoved him down into you over and over and over again, suffocating yourself.
His thick cock pulsated a quick couple of times, and you knew he was about to cum. Your pace quickened and your hands worked overtime on his balls and up his shaft, desperately trying to get him there and have him satisfied.
“Fuck,” he groaned, “that’s right, tire yourself out. Sweat for me.”
You did. You pumped your arm and bobbed your head, working your tongue simultaneously and even humming around his tip to send the waves through to him. You were humiliatingly desperate for his cum and he was fucking obsessed.
He came into the back of your throat sudden and hot, spurting into you with a long and drawn out groan.
“Fuck, swallow it all. Don’t be selfish,” he demands and you quickly follow.
You swallowed up his thick salty insides and let it soothe down your throat, so yummy and addictive. You were obsessed with his cum. You were so fucking greedy for it, constantly craving it in your tummy and on your tongue. You were even wishing he could’ve come in your pussy instead of your mouth, because that’s where it belonged. You wanted his cum constantly swarming up inside of you and dripping out through your creases.
“Mmm,” you hum against him as it swirls in your belly and warms you up, milking him dry until his body relaxed his breathing steadied.
You pop him out of your mouth, kissing the tip before shimmying his underwear and pants pack up while he watches you. You were sweet—zipping them up and buttoning them too. Eyes squinted in concentration.
And when you stood up to face him, wiping your mouth dry with the back of your hand, he realized he had forgotten to kiss you.
So he wasted no time, pressing his lips against yours softly and falling into it in bliss. He tasted the remains of himself in your mouth as you kissed him back, face hot and hair ruffled.
Your hands fall against the back of his neck as the two of you kiss gently, a silent hello to one another as you sort of skipped over your initial greeting. Not that either of you were really complaining.
“How was work?” You ask softly as you pull away from his lips for a moment.
He chuckled, low and barely audible into your mouth. The casualness of your question after such a filthy act messing with his mind. You always did.
“It was good,” he nodded into you, “wrote about you.”
You pull away, hands on his cheeks as you look him deep in the eyes. You weren’t sure if he was toying with you—trying to see if you’d be gullible enough to believe it. But he wasn’t. You knew the second you looked at him.
“Really?”
He breathes out a laugh again, “yeah.”
And you just looked at him, a smile growing up your cheeks and chest swelling full.
“Can I hear it?” You ask, carefully. You weren’t really sure what the proper protocol is for when someone tells you they’re written a song about you. Especially when that someone is a world famous celebrity.
“Mhm,” he kisses your forehead, “why don’t you get into your PJs and wait for me on the bed. Okay?”
You nod with a shy smile, skipping away to your bag as you go to change for the night. The night that you’d be spending here, in this ridiculously expensive hotel room, with a hunk of a man sleeping next to you.
It really couldn’t get better than this.
Or maybe it could.
You’d have to hear the song first.
whew. anyway!
check out my recent work on wattpad -> here.
masterlist
ask anything! i keep all requests unanswered in my inbox until i have written them. that way i keep organized!!
⬆️I have a lot to get through, I will get to yours eventually if you submit!!!🩷🩷
ps i need some non-smutty one shots for my masterlist (i lit have none) so if u have ideas request!!
Pairing: Lawyer Harry x Teacher Reader (curvy or plus size, whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)
Summary: Y/N, working a quiet night shift at a diner, shares a small but meaningful interaction with a mysterious, exhausted man.
Word Count: 2.2k
You can read the first part here!
Warnings: None. Fluff
✨masterlist✨ read the rest of my fanfics here
It was another endless night for Y/N.
She had picked up another shift, her third one that week.
“Hello, Enzo!” she called, greeting the night shift chef as she punched in her time card. Her eyes lingered on it for a moment, already feeling the weight of the hours ahead.
“Hey, kid, you’re back again.” Enzo chuckled, patting her lightly on the back.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. Debby insisted I clock in or she’d ‘fire’ me.” She rolled her eyes, and Enzo mirrored the gesture. Both of them knew it was an empty threat; Debby never even showed up for night shifts.
“Well, I’m happy we’re working together.” He slid a plate toward her across the counter. “Here, have a quick snack. I made a lot.”
A club sandwich with fries sat untouched, clearly meant just for her, like always.
“Thank you, Enzo.” She picked it up and took a bite, the warmth of the food grounding her.
The diner was quiet, as usual. Just the two of them running the night shift while the world outside slowed to a crawl. Most customers didn’t stay long anyway, just coffee orders from people waiting for their laundry next door.
“How was school today, kid?”
“It was fine,” she replied softly, already drifting off, her thoughts looping through the same routine: classes, tests, training. Becoming a kindergarten teacher was both exhausting and rewarding in ways she couldn’t quite put into words.
“Earth to kid?” Enzo snapped his fingers in front of her face, pulling her back. “Those kids did a number on you today?”
She let out a tired breath, nodding. “Yeah. They kept climbing all over me during recess.”
She finished the last bite of her sandwich and stood, carrying her plate to the sink. “This was delicious, Enzo. Thank you.”
“I aim to please.” He gave her an exaggerated bow, earning the faintest smile from her.
Fortunately, their shift lasted until two in the morning.
“I’ll go open the cash register,” she said, already moving.
Enzo responded with a small huff, turning back to his station.
Y/N slipped into her nightly routine: flipping the open sign, brewing a fresh pot of coffee, wiping down the tables, and powering up the POS system.
Then, she paused for just a second.
And mentally prepared herself for the long night ahead.
...
Five hours into their shift, Y/N checked her watch.
12:17 a.m.
She sighed softly. Dear God, this had to be the dullest shift yet.
But she knew better than to get too comfortable. It always started like this—slow, dragging, almost painfully quiet—before the late-night crowd trickled in. Drunk customers looking for something greasy, others nursing cups of coffee.
Right on cue—
“Hey, love, give me another cup of coffee.”
Y/N straightened immediately, reaching for the pot out of habit.
Before she could move, Enzo’s voice cut in sharply but controlled.
“Ey!” He leaned slightly over the counter, brows raised. “Maybe talk to my friend properly before she gives you your coffee, huh?”
The man blinked, caught off guard.
“Sorry… miss. Another cup, please.”
Y/N gave a small nod, already pouring the coffee, the quiet clink of ceramic against the counter filling the space between them.
…
As Y/N cleared a table, the soft chime of the door echoed through the diner.
Another customer.
“I’ll be with you shortly,” she called out, only half-heartedly, her voice blending into the low hum of the night.
She wiped the table clean, stacked the plates, then reached for her notepad and trusty pen before making her way over.
The man had already taken a seat.
He looked… off. Like he wasn’t entirely there.
“Hello,” she said, offering a polite smile. “I’m your server tonight. Would you like some iced water while you look over the menu?”
No response.
His eyes stayed fixed on the laminated page in front of him.
Damn. This guy’s out of it. Same, she thought, almost amused.
She tried again, a little more gently this time.
“Good morning, sir. Have you found what you’re looking for?”
A beat passed.
Then he looked up.
His eyes caught her off guard, striking. Blue… or green? She couldn’t quite tell under the dim lights. But they were pretty. Tired, too. Like they carried something heavier than the hour.
“Sir?” she prompted softly.
“I’ll have the chicken special,” he said at last, voice low but steady.
He placed the menu down with care, almost deliberately.
“Just—hold the gravy. Thanks.”
She nodded, jotting it down in one smooth motion.
“Got it. Chicken special, no gravy.”
Y/N stepped up to the kitchen window, notepad still in hand.
“Enzo! One chicken special—hold the gravy, please!”
“Got it!” he called back without missing a beat.
She moved to the POS, quickly punching in the order before leaning lightly against the counter, waiting.
That’s when it hit her.
The drowsiness.
Slow, creeping, settling behind her eyes.
“What would be a good pick-me-up?” she murmured under her breath.
“Coffee? No… I’m already sick of it.”
Then she remembered.
The morning shift had left behind a batch of green juice—something they made for family meals.
She grabbed a glass from the rack, the cool surface grounding in her hand, and poured herself a serving. The pale green liquid swirled softly as it filled the glass.
“Enzo, want some green juice?” she called out, glancing toward the kitchen.
“That green shit?” he scoffed. “No, thanks. Drink it all, Y/N.”
She let out a quiet huff of amusement, lifting the glass to her lips.
“Suit yourself.”
“Two minutes for table two!” Enzo added.
“Got it,” she replied, taking a small sip, the fresh, slightly bitter taste waking her up just enough.
Just enough to get through the last stretch of the night.
As Y/N finished the last of her drink, her eyes drifted back to the man.
He ran a hand through his hair—once, then again—just a little too rough, like he was trying to shake something off that wouldn’t leave.
She paused.
There was still one serving of the green juice left.
“…Might as well,” she muttered under her breath, giving a small shrug.
When the bell rang—
“Chicken special, no gravy!”
“Thank you!” she called back, already reaching for a tray.
She set the plate down carefully, added the cutlery, then grabbed the extra glass of green juice before heading out.
“Here’s your chicken special—no gravy,” she said, placing the dish in front of him. “And a green juice on the house.”
She offered a polite smile.
He glanced at the glass, brows knitting slightly. “Sorry… I didn’t order that.”
She shrugged lightly. “You look like you need it.”
That made him pause.
“And what does that mean?” he asked, quieter now.
She tilted her head, studying him just a second longer than necessary.
“You look tired,” she said simply. “Not sleepy. Just… tired-tired.”
A beat.
“Right,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around the cool glass. “Thank you.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
“You do that often?” he asked, glancing up at her. “Offer unsolicited remedies to strangers?”
She gave a small shrug. “Well… everyone needs a little bit of kindness.”
His gaze lingered, something unreadable passing through it.
“That’s a dangerous way to live,” he said quietly. “People take advantage of that.”
She didn’t argue.
Just another small shrug.
“Still,” he added, looking down as he picked up his fork, “doesn’t mean it isn’t appreciated.”
A pause.
“Even if it’s misplaced.”
Enzo had seen the whole thing unfold.
He leaned against the counter as you returned, drying his hands on a towel. “That guy giving you a hard time?”
You shook your head, slipping your notepad back into your apron. “Nope. He’s good. The man’s just… tired.”
Enzo hummed, not entirely convinced, but he let it go.
“Alright,” he said after a beat, glancing at the clock. “Hey—almost quitting time. Clean up what you need to clean up, then you head home first. I’ll close.”
You paused mid-step. “Are you sure, Enzo? I don’t want to leave you all alone here.”
He gave you a look—familiar, stubborn.
“We argue about this every shift you take,” he said, pointing the towel at you. “I mean it. You go finish up and go.”
There was no budging him when he got like that.
You sighed softly, but there was a hint of a smile. “Okay, okay… boss.”
“Damn right,” he muttered, already turning back toward the kitchen.
As you moved around the diner, picking up empty mugs and wiping down tables, your eyes drifted—almost without thinking—back to table two.
And there he was.
Sitting quietly, shoulders a little less tense now, absentmindedly sipping the green juice.
The same one he questioned.
You caught yourself biting your lip.
Because for a second there, you thought you’d overstepped—misread him completely.
But he was still drinking it.
Finishing it, even.
And somehow… that felt like enough.
...
The man lifted his hand to signal for his check. You moved quickly, printing his receipt and bringing it over. You also carried a pitcher of water, quietly refilling his glass before leaving him to it.
When you came back, you saw that he had already signed the receipt.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” you said softly, offering him a small, polite smile as he pushed his chair back.
“Thank you… Compliments to the chef,” he replied.
You let out a light giggle before you could stop yourself. “Oh, I’ll absolutely tell that to Enzo.”
Your eyes widened slightly as you realised. “Sorry, that wasn’t very professional.”
He shook his head, already reaching for his coat. “No, it was…” He paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully than necessary. “It was nice.”
There was a brief, quiet beat between you. Something unspoken, but not uncomfortable.
You stepped back, giving him space, hands clasped neatly in front of you again. “Goodnight, sir.”
You gave a small wave.
Then he responded, softer this time. “Goodnight.”
You picked up the receipt, eyes flicking down to the total.
Then the tip.
Your brows lifted. “Damn…” you murmured under your breath. It was more than the cost of his meal.
You walked back toward the counter, holding the slip up slightly. “Hey, Enzo—he left us a hundred each.”
You nodded, still a little surprised. “Yeah. And he even said, ‘compliments to the chef.’”
A soft giggle slipped out of you as you replayed the moment in your head.
“Nope.” You let out a small huff, still a little surprised. “The guy’s cool.”
Enzo shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Damn… he’s being way too sweet with that.”
You hummed softly in agreement, folding the receipt and tucking it away.
He is, you thought quietly.
Your eyes drifted, just for a second, toward the now-empty seat at table two.
You found yourself thinking—
Hope you have a good night. Truly.
...
You quietly finished the rest of your shift, moving on autopilot.
Your mind, unfortunately, didn’t.
I need to finish that report… I need to check on that letter… wait, that bill needs to be paid first, though…
The thoughts stacked on top of each other, faster and faster, until your head felt light.
Dizzy.
“God…” you sighed under your breath.
You flipped the sign on the door to closed, the soft click echoing in the empty diner. One by one, you turned off the lights above the booths, the space dimming into something softer, quieter. Familiar.
Back at the counter, you closed out the POS and started counting the tips for the night.
Your fingers paused mid-count.
“…Whoa.”
You bit your lip.
That man’s tip alone was enough to cover your share of rent for the month. A small, disbelieving breath left you as you finished sorting the bills.
You slipped Enzo’s share into an envelope and walked it over to him.
“Goodnight, Enzo.”
He glanced up, hands still busy with the dishes, music humming softly through the speakers. He gave you a small wave in return. “Night, kid. Get home safe.”
You grabbed your things and headed out the back.
The night air hit you immediately, cool and grounding.
By the time you reached your door, the exhaustion had settled back into your bones. You pushed it open, letting out a tired huff.
Because tomorrow—
Or later, rather—
It was going to be another long, tiring day.
As you drove home, the quiet of the road gave your thoughts too much space to wander.
You thought about how you got here.
Once, you had everything mapped out.
You dreamed big, studied harder, and became an overachiever throughout high school. The kind of student teachers relied on, the kind who always had their hand raised, always had a plan.
And then… somewhere along the way, it shifted.
You dwindled into something quieter. Not a failure, not even close, but no longer exceptional. Just… mediocre. Trying to pass the next class, trying to keep up, and stay afloat.
Now, you have finished your Bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education just last year.
And here you were.
Taking morning classes for your teaching certification, juggling training, and doing your kindergarten internship.
Working night shifts in between.
Running on little sleep, stretched thin between who you used to be and who you were trying to become.
Especially when you start to dread the thought of a teacher's salary these days, and student debt you're trying to repay.
The road ahead was dark, lit only by passing streetlights.
