feeling it out

24 / aqua

[sunflovverharry]

Sunflovverharry’s Masterlist

[*] Smut

Allegiance (Fake dating!H)

    Allegiance pt.II *

Driving Home for Christmas (Fic challenge)

Nightcap * (Bouncer!H)

Sweet Time (Fic challenge)

Visiting her grandparents (HSFICSLAM)

Friends With Benefits

Chapter 1 *

Chapter 2 *

Chapter 3 *

[unabashegirl]

ruined silk

A jealous argument at a club explodes into a night of rough, possessive hate sex . But the tender aftercare that follows forces you both to admit there’s no going back .

author's note: just wanted to write something for you! i hope you enjoy! happy reading!

Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.

📌 Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

📌 all of my work :)

📌 w.c -> 7.8k

Tom’s flat in Hackney always smelled the same before a night out: a distinct, heady mixture of expensive cologne, burnt hair straightener, and the sharp tang of cheap vodka mixed with lemonade.

You checked your reflection in the hallway mirror one last time, smoothing down the front of your dress. It was shorter than what you usually wore. It was a slip of black silk that ended dangerously high on your thighs and dipped low in the back. It was armor. Tonight was about feeling good. Tonight was about getting drunk enough to tolerate the inevitable headache that was currently sitting on Tom’s velvet sofa.

"You’re going to freeze," Cassie said, emerging from the bathroom with a cloud of hairspray following her. She looked you up and down, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "But you’re going to look hot doing it. I approve."

"I have a coat," you said, grabbing your leather jacket from the hook. "And I have tequila. I’ll be fine."

"Famous last words," Jay called out from the kitchen, raising a red solo cup in a mock toast.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and walked into the living room.

The music was already thumping. It was some remix Tom had found that was rattling the windows, but the atmosphere shifted the second you stepped onto the rug.

Harry was sprawled on the sofa like he owned the building. He was wearing black trousers and a shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing a chaotic roadmap of tattoos and the glint of a gold cross. His rings clicked against the glass of whiskey he was holding as he looked up.

He didn’t smile. He never smiled at you. Instead, his green eyes narrowed slightly, tracking you from the strap of your heels up to the curve of your hip, lingering on the hem of the dress before finally meeting your eyes.

The silence between you two was loud enough to drown out the bass.

"You’re late," Harry drawled, his voice rough. He didn't sit up. He just watched you with that heavy, lidded gaze that always made you feel like you had something on your face.

"I’m fashionably on time," you corrected, walking past him to the drinks table. You made a point not to look at him, though you could feel his eyes burning a hole between your shoulder blades. "Something you wouldn’t understand, seeing as you just roll out of bed and put on whatever shirt is least wrinkled."

"This is Saint Laurent, actually," Harry shot back, taking a slow sip of his drink. "And at least I’m wearing a whole outfit. I think you forgot the rest of yours."

You froze, the bottle of vodka hovering over your cup. The room went quiet. Jay winced in the kitchen. Cassie stopped applying her lip gloss.

You turned around slowly, fixing Harry with a glare that could strip paint. "Excuse me?"

Harry gestured vaguely at your legs with his glass, a smirk playing on his lips. It wasn't a nice smirk. It was the one he used when he knew he’d gotten under your skin. "The dress. It’s... ambitious. Planning on catching a cold? Or are you just fishing for attention tonight?"

"Harry," Tom warned from the corner, looking exhausted already. "Don't."

"I'm just saying," Harry said, shrugging, his eyes dark and unreadable. "It’s a lot of skin for a Tuesday."

"It’s Friday, you idiot," you snapped, your grip tightening on your cup. "And for your information, I dress for myself. Not for you. Never for you."

Harry hummed, low and vibrating in his chest. He set his glass down on the coffee table and finally stood up. He towered over the room, broad-shouldered and imposing. He took a step toward you, invading your personal space with the casual arrogance of someone who knew you wouldn't back down.

"Good," he murmured, close enough that you could smell him. Tobacco, vanilla, and the expensive whiskey. It was infuriating how good he smelled. "Because if you dressed like that for me, I’d tell you to go put some clothes on."

"If I dressed for you," you hissed, tilting your chin up to hold his gaze, "I’d wear a muzzle so I wouldn’t have to hear your voice."

Harry’s jaw ticked. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then snapped back up to your eyes. For a second, just a split second, the air in the room felt electric. Volatile. Like someone had struck a match in a room full of gas.

"Alright! Okay!" Cassie clapped her hands loudly, physically stepping between the two of you like a referee. "Time out. Both of you. We are not doing this tonight."

"He started it," you muttered, stepping back and downing your vodka shot without a chaser. It burned, but the heat in your chest was already there.

"I don't care who started it," Cassie said, pointing a manicured finger at Harry. "You, stop being a prick." She pointed at you. "You, stop baiting him."

Harry rolled his eyes, adjusting his rings. "I'm not baiting anyone. I'm just making conversation."

"Your conversation sucks," Jay noted helpfully, throwing you a beer.

"We are going to the club," Tom announced, grabbing his keys and shepherding everyone toward the door. "We are going to drink, we are going to dance, and if I hear one argument about politics, fashion, or whose turn it is to buy a round, I am leaving you both on the curb. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," you said, grabbing your jacket.

You walked to the door, brushing past Harry. He didn't move out of the way. His shoulder knocked against yours. Hard, solid, intentional.

"After you," he whispered, his voice dropping to that mock-polite tone he used when he wanted to strangle you.

"Go to hell, Styles," you whispered back.

"Ladies first."

He held the door open, his face a mask of polite indifference, but as you walked past him, you saw his hand clench into a fist at his side, the knuckles white.

You hated him. You really, truly hated him.

The club was a sensory assault. It was vibrating, the bass heavy enough to rattle your teeth, the air thick with the smell of dry ice and sweat.

You had lost the group within five minutes. Tom and Cassie had disappeared toward the VIP booths, and Jay was somewhere near the DJ booth. You didn't care. You needed to move. You needed to shake off the irritation that had settled under your skin back at the apartment.

You were on the edge of the dance floor, letting the music dictate your movements. You weren't drunk yet, not really, but the two tequila shots were buzzing pleasantly in your blood, making everything feel loose and hazy.

Across the room, bathed in strobing purple light, was the booth.

Harry was holding court. Of course he was. He was sitting in the corner of the leather banquet, legs spread wide, looking bored out of his mind despite the two blonde girls leaning over him, laughing at something he’d said. He held a drink in one hand, his other arm draped along the back of the seat.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, he looked up.

Even through the strobe lights and the crush of bodies, his gaze locked onto yours instantly. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just watched you. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes dropping to your legs, then back up to your face. He looked... hungry. And angry about it.

You turned your back on him. Let him watch, you thought. Let him choke on it.

You pushed deeper into the crowd, closing your eyes and letting the rhythm take over. You were having fun. You were proving a point.

"Dance with me?"

The voice was hot and wet against your ear. You opened your eyes to see a guy, tall, sweaty, wearing a shirt that cost more than your rent, grinding entirely too close to your back.

"No thanks," you shouted over the music, trying to step away.

"Come on," he insisted, his hand landing heavy on your waist. His grip was clammy. "Just one song. You look lonely."

"I'm not lonely," you snapped, prying his fingers off your hip.

You turned to leave, aiming for the bar, but he moved faster. He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. The crowd was so dense that no one noticed. He crowded you, boxing you in.

"Don't be a bitch," he sneered, his charm evaporating. He reached out, grabbing your arm this time, hard enough to pinch. "I'm just trying to..."

Suddenly, the guy was gone.

He wasn't just pushed; he was removed.

A large hand had clamped onto the guy's shoulder and yanked him backward with a force that looked effortless but was clearly violent. The guy stumbled, disappearing into the thrashing crowd.

In his place stood Harry.

He looked murderous. His jaw was set so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek. He wasn't looking at the guy he’d just shoved; he was looking at you.

He stepped into your space, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the club. He loomed over you, effectively caging you against a pillar.

"Having fun?" he shouted over the bass, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm.

"I was," you yelled back, adrenaline spiking. "Until you showed up."

"Didn't look like fun," Harry said. He stepped closer. His chest brushed against yours. He smelled like smoke now, and danger. "Looked like you were getting handled."

"I can handle myself."

"Clearly," he scoffed. His hand shot out, not to grab you, but to brace against the pillar next to your head. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. The intimacy of it, the heat of his body, the way he shielded you from the room, made your knees weak, which only made you angrier.

"You’re a mess," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your neck. "Wandering around here alone. Dressed like that."

"My dress isn't the problem," you said, your voice low and sharp. You didn't shove him this time. You stood your ground, meeting his gaze with ice in your veins. "And I don't remember asking for your opinion on it."

"I'm not talking about the dress," he murmured. "I'm talking about the way you're practically begging for trouble."

"The only trouble I have right now is you breathing down my neck," you countered, staring him down. "I was handling it."

Harry caught your wrist. He didn't squeeze; he just held it, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. He looked down at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

"I know," Harry said. His gaze dropped to your mouth. For a second, you thought he was going to kiss you right there on the dance floor.

Instead, his grip on your wrist tightened. He leaned back, a cruel, mocking smirk twisting his lips.

"Come on, pet," he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a curse. "Let's get you a water. You look flushed."

The word hit you like a physical blow. Pet. It was patronizing. It was belittling. And god, the way he said it, low and gravelly, made heat pool low in your stomach.

"Don't call me that," you warned.

"Why?" Harry challenged, tugging you toward the exit. He didn't let go of your hand. "Fits, doesn't it? Small. Yappy. Need looking after."

"I didn't ask for your help," you said, your voice cold, trying to wrench your hand back. "And I certainly don't need a babysitter."

"Could have fooled me," he deadpanned, towing you through the crowd like a unruly child. "Now walk. Before I carry you, and we both know you'd hate that."

The air outside hit you like a slap in the face.

Harry didn't stop at the main entrance. He towed you around the corner, into the quieter, grittier alleyway where the smokers huddled under the overhang. It was drizzling, a miserable, fine London mist that stuck to your skin immediately.

He finally let go of your wrist, but only to turn and block your path, putting his back to the brick wall.

"You’re welcome," he said, his voice flat. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, looking infuriatingly calm for someone who had just dragged you out of a club.

"For what?" you demanded, rubbing your wrist. "For making a scene? For acting like you own the pavement I walk on?"

Harry lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He took a drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that mixed with the mist. "For saving you from having to reject a guy who wasn't listening. You looked panicked."

"I looked bored," you corrected, your voice steady. "I was handling it. I didn't need you to swoop in just to mark your territory."

Harry laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't flatter yourself, pet. I wasn't marking anything. I just didn't want to spend the rest of the night listening to Cassie whine about how you got groped by some finance bro."

"You are such a prick," you said, stepping closer. You were shivering now, the adrenaline fading and leaving you exposed to the cold in your thin dress. "You just can't stand it. You can't stand seeing me have a good time without you supervising."

Harry’s eyes snapped to yours. He flicked ash onto the ground. "Is that what you call fun? Grinding on strangers? It looked desperate."

"It looked like I was enjoying my night," you shot back. "Something you wouldn't understand because you're too busy judging everyone else from the corner."

"I don't judge," Harry said, his voice dropping. He took a step off the wall, invading your space again. The heat radiating off him was the only warm thing in the alley. "I observe. And what I observed tonight was you acting like a child."

"I am not a child."

"Then stop acting like one," Harry roared back, his composure finally cracking. "Stop wearing things that barely cover you and getting shocked when men look. Stop picking fights with me just to get a reaction."

"I don't want a reaction from you," you said, your voice raising to match his volume. "I want you to leave me alone. I want you to disappear."

Silence crashed down between you.

For a moment, the only sound was the muffled bass from the club and the distant wail of a siren. Harry stared at you, his chest heaving, his cigarette burning down to the filter in his hand. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and dangerous.

"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly. "You want me to leave?"

"Yes," you lied. Your heart was pounding in your throat.

"Fine." Harry dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'll get Tom to come get you. I'm leaving."

You crossed your arms, looking away, waiting for him to walk away. You waited for the sound of his boots on the pavement.

Instead, you heard a scoff.

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered.

"What now?" you snapped, turning back.

Harry turned his phone screen toward you. A text message from Tom was glowing on the display.

Tom (Group Chat): I said no fighting. We left 10 mins ago. Going back to mine. Don't kill each other. x

You scrambled for your own phone. Sure enough, three missed texts from Cassie. Where are you? We're leaving. You guys sort it out.

"They left us," you whispered, staring at the screen. "They actually left us."

"Looks like it," Harry said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at the sky. The drizzle was turning into actual rain now, heavy drops splashing against the puddles.

"Great," you groaned, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. "Just great."

Harry sighed, a long, suffering exhale. He unbuttoned his jacket. Before you could protest, he peeled it off and draped it over your shoulders. It was heavy, warm, and smelled overwhelmingly of him.

"I don't need your coat," you said stiffly.

"Shut up," he said, cutting you off. He wasn't looking at you; he was looking down the street, scanning for a taxi light. His white shirt was instantly damp from the rain, sticking to his shoulders. "Just wear the jacket. I'm not having you freeze to death on my watch. Tom would never let me hear the end of it."

"Fine," you muttered, pulling the jacket tighter despite yourself.

"So you've said." Harry pulled out his phone again. "Uber is 3 minutes away. Try not to speak until then."

You stood there in the rain, side by side, not touching. The anger was still there, buzzing in the air between you, but it had shifted. It wasn't the sharp, shouting anger anymore. It was something heavier. Something thicker.

You watched a drop of rain trace the line of his throat, running down to the ink on his chest. You looked away quickly before he could catch you.

Three minutes later, a black sedan pulled up to the curb.

Harry opened the back door. He didn't offer you a hand. He just jerked his head toward the dark interior.

"Get in."

You slid across the leather seat. Harry followed, closing the door and sealing you both inside.

The silence in the car was deafening. It was dark, intimate, and suffocating. You were pressed against the door, trying to keep distance, but the backseat was small. Harry’s leg brushed against yours every time the car turned.

You were trapped. And you were starting to realize, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that you didn't actually want him to disappear at all.

The rain battered the roof of the Uber, a rhythmic drumming that filled the heavy silence between you.

It was suffocating in the backseat. The heater was blasting, turning the air thick and humid. It was too hot. You shrugged the heavy leather jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap on the seat between you. It became a barrier neither of you dared to cross.

You were pressed against the door, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring out at the blurred city lights. Harry was doing the same on his side. You could see his reflection in the window: jaw clenched tight enough to snap, eyes narrowed, staring at nothing.

The night was ruined. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a chance to let loose with the group, but it had ended in disaster before the real drinking even started. Now, the anger was a physical weight in the car.

Harry shifted, letting out a sharp, frustrated sigh that sounded like a growl.

"Stop huffing," you snapped, not turning your head.

"I didn't say a word," Harry shot back, his voice rough. "Don't start."

"I’m not starting anything. You’re the one who—"

"I said drop it." He turned then, glaring at you. The streetlights flashed across his face, highlighting the fury in his eyes. "Just... drop it."

You bit your tongue, tasting blood. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to tell him to stop the car so you could get out and walk in the rain just to be away from him. But you didn't. You just sat there, fuming, letting the silence stretch until it felt like it would snap your ribs.

The car finally jerked to a halt.

"Here we are, mate," the driver said, sounding relieved to be getting rid of you both.

Harry threw the door open without waiting. "Out."

You scrambled out into the downpour, ignoring him as he paid the driver. You didn't wait for him. You marched toward the awning of his building, your heels clicking angrily on the wet pavement. Harry followed a step behind, his presence looming large and dark at your back.

You were at his building. Of course you were. Yours was another twenty minutes away and neither of you had the patience for that.

The elevator ride was the breaking point.

You stood on opposite sides of the small metal box, watching the numbers tick up. The air was charged, vibrating with everything that had gone wrong tonight.

"You're unbelievable," Harry muttered, almost to himself.

You whipped your head around. "Me? You're the one who made a scene because my dress was too short.”

"I made a scene?" Harry pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in two long strides. "You never know when to shut up, do you?"

"If you actually listened to me...”

"I am listening!" He was in your space now, crowding you into the corner. "I listen to you constantly picking fights, constantly pushing me—"

"I hate you," you spat, the words trembling with rage.

"Good." Harry’s eyes dropped to your mouth. "I hate you too."

Then, he crashed his mouth onto yours.

It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a collision. It was months of arguments and insults pouring into a kiss that tasted like violence. He bit your lower lip, hard, forcing a gasp from your throat that he immediately swallowed.

Your hands flew up, not to push him away, but to grab the front of his shirt, bunching the expensive fabric in your fists. You pulled him closer, kissing him back with the same ferocity, matching his anger, your tongue tangling with his.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair to tilt your head back further.

Ding.

The doors slid open.

You broke apart, chests heaving, lips swollen and red. The sudden lack of contact left you cold.

Harry stared at you, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged. He reached for your hand, but you stepped back.

The anger was gone, replaced by a sudden, crushing exhaustion.

"No," you whispered. You stepped out into the hallway, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Harry followed, confused. He fumbled for his keys, unlocking his apartment door. "What?"

"I can't do this, Harry," you said, your voice shaking. You looked at the open door, then back at him. "I’m going home. I'm just... I'm so tired of fighting with you. I can't keep doing this every night."

You turned away, intending to head back to the elevator. "I'm calling a car."

"The hell you are."

Harry didn't let you take another step. He reached out, his hand clamping around your wrist, and yanked you toward him.

"Harry!"

He didn't listen. He pulled you through the doorway, shoving you into the dark apartment. He followed you in, kicking the door shut behind him with a deafening slam.

"You're not leaving," he breathed, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. "We're done fighting. But you are not leaving."

The audacity of it made your blood boil. The exhaustion you had felt in the hallway evaporated, replaced by a fresh, white-hot spike of adrenaline.

"Get off me!" You shoved Harry backward, your hands slamming against his solid chest. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to shake that arrogant look off his face. He stumbled, hitting the opposite wall with a heavy thud, and before he could recover, you were on him, closing the distance. "You think you can just drag me around like a prop? You arrogant, controlling prick!"

Harry snarled, a low, animalistic sound that vibrated right through the floorboards. His hands snapped to your waist, spinning you around so fast it made the room blur. He didn't pin you against the wall this time; he scooped you up.

Your stomach dropped. It was a humiliating reflex, but your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist to keep from falling. You hated the way he handled you so easily, like you weighed nothing, like your anger was cute.

He carried you down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open. He didn't bother with the lights. He walked straight to the bed and threw you onto the mattress. Hard.

You bounced against the springs, the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You scrambled to sit up, panic and fury warring in your chest, but he was already there. He crawled over you, fully dressed, his knees caging your hips, his weight pressing you down into the duvet.

He grabbed the neckline of your silk dress. There was no fumbling for zippers, no hesitation. He yanked the fabric down with a sharp tear, the sound of ruining expensive silk echoing in the quiet room.

"Are you out of your mind?" you screamed, trying to shove his heavy shoulders off you as the cool air hit your exposed skin. "That dress cost a fortune!"

He caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with effortless strength. He loomed over you, his eyes adjusting to the dark, looking absolutely lethal.

"Red," he stated, his voice low and devoid of negotiation. "That’s your safe word."

You glared at him, your chest heaving against the ruined silk. The word hung in the air, confusing you. He was furious, he was drunk, and he was currently ruining your clothes, but he was still giving you the power to stop it. It was a twisted kind of care that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"I don't need a safe word," you hissed, thrashing your legs. "I need you to get the hell off!"

"You have it," he snapped, leaning down until his nose brushed yours. "Remember it. Use it if you want me to stop. Otherwise, shut up and take it."

He released your wrists only to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Because I’m losing my mind," he growled, holding your gaze. "I’m drunk, I’m furious, and you have been testing every last shred of restraint I have left."

He let go of your face to grab the torn bodice of your dress, ripping it the rest of the way down to your waist. He looked at your exposed skin with a mix of hunger and fury that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

"You need to be taught a lesson desperately," he murmured, his eyes snapping back to yours. "You've been acting so bratty all night. Prancing around that club. Running your mouth."

The accusation stung because it was true. You had been pushing him. You had been begging for a reaction all night, and now that you had it, you weren't sure if you were scared or thrilled.

"So teach me then," you challenged, your voice sharp, breathless. "Stop talking about it and do it."

Harry smirked, a dark, dangerous curve of his lips. "Oh, I'm going to.”

He reached down and slapped your thigh, hard. The sting was sharp, shocking a gasp out of you.

"Spread them," he ordered.

"Make me."

Harry didn't argue. He moved his hand between your legs, over your panties. He didn't touch you gently; he pressed the heel of his hand against you, grinding down slowly.

"You're a liar," he whispered, feeling the heat radiating off you. "You act tough, but you're soaking wet for the man you hate."

"I was just trying to protect you," he seethed, his voice rough with frustration. "That's all I was doing in that club. But you just want to fight. You just want to scream at me over stupid shit.”

He grabbed the lace of your panties and ripped them aside, his eyes burning into yours.

He didn't go down on you. Instead, his hand fisted tightly in your hair, yanking your head back against the mattress until your neck was bared to him. He dragged his body up, pressing his heavy torso against yours, his mouth hovering right beside your ear.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice wet and guttural. "You have no idea how many times I've imagined this. Watching you shake your ass in that dress... wondering if you were pink and wet underneath.”

He moved his hand down, parting your legs roughly. He didn't prep you; he didn't need to. He shoved two thick fingers straight inside you, burying them to the knuckles in one sharp thrust.

You gasped, your hips bucking off the bed, but he used his grip on your hair to pin you down.

"Fuck," he hissed against your neck.

He started to move his hand, twisting his wrist, curling his fingers inside you to hit that rough, sensitive spot on your front wall. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you was obscene, wet and loud in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he taunted, biting your earlobe hard enough to sting. "Torn open. Completely exposed. You look like a wreck, baby. My messy wreck.”

He pulled his hand almost all the way out, letting the cool air hit your slick entrance, before slamming his fingers back in, harder this time. You cried out, a broken sound of pleasure.

"That’s it," he praised, the anger in his voice bleeding into pure lust. "You take my fingers so well.”

He used his thumb to grind down on your clit while his fingers pumped inside you, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm.

"I can feel you throbbing around me," he groaned. "Tell me how good it feels to have my hand in your pussy. Tell me.”

"It feels so good," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the pillow.

“You're close, aren't you?”

"Yes," you choked out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. "Harry, yes.”

"Then cum for me," he ordered, his voice dark and commanding. He picked up the pace, his fingers curling aggressively inside you, hitting that spot over and over again. "Come on, baby. Be a good girl.”

The pressure was too much. Your walls clamped down on his fingers.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, holding your gaze as he brought them to his mouth to lick them clean, savoring the taste of you.

"Delicious," he hummed, his eyes dark and predatory.

He crawled down the mattress, gripping your knees and forcing them wider apart until your muscles strained. He buried his face in the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right near the crease of your hip.

He sank his teeth into the tender flesh. Hard. It was a sharp, stinging pain that made you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets. He held the bite for a second, marking you, claiming you, before soothing the spot with a wet swipe of his tongue.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, looking up at you with a wicked smirk, "when you're sore and aching, and you look down. You remember exactly whose tongue did this to you. You remember who owns you.”

"Harry, please," you whimpered, the sensitivity between your legs becoming unbearable.

"Please what? Please stop? Or please taste you?”

He didn't wait for an answer. He moved inward and buried his face between your legs.

He groaned against your slick entrance, the sound vibrating through your entire body.

Then his tongue was there, broad and flat and relentless. He didn't start slow. He knew you were already primed, your nerves exposed and raw from the first orgasm, so he showed no mercy. He licked a long, punishing stripe from your entrance up to your clit, making your hips jerk off the mattress.

"Stay still," he commanded, his hands gripping your thighs to pin you down. "Don't you run from me."

He began to feast on you, eating you out with a hunger that bordered on violence. He sucked on your clit, his tongue flickering rapidly, teasing the bundle of nerves until you were tossing your head from side to side, a mess of moans and pleas.

He pulled back suddenly, leaving you cold and needy. He rested his chin on your thigh, watching you unravel.

"Look at you," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Legs spread. Shaking. Whimpering." He reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "For a girl who claims she hates me, you sure taste like you love this."

"I hate you," you gasped, though it sounded like a lie even to your own ears.

"Liar." Harry chuckled darkly. "You love my tongue on you. You love being my good girl."

He dove back in, harder this time. He hooked your legs over his shoulders to open you up completely, granting him deeper access.

"I'm going to drain you dry," he mumbled against your skin. "I'm going to make you cum again, and again, until you forget why you were ever angry. Until the only thing you know is my name."

He didn't let you come down from the high. He didn't even let you catch your breath.

Harry pulled back from between your legs, leaving you cold and aching. He stood up, rapidly shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down his thighs until he was free. He was hard, thick, and twitching with anticipation.

He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Turn over," he commanded. "On your hands and knees. Now.”

You scrambled to obey, turning over on the mattress and pushing yourself up onto all fours. You felt exposed, vulnerable, your back arched and your soaked entrance on display for him.

Harry didn't touch you immediately. You could feel his eyes burning into you, assessing the damage, looking at the redness of your skin.

Then, his hand connected with your ass.

Smack.

The sound cracked through the room like a whip. The sting was immediate and sharp, shocking a cry from your throat.

"You were so unsafe tonight," he growled, not giving you a second to recover. "Wandering off to the bar alone. Leaving my sight.”

Smack.

He hit the other cheek, harder this time. Your skin flushed pink instantly.

"And that prick," he hissed, moving closer, his body radiating heat behind you. "That random asshole who put his hand on your waist. I saw him touch you.”

Smack.

"Do you like that?" he shouted, losing control. "Do you like having other men look at you? Do you like making me insane?"

"No," you sobbed, the mixture of pain and pleasure making you dizzy. "Harry, no."

"Shut up."

He reached down and grabbed both of your wrists, wrenching your arms behind your back. He secured them in one large hand, pinning them against the small of your back. This forced your chest down into the mattress and pushed your ass high in the air, leaving you completely helpless.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right at your ear.

"You keep saying it," he whispered, his voice cracking with a desperate sort of rage. "You keep screaming that you don't need me. That you're fine on your own."

He used his free hand to guide his cock to your entrance. He was leaking, just as wet as you were. He lined himself up, the broad head of his length teasing your opening.

"But I need you," he admitted, the words sounding like a curse. "I need this. I need to know that no one else gets to touch you but me."

He didn't give you a count. He didn't ask if you were ready. He gripped your waist with his free hand and thrust his hips forward.

He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming stroke.

You moaned into the pillow, the feeling of him stretching you so suddenly overwhelming your senses. He was so big, filling every empty space inside you, possessing you completely.

"Mine," he snarled against your neck, holding himself deep inside you, waiting for your body to adjust to his invasion. "You are fucking mine."

He held you there for a moment, letting you feel the full, intrusive weight of him. Then, he began to withdraw, inch by tantalizing inch, before snapping his hips forward and slamming back into you.

"Tell me," he grunted, the friction making his voice ragged. "Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you want me to pull out and let you go back to your 'independence'."

"No," you gasped, your head falling forward onto the mattress.

"No?" He thrust harder, the slap of his thighs against your ass echoing in the room. "I thought you didn't need me?"

You turned your head to the side, pressing your cheek into the pillow so he could hear you. The pleasure was sharpening your edges, making you bold.

"I don't need you talking," you moaned, pushing back against him to take him deeper. "That random guy couldn't handle me. He wouldn't know how to fuck me like this."

Harry paused for a split second, the words hitting him exactly where you intended. A dark, arrogant smirk curled his lips in the shadows.

"Is that right?" he murmured, sounding pleased. "He couldn't handle you?"

"No," you cried out as he hit a particularly deep spot. "Only you. I only get this wet for you, Harry. I need you to ruin me with it."

"Fuck," Harry swore, his ego stroking perfectly alongside his lust. "You hold on tight then."

He released your wrists, but only to grab your hips with bruising force. He shoved you downward, flattening your stomach against the mattress, changing the angle so he could go even deeper.

He began to piston into you, wild and unhinged. He wasn't holding back anymore. He was fucking you hard, his fingers digging into your flesh, pushing your hips down into the springs to meet his thrusts, claiming you with every violent stroke.

Time lost all meaning.

Harry was relentless. He was a machine, his stamina fueled by the whiskey and the months of pent-up aggression. He didn't just fuck you; he used you. He used your body to work out every frustration, every argument, every moment of jealousy.

He pounded into you until your thighs were shaking so hard they couldn't support you anymore. You collapsed flat against the mattress, but he didn't stop. He just followed you down, his weight covering you like a heavy blanket, his hips grinding against your buttocks as he continued to drive deep inside you.

"Fuck pet," he grunted, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your shoulder. "Take it all. Every fucking inch."

He dragged another orgasm out of you, your third? Fourth? You had lost count. This one left you crying, your walls clamping down so hard it must have been painful for him, but he just groaned and thrust through it.

You were wrecked. Your mind was a white haze of pleasure and exhaustion. You were limp beneath him, your breathing coming in shallow, ragged whimpers. You couldn't move. You couldn't speak.

Harry sensed the shift.

He slowed his rhythm, but didn't pull out. He stayed buried deep inside you, pulsing, his chest heaving against your back.

He reached up and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back gently so he could see your face in the darkness.

"Hey," he barked, shaking you slightly. "Stay with me."

You blinked, trying to focus on him, but the room was spinning.

"Red," he demanded, his voice rough and breathless. "Give me the word and I’ll stop. You're barely conscious."

"No," you wheezed, the word barely audible.

"No?" Harry chuckled, a dark, incredulous sound. "You're trembling. You can't even lift your head. Are you still there, baby? Or is your brain completely fried?"

"I'm here," you whispered, trying to push back against him, though your muscles were jelly. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

"Jesus Christ," Harry muttered, sounding equal parts impressed and horrified. "You really are a glutton for punishment."

"Fine," he growled, reaching down to spread your ass cheeks, preparing to hammer into you again. "Then you better brace yourself, because I haven't even started to cum yet."

He didn't wait. He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to anchor you, and he began to move with a desperate, frantic energy.

He wasn't pacing himself anymore. He was chasing his own release, hammering into you with short, sharp thrusts that hit that deepest spot.

You whimpered into the pillow, the friction becoming overwhelming. It wasn't pain; it was pure, blinding intensity. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, needing him just as much as he needed you.

"Christ," he encouraged, his voice breaking.

He leaned down, his heavy chest pressing against your back, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of your neck. He bit down, not to hurt, but to ground himself.

"I’m close," he warned, his hips stuttering as he drove into you harder. "I’m gonna... fuck!"

Harry shouted your name, a raw, guttural roar that filled the room. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt and holding you there, crushed beneath his weight.

You felt him pulse inside you, hot and heavy. He poured himself into you, his body jerking with every spasm, emptying months of frustration and anger and desire straight into your core.

He held you through the aftershocks, refusing to pull out, needing to stay connected to you for as long as possible. Finally, with a long, shuddering exhale, he collapsed on top of you, his face burying in the crook of your neck, his heart hammering against your back like a trapped bird.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the rain still beating against the window, the only witnesses to the storm that had just passed.

Eventually, the heaviness of the moment shifted.

Harry pulled away slowly, a groan vibrating in his chest as he withdrew from you. The loss of him was a physical ache, followed immediately by the rush of cool air hitting your damp, overheated skin.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, head in his hands, recovering. Then, he stood up.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. Illuminated by the faint light spilling in from the street, he was breathtaking. Broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, the strong columns of his legs. But it was the evidence of what you had done to him that kept your gaze fixed.

His back was a canvas of your desperation. Angry red welts were raked down his shoulder blades where your nails had dug in.

Harry didn't seem to notice your staring. He walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards.

A moment later, you heard the rushing sound of water from the en-suite bathroom. The faint scent of his expensive body wash, sandalwood and amber, wafted into the bedroom, mixing with the scent of sex.

He returned a minute later, holding a tall glass of ice water. He walked to your side of the bed and knelt down, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"Here," he murmured, his voice still raspy from shouting.

He helped you sit up, holding the glass to your lips. The water was freezing, shocking your system in the best way. You drank greedily, some of it spilling down your chin, but Harry just caught the droplet with his thumb, wiping it away gently.

He set the glass down on the nightstand and turned back to you. His expression was unreadable, softer now, the rage completely spent.

"You're a mess," he whispered, though there was no bite in it.

He reached out, his large hands cupping your face. He used his fingers to gently comb your hair back from your forehead, untangling the sweaty strands that were plastered to your cheeks. He tucked the hair behind your ears, studying your face with a quiet, intense focus, as if making sure you were still all there.

"Come on," he said softly.

He didn't wait for you to move. He slid his arms under you, one beneath your knees, the other supporting your back, and lifted you effortlessly.

You let your head fall against his bare shoulder, your skin brushing against the scratches you had left there. He carried you into the bathroom, where the room was already filling with steam.

"I ran a bath," he said, walking toward the large tub. "You're going to soak. And I'm going to take care of you."

He lowered you slowly into the tub, the steaming water rising to engulf your aching muscles. It stung slightly against the bite mark on your thigh and the scratches on your back, but it was a soothing, grounding heat.

Harry didn't step away. He knelt beside the tub, ignoring the water soaking into his knees. He reached for a washcloth, dipping it into the water and wringing it out before bringing it to your shoulder, gently wiping away the sweat and the memories of the last hour.

You watched him, this man who had been a demon in the bedroom ten minutes ago, now touching you with the reverence of a saint. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, his expression concentrated and calm.

It was confusing. It was terrifying.

"You went from ripping my clothes off to playing nurse," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You tilted your head, catching his gaze. "Have you gone soft on me, Harry?"

Harry paused, the washcloth hovering over your collarbone. A surprise ripple of amusement crossed his face, breaking the serious mask. He let out a low, soft laugh, a sound that vibrated with a terrifying amount of affection.

"Don't push your luck, Pet," he whispered, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I just need you in one piece so I can do it all again tomorrow."

He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your wet forehead, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite every warning bell ringing in your head. You thought about the fighting in the car, the violence in the elevator, the sex that felt like war, and now this tender quiet in the bathroom.

You let out a shaky breath, opening your eyes to look at him.

"We are so fucked," you whispered.

Harry didn't deny it. He just smirked, tracing the line of your jaw.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Completely."

[sushirrrry]

STILL GROWING UP NOW: THE BEGINNING || a harry styles x you one shot. word count: 20,275 content warning: vomiting, teen pregnancy, emotional distress, underage sexual activity mention, blood

FIRST, READ PART ONE, HERE.

summary: a prequel to still growing up now. you and harry find out you're going to be teen parents. the changes that are upon you, sacrifices made, and the will of the love between you will hold you together as much as possible. but with all of the odds against you, will it ever really be enough?

author’s note: I loved writing this so much! this felt like writing non-harry fiction which was so fun. I love writing long-form one-shots and creating AU universe characters - so this took a lot of energy and time! I hope you guys can love and appreciate the harry AU universe with me <3 thanks for sticking around, as always. ALSO!!!!! a huuuuuuge thank you to 2,000 followers. this means the world, as always. you keep reading, I'll keep writing. love that relationship we have & cherish it more than you know.

💌 if you’d like to support my writing, please donate to my Ko-Fi - your support means the world.

📩 if you’d like to request a prompt, please send them my way.

2005.

The rumble of Harry’s pickup was always waiting outside your house before the sun had properly burned off the foggy morning. It was an old thing with paint chipping on the sides, a dent in the back bumper, but he swore it would run forever.

You didn’t care.

To you, it was freedom on Friday nights when you drove together to the football games or when you fought with your mom and needed a getaway; it was a solace of knowing he was just a phone call away to come whisk you away.

It was the place you kissed him with your shoes kicked off, in your bootcut jeans, tangled in the blanket he kept thrown over the bench seat to keep you both comfortable; the place where he turned the radio too loud and drummed his rings against the steering wheel; the place that felt like the whole world, when really it was just parked on cracked asphalt parking lot of your high school.

That morning, like every morning, you climbed in and tossed your bag at your feet. Harry leaned across the bench to kiss you, quick, soft, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His curls were damp from a rushed shower; his hoodie smelled like that woodsy cologne you got him for his birthday mixed with fresh cigarette smoke.

“Morning, baby,” he said, sliding a cassette into the tape deck. The Sex Pistols’ Anarchy in the U.K. screeched to life, and he grinned like it was the best soundtrack to your life.

You pressed your forehead to the cool glass of the window, smiling to yourself in the ease of it all. You couldn’t believe it sometimes — that you had someone like Harry Styles, the boy every girl whispered about in the hallways, the boy your friends swore was trouble. The cutest, sweetest boy in school, and somehow, he was yours.

Harry drummed on the steering wheel, the truck rattling down the familiar backroad toward school. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, dimples flashing as he bit the corner of his cheek. “Bet we’re the only ones pulling into the lot blasting this. Everyone else will be listening to Justin Timberlake or Nelly.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing with a bit of a shake to your head. “Not everyone wants to start their day with screaming, you know.”

“It’s not screaming,” he corrected you, mock offended by your remark. “It’s punk – it’s just culture. It’s educational, I’d say.”

You snorted, resting your head in her hand, your elbow against the window, “Yeah, well, Mr. Mahoney isn’t gonna accept ‘punk culture’ as the reason I forgot to do my homework again.”

He grinned, leaning over just enough to bump your shoulder with his. “Don’t worry, I’ll distract him with my charm and complete and utter wit that I know you find incredibly attractive.”

“Your charm doesn’t work on teachers,” you teased him, pulling your knees to your chest. “Remember Mrs. Kelly?”

“She also gave me an A after I rewired the projector for her,” he said proudly, smirking. “A high-functioning anarchist with skills.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but it was impossible not to feel warm in his orbit. This was what you loved — the way he made everything feel lighter, easier, like school and rules and the future didn’t matter so much when you had each other.

Harry reached into the glove box and pulled out a packet of gummy worms, tossing it onto the bench between you. “Breakfast of champions.”

You picked it up, raising a brow. “This is why we’re always broke. You spend all your money on junk food and tapes.”

“Not true,” he argued, eyes twinkling. “Sometimes I spend it on petrol. And sometimes,” he leaned in closer, grinning, “on you. Only when you're good though.”

Your heart flipped, though you rolled your eyes to hide it. “Romantic.”

He pulled the truck into the school lot, the muffler rattling loud enough that a few kids turned to look. Harry didn’t care — he drummed one last beat on the steering wheel before killing the engine.

“You love it,” he said, smirking as he tossed the gummy worm packet onto the dashboard.

You scooped up your bag, shaking your head. “One day you’re gonna clean this truck, and I won’t even recognize it.”

“Blasphemy,” he replied, hopping out and rounding the front.

He leaned against the hood for a second, waiting for you as he pushed his hair back on his forehead, chewing on a piece of gum in the back of his teeth, the very picture of the boy everyone swore was trouble. He shot you that grin — the one that said you’re mine and I know it — before grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the double doors.

The morning rush swallowed you both, kids spilling into the building with backpacks slung low and sneakers squeaking on the waxed tile. Harry squeezed your hand once before veering toward shop class, already late but not bothered in the slightest.

“See you at lunch, babe,” he called, flashing that lazy grin before disappearing into the tide of bodies.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, cheeks still warm, before spotting Sidney by the lockers.

The bell between classes rang too sharp, echoing down the hallway lined with lockers and stale gum wrappers on the floor. You walked with Sidney at your side, your books hugged tight to your chest.

At first it was nothing more than a flip in your stomach. Maybe nerves, maybe the cafeteria smell drifting from the commons. But halfway down the hall, it hit harder — a hot wave rolling up your chest, the edges of your vision blurring.

You stopped so suddenly Sidney almost smacked into you.

“Whoa—what’s wrong?” she asked, her bangles clinking as she reached for your arm.

“I—” The words tangled in your mouth, feeling like you couldn't speak. Your mouth watered in the worst way.

You bolted, weaving through the crowd until you pushed through the heavy metal door into the girls’ restroom. It was mercifully empty. You barely made it into a stall before dropping your bag and gripping the cold porcelain, stomach wrenching.

The sound of your retching echoed in the tiled space. Sidney hovered outside the stall, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Shit, babe.”

When it was over, and you felt a little better than before, you leaned your forehead against the side of the stall, clammy and shaky.

“It’s fine,” you croaked, reaching for the toilet paper. “My brother’s been sick all week. Guess I caught it or something.”

Sidney gave a short laugh — not cruel, but sharp, like she couldn’t help herself. You could picture her out there, arms folded, dark brown lip-lined mouth curved into that knowing smirk.

“Right. Totally just a bug.”

You flushed, pushed the door open. She was leaning against the sink, kohl-rimmed eyes watching you.

Then she said it, casual but cutting:

“He convince you that wearing a condom just doesn't feel the same?”

The words landed like a brick. You opened your mouth, shut it again at the severity of the words leaving her lips. Because what could you possibly say to something like that?

It didn't feel like a joke… because in the back of your head you remembered the few times that may have been passion filled and in the heat of the moment that Harry swore he pulled out— of course, you believed he had everything under control.

You rinsed your mouth at the sink, splashing cold water on your face until your cheeks burned pink again. Sidney didn’t move, just watched you with that maddeningly patient stare, lip-liner still sharp even under the awful fluorescent light.

“That’s ridiculous,” you said finally, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink. “I’m not— we’re not—”

Sidney arched a brow, a bit of a conscious face turning into a hesitant one. “You’re not what? Dumb enough? Careful enough? It only takes one time.”

Your chest tightened, and for a moment you hated her for saying it out loud. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just once.

There had been nights in the back of Harry’s truck, tangled up under that ratty blanket he kept thrown across the bench seat, where you were too busy laughing into each other’s mouths to think straight. Times when he was soft and sweet, murmuring that he loved you more than anything, and fumbling didn’t feel like a big deal.

Accidents did happen. You knew that. But staring into Sidney’s knowing eyes, you shook your head again, voice a little sharper to prove your point: nothing was wrong.

“It’s not that, okay? I just… I probably caught what my brother had. That’s all.”

Sidney sighed, rolling her eyes like she didn’t buy it for a second. “Sure. Stomach flu. Right.” She dug into her bag and handed you a stick of gum, her expression softening a little. “Just—maybe think about it, okay?”

You nodded quickly, tucking the gum between your teeth, but your stomach was still twisted, but not from being sick.

From the quiet, gnawing thought that Sidney might be right... but you weren't going to tell her that.

+++

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual midday chaos — trays clattering, someone blasting a ringtone too loud, the scent of fried food heavy in the air.

Harry had his arm draped casually across the back of your chair as always, his fingers idly tracing the edge of your hoodie like it was second nature. His friends were talking over each other about last night’s football game, while Sidney picked apart her salad with feigned disinterest as she looked at the possibly undercooked chicken that sat on top.

Your tray sat untouched in front of you. The sight of greasy pizza and warm Gatorade made your stomach churn. You pushed the food around with your fork, trying to look busy, hoping no one noticed.

Of course, Harry noticed. He always did. His knee knocked against yours under the table.

“You’re not eating,” he said softly, just for you.

You opened your mouth, ready with a shrug, but Sidney beat you to it.

“She was sick earlier,” she announced, like it was common knowledge. “Practically sprinted to the bathroom before class.”

Harry’s head whipped toward you, green eyes narrowed in concern. “What? Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Heat crept up your neck as you watched him watch you, concern lacing his features so distinguishing. “It was nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile to push away the accusations. “Just wasn’t feeling too good. I’m fine now… just taking it easy. Don't think pizza will help.”

The table carried on without caring — someone laughing too loud, another tossing a grape across the room — but Harry kept his eyes on you. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out, just studied your face with that quiet intensity that made your stomach knot for a whole different reason.

It was a look meant only for you, the kind that said he wanted to believe you— you needed him to.

You stabbed at your pizza crust again, pretending you didn’t feel like he could see straight through you.

+++

Harry’s truck was waiting in its usual spot after school, sun flashing off the dented hood. You slid into the passenger seat, trying not to feel the weight of his gaze as he pulled out of the lot. He had one hand on the wheel, the other propped against the open window, fingers drumming a restless rhythm.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked finally, eyes flicking from the road to you. “You didn't leave early, so you must be okay.”

You forced a grin, leaning back against the bench seat like you didn’t have a care in the world. “I told you, I’m fine. Probably just my brother’s flu. Nothing to worry about. Maybe I’lol stay home tomorrow.”

He wasn’t convinced — you could tell by the way his lips pressed into a line, by the little furrow between his brows. But he didn’t push. Just turned the volume up on the tape deck, Johnny Rotten screaming out of the speakers, and let the conversation drop.

By the time he pulled up to your house, you had your mask firmly in place — teasing him about his awful parallel parking against the curb outside your family’s house, leaning over for a kiss before hopping out like everything was normal.

Something wasn’t normal, but you had to pretend it was. For now, at least.

That night, after the house settled into quiet, you slipped on a hoodie and crept out the back door.

Harry was waiting at the curb, headlights off, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth when you slid in beside him.

“Thought you were grounded,” he teased, shifting into gear.

“Not officially,” you whispered back, grinning despite the knot in your stomach. “I was told I couldn't leave because I got a C on my Spanish test— told I needed to study more and to stop hanging out so late,” you bit your lip as you winced at the door closing loudly, “Just… don’t drive past the living room window.”

The world always felt sharper at night — the hum of the truck beneath you, the cool air whipping through the cracked window. You leaned against his shoulder, letting the music thrum low while he tapped ash out the window.

You ended up at the convenience store, Harry ducking inside to grab cigarettes while you wandered down the fluorescent aisles. You trailed your fingers over dusty chip bags and neon candy, pretending not to care about the clerk eyeing you, probably thinking you're the Bonnie and Clyde type. Then, you stopped.

On the endcap, just above the tissues and cough drops, sat a neat row of tampons.

Your breath hitched; you stared longer than you meant to, the red box blurring as your mind spun. It had been a week— maybe more, if you really thought about it. You’d been too distracted, too sure nothing like this could happen to you.

But standing there in the artificial light, the hum of the fridge coolers behind you, it was impossible to ignore.

More than a week late. And maybe Sidney was right. You tore your eyes away from it, walking back towards the front where Harry stood at the counter.

“Ready?” He asked, picking up his items as you both started towards the truck. You merely nodded, catching his hand as you both walked towards the truck.

Harry walked out with his usual: a crumpled pack of Marlboros and a Coke, which he cracked open the second he slid behind the wheel. He glanced at you as he took a swig, like he was waiting for a joke about his terrible soda habit, but you just forced a smile and stared out the window.

The ride was easy on the surface — you both talked about school, about how Mr. Keating’s monotone voice could knock out an entire class in five minutes, about how Sidney had scribbled “Math is a scam” all over her noteboo and got lunch detention.

Harry laughed, head tipped back, curls falling into his eyes, and you laughed too. But it didn’t feel the same. You kept catching your thoughts drifting, your thoughts circling the box you’d seen on that aisle.

He didn’t seem to notice right away, too busy drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, singing along to The Clash on the tape deck. But instead of heading toward your neighborhood, he took the familiar turn down the gravel road that led to the lake.

“Figured we could hang for a bit,” he said, parking under the stretch of trees. “Gorgeous night with my gorgeous girl.”

The lake was still this late at night, dark water catching the glow of the moon. You climbed into the backseat of the truck with him, the old blanket scratchy against your palms. This was your place — where you’d both learned how to kiss without bumping noses, where you whispered secrets about leaving town someday.

Harry leaned back on his elbow, smirk tugging at his lips. “C’mon,” he teased, tilting his head toward you. “Don’t tell me you snuck out for nothing. It's not like you to not want something.”

Normally, that smirk undid you. Normally, you’d already be tangled up with him, laughing between kisses. But when his mouth brushed yours, you felt heavy instead of dizzy, distracted instead of breathless.

He pulled back after a moment, frowning just a little. “Hey,” he said quietly, eyes searching yours to look for an answer. “What’s wrong? You’re not… into it.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, panic flickering hot in your chest. He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t fine because all you could think about was the aisle at the store. The box. The fact that you were late. You had to tell him.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, forcing a small smile.

“I’m just tired,” you said softly, avoiding his eyes. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

Harry didn’t buy it — you could tell by the way his brows knit together, by the way his hand lingered on your knee instead of pulling back. He studied you in the quiet, only the ripple of the lake and the distant chirp of crickets filling the space.

“Tired, huh?” he said finally, voice low. “That why you barely touched your lunch? Or why Sidney said you nearly keeled over in the hallway today?”

“Harry…” You sighed, hating how his concern was making your throat ache.

He shifted, sitting up straighter, his green eyes catching the moonlight. “Talk to me. Please.”

You tried to hold his gaze, but the words tangled on your tongue. For a second you thought about lying again, brushing him off with another excuse. But he knew you too well. He always had.

So you whispered it, barely louder than the night air.

“I’m late.”

His frown deepened at your words. “Late for what?”

You swallowed hard, heat crawling up your neck as you thought about how to explain it. “My period. It’s been… over a week.”

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on you. Harry blinked, his hand slipping from your knee as the words settled in. He looked like he was trying to work out a math problem too big for his head.

“I'm never late.” Your tone turned a bit serious as you answered the question Harry was preparing to ask.

Harry scoffed a laugh, shaking his head, “But— I mean, we're careful. We use condoms, I pull out—”

“That's not always effective, you know,” your stare hardens on him before you watch his eyes falter, and a bit of defeat finds him. “We're too reckless, and I think we screwed up.”

There is a few beats of silence between you before Harry bites his cheek.

“Shit,” he breathed finally, eyes tilted to the ground.

You hugged your arms around yourself, staring out at the water. “I’m probably just stressed. Or sick, like I said. But—” You couldn’t finish, because the fear in your chest made your voice crack.

Harry reached for your hand, gripping it tight, his jaw working like he was holding back everything he wanted to say.

Harry’s thumb rubbed over the back of your hand, but the motion wasn’t steady. His fingers trembled, his breath uneven as he stared out at the lake like it might give him an answer.

“Okay,” he said at last, though his voice cracked halfway through. “Okay. We’ll… we’ll figure it out.”

You turned your head, watching him in the pale wash of moonlight. His curls fell across his forehead, lips parted as he tried to steady himself. And for the first time since you’d started sneaking into the back of his truck, for the first time since he’d slipped his hand into yours outside biology class, he looked like what he really was.

You were sixteen, him seventeen. A boy, not a man, at that. You certainly didn't feel like an adult.

And it hit you, hard and sudden: you were just a girl. A scared, tired, still-growing-up girl.

Your stomach twisted. Fear spread cold through your chest, worse than the nausea in the hallway earlier. Because if you were pregnant — if that test came back the way you dreaded — everything would change.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Harry’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide and almost watery. His face softened immediately, and he squeezed your hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

“Me too,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “God, me too. But—” He shook his head, swallowing hard. “You’re not alone in this. You’ll never be alone, I swear.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted his words to be enough to erase the panic clawing at your chest. But all you could see was how young he looked, how unprepared you both were. How he could walk away from this, if he really wanted.

The boy with the old pickup truck, the Sex Pistols tapes, the lazy smirk that made you feel like the luckiest girl in school. He wasn’t supposed to be sitting here with fear written all over his face, promising things neither of you knew how to deliver.

And yet here you were.

You sat in the truck bed for what felt like forever, silence weighing heavier than the night sky. Finally, you pulled in a shaky breath.

“I need to know,” you said. “I can’t just sit here and wonder.”

Harry nodded immediately, almost too quickly, like agreeing was the only thing keeping him together. “Then we’ll get a test.”

Your stomach twisted tighter. “Harry—”

“I’ll buy it,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time. “Just— I mean, maybe we're just getting worked up over nothing, yeah?”

It was reckless and desperate, but what else could you do?

So, you climbed back into the cab, pressed yourself against the door as he started the engine, gravel crunching under the tires. Neither of you spoke the whole drive back into town, headlights cutting through the dark, the glow of the dashboard painting Harry’s face pale and solemn.

The gas station was nearly empty when you pulled in, like it had been before. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, humming like they were mocking you for walking back through their doors. You walked in together, Harry’s hand brushing yours for courage, and headed straight for the aisle you’d avoided earlier.

He grabbed the test, jaw set tight and dropped it onto the counter. The cashier — older, hair in a limp ponytail, boredom etched into her face — glanced at the box, then at you two. That look said everything without a word: kids who had no business buying what they were buying.

Your cheeks burned. You wanted to shrink into the floor, but Harry stood a little taller, sliding a few bills across the counter like it didn’t matter if he had to empty every pocket.

Minutes later, the two of you were crammed into the tiny gas station bathroom, graffiti scrawled across the door, a sticky floor under your sneakers. It smelled faintly of bleach and cigarette smoke. Midnight on a Thursday night, sixteen and seventeen, holding onto each other like the world might cave in.

Your hands shook as you opened the box, Harry steadying them with his own. “You don’t have to look,” he murmured, but he didn’t leave either. He stayed right there with you, crouched by the sink, trying to be brave when his eyes gave him away.

And then there was nothing to do but wait.

You both sat on the cold tile floor, knees bumping, his fingers twisting with yours. Every tick of the second hand from your watch echoed in your ears.

When the time was up, you stood together. One line appeared, and then — before you could even blink — the second.

It was like every nightmare you could have witnessed pushed into one reality.

Your breath caught, your chest tightening like the air had been sucked out of the room. Harry’s hand dropped from yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t look at him, couldn't look at yourself.

Sixteen and seventeen. And the test didn’t care.

The second line sat there, dark pink and merciless. You couldn’t tear your eyes from it, though part of you desperately wanted to.

Harry let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh — sharp, shaky, and completely without joy.

He ran a hand through his curls, then muttered, “Can we… can we get out of here before I pass out in a gas station bathroom?”

It startled a laugh out of you — or maybe a sob. You couldn’t tell which. Your fingers fumbled to shove the test back in the box, shove the box back in the plastic bag. Anything to get it out of sight.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Let’s go.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you both pushed out the door that rang when you walked through it, the clerk barely glancing up as you slipped past. The air outside was cooler, cleaner, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest that had started to tighten further.

You climbed back into Harry’s truck, the bench seat creaking under your weight. For a long time, neither of you moved. He had his hands braced on the wheel, knuckles white, eyes fixed on nothing. You stared out at the parking lot; the neon glow of the gas station sign reflected in the windshield.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. And then, finally, you started to see it — the way his chest rose too fast, the way his jaw flexed like he was clenching down on words he didn’t know how to say.

Harry Styles, who always had a smirk, who always had something cocky or sweet to throw out, was panicking right in front of your eyes.

And he didn’t even have to say it. You could feel it radiating off him.

Harry’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel, too fast, too uneven. Then he dropped his hands into his lap, staring at them like they belonged to someone else.

“You have a scholarship next year,” he blurted, voice rough. “You—Christ, you’re supposed to go to college. And I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Neither of us even have a job. Not a real one. How the hell are we supposed to…”

He didn’t finish, but you didn’t need him to. The weight of it pressed against your chest until you could hardly breathe.

“Harry—” you whispered, reaching out, but he flinched back just slightly, not from you, but from the thought of it all. It didn't hurt less.

He dragged a hand over his face, curls falling forward as his shoulders hunched. For once he didn’t look like the boy who drove you around blasting punk tapes and promising the world. He looked like what he was: seventeen, scared, and staring down something far bigger than himself.

“Do we even tell them?” he asked finally, eyes flashing to yours. “Our parents, I mean. What if they—” He cut himself off, throat tight. “What if they kick us out? What if they say it’s over for you, for school? What if they—”

His words tripped over each other, spiraling faster than you could catch them. And suddenly you realized you’d never seen Harry Styles like this. Not cocky, not sure of himself. Just terrified.

You reached over anyway, laying your hand on his thigh to still him, even though you were shaking too.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” you admitted, voice small but steady. “But we’ll figure it out. We don’t have a choice.”

His eyes searched yours, wide and glassy, and for a moment he looked like a little boy lost in the dark.

Harry sat there with his hands pressed flat to his jeans, breathing hard, his knee bouncing against the seat. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. His mouth opened like he wanted to speak, then closed again.

It was the quiet that told you everything — he was thinking, trying to work out what this meant, how big it really was. But he didn’t say the words you thought you needed: I’ll support you no matter what. If you keep it. If you don’t.

He just sat there, staring at the dashboard like maybe it would spell out the right answer if he looked long enough.

You swallowed, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I think…” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through. “I think I should tell Sidney first. Get her reaction. Just—before we have to face our parents.”

Harry turned toward you at that, his jaw tightening. “Sidney?”

“She’s my best friend,” you said quickly, defensive. “If anyone’s gonna help me… it’ll be her.”

He didn’t argue, not really. He just nodded once, sharp, like he understood but hated it all the same. His fingers finally reached for yours again, lacing them together tight.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice low. “Sidney first.”

The cab fell silent again, save for the tick of the cooling engine.

The hum of the gas station lights outside bled faintly through the cracked window. Neither of you spoke. You stared at your joined hands, at the way your thumb twitched against his without meaning to.

Harry shifted, exhaling a long, shaky breath. His shoulders sagged a little, like the panic had wrung him out. For the first time since the test, he really looked at you — not past you, not through you, but at you.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice gentler than it had been all night. He reached over, brushing his fingertips across your wrist. “Hey. Look at me.”

Your throat tightened, but you did. His eyes were glassy, scared, but steady.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” he admitted, each word careful. “But… I do know I can’t let you go through this by yourself.”

Your breath hitched, the tears you’d been swallowing back all night started spilling over. Before you could say anything, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand warm against your cheek.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he whispered, though you both knew he couldn’t promise that. Still, the way he said it, soft and stubborn, made you almost believe him.

For a few minutes, the panic dulled. It was just the two of you in that truck, clinging to each other because you were all you had.

+++

The next night, it was Friday, a day that would normally have you seething at the mouth to get out and find a hang spot with the rest of your class.

But tonight, you had invited Sidney over to discuss the previous night. It had completely silenced you from the rest of the day; you used the excuse that you didn't feel good and that seemed to work for the time being.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you, the muffled sound of the TV downstairs carrying faintly through the floorboards. Sidney sprawled on your bed, flipping through a magazine like it was any other Friday. Her shoes dangled off the edge, heavy lip liner perfect as always, nails tapping absently against the glossy pages.

You paced back and forth from the window to the door.

“You’re making me dizzy,” she muttered, not looking up.

“Sid,” you blurted. Your throat was dry, words tumbling out too fast. “I have to tell you something, but you can’t—like, you can’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Her eyes flicked up at you, curiosity arching her brow. “Okay,” she gave you a tilted head look as she seemed bit worried at your tone, “What is it?”

You wrung your hands together, heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sounds from the TV below. Then you said it, flat and sharp, because dragging it out felt impossible.

“I’m—” you swallowed, looking up at the ceiling, “pregnant.”

For the first time in forever, Sidney didn’t have a quick comeback. Her mouth dropped open, magazine sliding off her lap and onto the floor.

“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She sat up straighter, eyes scanning your face for any sign you were joking. “No, you’re—seriously?”

You nodded, and suddenly her snarky mask — the smirks, the eye rolls, the too-cool attitude, it melted away. Her jaw worked like she was trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

“I…” She shook her head, chewing her lip. “Shit.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked hard. “I know.”

She scooted closer on the bed, her eyeliner smudged a little at the corner now, eyes wide and almost scared.

“What are you gonna do?” she asked softly, no bite in her tone this time. Just fear, and a bit of care.

And for the first time since that bathroom stall, you realized how real it was — not just for you and Harry, but for everyone who loved you.

“I don't know— we don't know. I just found out.”

Sidney sat cross-legged on your comforter, chewing her thumb nail — a nervous habit you’d never actually seen from her before. The lip liner and heavy eyeliner made her look older, tougher, but right now she just looked like your best friend trying to catch up to the weight of what you’d said.

“Okay,” she breathed at last, “first things first—does Harry know?”

You nodded quickly. “Last night. We bought the test together.”

Her brows shot up, like she had been confused that Harry was even involved. “Together?”

You gave a humorless laugh, wiping at your cheek. “Yeah. Thursday at midnight, in the gas station. Most romantic moment of my life.”

For a second, Sidney almost smiled — then her face sobered again. “So, he knows. That’s good. But… what about your parents?”

Your stomach clenched. “I can’t—Sid, they’ll freak. My dad’ll lose it. My mom…” You trailed off, the words dying in your throat.

Sidney tilted her head, softer now. “You’ve got to tell them. Sooner than later. If you don’t, it’s just gonna get worse. And Harry—” She leaned in, her voice lower, “Harry should be there when you do. If he was brave enough to sit in a gas station bathroom with you, then he can be brave enough to sit in your living room and tell your dad he's got strong swimmers.”

You groaned shaking your head, “This isn't a joking manner, Sid.”

She shook her head, “Sorry.”

You swallowed hard, staring at your knees. “I don’t even know what we’d say. What we’d do after.”

Sidney reached out, squeezing your hand. “You don’t need to know all that right this second. One step at a time, okay? You tell your parents. You figure out school. You figure out jobs. And Harry… Harry better keep showing up.”

Tears blurred your vision, but her steady voice anchored you.

“You’re not alone in this,” Sidney added, firm this time. “You’ve got me. You’ve got him. Your parents may be more accepting than you think. We’ll figure it out.”

Her words pressed against the panic in your chest, not enough to erase it, but enough to let you breathe for the first time since you’d seen that second line appear.

Sidney tucked her legs under her, still holding your hand when the creak of the stairs reached your ears. A beat later, your mom’s voice carried up the hall.

“Y/N? Harry’s here!”

Your heart jumped into your throat. You and Sidney locked eyes, hers wide. “Well, speak of the devil,” she muttered.

Panic fluttered in your chest as you scrambled to the door, cracking it open just as Harry appeared at the top of the stairs. His curls were a mess from his hoodie hood, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes flicking nervously toward your mom’s shadow moving around below.

“Hi,” you whispered, ushering him inside quickly before your mom decided to come check herself. You shut the door, leaning against it for a moment like that might hold the world back a little longer.

Sidney raised her brows at him, smirking. “Wow. Teenage dad in the flesh. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Harry’s scowl was immediate, sharp, and so unamused it made you choke on a laugh you weren’t supposed to have. He dropped into your desk chair, spinning it once, jaw tight.

“Not funny,” he muttered, shooting Sidney a look that could’ve killed if it wasn’t dulled by how wrecked he looked.

“Just trying to lighten up the mood,” Sidney said, though her smirk faded when she saw the storm in his eyes. “Fine. No jokes. Just saying.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, tugging at the sleeve of your hoodie. “We… need to figure this out. Together.”

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We do.”

For a moment, none of you spoke, the weight of what needed to be done pressing down. Then Sidney broke the silence, her voice steady. “You’ve gotta tell your parents. That’s first. You can’t keep it a secret forever.”

Harry groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “They’re gonna lose it.”

“Of course they’re gonna lose it,” Sidney shot back. “But better they lose it now than in three months when you can’t hide it anymore.”

You bit your lip, glancing between them. “So… what? We just sit them down? Both of us? Together?”

Harry’s eyes flicked to yours, softer this time. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

And for the first time since the gas station, it felt like maybe the three of you could actually figure out the next step.

Sidney leaned back against your headboard, arms folded, eyes sharp as she studied the both of you. “Okay,” she said. “We need a plan. You can’t just sit them down and blurt ‘surprise, we’re having a baby.’ They’ll keel over.”

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “So what, we start with… ‘Don’t freak out’?”

Sidney snorted. “Yeah, that’ll go well. Nothing calms parents down like being told not to freak out.”

You chewed your lip, staring down at your hands in your lap. “What if we… just tell them straight? No stalling, no excuses. Just… honest.”

Harry turned in the chair, looking at you. “And say what? ‘Mom, Dad, we’re idiots who forgot a condom and now everything’s screwed’?”

Sidney raised a brow. “That’s a start.”

Harry shot her a glare, but she only shrugged. “I’m serious. They’re gonna want to know you’re taking it seriously. That you’re not just a couple of dumb kids who think this’ll magically sort itself out.”

You exhaled shakily. “So, we sit down and say—what?—‘We’re sorry. We messed up. But we’re not running from it’?”

“Exactly,” Sidney said, nodding. “You need to show them you’ve thought about it. That you’re scared, but you’re not pretending it’s not happening.”

Harry leaned back in the chair, jaw tight, but his eyes stayed on you.

“I can say it,” he murmured after a beat. “I can tell them I’ll… figure out work, money, whatever it takes. I don’t want them thinking you’re the only one holding the bag.”

Your chest ached at that — at the way his voice cracked a little, at how young he looked even while trying to sound older than both your ages put together.

Sidney smirked faintly, softer this time. “Look at you, all noble. Not bad, Styles.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t snap back, his gaze fixed on you instead. “We’ll do it together. Whatever we say, we’ll say it together.”

Sidney finally broke the silence on a question that had been lingering; her hesitation catching your notice.

“Okay,” she said, her voice lower, steadier than usual. “Before you go down there and drop the bomb… have you decided you’re actually going through with it?”

Your eyes snapped to hers, startled. She held your gaze, not cruel, just blunt. “I mean—don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m saying maybe that’s the better starting place. Knowing where you both are. Because once your parents know, it’s out there. You can’t take it back and they're going to want to know everything.”

Harry lifted his head, his green eyes flicking to you. He looked younger than ever, curls falling into his face, his mouth tight like he was trying not to say the wrong thing.

“It’s your choice,” he said quietly. His voice wavered, but his words were firm as he spoke them. “I’ll… I’ll stand by whatever you decide. But it has to be you.”

The room went quiet again, the weight of it pressing down. You stared at your hands in your lap, your vision blurring. For a second, you imagined the other path—life going back to normal, college applications, dances, late nights with Sidney and Harry without the shadow of a baby in the middle of it all.

But when you looked up at Harry—his jaw clenched, his eyes scared but locked on you, you knew.

“I’m keeping it,” you whispered. Saying it out loud made your chest burn, but also strangely light. “I don’t know how we’ll do it. But… I couldn’t not.

Sidney’s face softened for the first time all night, her usual smirk fading into something serious, protective. “Then that’s the answer,” she said. “And when you tell them, you stick to it. Together.”

Harry’s hand found yours across the space, gripping tight. “Together,” he echoed.

You nodded, even as your stomach flipped. Because now the words weren’t just in your bedroom, rehearsed and hypothetical — they were real, hovering in the air, waiting for the moment they’d spill into the world and change everything.

Sidney left just before dark, her lip liner smudged, her hug tighter than usual.

“Text me after,” she whispered at your door, and then she was gone, leaving you and Harry standing in the quiet hallway like you were about to walk into a storm.

“We’ll do it at dinner,” you said, voice thin. “No good time, right? Might as well be now.”

Harry nodded, but his hand found yours, squeezing once like it was both a promise and a plea.

The smell of garlic bread hit first as you walked into the kitchen, your mom humming softly as she set the table. Joey was already there, flipping through a comic book, and your dad poured iced tea into glasses. It could’ve been any normal night.

Except your heart was pounding so hard it rattled in your chest.

The five of you were in the presence of the room before your mom told you two to sit down in your spots at the table.

Harry sat beside you at the table, unusually stiff, and your mom smiled warmly at him as though she couldn’t see the panic radiating off the both of you. Your family had started to come sit, moving food around the table in a normal way.

It felt normal. Your heart beat rapidly, but they couldn't see that.

“So, Harry,” your dad began between bites of salad, “you’ve thought more about college? Where you’ll apply? I know you’ve got that coach sniffing around—”

Harry’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, so he could answer. “Uh. Yeah. Or… I don’t know. Maybe. Still figuring it out.” His voice cracked slightly, but your parents didn’t notice.

“And you,” your mom said, turning to you with a smile that felt like a knife twisting in your stomach, “when do your SAT scores come back? Next week?”

Your throat closed. You nodded, but the world felt like it was tilting, forks clinking too loud on plates, Joey crunching his bread like it was the only sound in the room.

Harry shifted beside you, his knee bouncing under the table. You caught his glance — that silent question, are we doing this? — and before you could stop yourself, the words tore out of your mouth.

“We have to tell you something.” Your throat felt like it burned from just those words alone. Your eyes looked up to see that everyone at the table was now looking at you — Harry was staring at the tablecloth.

Your say for a moment before you took a deep breath in. It would be okay.

It would be okay, you told yourself.

“I’m— we,” you cleared your throat, “I’m pregnant.”

The clatter of silverware was deafening because all that followed was the heavy silence. Your mom’s fork slipped against her plate, your dad froze mid-sip, and Joey’s comic book fell flat against the table. For a second, no one breathed.

Then Joey, wide-eyed and thirteen, broke the silence.

“Wait… what?”

You swore you saw your mom’s face drain of color. Your dad’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. Harry’s hand brushed against yours under the table, but this time it wasn’t steady — it was shaking, just like yours.

The truth hung heavy in the air, and nothing would ever be the same again.

For a long, awful second, it didn’t feel real. Like the words hadn’t actually left your mouth, like they were still tucked inside your chest where you could deny them. But the way your mom’s hand trembled against her napkin, the way your dad’s face darkened, told you otherwise.

Your mom was the first to speak, her voice breaking.

“I—what did you just say?”

“I’m…” You swallowed hard, eyes darting to Harry, then back to them. “Pregnant.”

Your dad’s chair scraped against the tile as he leaned forward, his voice sharp, almost a whisper.

“No. No, you’re sixteen. That’s—no.”

Harry shifted beside you, his jaw clenched, his hand white-knuckled on his fork. “We know it’s— it’s not what anyone wanted,” he started, his voice tight but steady. “But we’re—”

“Don’t you start.” Your dad’s voice cracked across the table like a whip, making Harry flinch. “You did this to her.”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, the words dying in his throat.

“Dad, that’s not—” you tried, heat rushing to your cheeks.

You felt Harry beside you, stiff and silent, and when you turned, you saw the storm in his eyes — not anger, but humiliation, fear. He’d tried to step in, to take some of the weight, and your dad had cut him down with one sentence.

Your throat closed. “Don’t talk to him like that,” you blurted, tears spilling before you could stop them. “This isn’t just his fault—it’s ours.”

But the words only seemed to make the room heavier. Your parents stared, disbelieving, their faces a mixture of heartbreak and fury.

“Not what?!” Your mom burst out, her voice high, trembling. “Do you have any idea what this means? College, your future—everything, gone, just like that?!”

Tears burned in your eyes, hot and blurring. “We didn’t— we didn’t plan this,” you stammered. “It just… happened.”

Your dad shook his head, running a hand over his face like he could wipe the truth away. “God help us,” he muttered. “That doesn't just happen, for God’s sake.”

Joey sat frozen, staring between all of you like the room tipped upside down.

And you sat there, sixteen, holding onto Harry’s shaking hand under the table, feeling more like a child than you ever had.

Your mom’s voice caught in her throat as she looked at you, really looked — the tears streaking down your cheeks, the way your knuckles were white from gripping Harry’s hand under the table. For a moment, her face softened, like she realized her yelling wasn’t pulling you back, it was only pushing you further away.

But your dad didn’t see it— he didn't want to. He leaned forward, eyes sharp on Harry like he could pin him in place.

“What are you going to do, huh?” he snapped. “You gonna get a job? Support her? Pay for a baby on minimom wage? Or were you just planning to keep running around in that baby-proofed vehicle of yours blasting that garbage music and pretending this isn’t real?”

Harry sat rigid in the chair, shoulders squared, his jaw tight. He didn’t break your dad’s gaze, even as the questions piled on like weights.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

“Figure it out?” Your dad barked a laugh, humorless. “That’s not good enough. Do you have a plan? Do you have money? A place to live if—”

“Dad, stop!” Your voice cracked, tears slipping faster. You clutched Harry’s hand tighter under the table, like you could anchor him when you felt like you were both drowning.

Harry didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I don’t have all the answers yet,” he admitted, steady despite the heat in his cheeks. “But I’m not walking away. I’m not leaving her to do this alone.”

Your dad’s jaw worked, ready to fire back, but your mom laid a hand on his arm, shaking her head. “Enough,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Yelling isn’t going to change it.”

The room went quiet except for your soft sobs and Joey shifting uncomfortably in his chair, staring down at his plate.

Your mom looked at you again, her eyes wet now too. “Sweetheart… we can’t fix this by shouting. But this—” she gestured weakly between you and Harry “—this is real now. And we have to face it— all of us.”

You pressed closer to Harry, his palm slick against yours under the table, but still he held on. He was standing tall, even if you could feel him shaking, trying so hard not to crumble.

And in that moment, you loved him and feared for him all at once.

Your mom rubbed her temples, exhaling slowly, her voice steadier now. “Alright. First thing, we’ll get you in to see a doctor next week to confirm everything. Make sure you’re healthy.” She looked at you, her eyes tired but softer. “That’s happening. And as for school…” Her gaze flicked between you and Harry. “That’s on you. You’ll have to figure out how to keep up, Y/N. No excuses.”

You nodded through tears, the weight of it pressing down harder than ever.

From across the table, Joey finally spoke up, deadpan as he pushed his comic aside. “So… guess I’m never allowed to have a door on my bedroom again, huh?”

The silence cracked, just barely. Your mom shot him a look, your dad groaned into his hand, but for a moment you almost laughed through your tears.

Harry cleared his throat, sitting straighter. His fingers tightened around yours under the table before he looked directly at your parents. His voice was firm, more grown than you’d ever heard it.

“I’ll get a job,” he said. “Whatever it takes. After school, weekends—I’ll figure it out. And I know I don’t have all the answers right now, but…” He paused, swallowing hard, his jaw working. “I love her. And I’ll do anything for her,” He paused, “For both of them.”

The room stilled at his words that felt so unbelievable. Both of them. Your mom’s lips parted, surprise flickering in her eyes; your dad’s face softened, just barely, though the anger hadn’t fully drained away.

You turned your head, blinking at Harry. His hand was still shaking under the table, but his eyes were open, fierce with something you hadn’t seen in him before.

Your mom leaned back in her chair, shoulders slumped, exhaustion softening her anger. “That’s enough for tonight,” she said quietly. “We’ll… talk more tomorrow. When everyone’s had time to think and not be so irrational.”

Your dad pressed his lips into a thin line but didn’t argue. He only gave Harry one last hard look before pushing back from the table. “You’d better mean what you said,” he muttered.

Harry didn’t flinch. He just nodded once. “I do.”

The rest of dinner passed in silence, though no one touched their plates. When your mom finally stood to clear the dishes, she told Harry gently, “You should head home, sweetie. We’ll… figure out the next step soon.”

You wanted to beg him to stay, to sit with you until the weight of it didn’t feel so crushing, but instead you squeezed his hand once more under the table before letting him go.

At the front door, Harry turned, his hand hovering like he wanted to reach for you again but knew he couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, he leaned forward, pressed his forehead to yours for the briefest moment, and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then he stepped out into the cool night air, the screen door creaking shut behind him. You watched from the window as he crossed the yard to his old pickup, shoulders slumped, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The headlights flicked on, cutting through the dark, before the truck rattled down the street and disappeared into the dark.

You stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, the weight of the night pressing in. Upstairs, your brother’s bedroom door creaked. In the kitchen, your mom whispered something low to your dad. And for the first time, it really sank in that nothing would ever be the same again.

+++

The house was warm when Harry stepped inside, the hum of the dishwasher filling the kitchen. His mom glanced up from the counter where she seemed to be cleaning up some mail, smiling tiredly. “Long day, love?”

Gemma looked up from the sofa, pen in hand, her homework spread across the coffee table.

Harry shut the door behind him, but he didn’t move further in. His keys slipped from his hand onto the small table with a hollow clink, and he just stood there, shoulders hunched under the weight of the night.

Anne frowned, setting the tea towel down. “Harry?”

His chest rose and fell too fast. His throat burned viscerally. “She’s—"

The words felt heavy, final, now that they were out in the air. His voice cracked, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“We—” He dragged a hand through his curls, pacing two steps before his knees nearly buckled. “We found out last night. Took the test in a bloody gas station bathroom. And tonight—at dinner—” His voice broke again, tears spilling hot and fast now. “Her dad just… went at me. Asking what I’m gonna do, how I’m gonna pay for it, like I had answers. Like I’m supposed to—supposed to know how to fix everything when I’m just—”

He choked on the words, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

Gemma had dropped her pen, her face pale, stricken by what she was looking at. Anne was at his side in an instant, her arms wrapping around his shaking frame.

The words hadn't left his mouth, but Anne and Gemma looked at each other with na undoubtable look that spoke to one another instantly.

Harry pressed his face into her shoulder, finally letting go of the composure he’d clung to at the table. His body shook with sobs he couldn’t hold back anymore, words muffled against her jumper.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Anne’s hand rubbed steady circles between his shoulder blades, her voice low and fierce against his ear. “We’ll figure it out, Harry. One step at a time, okay? You don’t have to know everything right now—let’s talk, okay?”

Gemma came closer, her hand on his arm, her eyes glassy too as she watched her younger brother in such a vulnerable state—it was one that she didn’t see too often, it hid behind the loud metal music and moody tones.

Harry clung to both of them, the dam broken at last. Everything he’d held up in front of your parents, all the bravery he’d tried to summon in that kitchen, crumbled in the safety of his own home with the two people he trusted more than anything.

Anne practically guided Harry into the living room, settling him on the worn sofa. His curls stuck damp to his cheeks, his chest still hiccupping with leftover sobs. Gemma sat close on the armrest, her hand brushing his shoulder every so often, like she wasn’t sure what else to do.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The ticking clock on the mantle filled the quiet. Then Anne sighed, her eyes red but steady as she tried to hold back her own emotion to hopefully not persist.

“I should’ve…” She shook her head, her voice catching. “I should’ve checked in more, Harry. Asked, you know? Made sure you had—” She pressed her lips together, wincing. “Condoms.”

Harry let out a strangled noise, burying his face in his hands. “Mom. God. Please don’t.”

Gemma winced too but gave a small, dry laugh. “Not exactly the conversation you want with Mom, huh?”

Harry groaned, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. “Not in the slightest.”

Anne touched his knee, her expression softening. “I just… I wanted better for you than what I had, Harry. Raising you and Gemma on my own—it wasn’t easy. I didn’t want you repeating my mistakes,” she caught herself, “Don't get me wrong, I love both you and your sister as much as possible, but that doesn't mean I didn't make mistakes.”

His chest squeezed tight at her words, guilt weighing heavy. “It’s not—she’s not—” He looked up, blinking hard. “She’s not a mistake, Mom. Neither is the baby. It’s just… terrifying.”

Anne nodded slowly, her eyes shining at the way that her son spoke. “Alright then. So, we don’t waste time on blame. We just figure out next steps.” She folded her hands together, looking between Harry and Gemma. “She’s keeping the baby?”

Harry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “That's what she says. She’s going to the doctor next week. Her mom’s taking her.”

Gemma leaned back, exhaling. “Okay. That’s good. That’s… real.”

Anne nodded again, more firmly this time. “So. That means you’ve got to step up. School’s not going away. You’ll need a job, Harry. Something steady, something you can start now.”

“I know.” His voice was small, but sure. “I told her parents I’d figure it out. And I will.”

Anne’s hand squeezed his knee, gentle but firm. “We’ll help as much as we can. But you need to understand—this changes everything. No more coasting. You’ve got to show her, her parents, and yourself that you’re not just some scared boy.”

Harry nodded, his jaw tightening. “But I am scared.” he admitted.

Anne let herself smile—it was a sad smile, with little meeting her eyes as she watched her son hold himself up, not breaking down or running away—not yet. She ached at the thought of him losing sight of what was in front of him, everything starting to fade away moment by moment.

There was a new journey ahead of him, and she wasn’t sure if he understood that. Everything changed.

Harry sat slouched forward, elbows on his knees, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes as he tried to push away the headache that crying brought on. He’d stopped crying, but his face was blotchy, and his breathing came in uneven pulls.

Anne reached over, resting a hand on his arm. “Harry,” she said gently.

He turned his head just enough to look at her, wary, like he was bracing for more disappointment.

“I’m not disappointed in you,” she told him, firm and steady, nodding to ensure that he heard her. “I need you to hear that. I’m disappointed in the situation, yes. But not you.”

His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a hard line. “Doesn’t feel like much of a difference.”

“There is,” she insisted. Her thumb rubbed over the sleeve of his hoodie. “You made the choice to have sex, which means you chose responsibility whether you realized it at the time or not. And this—” she gestured faintly, “this is the consequence. Scary as hell, yes. But it doesn’t mean you’ve failed me, or our family, or anyone.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes glassy again. “I don’t know if I can do it, Mom. I’m so scared.”

Anne leaned in, pressing her forehead briefly to his temple, the same way she had when he was small. “Of course you’re scared. But being scared doesn’t mean you can’t be responsible. It just means you’re human.”

Gemma, quiet on the armrest above them, added softly, “You’ve already started by not running away. That’s more than some guys twice your age would do.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh, one hand dragging over his face. He hated how raw he felt, hated admitting the fear, but in their eyes, there wasn’t judgment — just a kind of fierce love that told him maybe he wasn’t as alone in this as he thought.

Anne squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, Harry. You and her, together. And when you stumble, we’ll help you get back up. You hear me? Your sister and I are always behind you.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. I hear you.”

When the conversation finally dwindled, Anne stood to put the kettle back on and continue her thorough cleaning of the mail pile in the kitchen, and Gemma gathered her books wordlessly to head up to her room to study instead. The house felt heavier than usual, like every wall had absorbed what had just been said.

Harry trudged up the stairs to his room, shutting the door softly behind him. The posters on his walls, the mess of records on the floor, his guitar propped in the corner—it all looked the same. But it didn’t feel the same because all of this felt… mundane.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands. The same hands that had held yours in the gas station bathroom, trembling.

The last twenty-four hours replayed in his head like a cruel montage: you sick in the hallway, your quietness during the day, Sidney’s knowing look, the second line on the test, your father’s voice cutting him down, your tears, his mother’s arms around him as he fell apart.

He dragged a hand through his curls, chest aching. He was only seventeen, but the weight on his shoulders felt older, heavier, like he’d skipped a step in growing up and landed here too fast.

Lying back, he stared at the ceiling, his heart still racing. He was scared. More scared than he’d ever been. But beneath it, stubborn as ever, was one solid truth he couldn’t shake:

He loved you.

And whatever came next—jobs, doctors, school, your parents’ disappointment—he wasn’t going anywhere. Harry closed his eyes, the hum of the house settling around him. Tomorrow would come too soon, and with it more questions, more judgment, more fear.

But for tonight, he just let himself lay back on his bed with a heart full of sorrow for a life that would never be the same, but gratitude that it changed at all.

Three Months Later: Five Months.

At five months pregnant, there was no hiding it anymore—it had become as real as it could’ve been. Your stomach curved beneath your crewneck, the bump undeniable no matter how baggy your clothes. Walking down the hallways felt like stepping onto a stage with eyes tracking you, whispers slipping sharp between lockers. You tried to keep your chin up to act like you didn’t care, books hugged tight to your chest, but every now and then you caught the glance of someone who used to be a friend, someone who no longer met your eyes.

Sidney was still at your side; your quick wit, charm, and scare tactics kept people at bay when making comments. When someone giggled too loud behind you in the hall or made a remark too loud, she whipped her head around and snapped, “You’ve got something better to say? Didn’t think so.”

That day, in the cafeteria, you sat with Harry at the far table by the windows. His arm always rested along the back of your chair, protective without being obvious, like a barrier against the rest of the room. Tray untouched in front of you, you pulled folded black-and-white sonogram photos from your binder, sliding them across to Sidney.

Her eyes widened as she held them up to the light. “Holy shit,” she whispered, a grin tugging at her lips. “Look at her. Or him. Damn, this is real real.”

Harry leaned in, dimples flashing as he pointed at the blur on the page. “That’s the nose. Same as hers,” he said, jerking his thumb toward you.

You swatted at him, cheeks warm. “Could just as easily be yours.”

Sidney smirked, holding the photos in front of her. “God help us if they look like you, Styles—you might be in this situation again in sixteen years.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, the kind of smile he only gave you. Then, lowering his voice so only you could hear, he nudged your elbow. “We’ve gotta start looking, y’know. Apartments. Somewhere bigger than your bedroom, smaller than the moon.”

Your heart skipped at the thought; you’d both circled some places in the newspaper but hadn’t come to a conclusion on anything. You didn’t want to bite off more than you could chew considering graduation hadn’t come yet.

He stole one of your fries that had been left untouched, popping it into his mouth. “We can’t keep living between your parents’ house and mine,” His hand brushed your stomach, quick and secret, “Your dad hasn’t let up and it’s…”

You caught Sidney watching, softer now, her smirk gone. For once, she didn’t have something sharp to say. You knew what he meant—your dad hadn’t let up on Harry, and he didn’t pretend, either. There had been a couple of instances that you thought your dad would push Harry away, but he didn’t budge. If anything, it made him stay longer and stronger than before.

The bell rang, echoing down the halls. You gathered your things; the sonogram photos carefully slipped back into their place. Standing, you could feel it again — eyes on you, lingering, judging. But then Harry’s hand found yours, threading through your fingers, steady as always.

“Let them stare,” he muttered under his breath, giving you that half-grin that had always made you feel untouchable.

+++

Even in the midst of everything going on around you both, Harry had still managed to keep on the soccer team—one of the best players, if he was honest. He was waiting on the scholarship to help him get through college the next year, but he had to put a hold on even going to college, when he didn’t know what the next year looked like.

The locker room smelled like sweat and cheap body cologne that instantly made your eyes water, a familiar haze of noise as the team geared up for practice. Harry tugged his cleats from his bag, humming under his breath as he stood in the middle of the locker isle next to the bench, when the voices carried from a few lockers down.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” one of the boys muttered, not bothering to keep it quiet—as if Harry wasn’t within earshot. “Styles knocked her up and now he’s playing house. Guess that’s what happens when you think you’re bigger than you are.”

Another added, “He’s been playing awful, too. Guess she’s already keeping him up late.”

A couple snickered at the remark; another added, “Bet she won’t even finish school. He’ll be stuck bagging records forever.”

The laughter echoed, sharp and ugly in bad timing. Harry froze, his jaw tightening as his hands instantly clenced into a fist. He stared at the laces in his hands, blood rushing in his ears. He’d gotten good at ignoring whispers in the hall, at pretending the stares didn’t matter because they didn’t. But this… his own teammates, the boys he sweated beside every week — it burned hotter. It was annoying.

He thought about it slowly, throwing his cleats aside, and stalked down the row of lockers until he was nose to nose with the one who’d spoken first. The laughter cut off instantly when they noticed that he had turned the corner.

“What did you just say?” Harry’s voice was low, dangerous. “Repeat it. To my face this time.”

The boy smirked, but his eyes flicked nervously toward the others. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking, mate. You ruined your life for some girl—”

Before he could finish, Harry’s hands slammed into his chest, shoving him hard against the metal lockers which clattered loudly. The clang reverberated through the room, the boy’s head snapping back in shock.

“You don’t talk about her like that,” Harry snarled, his face inches away. His hands trembled with the force of holding himself back from doing worse; his finger jabbed into the other boy’s chest as he felt the anger burn. “Not ever—don’t you fucking talk about her or us or even pretend you have an idea of what’s—”

“Or what?” the boy spat back, shoving Harry’s hand away like it was just a mosquito. “What’re you gonna do, Styles? Huh?” He snickered with a mockery, “Whatcha’ gonna do, daddy?”

Harry didn’t let him finish. His fist connected square with the boy’s jaw, the crack echoing through the locker room. Gasps broke out around them, teammates oohing at the sound of the punch thrown, but in the next second the boy swung back, his fist slamming into Harry’s nose. White-hot pain burst across Harry’s face, his vision spotting red and blurry lines.

The two of them went down hard, shoving and swinging, their bodies crashing against the benches. Harry landed another hit across the boy’s cheek before he felt knuckles collide with his ribs. He grunted, curling in pain but swinging back anyway, his blood already dripping from his nose.

“Enough! Break it up!” Voices shouted from the coach’s office, but Harry barely heard them. All he saw was the smirk, the words, the insult burning through him.

Hands grabbed at his shoulders, dragging him back as he strained forward, lip split and nose bleeding. The other boy was held too, his cheek already swelling, his shirt collar stretched. Both of them panting with eyes blazing.

“Fuck you!” Harry spat a streak of blood onto the tile, his voice raw as he shouted past the chaos. “Don’t you ever talk about her again!”

The coach’s voice thundered over them. “Styles! Office. Now. And you—” he jabbed at the other boy, “Nurse, then office. Both of you.”

Harry wiped his sleeve across his face, blood smearing into the fabric, his chest heaving but feeling the slight of pain. His ribs ached, his nose throbbed, but none of it mattered from the adrenaline passing through him.

Harry’s chest heaved, eyes still locked on him, but he didn’t move as the coach gripped his arm.

“Principal’s office. Now,” the coach snapped when he noticed that Harry hadn’t moved; he saw the glassiness of Harry’s eyes look up at him before he turned him away, a softness in his tone when he shook his head, “C’mon, get out of here.”

The room buzzed with whispers, all eyes on Harry as he yanked his arm free and stalked out. His jaw was clenched so hard it hurt, but the words still rang in his ears, hotter than the sting of punishment: ruined your life for some girl.

Except she wasn’t some girl. She was everything, and it burned him to the core that he felt the need to justify that to anyone.

+++

The knock on your front door came just as you were settling onto the couch with your homework spread across your lap—for the time being, at least. You were noticing that your stomach had started to get in the way of mundane tasks now. You weren’t expecting Harry; practice usually kept him late, which made him just go home instead.

“I’ll get it,” you yelled before you started towards the door. When you opened it, the sight of him made your stomach drop, eyes zoning in on the redness and bruising.

His curls were plastered damp to his forehead, a cut split his bottom lip, and his nose was swollen, dried blood smeared along the collar of his jersey. One eye was already shadowing dark, the skin puffing at the edge of his cheekbone.

“Harry,” you gasped, reaching out before you could stop yourself. “What—what happened?”

He winced at your touch but let you guide him inside. His jaw clenched, eyes darting away as he moved past you inside. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Nothing?” you snapped, your voice higher than you meant it to be. “You look worse than Brad Pitt in Fight Club. What happened?”

Harry sank onto the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the floor. “Doesn’t matter.” He sucked in a sharp breath, his ribs sore, and forced his eyes up to meet yours. “We looking at apartments tomorrow?”

The words hit you like a jolt. He was still bleeding, his face bruised, and he was talking about leases and rent like he could wish away what had just happened and ignore it completely. Before you could respond, your mom appeared from the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a towel to come and see who was at the door.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Good Lord, Harry. What on earth—”

“Got into a fight,” he muttered finally with annoyance, his shoulders hunching, voice low with shame. “At practice.”

There was an ounce of silence that sat in the room before your mom gave you a look, and a silent sigh left her before she touched your shoulder softly. “Let’s get him cleaned up—I’ll get ice and a washcloth.”

Harry finally leaned back against the leather sofa, wincing as his ribs protested, as he moved to grab them. He lifted his eyes for a moment to catch your glare that felt incredibly judged and heated.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I know I screwed up.”

You slid closer until your knee brushed his. “Then tell me what he said,” you whispered. “Tell me why you lost it.”

Harry’s eyes lifted to yours, glassy and burning as he licked over his lip which tasted like blood and fury. His lip trembled before he looked away again, his voice breaking. “Hutchins said I ruined my life for you. Didn’t think I was listening,” he shut his eyes at the pain when he breathed in, “Don’t know why I lost it, but I guess—I don’t know.”

Your mom came back into the room with a damp cloth and a bag of ice that she handed to Harry; a soft ‘thanks’ escaped his lips before you wiped gently at the dried blood that had settled under his nose and around his mouth, along his eyebrow too.

Harry sat slouched on the couch, an ice pack balanced awkwardly against his swollen nose, his jersey collar stained from where blood had dripped earlier from his nose, you assumed. You’d just finished dabbing the split in his lip, trying to wipe the when the sound of footsteps creaked down the hall.

Your dad appeared in the doorway of the living room, his eyes narrowing the second he took in Harry’s battered face. He crossed his arms, his voice flat without a drip of emotion. “What happened this time?”

You felt Harry stiffen beside you, his jaw tightening as though he was bracing for another round of judgment. He opened his mouth, but the shame on his face was clear. But, before he could speak, you cut in instead.

“He caught an elbow at practice,” you said quickly, the lie rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. “Game got rough.”

Your dad’s eyes flicked between the two of you. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push either. He just shook his head. “Figures. You need to be smarter. You can’t afford injuries now.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry murmured, his voice low, almost automatic as he kept his eyes on the floor.

Your dad lingered a moment longer, the weight of his disapproval filling the room, before turning and heading back down the hall.

Harry exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging. “Why’d you do that?” he muttered, glancing at you through bruised eyes.

You squeezed the cloth in your hand, staring at the faint bloodstain smearing, blooming across the fabric. “Because I didn’t want to hear what he’d say if he knew the truth.”

Harry swallowed hard, guilt flickering in his eyes as he kept his voice low and murmured against his lip. “He already thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

“I know,” you tell him honestly, watching his eyes flicker down, “And you’re not going to prove him wrong with shit like this, Harry.”

Your eyes reach his, wanting to lift them as you settled on him then when you catch his attention, “No more fighting.”

“Not even in your honor?” He quickly remarked, a cheeky grin starting to emerge on the corner of his mouth as you rolled your eyes.

“No,” you smirk back at him, “especially not in our honor. You’re too good for that—too smart for that.”

Even when you said it, even when you looked him in the eyes and found the catch of a glimmer in the green depths of them, you ached at the there was heavy truth in it all.

Maybe he was just too good for you.

Two Months Later: Seven Months.

Seven months pregnant was a feeling that was indescribable, especially in the frame of your body—you felt like an alien sometimes. It was a feeling that you were so confused that other people had felt, almost like they couldn’t have been normal, but it was.

The exam room smelled faintly of antiseptic and paper, stale and uninviting, as usual. The crinkle of the thin sheet beneath you filled the silence as you shifted on the table, your stomach rounded beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. At seven months, the bump was unmistakable now, stretching your skin in ways that made you convinced you would blow up.

Harry sat in the chair beside you, his long legs awkwardly folded across, his knee bouncing so hard the chair squeaked. His hands rushed through his curls, you could tell that they were starting to loosen by the number of times he did so, nervously. He didn’t seem to notice your mom’s eyes on him as he fiddled with the fraying thread on his jeans, glancing at you every few seconds like he was checking to make sure you hadn’t disappeared.

Your mom sat in the other chair near the wall, arms crossed, watching the two of you. She was quiet, but you could feel her gaze shift each time Harry leaned forward — when he tugged the hem of your hoodie lower to make sure you weren’t cold, when he whispered, “You alright?” just loud enough for you to hear.

When the doctor finally came in, Harry sat straighter, his face growing paler as he watched the process with his own eyes.

Since now, you and your mom had made the appointments. Harry hadn’t asked mostly because you knew that there was an unspoken shift between the relationships. Yes, he was the father, but you were still both underaged and it felt unmistakably tense between him and your family. He asked the details afterwards, but you never asked why he never came, and he never asked to come.

That was, until one night when Harry was leaving, your mother had pulled him aside and asked if he would like to join you the next day. He fumbled with an answer, knowing he had to work the next day but saying, “I’ll try and make it, yeah.”  

And so, here he was. He asked questions he hadn’t rehearsed: “Is that normal?” when the baby kicked so hard the gel wand jostled, “They’re measuring okay, yeah?” when the doctor scribbled numbers into the chart.

Your mom didn’t say anything, but you saw her watching him, really watching him — the way his hand slid instinctively over yours when you flinched, how his shoulders softened only when the doctor smiled and said, “They’re growing beautifully.”

Afterward, when you were wiping the gel from your stomach and it was just the three of you again, Harry busied himself with tucking your shoes closer to your feet, like you couldn’t bend at all. He crouched down, tying one lace with fumbling fingers, cheeks red, but he did it anyway.

Your mom’s expression flickered into an understanding, but still tired, still wary, softer now, like she was seeing something she hadn’t before.

“Harry,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the hush.

He looked up, startled like he had done something wrong, knotting the lace too tightly. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, then nodded once. “You’re doing alright.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes glassy for just a second before he ducked his head and mumbled, “Trying.”

You caught it all from the table — the unspoken truce, the first real crack in her wall. You knew your mom knew that he meant well. This was all just a mistake that had happened too quickly. But, you were thankful in the person who you were doing it with.

+++

The hum of the car filled the silence, broken only by the occasional rattle of the loose air vent and the shuffle of your mom’s hands on the wheel. The AC felt good on your skin, each hot flash longer than the next.

You sat in the passenger seat, absently rubbing at your stomach where the baby had kicked earlier, while Harry sat behind you, pressed close to the window to cool himself from the heated car.

Your mom finally spoke to break the silence, “You both handled yourselves well back there. Lots of information coming at you.”

Harry shifted, his knee bouncing lightly against the back of your seat. “We’re trying,” he said. Then, with a glance up at the rearview mirror, he added, “We’ve got a place—don’t know if she told you. An apartment. Move-in’s next month, soon as the paperwork clears.”

Your mom blinked, her eyes darting briefly toward you before returning to the road. “An apartment,” she repeated, like she was trying to taste the word.

Harry nodded, straightening a little. “I could sign once I was eighteen. I signed the lease—just me. It’s… small, but it’s ours. Close to work, you know.”

You couldn’t help smiling a little, even with the tension in the car. “We graduated last month, and things just… kept moving,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “One step into the next, I guess.”

Your mom exhaled, her grip on the steering wheel tightening as she took in a deep breath, not wanting to say anything that would start a war. “Yes. Quickly.” She glanced at Harry in the mirror again, her voice cooler now. “And your college?”

Her words landed like a stone in the small space.

Harry winced, his jaw tightening as he looked down at his hands. “Yeah. I… deferred.” He swallowed, his voice rough. “It just—doesn’t feel possible right now. Not with her, not with the baby. We’ve gotta focus on what’s in front of us.”

The silence stretched, heavy. You had deferred, too. The scholarship—the money, the opportunity. Everything you had worked hard for was gone, too. But you stared down at your stomach, feeling the softness of the kicks underneath, and wondered what kind of different journey you could be on.

Your mom’s face softened in the rearview mirror, though her mouth stayed tight.

“You’re young, none of this is going to be easy. But if you’ve made your choice…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking to you before she looked back at the road. “Then you’d better keep holding each other up. Because this will take everything in you and test you to your limits.”

You reached back without thinking, your hand finding Harry’s. His fingers closed around yours instantly, warm and trembling like you had the world at your fingertips with not a direction in sight.

Two Months Later: Nine Months.

The heat of late summer clung to the busy streets, the sun glaring off the windshield of parked cars and the cracked pavement of the sidewalk.

You shifted the paper bag of groceries in your arms, trying to ignore the way the weight of it pressed awkwardly against your swollen stomach. The market across from your building had been crowded, and by the time you crossed the street back toward the tiny studio you and Harry called home, your lower back throbbed in a way that made your breath catch.

It wasn’t the first ache you’d felt — pregnancy had been full of them, surely, but this one was sharper, different. It made you pause in the middle of the sidewalk, pressing your palm to the small of your back as you willed it to pass.

“Not now,” you muttered under your breath, forcing yourself to keep walking, one step after another up the narrow staircase.

Inside, the studio apartment smelled faintly of coffee and old wood. The place was small — barely more than a kitchen tucked into a corner, a sagging sofa, and the bed you and Harry shared shoved against the far wall, but it was yours.

Harry was there when you pushed the door open, his long frame stretched across the sofa, guitar balanced on his knee. His hair had grown out over the summer, curls brushing his jaw, and he wore the faded work shirt from the record store he’d just come back from. He looked up immediately when he heard the door shut, setting the guitar aside.

“Hey,” he said, smiling, though it faltered the second he saw your face. “I was wondering where you went—what’s wrong?”

You set the groceries down too quickly, wincing as another sharp pain radiated from your back. Your hand shot to the edge of the counter to steady yourself.

Harry was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room in three strides. “Y/N?”

You shook your head, but your voice cracked as you tried to muster the courage to tell him that you felt… different. “I think… I think something’s wrong.”

His hands hovered at your arms, steady but frantic, green eyes searching yours. “Wrong how? Is it—are you—”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your breath uneven as you tried your best to remain calm. Getting anxious only made everything worse, you knew. “It just—it feels different this time.”

Harry’s chest rose fast, his throat working as he tried to keep calm. “Okay. Okay, sit down. Let me—let me call my mom, or—shit—do we just go straight to the hospital? Is it time?”

The words tumbled out of him, panicked, but beneath them was that same fierce focus you’d come to know. Harry Styles at eighteen, part-time record store clerk, part-time guitar teacher, full-time terrified father-to-be—already bracing himself for the moment everything would change.

Harry steadied you onto the edge of the sofa, crouching down so his eyes were level with yours. His hands hovered at your knees, restless, wanting to do something, anything, but not wanting to hurt you or make you more nervous than you already were.

As you caught your breath, the last nine months flickered through your mind in a blur of exhaustion and survival. It hadn’t been easy.

Your dad still barely looked at Harry, even when he came to pick you up after school a few months earlier or dropped by the house with groceries now that you were settling into the apartment. He’d grunt hello, sometimes not even that, as though silence could erase what had already happened.

Your mom had been softer, though in a way that sometimes hurt worse — breaking down in the kitchen while you had tried to do homework, wiping her cheeks and whispering that you were throwing your future away. Every time she mentioned the college brochures gathering dust in your room, your chest ached for the person she had built up in her mind of who you were.

Still, you’d pushed through. You finished school, dragging yourself to class even when your ankles swelled, even when people whispered in the hallway. You sat through final exams with Harry waiting in the car outside, his battered pickup stuffed with snacks and pillows, just in case.

And Harry… he’d been trying, pushing, making it work. Working after school at the record store, teaching guitar lessons in the evenings, giving up sleep more often than he admitted just to scrape together enough to help pay for the rent on this tiny studio.

But it hadn’t been perfect. There was the night, a few months back, when he went out with his friends. You’d waited up until nearly three, sick with worry, only to hear the slurred way he said your name when he stumbled in — the stench of booze and smoke clinging to him like a warning sign.

The argument that followed had been the worst between you two. You’d yelled that you couldn’t do this alone, that he wasn’t allowed to still be a kid when you were being forced to grow up. He’d shouted back, ashamed, defensive — and then the fight crumbled into silence when he saw your tears, saw the curve of your stomach even then, already showing what you both had to lose.

It had never happened again. Harry never touched another drink, never let himself slip. Not after he realized what was at stake. Now he was here, crouched in front of you, hair longer and messy, work shirt damp with sweat from keeping the AC off since it was expensive.

You groaned as another sharp pain rippled low in your back, and Harry’s hand shot out, gripping yours. His voice trembled, but his eyes were focused on what he needed to do.

“Talk to me. Is it bad? Do we need to go now?”

You shook your head quickly, breath uneven. “I… I don’t know. But it feels different. Harry, I’m scared.”

He squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he could anchor you in place. “So am I,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But we’re in this together. Alright? We’ve made it this far. We’re not stopping now.”

Harry helped ease you back onto your feet, his hand firm at your elbow.

“Alright, go put on something more comfortable,” he said, his voice a little too fast, like if he kept talking, he could hold himself together. “I’ll grab the bag, toss in the last-minute stuff.”

You nodded, clutching your side, and shuffled toward the bathroom. The mirror over the sink caught your face — pale, wide-eyed, hair sticking damp to your forehead which you weren’t sure if it was from the late summer heat or the pain rippling through you. You pressed your hands to the counter, steadying yourself.

It’s just starting, you told yourself. You’ve got time. You can handle this.

Until it happened.

A sudden rush, warm and startling, soaking through the fabric of your denim overall shorts that you had been living in since they were the only things that fit. You froze, your breath catching, eyes widening as you looked down at the spreading wetness.

For a second, the world tilted into something that you couldn’t explain. Your chest tightened, your breaths coming quicker, heavier, as the truth of it slammed into you.

This is it. It’s happening now.

“Harry!” Your voice cracked, panicked. You gripped the edge of the counter with shaking hands, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Harry!”

He was in the main room, tossing shoes and spare T-shirts into the open duffel, but the urgency in your voice had him sprinting to the door in an instant. His curls were wild, his face flushed as he nearly tripped over the threshold.

“What? What is it?”

You turned to him, eyes wide, tears already brimming. “My water just broke.”

For a second, he froze — his lips parting, breath stuck in his throat, then he jolted into motion, rushing to grab the bag and your keys from the counter. There was a calmness about him that you suddenly saw; he just collected himself and nodded a few times before he shook his head.

“Alright. Okay. We’re going. We’re going, love,” he said, his voice shaky but determined, like he was talking to himself as much as to you. He reached for your hand, squeezing tight. “We’ve got this. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Harry helped you down the narrow stairs of the apartment, one arm firm around your waist as you clutched the banister with the other. Every step felt heavier, the sharp cramp in your back pulsing stronger, faster now. By the time he had you in the passenger seat of the truck, your breaths were already coming short and uneven—you knew that was just from the amount of weight you had to carry, too.

Harry slammed the door shut behind you and raced around to the driver’s side, fumbling the keys into the ignition. The engine coughed, then roared to life. He reached over to squeeze your thigh before shifting into gear, his hand clammy but steady.

“Call your mom,” he said quickly, eyes on the dark road ahead but having to keep it together to help make sure that everything was assuring. “Tell her we’re on the way.”

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your phone, pressing it to your ear. It rang once, twice, before your mom’s sleepy voice crackled through.

“Mom—it’s happening,” you urged out, “My water broke. We’re going to the hospital.”

There was silence, then the sound of her breath catching. “Oh my God. Okay. We’ll meet you there. Drive safe, love.”

By the time Harry pulled into the emergency entrance, you were gripping his hand so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He helped you inside, your bag slung over his shoulder, his curls plastered damp to his forehead with sweat.

The waiting room blurred around you, all fluorescent lights and sharp antiseptic that made you feel a little queasy. Your parents arrived first, your mom rushing to your side with wide, watery eyes, your dad stiff and pale but present. Minutes later after them, Anne and Gemma appeared, both out of breath but instantly at Harry’s side.

That feeling wavered when one of the admitting nurses glanced at your intake chart, then back at you and Harry with a thin, tight-lipped smile. “Seventeen,” she murmured under her breath as she clipped the band around your wrist, her tone flat. Her eyes flicked to Harry as though to say children having children.

Heat flooded your face, shame pressing into your chest. Harry stiffened beside you, his jaw clenching, but he kept his hand over yours, refusing to let go.

When they wheeled you into the delivery room, the contractions hit harder, stealing your breath. Harry was right there, his palm pressed to yours, his voice frantic but constant. Your eyes were shut as to take in the moments but also silence the thoughts and feelings that had been building up.

“Breathe, love. In, out. You’ve got this, huh?”

But every time your face crumpled in pain, every time your nails dug into his hand as another wave wracked your body, he went a little paler. He was terrified — not of the baby, not of what came after, but of watching you hurt.

Still, he stayed. Through every curse, every tear, every moment you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Harry was there, trying so hard to be brave when all he wanted was to fall apart.

The hours stretched thin, broken into contractions and the steady beeping of the monitor by your bed. The first nurse’s cool look still clung to you, her voice clipped as she adjusted machines without sparing you or Harry much eye contact. Every time she left the room, the silence that followed was heavier than the pain in your back.

Harry sat at your side, one leg bouncing uncontrollably, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. He hadn’t let go once, but you could see it in his face — how badly he wanted to take your pain from you, how useless he felt just sitting there.

The door opened again, and another nurse stepped in. She was younger, maybe late twenties, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail, her badge crooked on her scrubs. The second she smiled, something in your chest eased at how caring and warm it felt. It was something that you hadn’t known that you needed.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said gently, adjusting the IV line with practiced hands. Then she glanced at Harry and grinned, like she’d been in his shoes before. “And you must be Dad. You hanging in there?”

Harry blinked, startled at her soft questioning that felt genuine and kind. “Uh—yeah. Trying.” His voice cracked, and he ducked his head, embarrassed at the state he was in.

The nurse only chuckled as she looked at the machines, shaking her head. “That’s all you can do. Trust me, half the partners in this ward look like they’re about to faint. You’re doing fine.”

You exhaled, the smallest laugh breaking through the tightness in your chest.

She looked back at you, her expression kind, not judgmental in any way. “How are you holding up? Scared?”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded at her honest question with an honest answer. “Terrified.”

“That’s normal,” she assured you. “Honestly? Every first-time mom who comes in here is terrified. Doesn’t matter if you’re seventeen or thirty-seven. You’re allowed to be.”

Harry’s grip on your hand tightened—you weren’t sure how. You turned to look at him, and for the first time since walking through the hospital doors, he didn’t look like he was about to unravel — not completely.

The nurse checked your chart, then pulled the blanket a little higher over your legs, tucking you in with a care that almost felt motherly. “Baby’s doing well. You’re doing well. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, but you’re both right where you need to be. I’ll check in on you in about an hour, okay?”

When she left, the room felt different. Lighter, warmer. Like maybe you weren’t being judged, but cared for, especially in a moment that was already difficult.

Harry let out a shaky laugh, leaning closer to you in a mumbled tone. “I like her. Can we keep her?”

Despite the ache tearing through your back, you smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Me too.”

And for the first time since it all began, the fear didn’t feel quite so crushing.

+++

The waiting room felt too bright, the hum of the vending machines buzzing in Harry’s skull like a bug that wouldn’t die. Your mom sat clutching a Styrofoam cup, eyes rimmed red. Anne was knitting, Gemma fidgeting with her tangled earbuds. And your dad sat apart, arms folded, jaw locked tight as he rested his head against the wall.

Harry shoved his hands deep in his pockets, forcing his voice to speak outwards so that they’d turn their eyes to look at him.

“They, um… they think we’ll have a baby soon,” he said, eyes flicking quickly to your mom. “But she’s doing… really well.”

Your mom sagged into her chair with a sigh, whispering, “Thank God.”

Anne smiled faintly, her knitting needles pausing mid-stitch. “Strong girl. Just like her mom.”

Harry nodded, gaze dropping to the floor as silence stretched. He felt your dad’s eyes on him, sharp as ever, and braced himself for the sting that always seemed to follow.

Instead, your dad shifted forward in his chair, his voice gruff. “Harry.”

Harry looked up, startled at being spoken to and acknowledged.

Your dad cleared his throat. “Thank you. For staying with her.” His tone was clipped, awkward, like the words had to be dragged out. “Means more than you know.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the interaction. For once, he didn’t try to fill the silence with anything cocky or defensive. He just nodded, shoulders square, voice quiet. “Of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The tension in the room didn’t disappear, not entirely, but it softened — just enough.

“I should—” Harry shifted back toward the door, gesturing towards the door he had come out of, his chest tight. “I should get back to her. She needs me.”

No one stopped him, because they knew he needed you just as much as you needed him. As the door swung shut behind him, Harry swallowed hard, his heart hammering. For the first time in months, your dad’s words had given him something he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for: a sliver of respect.

Harry sat slumped against the wall, knees drawn up, trying to will his chest to stop heaving. The warm nurse crouched in front of him, her presence calm, grounding.

“You alright?” she asked gently as she approached the room he had been sitting outside.

He gave a short, unconvincing nod. “Trying.”

She tilted her head, studying him like she could see right through. “Do you know what you’re having?”

Harry shook his head, curls falling into his eyes. “No. We wanted to wait. Thought… maybe it’d make it feel more real when we found out.”

The nurse smiled, soft and understanding. “That’ll be a moment you’ll never forget, then.” She paused, her voice lowering, warmer now. “And here’s the thing no one tells you, especially when you’re young. And raising a child isn’t about having all the answers. You won’t; you can’t. It’s about showing up every day. Even when it’s hard—especially when it’s hard.”

Harry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, her words cutting right through him.

She went on, her tone sure. “And about her—” she nodded toward the door, “—don’t forget she’s growing up right alongside you. It’s not just about being parents. It’s about holding onto each other while everything changes.”

Harry blinked hard, trying to take it in, to brand the words into his brain. Show up. Hold on.

The nurse gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re scared. That’s normal. But if you remember those two things, you’ll be okay, hm?”

For the first time since the world tilted, Harry felt a thread of certainty. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t steady. But he could show up. He could hold on.

He nodded, his voice low as he let the words fall into the compartment in his brain he needed them most. “Thank you.”

“Go on,” she said, smiling. “She needs you.”

And as Harry pushed the door open, back into the dim light of the delivery room, those words followed him — words that would echo years later, when Scarlett or Sawyer slammed a door, when parenting felt impossible: show up, hold on.

Back in the room, the air was different. Closer, sharper, every sound amplified: the rhythmic beeping of the monitor, the squeak of nurses’ shoes, your own ragged breaths. Harry slipped back into place beside you, his hand sliding into yours like it had never left.

The hours blurred together — contractions coming faster, sharper. You cried out, your nails digging crescents into his hand, and Harry swore under his breath, kissing your temple, whispering every encouragement he could think of. He was pale, trembling, terrified at how much pain you were in, but he never left your side.

When the doctor finally said, “It’s time to push,” Harry’s heart nearly stopped. He kissed your damp forehead; his free hand braced at your shoulder. “You can do this. I swear you can,” He didn’t like the way that the room had changed, “I don’t know how something is coming out of there, but I trust it will.”

You took in a breath in through your nose, laughing a little, which allowed Harry to laugh a little too.

The room became a storm of voices firm but urgent, nurses guiding you through each push, Harry’s voice breaking as he urged you on. His eyes tried to not look, but when things got real his attention went back to you. He was crying openly by the end, begging you to hold on, whispering “almost there, almost there” into your hair.

And then — a cry. High-pitched, insistent on being heard, beautiful.

The sweet nurse looked at both of you with a smile undoubtedly on her face, “Baby girl, born at 10:12PM.”

Harry’s chest caved as he laughed and sobbed all at once, his forehead pressed to yours. “She’s here,” he choked out. “You did it. She’s here.”

A nurse lifted the tiny, squirming bundle onto your chest, your baby’s wails softening as she nestled against you. Tears blurred your vision as you looked down at her, perfect and impossibly small—so small that you couldn’t believe it. Harry’s hand trembled as he brushed over her downy head, his lips brushing your temple.

But then—everything around you blurred. The voices, the lights, even the weight of her on your chest felt strangely far away. Your heart raced too fast, your breaths shallow. You stared down at her little face, but the reality of her, of this, couldn’t quite break through the fog closing in.

Harry noticed first. “Love?” His voice was soft, tentative, worried.

You blinked, but your eyes felt glassy, unfocused as you sat in a haze of uncertainty. Your hands, meant to cradle her, just hovered there for a moment, unsure.

One of the nurses stepped closer, her tone calm, practiced. “She’s just on overload,” she said gently to Harry, then to you. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your body’s been through a lot, adrenaline does that to you. Just breathe. You’re safe, she’s safe.”

Harry’s breath shuddered, his hand cupping the back of your head as he pressed his forehead against yours. “Hey,” he whispered, steadying himself so he could steady you, knowing that he was going to help you as best as he could. “It’s alright. You did it. She’s here, and she’s perfect. You’re okay.”

The baby shifted against you, a small noise escaping her lips, and the nurse adjusted the blanket, so she was snug against your chest. “Just let her lay there,” she said softly. “Skin to skin, that’s all you need right now. The rest can wait—you have all the time in the world.”

Slowly, the fog began to lift. Your fingers curled instinctively, finally cradling her tiny body against you. Her warmth seeped into your skin, and your own ragged breathing began to even out.

Harry kissed your temple again; tears still wet on his cheeks. “See? Look at her. She’s ours.”

And for the first time since the storm began, the enormity of it all settled in; not as panic, but as something fragile, terrifying, and breathtaking all at once. You took in a breath, let one out, closed your eyes and felt something incredible taking over your heart.

The room was a blur of motion after that with nurses moving in and out, murmuring to one another as they cleaned you up, adjusting monitors and fresh sheets. You stayed propped against the pillows, dazed but calmer now, the baby warm and quiet against your chest. Harry never let go of you or her, his hand brushing gently along her tiny arm as though to reassure himself she was real.

When the doctor confirmed everything looked good, one of the nurses glanced at Harry. “If you want to step out and tell your family, now’s the time.”

Harry hesitated, eyes flicking to you. You nodded faintly, still overwhelmed, but you whispered back to him, “Go on. They’re waiting.”

Everything had been so crazy the past hour, but things had started to settle; you were cleaned up, you were tired and aching but in a daze as you looked at your wrapped up bundle of joy.

So, he leaned down, kissed your temple one more time, and slipped out.

The waiting room went silent the moment Harry pushed the door open. He felt insanely different from just moments later, his face blotchy, lips trembling. Anne half-stood before he even spoke.

“It’s…” His voice cracked, and he tried again, smiling through it, softer. “It’s a girl.”

Your mom covered her mouth with both hands, sobbing quietly with a thankfulness. Anne let out a laugh that broke into tears. Gemma clapped her hands to her face, wide-eyed. Even your dad’s expression softened — something unspoken shifting in his eyes.

Harry rubbed at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve, smiling through it all. “She’s perfect. They’re both… perfect.”

Your mom didn’t wait for an invitation; she wrapped her arms around Harry as he stood there with a heart mending at feeling that this hadn’t been the right decision, but knowing after all of this, it had. Anne right behind, Gemma clutching her jumper as she followed. Your dad lingered a moment longer, then stood and went with them, silent but steady.

The room filled slowly, everyone crowding in close but quiet, as though the smallest sound might shatter the spell. Your mom stood at your side, brushing your damp hair off your forehead, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Anne hovered at the foot of the bed, clutching that pale yellow knitted blanket she had spent months making, while Gemma leaned close, her eyes wide with awe. Even your dad, usually so rigid, stood still and wordless, watching from the corner.

The kind nurse reappeared, her warm smile encouraging as she eyed Harry for a moment, looking between you two. “Ready for Dad to have a turn?” she asked.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Go on.”

The nurse guided him, her hands gentle on his arms, helping position the baby into Harry’s trembling hands; he wasn’t sure he’d even held a baby before this. For a moment, he didn’t breathe. He just stared down at her, tiny and swaddled, her soft little mouth twitching in sleep.

“This is insane,” he whispered, his lips wobbling. “I’m your dad.”

The nurse adjusted the blanket, then stepped back, leaving him to it.

Harry eased onto the edge of the bed, still staring at the tiny girl in his arms. “We, uh… we picked a name,” he murmured. He looked to you, and you gave him the smallest nod. He swallowed hard. “Scarlett.”

“Scarlett,” Anne repeated softly, smiling through her tears. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

Your mom reached out, touching the baby’s arm with a shaking finger. “Scarlett,” she echoed.

Anne leaned forward, her voice steadier now, pride lacing over her tone. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you both. You’ve stepped up in ways most grown adults wouldn’t. And yes, everything changes now. From this moment on, it’s never going to be the same.” She smiled at the baby, then back at Harry and you. “But it’s going to be worth it.”

Harry sniffed, brushing his cheek against Scarlet’s tiny head. “She’s not sneaking out when she’s older, I’ll tell you that much,” he said, managing a shaky grin. “I’ll know all the tricks.”

Even your dad chuckled faintly, though he shook his head. “Good luck with that.”

The room filled with soft laughter, relief, and the quiet awe of new life. For one rare, fragile moment, all the fear and judgment faded, replaced with something stronger, the beginning of a family.

Three Weeks Later

The studio apartment was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight bleeding through the blinds—Harry was meant to buy blackout curtains but hadn’t had the time. Scarlett’s wails filled every corner of the single room, high and desperate, like they had for what felt like hours.

Harry bounced her against his chest; his curls plastered to his forehead with sweat and possible sleep deprivation. His eyes were glassy, jaw tight, the curve of exhaustion etched deep into his face.

“Shh, c’mon, love,” he begged softly, his voice breaking. “Please, baby girl, you’ve gotta sleep.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, your body sore, eyes rimmed red as you let them rest for a moment. Milk-stained T-shirts littered the floor, dishes stacked in the tiny sink, the smell of cold coffee clinging to the air. The walls felt like they were pressing in tighter with every cry.

“Nothing’s working,” you whispered, your voice sharp with defeat. “We’ve fed her, changed her, rocked her—Harry, she just won’t stop.”

He looked over at you, panic flickering behind his exhaustion. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I—God, I feel like I’m failing her.”

Your throat burned at the sudden feeling of emotion rising too fast. “Me too.”

The words cracked open something between you. Tears spilled before you could stop them, your shoulders trembling as you pressed your palms to your face.

“I just want her to stop,” you sobbed. “I just want—just one hour where it’s quiet.”

Harry crossed the room in two strides, Scarlett still crying in his arms. He sank down beside you on the bed, one arm looping around your shoulders as he held her against both of you. His own tears slipped hot down his cheeks, as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“It’s too much,” you whispered, shaking your head as you wiped your tears away as quickly as they fell.

“This is temporary,” he rasped. His lips trembled as he kissed your damp, freshly showered hair, rocking Scarlet between you. “It’s going to be okay.”

It was the one moment you had that felt… semi-quiet. Harry urged you to get out of room for a moment and have that.

Scarlet’s cries eased for a heartbeat, her little body squirming but softening just enough for silence to slip in. You both froze, wide-eyed, holding your breath, then another thin wail broke the quiet, but softer this time.

Harry let out a broken laugh, equal parts relief and despair. “See? She’s trying.”

You laughed too, wet and shaky, burying your face against his shoulder. For a few moments, it didn’t feel like drowning—you were treading water, but your legs hurt, and you weren’t sure how long your head would stay above the surface.

Your body hadn’t bounced back the way people made it sound. Three weeks in, you still moved gingerly, wincing when you stood too long, your stomach aching in ways you didn’t expect. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but the slowness of your healing made everything feel heavier, harder. Even climbing the narrow stairs to the studio left you breathless.

Harry had picked up more hours at the record store, but when he saw how you struggled, he begged his manager to switch his schedule around. Now he worked afternoons and closed most nights, coming home with tired eyes but determined to help. He’d stop at the market on the way back, bags dangling from both arms, muttering about prices but still tucking extra cookies or crisps into the cupboard for you.

And when Scarlett fussed, Harry did the pacing. Up and down the small stretch of floor in your studio, rocking her against his chest until his back ached. He tried to keep up with the mess too — dishes stacked high, laundry spilling from the corner, bottles drying on every surface. But even when he scrubbed until midnight, the place still felt like it was caving in around you both.

Anne came when she could, slipping in quietly with her hair tied back, a rag in her hand, and that same calm determination. She folded laundry while you nursed, wiped down counters while Harry ran errands, never saying much about how young you both were — just doing the work.

Sometimes, she’d shoo you into bed and whisper, “Sleep. I’ve got her.”

Your mom started bringing over meals, foil-wrapped casseroles and stews in Tupperware, Joey trailing behind her with Scarlett’s car seat in his hands.

“Let me sit with her,” he’d say, awkward but eager, bouncing Scarlet in his lap while you finally showered or sat down with a hot drink. Your mom always tried to hide her tears when she left, pressing a kiss to your cheek and whispering, “You’re doing better than I ever thought you could.”

And yet, despite all the help, the apartment still felt too small, the cries too loud, the responsibility too big. You and Harry were stretched thin, pulled between survival and love, clinging to each other through the blur.

But when Scarlet finally slept, curled against Harry’s chest, you’d catch the look in his eyes — overwhelmed but certain. And you knew: even if you were still just kids, you were showing up. Every day. Together.

+++

A few nights later, it was late afternoon, the golden light spilling through the blinds in soft stripes across the floor. For once, the apartment didn’t feel like it was caving in. The counters were clear, the sink empty, the laundry folded into neat stacks on the chair in the corner. The scent of simmering pasta sauce filled the room, rich and warm, masking the usual mix of diapers and stale coffee.

You stood barefoot in the kitchenette, hair damp from a shower, fresh clothes soft against your skin. It was the first time in weeks you didn’t feel like a ghost of yourself. A pot bubbled gently on the stove, and for once you weren’t rushing or juggling Scarlett between stirs. Everything was already… handled.

Harry sat on the sofa, legs stretched out, Scarlett lying across his thighs in her soft little onesie. His curls fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, his voice low and playful.

“Look at you, eh? Got your mom’s nose. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you’re already cuter than me.”

Scarlett’s eyes fluttered, her tiny fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. She made a little noise, more contented than fussy, and Harry grinned like he’d just won the lottery. He brushed his thumb gently over her cheek, murmuring nonsense words only she would ever hear.

You leaned against the counter, watching them, your chest tight but soft. The weight of the last few weeks hadn’t disappeared, but in this moment, it felt lighter — like all the chaos had paused to give you a break.

Harry glanced up and caught you staring. His grin softened into something smaller, tender like he’d seen you for the first time.

“Hey,” he whispered, careful not to jostle Scarlett. “Dinner smells amazing. You smell amazing. And she—” he looked down at Scarlett again, shaking his head in awe, “she’s fuckin’ perfect.”

You laughed, a real laugh this time, not the strained ones you’d been surviving on. “Don’t jinx it. She could start screaming any second.”

Harry smirked, still rocking her gently on his legs. “Not tonight. Tonight’s ours—already discussed it with her.”

And for the first time since she was born, it really felt true — quiet, simple, ordinary. Dinner on the stove.

A clean apartment. A shower. A baby asleep and safe between you.

It wasn’t forever. But it was enough.

Dinner was simple — pasta with sauce from the pot you’d stirred while the apartment filled with warmth. The three of you sat on the sofa, plates balanced on your laps, the only light coming from the lamp in the corner. The studio felt smaller than ever, but in the glow of that moment, it didn’t matter.

Scarlett lay curled against Harry’s chest, her tiny breaths steady, her fist clutching the fabric of his shirt. He ate one-handed, messy and slow, careful not to jostle her.

When he finally set his plate aside, he tilted his head down to look at her, his voice low and playful.

“You hear me, Scar? You’re never sneaking out. Ever. Don’t even think about it. And no talking to boys.” He grinned, kissing the top of her head. “Matter of fact, just… don’t grow up, alright? Stay like this.”

You smiled tiredly from your end of the sofa, your heart tugging at the sight of him — curls wild, eyes soft, a boy who had turned into something more without even realizing it.

“Harry,” you murmured, setting your plate aside, “she’s going to grow up. And she’s going to sneak out. And talk to boys. Just like we did.”

He shot you a look, half horrified, half amused. “Don’t remind me.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your fingers brushing Scarlett’s tiny hand. “But if all of that… every mistake, every fight, every sleepless night… if it all led here? To us, to her?” You swallowed, tears pricking your eyes. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Harry’s lips smirked upwards in that stupid smirk that ate you alive, his eyes glistening as he pressed a kiss into your hair. He whispered into the quiet, “Me neither.”

And in the dim light of your little studio, the  world outside fading away, the three of you sat together — young, scared, overwhelmed, and still growing up.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Road Trip.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - me and my bf did a five hour drive yesterday, and decided to write a little something so enjoy lovies !!

word count - 4.6k

in which, you and harry decided to make an trip up to see his mum up in manchester, making it an family road trip, with a six year old and your freshly turned one year old. it’s going to be a trip to remember.

You’re deep into the M1 now, Manchester still a good stretch away but close enough that Harry’s already mentioned his mum twice. His hand hasn’t left your thigh — like it’s permanently anchored there whenever he’s driving — thumb drawing slow, absentminded circles just above your knee. He’s got that faint smile on his face, the one he gets when he’s in his own head, music low, road wide open.

In the back, Georgie’s eyes are glued to the iPad screen, face lit up by the cartoon glow. His little mouth quirks up into that same exact sideways smile Harry gets when he’s trying not to laugh. Spitting image, right down to the way he absentmindedly taps his fingers on his knee in time with the music.

“What’s he watching?” Harry asks, glancing at the mirror.

You check. “Still Bluey. I think he’s watched the same three episodes on repeat for the past forty minutes.”

Georgie speaks up without looking away. “It’s the one where they pretend the floor is lava.”

Harry grins. “Classic. You try that again in the living room and your mum’s gonna ban cushions for life.”

Georgie giggles and mutters something under his breath about how Harry fell over last time.

You shoot Harry a look. “He’s not wrong. You tried to leap across the sofa and pulled your back.”

Harry’s eyes stay on the road, but he lifts his chin like he’s got something to defend. “In my defense, the floor was lava.”

You snort. “You’re nearly thirty-one, H.”

“Exactly. Gotta keep up with the young blood. Right, Georgie?”

Georgie giggles from the back, not looking up from his screen. “You fell off the sofa when we played that.”

Harry makes a face. “Oi, I meant to do that.”

You turn your head toward him slowly. “You landed flat on your back and then swore you saw stars.”

He huffs, half-laughing. “That carpet’s not as soft as it looks. Nearly cracked my hip.”

“You’re thirty, not eighty,” you say with a grin.

He gives your thigh a playful squeeze. “Feels like eighty after a ‘floor is lava’ session with that one.”

Behind you, Isla gives another soft babble, followed by the sound of her rattle smacking against the side of her car seat. Her dummy’s still hanging on, but just barely — she’s more interested in yanking the loops on the hanging toy and slapping her foot against the edge like she’s keeping time with the playlist.

“She’s got the energy of three people,” you murmur.

Harry chuckles. “And none of the patience.”

You glance back again. Isla’s eyes catch yours — that exact same pale green as Harry’s — and she flashes a gummy grin. The curls are already forming around her ears, thick and unruly, just like her dad’s.

“She really is your double,” you say, turning back around.

Harry smiles softly. “I know. I see her little face in the mirror some mornings and think, ‘blimey, did I shrink?’”

You laugh. “You did. Twice. And now they both ask for snacks every seven minutes.”

“Which is fair,” he shrugs. “It’s how I live my life.”

Georgie speaks up again, tugging one headphone off. “I’m hungry.”

Harry checks the screen on the dash. “We’re coming up to services soon. Want McDonald’s?”

“Can I get a milkshake?” Georgie asks, eyes hopeful.

You hesitate, glancing at Harry.

He raises his eyebrows. “You gonna say no to that face?”

You sigh. “Fine. Chocolate. But no complaining later when your hands are sticky.”

“I won’t!” Georgie promises immediately — which is usually a guarantee that he will.

Isla lets out another squeal behind you, arms flailing like she’s trying to take flight.

“She’s gonna need a change, too,” you say. “I can smell something happening.”

Harry makes a face. “Of course she saves it for me driving.”

You smirk. “She’s thoughtful like that.”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music, then reaches across and gently brushes his pinky against your hand. “Still glad we came?”

You lean back in your seat, watching the motorway roll out endlessly in front of you. “Yeah,” you say. “It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s constant.”

He waits.

“And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Harry squeezes your thigh again. “That’s good. ‘Cause I was thinking we could do this every weekend.”

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Drive three hours with two kids in the back, every Saturday?”

He shrugs. “Just think of all the milkshakes.”

You laugh softly, then tilt your head back. “She’s gonna need a change soon. She’s doing that thing with her legs.”

“The kicking?”

You nod. “The warning kicks. Like a countdown.”

“Brilliant,” he mutters. “Always saves it for when I’ve just settled into cruise control.”

Georgie pulls off one of his headphones behind you. “Mum, how many minutes now?”

You check the screen on the dashboard. “About… one hour and forty minutes to go, babe.”

He groans like you’ve just told him school’s been extended through summer.

“You said that ages ago,” he whines.

“And I’ll say it again in another half hour,” Harry jokes.

Georgie slumps a bit in his booster seat. “Can I have McDonald’s now?”

“We’re stopping soon,” you promise. “As soon as we hit Milton Keynes.”

“Can I get a Happy Meal?”

Harry chimes in. “Only if you don’t wipe the ketchup on your jumper this time.”

Georgie thinks about it. “But what if I accidentally wipe it?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then Daddy’s washing it when we get to Grandma’s.”

Harry huffs. “Don’t drag me into your crimes, mate.”

Georgie giggles and puts his headphones back on. He’s so much like Harry it almost stuns you sometimes — the same crooked little grin, the way he bites the inside of his cheek when he’s thinking, how his left foot taps constantly to whatever music he’s listening to, just like his dad does.

Isla lets out a loud, delighted squeal behind you. You turn your head just in time to see her kick her elephant toy clean off the car seat.

You sigh. “She’s launched the elephant.”

Harry glances in the mirror. “Did she actually?”

“She’s got a throwing arm on her, I swear. You might need to scout her for the England team.”

“She’s still in nappies, love.”

“Still more coordination than you,” you mutter under your breath.

He laughs. “Right, okay. Taking shots now, are we?”

You smile, leaning your elbow on the window. “Just saying. Maybe she gets that from me.”

He leans over slightly to kiss your shoulder at the red light. “She gets her sweetness from you. Everything else is all me.”

You pretend to be horrified. “So you’re taking credit for the attitude, then?”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

Another stretch of road rolls out before you. The motorway hums on beneath the tires. The kids are relatively quiet now — Isla seems content gnawing on her sock (which is somehow off her foot again), and Georgie’s fully engrossed in Bluey.

You take a breath and look out the window.

🩵💕

The “Services 1 Mile” sign appears just in time — one of those giant blue motorway beacons that feels like a tiny miracle when you’ve got two kids in the back and at least one of them smells… suspicious.

“Finally,” you say, stretching your back as Harry flicks the indicator on and takes the exit slip.

“Praise be,” he mutters. “I swear I can feel that nappy from the front seat.”

You glance back. Isla’s chewing on her blanket contently, completely unfazed by the chaos she’s left in her wake. Georgie’s still watching Bluey, completely nose-blind like all kids somehow are.

The Range Rover hums off the motorway and into the service station car park, weaving between lorries and scattered cars. Harry finds a decent spot — close enough to the entrance, far enough from the chaos of the petrol pumps.

As he parks up and shifts into neutral, you’re already unbuckling your seatbelt. He doesn’t move right away.

“What?” you ask, watching him glance into the rearview mirror.

He smirks. “Mentally preparing.”

“For what?”

He reaches for the door handle. “A full-blown blowout, based on that smell.”

You both step out. The air outside is fresh but carries that undeniable chill of July-in-England — breezy, cloudy, definitely not summer-summer.

You move to the boot and pop it open, pulling out the folded stroller with one hand and shaking it open with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Harry’s at Isla’s side door, unbuckling her from her seat.

He lifts her up, and the second he does, his expression changes.

“Oh my God,” he coughs dramatically, holding her away from his body like she’s a bomb about to go off. “That is… that’s not human. That’s criminal.”

You peek around the car, stroller halfway open. “Is it bad?”

He looks you dead in the eyes. “It’s spiritual. I’m seeing things.”

You burst out laughing. “Welcome to fatherhood, again.”

Georgie, now standing at the side of the car with his headphones around his neck, pipes up: “Does Isla need a nappy?”

Harry looks at him with mock-seriousness. “She needs a hazmat suit, mate.”

Isla lets out a delighted little squeal, clapping her hands like she’s proud of herself. You roll your eyes fondly and click the stroller into place.

“Come on then, let’s get inside,” you say. “Change the bomb and then hit the golden arches.”

Georgie lights up. “YES!”

Harry swings Isla onto his hip — brave, considering the risk — and closes the car door with his foot.

“Alright, hold my hand, buddy,” he says, reaching down for Georgie’s little hand.

Georgie grabs it without hesitation, still half-watching Isla with that perfect sibling blend of admiration and disgust.

“Does her bum actually smell that bad?” he asks as they start walking toward the entrance.

Harry leans down a little. “Georgie, it smells like something died and then came back angrier.”

You shake your head, falling into step beside them with the empty stroller. “Can we not scare everyone before we even get inside?”

Harry holds up one finger. “I make no promises.”

The automatic doors whoosh open as you approach the service station building. Inside, it’s a swirl of fast food smells, tired travellers, and vending machines glowing faintly in the corners. A couple of truckers walk past holding massive coffees, and the smell of fries is already drifting over from the McDonald’s queue.

“Right,” Harry says. “You take this one”—he gestures toward Georgie—“and I’ll go tackle The Situation.”

You smirk. “Good luck. Try not to cry.”

He hands Isla to you for a second while you strap her into the stroller, both of you laughing as she immediately starts trying to wiggle out, arms windmilling.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” he mutters, straightening up and shaking his hands like he’s just wrangled a wild animal.

You lean over and kiss her curls. “You’re chaos, aren’t you?”

She squeals back, completely unbothered by her own destruction.

Harry leans in, lowering his voice. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, assume I’ve been taken hostage by a nappy from hell.”

You grin, swatting his arm. “Go on, hero. We’ll be at the counter ordering fries.”

He winks, grabs the nappy bag, and heads toward the baby changing signs.

You and Georgie push the stroller in the opposite direction, his little fingers still sticky from whatever snack he had earlier.

“Can I get apple slices too?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say, pulling him closer. “Fries and fruit. Classic combo.”

🩵💕

He’s pushing Isla through the tiled walkway of the service station, one hand on the stroller handle, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, monkey,” he says quietly, glancing down at her as she kicks her sockless feet and babbles around the dummy still half in her mouth, “what have you done, huh?”

She beams up at him, wide-eyed and innocent, like she doesn’t smell like a literal landfill.

Harry laughs under his breath, shoulders shaking. “That’s the look of someone who knows exactly what they’ve done.”

They pass the Krispy Kreme stand and the row of vending machines humming against the wall. The baby changing room is tucked off to the side — that awkward, sterile, slightly damp-smelling little unit every service station seems to have. He pushes the door open with his hip, wheels the stroller in, and lets the door click shut behind him.

“Right, team,” he mutters to no one but her, “we’ve got a mission. It’s just you and me.”

Isla makes a high-pitched noise that sounds suspiciously like a challenge.

He lifts her out of the stroller and lays her on the plastic fold-down changing table. There’s a sharp, undeniable moment where the smell really hits.

“Oh my God,” he chokes out, stepping back like she’s just let off a firework. “Isla-girl You need to warn someone.”

She squeals again, completely unfazed, waving both arms like she’s proud of her own work.

Harry grabs the wipes and the nappy from the bag, shaking his head as he peels back the tabs on her nappy like he’s defusing a bomb.

He glances down.

And immediately regrets it.

He holds his breath as best he can, wipes at the damage with the precision of someone trying to preserve their own soul.

“You know,” he continues, as she kicks and giggles and smears her heel in her own mess, “I was once in Vogue. Big photoshoot. Had a fan blowing my hair and everything.”

She grins, dummy falling from her mouth as she tries to grab a wipe mid-swipe.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns, catching her hand just in time. “You’re covered in war crimes right now. Sit still.”

A couple more wipes, a very efficient nappy change, and then a swift round of I-hope-this-bin-is-secure later, he finally gets a clean nappy on and fastens the little tabs like a man finishing a marathon.

“There we go,” he says, lifting her carefully off the table and blowing a raspberry against her belly. “Fresh as a daisy. A very, very loud daisy.”

She laughs properly this time — that belly-deep baby giggle that scrunches up her whole face. It softens everything instantly.

Harry holds her close for a second, arms wrapped snug around her warm, wriggly little body. Her curls tickle his chin, and she still smells a bit like… well, baby wipes and betrayal. But it doesn’t matter.

He kisses the top of her head.

“You know what?” he murmurs. “I’d do this a hundred times a day. For you. Even the nuclear ones.”

She snuggles into his shoulder for a second, going still — those rare, rare moments when she melts into him, trusting and soft and tiny.

He closes his eyes.

“Don’t tell your mum I said this,” he whispers into her curls, “but you’re definitely my favourite today.”

Another happy squeak from her, and he pulls back with a grin.

“Alright, let’s go find them. Bet Georgie-boy is already neck-deep in fries.”

He straps her back into the stroller, wipes his hands one last time with a baby wipe (more out of psychological necessity than hygiene), and pushes the door open with his foot.

As they wheel back out into the buzz of the service station, he’s got one hand on the stroller, the other rummaging in the nappy bag for her dummy. He glances down at her, still smiling like she’s done nothing at all.

“Next one’s your mum’s turn,” he tells her.

🩵💕

The McDonald’s is its usual motorway kind of loud — chip trays clattering, the hiss of the drinks machine, toddlers crying over apple slices — but somehow, your little corner table by the window feels untouched by the chaos.

You’ve got Isla nestled in your arms, feeding peacefully under a soft muslin cloth. Her breathing is slow, her fingers curled gently into the fabric of your jumper, lashes resting against her cheeks. The noise doesn’t faze her — not now. She’s warm, content, milk-drunk and safe.

Across from you, Georgie is working his way through the last of his Happy Meal, chips dipped heavily in ketchup, mouth stained slightly red from his chocolate milkshake. Harry’s beside him, turned half toward you and half toward his son, one arm casually resting along the back of the bench seat.

“So,” Harry says, taking a sip of his Coke, “what film are we making Nana watch tonight?”

Georgie looks up, chip halfway to his mouth. “Can I pick?”

Harry nods. “Course you can. You’re the boss of film night. Big responsibility, though. Nana’s got high standards.”

Georgie thinks for a second, lips pursed. Then: “The Incredibles.”

You laugh softly. “Again?”

“It’s SO good,” Georgie insists, animated now. “The bit where Dash runs on water? That’s my favourite. I wanna run like that.”

Harry grins. “You already run like that, mate. All elbows and shouting.”

“I don’t shout, Daddy.”

Harry lifts a brow. “You literally narrated yourself jumping off the sofa yesterday like it was an action film trailer.”

Georgie breaks into a giggle. “Okay but that was for effect.”

You shake your head, gently shifting Isla as she finishes feeding. Her little mouth drops open, totally still now, head slumped against your chest in perfect baby exhaustion. You adjust her carefully, lifting the muslin and tucking her in close.

Harry catches the movement and glances over at you, softening immediately. “She’s out?”

You nod. “Gone. She was holding on for that last bit of milk but now she’s in another dimension.”

Harry smiles, then turns back to Georgie. “So, The Incredibles, yeah? Think Nana can handle all that superhero chaos?”

Georgie shrugs. “She likes when the baby turns into fire.”

“She did laugh at that last time,” Harry says, chuckling. “Said it reminded her of Isla when she gets overtired.”

You glance down at your sleeping daughter. “She’s not wrong.”

Georgie yawns — one of those big, sudden ones that takes him by surprise. He blinks a few times, then scoots along the bench seat without a word and climbs onto Harry’s lap, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Harry reacts instantly, arms folding around him, milkshake now slightly forgotten in the corner of the tray.

“Comfy?” he murmurs, brushing Georgie’s hair out of his eyes.

Georgie nods, curling slightly into his chest. Not quite asleep, but quiet now, calm. Winding down. Harry presses a soft kiss to his curls, resting his chin gently on his head.

You cradle Isla tighter against your chest and lean back in your seat, soaking in the moment. Across the table, your son is slowly blinking his way toward rest, safe in his dad’s arms. Your daughter is heavy and still in your own, a little milk bubble at the corner of her mouth.

Harry looks up at you, eyes soft, mouth tugging into the faintest smile.

By the time you’ve packed up the empty Happy Meal box, wiped ketchup from Georgie’s chin, and gathered the crumbs from the table (as best you can), both kids have slipped quietly into that sleepy, post-meal haze.

Isla’s completely gone — she started twitching in her sleep as soon as you tucked her back into the stroller, arms limp at her sides, dummy bobbing gently with each breath. Her curls are matted slightly at the back, her little legs splayed comfortably, one sock half-on like it always is.

Georgie made it to the end of his milkshake, mumbled something about The Incredibles 2, and then crawled fully into Harry’s lap, curling up like he’s four again instead of six.

Now he’s quiet against Harry’s chest, fingers gently playing with the soft ends of the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck — a little absentminded motion, slow and rhythmic. His eyes are half-lidded, and his face has that flushed, warm look that tells you he’s minutes from sleep but clinging on, just barely.

Harry’s got one arm tucked under Georgie’s legs and the other braced behind his back, holding him securely as he stands up from the bench. He shifts his son gently against his shoulder, resting Georgie’s head just under his chin.

“Got him?” you ask softly, already flicking the stroller brake off with your foot.

Harry nods, smiling faintly. “Yeah. He’s a koala.”

Georgie mutters something sleepily, his fingers still idly twisting that little curl of hair just behind Harry’s neck.

“I think he’s talking to your hair,” you whisper.

Harry grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You push Isla ahead of you gently, one hand on the stroller, the other clutching the nappy bag that now feels twice as heavy as when you arrived. The walk back to the car is slower now — that content, end-of-the-day kind of slow. The sky outside is still overcast, but the light’s softer now, golden around the edges.

Harry walks beside you, Georgie snug in his arms, completely trusting, completely still.

“I can’t believe they both fell asleep,” you murmur.

Harry glances over. “Miracle. Honestly. We should buy a lottery ticket.”

You smile. “Or just come to service stations more often.”

He laughs under his breath. “Tempting. Nappy explosions and all.”

When you reach the car, it’s the quiet coordination of two tired but well-practiced parents. You pop the boot and start folding the stroller without needing to say anything. Harry opens the back door and lowers Georgie down gently, trying not to jostle him.

“Okay, come on, mate,” he murmurs softly, as Georgie clings a little tighter. “Nearly there.”

Georgie doesn’t answer, but he allows himself to be buckled in with minimal fuss, head rolling slightly to the side as Harry clicks the belt in place.

You join him at Isla’s side, lifting her from the stroller carefully and resting her against your shoulder. She lets out a tiny sigh, eyes still shut, body warm and relaxed.

“She’s so still when she sleeps,” you whisper. “Like a little rag doll.”

Harry smiles. “Unlike her dad.”

You slide her gently into the car seat and start adjusting the straps while Harry folds the last of the stroller and slides it into the boot.

When you both finally climb back into the front seats, doors closing with a quiet thud, the car feels different. Full, warm, quiet in the best way.

You glance into the mirror: Georgie’s already slumped sideways, mouth open just slightly. Isla’s dummy is still in, one hand curled against her cheek.

Harry looks at them through the rearview and then over at you, hand finding its place back on your thigh, right where it always goes.

“They’re completely out,” he says.

“Think we’ll actually get the rest of the drive in silence?”

He grins. “We deserve the rest of the drive in silence.”

You laugh, leaning your head against the window as he starts the engine again.

🩵💕

The motorway unfolds ahead like a ribbon of quiet now. The kids are asleep in the back — Georgie’s head tilted to the side, mouth slightly open, arms slack at his sides, and Isla curled in her car seat like a perfect comma, dummy still in, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. The car is filled with the gentle hum of the engine and the soft lull of whatever acoustic song Harry put on before pulling out of the service station car park.

He’s driving one-handed, the other resting on your thigh again — instinctively, always. Your fingers are threaded together, and neither of you speaks for a long while. There’s no need.

The silence invites memory.

You stare out the window at the passing blur of trees, motor signs, long hedgerows, and let your mind wander — backward.

To him.

To meeting him, first. Not in some grand way — not a glittering stage or flash of paparazzi. Just a quiet moment. A regular day. A shared look. A conversation that lingered. That smile that felt like a slow unraveling. His voice, his softness, the way he saw you. The way he really looked. You never expected him. You didn’t plan for him. But he changed everything without even trying.

You think of the first time you knew. Knew you were in love with him. Not because he said something grand, but because he did something small — thoughtful, quiet, meaningful. It was always like that with him. The little things. Making you tea without asking. Waiting to leave because your favourite part of a film hadn’t finished. Pulling you close in the middle of a crowd, like you were the only one that mattered.

Then the wedding — your wedding. Small, personal. Not showy. Not anything for anyone else. Just the two of you and the people who really knew you. His hands shaking slightly when he held yours, his forehead pressed to yours when the ceremony ended and he whispered something only you could hear. You can’t even remember what it was now — only how it made you feel. Like the world had steadied around you.

And then… telling him you were pregnant with Georgie.

His face. You still remember it like it’s printed behind your eyelids. The silence at first. Not shocked. Just overwhelmed. Like the love had hit him all at once and he had nowhere to put it. The way he pulled you into him, arms wrapped so tightly around you, the sound of his laugh into your neck. Not the big stage kind of laugh — the real one. The one he gives when his heart is too full.

You remember the moment Georgie was placed in his arms — tiny, pink, squirming. And Harry looking at him like he’d never seen anything so important.

Then Isla. A whole different journey. The exhaustion, the nerves, the impossible joy. Watching Harry become a dad again, but in a deeper way. Softer. Surer.

And now, here you are. Two kids asleep in the back. The same Range Rover he drove you home from the hospital in. Your hand in his, just like the very first drive. Except everything’s different now.

Because this time, you know.

You know the weight of his love.

The stretch of time you’ve walked together.

The way your family looks in a rearview mirror.

🩵💕

About forty minutes roll by in silence, the motorway slowly giving way to country roads — narrower, winding, framed by low stone walls and endless fields. The light’s beginning to shift, mellowing into early evening gold, and there’s that gentle stillness in the car that only comes when both kids are asleep and neither of you dares break it.

Harry’s still driving one-handed, your fingers threaded loosely in his. Isla hasn’t stirred.

And then —

“Mama?”

It’s a groggy little voice from the back.

You turn your head slightly, meet Georgie’s sleepy eyes in the rearview.

“What is it, baby?”

He shifts a bit in his car seat, blinking hard. “I need a wee.”

You groan softly. “Of course you do.”

Harry lets out a breath, not taking his eyes off the road. “How bad is it, mate? Like, we’ve got half an hour left. Think you can wait?”

Georgie frowns. “I really need it.”

You twist to glance at him properly. He’s already doing the tell-tale knee-wiggle. “Yeah, he’s not bluffing.”

Harry sighs again, louder this time, pulling his hand from yours to tap the wheel. “Brilliant.”

“Don’t make him hold it, H. You remember what happened on the way to Brighton?”

Harry winces. “I just got the smell out of the car, don’t bring that up.”

You stifle a laugh. “Pull over if you see somewhere. We’re in farmland now anyway.”

Harry cranes his neck slightly, scanning the fields lining both sides of the road. “Alright, alright… come on, countryside, give us something useful…”

Georgie pipes up again, this time with urgency. “I’m actually really really bursting.”

“Alright, alright! Hold on, Captain Bladder,” Harry mutters, eyes flicking toward a narrow lay-by just ahead. “There. That’ll do.”

He swings the car gently into a grassy pull-off that backs onto a quiet hedgerow and a wide, open field. No cars, no buildings. Just nature, a few cows in the distance, and your son about to have an accident.

Harry shifts the car into park and unclips his seatbelt in one smooth motion. “Right, let’s go, buddy. Come on.”

He’s out of the car before you can offer to help, jogging around to Georgie’s door and opening it quickly. Georgie hops down, dancing slightly on the spot.

“I can’t wait!” he says.

Harry’s already taking his hand. “I know, I know. Come on. Let’s find a nice patch of grass to wee on, yeah?”

You watch from the front seat as they disappear just slightly behind a line of bushes, Harry crouching down a little beside him, clearly making it feel like more of an adventure than a bathroom emergency.

You shake your head, smiling to yourself.

A few moments later, they reappear, Georgie looking very pleased with himself and Harry walking back like a man who’s been through war but made it out the other side.

“All good?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Harry opens the back door and buckles Georgie back in. “Crisis averted.”

Georgie nods solemnly. “That was the best wee I’ve ever had.”

You try not to laugh. “One for the memoirs.”

Harry gets back into the driver’s seat and shuts the door with a sigh. “I swear, we could write a parenting book just called ‘Where to Wee When There’s Nowhere to Wee.’”

You reach over and pat his thigh. “You did great, babe. Very heroic.”

He leans back, gripping the wheel again with both hands. “I deserve a medal. Or at least a biscuit when we get there.”

🩵💕

The road narrows into familiar countryside lanes, and your shoulders relax just a little when you spot the final left turn. You’ve driven this route enough times now that it almost feels automatic — the way Harry slows just before the bend, the way the driveway stones crunch under the tyres as the Range Rover rolls into the space just outside his mum’s house.

Georgie is instantly wide awake.

“We’re here!” he announces, kicking his legs in the back seat like he wasn’t just dead asleep twenty minutes ago.

Isla, meanwhile, remains completely knocked out in her car seat, dummy still in, one arm flopped across her face.

You glance through the windscreen. Anne’s already outside, standing at the top of the drive, arms folded and one hip cocked in a way that’s more rockstar than grandma.

She’s wearing cropped black trousers, a crisp oversized white shirt, chunky trainers, and her signature sunglasses — despite the fact the sun’s nearly dipped behind the trees.

“She’s in full fashion mode,” you murmur to Harry, smiling.

“She always is,” he replies, already turning off the ignition. “Bet you a tenner she’s got matcha in that flask.”

Before either of you even reach for your seatbelts, Anne’s already making her way down the path, pulling her sunglasses up onto her head.

She goes straight for Georgie’s side, opening the back door with one hand and grinning wide. “Oi, mister. You napped through most of my texts.”

Georgie beams. “I was tired!”

“Poor you,” she teases, unbuckling him with ease. “Bet this car smells like crisps and baby wipes.”

“It does,” Harry calls, stepping out of the driver’s side. “And one questionable nappy.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Anne says, helping Georgie hop down. “You can air it out later. Come here, trouble.”

Georgie runs straight into her arms and she scoops him up with a familiar groan, even though he’s getting big for it now.

“You smell like nuggets,” she says, sniffing his hair.

“McDonald’s!” he grins proudly.

“I knew it,” she laughs, hoisting him properly onto her hip. “You two spoil them every time.”

You meet Harry at the boot and grab the nappy bag, while he’s already making his way to Isla’s door, peering in at her peaceful face.

“She’s completely gone,” he says. “I hate waking her.”

“Yeah, but you also hate being up at 2 a.m. with her.”

Harry sighs, already reaching in. “Fair.”

He lifts her carefully, her little body heavy with sleep, cheek smooshed against his shoulder. She stirs slightly, lets out a tiny grumble, then settles again, dummy still bobbing softly in her mouth.

Anne’s waiting at the door, still holding Georgie, who’s now lazily twirling one of her hoop earrings between his fingers.

“Baby girl asleep?”

“Barely holding on,” Harry says.

“Well,” Anne smirks, turning to open the door wide with her free hand, “bring her in. I’ve got snacks, Peppa on standby, and wine chilled. Priorities.”

You follow them up the path with a grin. “You’re a saint.”

Anne laughs over her shoulder. “I know. I’m also Nana of the year. Tell everyone.”

Georgie giggles, already wriggling to get down and run into the living room, shouting, “I want the red bowl!”

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Trouble

✨ summary: where harry’s a soft TikTok streamer and y/n happens to find his stream.

📝 word count: 11K

⚠️ content warning: smut

💌 support my work

Y/N stumbled through the door a little after ten, dropping her keys in the catchall with a tired clatter. Her feet were killing her. Her back hurt. Her brain felt like it was still stuck at work, replaying petty customer complaints and the awkward half-laugh she’d given her manager when he made that borderline gross joke.

She didn’t even bother with dinner. Just kicked off her shoes, peeled off her jeans, and crawled under the throw blanket on the couch with her phone. This was her routine on nights like this: half an hour of mindless TikTok before she convinced herself to brush her teeth and go to bed.

Half an hour usually turned into an hour. Or two.

She scrolled past dancing girls, recipes she’d never make, a video essay about why romcoms were secretly feminist, a guy cutting soap. It was all noise.

Then, almost by accident, she landed on a live.

The caption just said: “insomnia brain rot. talk to me.”

Only twelve people were watching. She hovered there for a second. Was it weird to pop into something so small?

But then the guy on screen — who looked about her age, maybe a little older, with messy brown hair pulled back by a ridiculous pink clip — laughed at something in the chat. It was a quiet, raspy sort of laugh that made something in her chest warm up.

He was lounging sideways on a couch, one socked foot tucked under the other knee, wearing an old band tee that had definitely seen better days. His accent was British, soft and a bit lazy, words sliding together like he couldn’t be bothered to crisp them up.

“Alright, next question,” he was saying, scrolling through comments. “Worst cereal of all time. And if any of you say Frosted Flakes, we’re gonna have a problem. Those are elite, don’t start.”

Y/N snorted, surprising herself. God, she must be tired.

On impulse, she typed:

bran flakes. taste like depression.

She almost clicked away before he’d see it, suddenly embarrassed. But then his eyes darted down, and he read it out loud, smiling.

“‘Bran flakes taste like depression,’” he repeated, trying not to laugh. “Oh that’s brilliant. You’re right, actually. Like chewing on your last shred of hope.”

He squinted at the username. “Who’s that, then? That’s a new one, innit? Welcome, love.”

A weird flutter went through her stomach.

Love.

He probably called everyone that. Still.

“Alright then,” he went on, still smiling to himself as he scrolled, “let’s hear more hot takes. Is honey nut overrated? I think it might be.”

Y/N settled deeper under her blanket, phone a little closer to her face, feeling the tight coil in her chest start to loosen for the first time all day.

She hadn’t planned to watch for more than a minute. But then he started talking about his day — how he’d tried to bake banana bread and burned the bottom, how he thought his upstairs neighbor had a pet goat (it was just a big dog apparently), how he couldn’t sleep lately because his brain wouldn’t shut up.

He kept scratching at the corner of his jaw when he was nervous. Made these little faces when he was reading comments. And when he laughed, really laughed, it was like he forgot the camera was there.

There were only fourteen people in the chat now. It felt… cozy. Like stumbling into someone’s living room at 2 a.m.

She didn’t even realize how long she’d been there until her phone buzzed with a low battery warning.

Y/N smiled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Maybe she’d stay a little longer.

Y/N didn’t really mean to become a regular. It just sort of happened.

Every couple nights she’d check if he was live, and more often than not, he was. Always in that same sagging couch, always with that dumb pink clip holding his hair back, sometimes in glasses that made him look unfairly soft.

She’d plop down on her own couch in pajamas with a mug of tea, and it was like hanging out in someone’s living room. Well, his living room. Which had absolutely tragic curtains and a plant he frequently apologized to for nearly killing.

The chat was tiny. Never more than twenty people. A few usernames she recognized now, all of them forming this loose, late-night club of insomniacs and weirdos.

He’d started calling her “BranFlakes” sometimes, because of that first comment. Or just “trouble,” with this grin that made her toes curl under the blanket.

One night, he was leaning back against a pillow, phone balanced on his chest, scrolling through comments.

“So what’s everyone been up to today? Anyone do something interesting? Anyone commit light arson? Emotional or otherwise?”

Y/N smirked, typed, Define interesting. I didn’t get fired for flipping off a customer, so that’s my personal win.

He laughed — that soft, lazy sound that never failed to warm her up. “BranFlakes is in rare form tonight. Didn’t get fired, that’s the bar, huh? Love that for you.”

What about you? she sent. Burn anything down? Confess your sins.

He squinted at the screen, did that little half-smile. “Uh, I absolutely did. Tried to fix a leaky tap in the kitchen. Made it worse. Nearly flooded the place. Landlord’s gonna love that email tomorrow.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling. You’re useless.

“Oh, properly useless,” he agreed solemnly. Then his eyes flicked to the comments again. “Alright, your turn. What actually happened today? You sound more bitey than usual.”

Her stomach twisted a little. She didn’t usually get personal in the chat. It was mostly dumb jokes, snark, flirting that didn’t mean anything.

But he was looking right into the camera, waiting. Like he actually cared.

She sighed, typed, Just had a shit day. Work was hell. People suck. That’s it. I’ll live.

His face softened. He bit his bottom lip, drummed his fingers on his chest like he was trying to think of what to say.

“M’sorry, trouble,” he said finally, voice low and sincere in a way that surprised her. “People dosuck. Proper tossers, most of ‘em. But you don’t, alright? Just thought I should point that out.”

Y/N blinked at the screen. Her throat felt tight in that annoying way that meant if she opened her mouth, she’d probably make an embarrassing noise.

Thanks, she sent. You’re less useless than usual.

That got a grin out of him. “Oi, I’ll take it. Practically a love letter from you.”

A few minutes later, he’d moved on to reading someone else’s comment, but then paused, squinting at the screen again. “Hey — BranFlakes, do us a favor, yeah? Go get some water. Or a biscuit. Or something. You look knackered.”

She made a face at her phone. You can’t SEE me.

“I can sense you, alright? Psychic link. Don’t question it.”

Y/N laughed out loud, shaking her head, but set her phone down and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water anyway. When she came back, he was grinning like he knew he’d won.

“Good girl,” he teased, voice dropping just enough to make her stomach do a little flip.

Shut up, she typed, cheeks hot.

“Don’t think I will.”

When he finally ended the live, she got a DM almost immediately.

h: get some sleep, trouble. tomorrow will be less shit. promise.

She stared at it for a second, smiling like an idiot, then sent back,

y/n: no promises but i’ll try. don’t flood the kitchen again.

He sent a photo back. Just him with his face half-buried in his pillow, hair a mess, eyes soft and sleepy.

h: s’night then.

Y/N bit her lip so hard it almost hurt.

God, she was so gone. Over a boy she’d never even seen outside this little square on her phone. Over someone who didn’t even know what she looked like.

But she couldn’t stop. Didn’t even want to try.

Y/N hadn’t planned on it going this far.

It was supposed to be harmless. A little escape from the drudge of work and the ache of coming home to an empty apartment. But somehow it became the best part of her day.

They texted constantly now. Not just memes or stupid TikToks — though there were plenty of those — but long rambly messages about everything and nothing. About how she hated olives, how his favorite weather was the five minutes right before it rained, how sometimes he wondered if he was wasting his life talking to a phone screen at 2 a.m.

One night he sent her a voice note. Just a sleepy, “Hope your day was better, trouble,” all warm and raspy and impossibly close.

She played it about fifteen times.

Eventually she started sending voice notes back, her voice small and shy at first. He’d tease her — “didn’t know you were so posh” or “god, your laugh’s unreal, you know that?” — and it made her feel stupidly giddy.

It also made her softer. Less snark, more honesty slipping through in little cracks.

One night she was curled up on the couch in an old hoodie, hair damp from a shower, phone pressed to her ear listening to him. He was rambling about the neighbor’s dog again.

“So it’s official — it’s not a goat. Just a dog with… goatish tendencies. Barks like it’s got a personal vendetta against me, though.”

She laughed, tucked her knees tighter to her chest. “Maybe it does. Maybe you give off suspicious energy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely suspicious. But c’mon, who doesn’t want to bark at me a little?”

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “Can’t argue with that.”

Then it got quiet. Not awkward — just easy, comfortable. She could hear him breathing, a little sigh as he shifted around wherever he was.

He spoke again, softer this time. “You sound tired. Long day?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Just work. Same old. I did have a customer yell at me because his sandwich was apparently ‘threatening.’ So that was new.”

Harry snorted. “Did it have a knife? Or just a bad attitude?”

“Bad attitude. Definitely. Lettuce was giving him a dirty look.”

“Cheeky lettuce.”

She let out a soft little huff, hugging her knees. “But it’s better now. Talking to you always makes it… less shit.”

There was a pause, then a quiet little, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked around it, and she didn’t care.

“Same here, trouble. Don’t think you realize how much.”

They sat in that for a second, hearts thudding on either end of the line.

Then she blurted, “Do you wanna see me? Like actually see me? I mean, I could video call, or send a pic or something. You’ve never asked, but…”

His voice came back gentle, almost shy. “I’ve thought about it, loads of times. What you look like. If you’d be smiling when you text me, or rolling your eyes. But… I kinda like not knowing.”

“You like the mystery?” she teased, but it was so soft it was almost tender.

“Yeah, actually. Like… it makes me pay more attention to everything else. The way you say stuff. The weird shit you notice. Your laugh.”

Her heart felt too full, pressing up tight against her ribs. “You’re such a sap.”

“Oh, fully. Can’t even deny it.” He laughed under his breath, then went quiet again. “Don’t worry, though. When I finally see you, it’ll be worth the wait. Bet you’ll ruin me completely.”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just whispered, “Okay.”

He let out a little sigh, like it settled something in him. “G’night, love. Dream of suspicious sandwiches.”

“G’night, Harry.”

When she hung up, her face hurt from smiling. Her phone buzzed one last time.

h: and send me more voice notes tomorrow. m’addicted to your voice.

She squealed into her pillow like a teenager, then typed back with shaky hands.

y/n: only if you promise to keep telling me about your goat dog.

h: deal.

She fell asleep with her phone clutched to her chest, feeling like maybe — just maybe — she wasn’t so alone after all.

She was sprawled on her bed one evening, phone in hand, absently scrolling through photos of cats in funny hats, when Harry’s name popped up on her screen.

Incoming call.

Her stomach flipped. It always did, stupidly, like she was sixteen again. She answered with a half-smile already pulling at her mouth.

“Hey, trouble,” he drawled.

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

He was rustling around on the other end. She could hear a cupboard door creak, then the distant sound of pouring water. Probably making one of his endless cups of tea.

“So… I’ve got a question. Might be a bit mad.”

“Coming from you, that’s not exactly shocking.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Fair. But listen — there’s this tiny con, kinda a meetup for streamers and random internet people. Not like a big Comic-Con thing. More awkward dudes in graphic tees and cheap coffee. It’s next month, just over in Georgia. I’ve got a little panel spot somehow, talking about building ‘authentic communities’ which is a joke ‘cause it’s me and, like, twenty people on TikTok.”

She grinned into her pillow. “I think your little community’s pretty damn authentic. Bunch of cereal snobs and insomniacs.”

“Exactly. My people.” He paused. She could practically hear him chewing his lip. “Anyway… was thinkin’ you could come? Meet me there? Only if you want. I know it’s a drive and all, but…”

Y/N’s heart was thudding so hard it felt like her chest might crack open.

“You want me to come to a convention?” she teased lightly, trying to keep her voice from squeaking.

“I want you to come see me,” he corrected, softer. “I wanna finally see you. And — alright, selfish — I wanna be the first to see your face. Not through a camera. Just… you, standing there, lookin’ all smug. Maybe roll your eyes at me in real life.”

Her throat was so tight it hurt. She rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he groaned, but he was laughing, nervous.

“You’re the one making it weird! Asking me to drive to another state to meet a boy I met on TikTok. What if you’re secretly a swamp goblin?”

“Babe, I’ve told you I’m a swamp goblin. At least three times. Full disclosure, I get cranky if I don’t have snacks.”

She laughed, pressing her fist to her mouth. “It’s just— it’s kind of a big deal. I mean, what if you’re disappointed?”

Harry went quiet for a second, then his voice came through low and certain. “Won’t be. S’not possible.”

She felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes, completely out of nowhere. God, she was pathetic.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She could hear the grin in his voice when he let out a breathless little, “Fuck. Can’t wait.”

“So what exactly does one wear to a nerd convention?” she asked, forcing a playful lilt back into her voice.

“Dunno. Something cute. Or come in a full Chewbacca suit, I’ll still fancy you.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Hey.” His voice dropped. “Just bring yourself. Promise?”

She swallowed hard. “Promise.”

“Good girl,” he muttered, and it was so low and fond it made her toes curl.

Later that night, she lay awake staring at her ceiling fan, heart pounding, phone clutched to her chest. She was really going to do this. Really going to cross state lines to meet a boy with floppy hair and a voice that made her stomach flutter.

Harry sent one last text before she drifted off.

h: m’counting the days already. try not to crash your car. i’d like to kiss you eventually.

He wanted to kiss her. She buried her burning face in her pillow, grinning like an idiot.

y/n: not planning on dying before you buy me a shit con coffee.

h: romantic. sleep tight, trouble.

She did. Better than she had in weeks.

Y/N started packing three days before she even had to leave. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Her bed was a disaster — jeans, crop tops, cardigans, shoes she’d never realistically wear to a sweaty convention hall. Her cat sat in the middle of it all, judging her with bored yellow eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, holding up two shirts. “Which one says ‘I might like you enough to kiss you but also I’m not desperate’?”

The cat blinked slowly, unimpressed.

She flopped down next to it, groaning. Her phone buzzed, and immediately her pulse jumped. It was embarrassing how fast she grabbed it.

h: tell me ur packing. otherwise i’ll come kidnap you myself.

She snorted, thumbs flying.

y/n: packing. but it’s not going well. i have no idea what to wear.

h: wear clothes. preferably.

y/n: you’re SO helpful.

h: m’just sayin, you’d look good in literally anything.

y/n: how do you know that?? you’ve never even SEEN me.

h: gut feeling. also ur voice is fit, so the rest of you must be too.

She made a strangled little noise and buried her face in a sweater.

y/n: stop. i’m already freaking out.

h: why?

y/n: idk. what if it’s weird? or awkward? what if you don’t like me once i’m standing right in front of you?

There was a pause. Three dots blinking. Then his reply came through.

h: listen to me carefully. i already like you. annoyingly so. it’s not gonna change because i see ur cute face in person.

She just stared at it for a long time, her heart doing stupid acrobatics in her chest.

y/n: you’re sappy.

h: i am. you’re stuck with it.

She typed back, her throat tight.

y/n: fine. but if i show up and you bolt i’m keeping your plant.

h: rude. that plant is family.

y/n: he told me he hates you actually.

h: he’s a liar and he needs water.

She laughed out loud. God, how did he make her feel so light?

h: pack something comfy for after. like when i inevitably drag you out for greasy food and keep you up all night talking.

Her cheeks burned.

y/n: okay. i will.

h: good girl.

She nearly dropped her phone.

The rest of the night she kept pulling clothes off hangers, putting them back, debating if she needed to shave literally everything. Her stomach was in knots, but in the best, most electric way.

The next morning, she texted him a picture of her suitcase.

y/n: packed. mostly. leaving tomorrow morning.

h: look at you bein all responsible.

y/n: i’m terrified.

h: i’m not. m’just excited.

She bit her lip, smiling like a fool.

y/n: what if i’m not what you pictured?

h: then i’ll change the picture. easy.

She didn’t know how to reply to that, so she didn’t.

Later that night, curled up in bed with her phone on her chest, he sent her a voice note. His voice was low, tired, a little scratchy.

“Hey. You’re probably asleep already. Just wanted to say… drive safe, yeah? Don’t rush. I’ll be there whenever you get in. And… I can’t wait to see you, trouble. S’gonna be worth it. Promise.”

She listened to it three times before she could finally close her eyes.

Tomorrow, she’d get in her car and drive across state lines for a boy she’d never met, whose voice already felt like home.

Y/N pulled into the hotel parking lot with her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

The drive had been three hours of jittery adrenaline and overthinking every possible scenario. What if he didn’t like her? What if she said something weird? What if he didn’t even show up?

The hotel was surprisingly nice — not some grimy chain, but modern, with big glass windows and a little fountain out front. She checked in, mumbling her name to the woman at the desk, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

The room was clean, a little cold, with an aggressively cheerful painting of sunflowers on the wall. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and sat on the edge, hands clasped together so tight her knuckles hurt.

Her phone buzzed.

h: just got here. room’s tiny. i look like a giant tryin to get dressed in this mirror.

She snorted, a breathy laugh escaping her. Her hands were still shaking when she typed back.

y/n: i’m here too. hiding in my room. trying not to hyperventilate.

h: don’t hyperventilate. m’too selfish, i really wanna see you alive and breathing.

y/n: same.

h: my panel’s in like 30. after, meet me at the hotel cafe? it’s right off the lobby.

y/n: okay. i’ll be there.

h: sweet girl.

Her stomach flipped. She threw her phone on the bed and covered her face with both hands.

“Jesus Christ, get it together,” she muttered.

She paced the tiny space, chugged half a bottle of water, fixed her hair for the tenth time, wiped her clammy palms on her jeans. Finally she decided to go watch his panel — maybe seeing him from a distance first would make it less terrifying.

The convention space was downstairs, tucked behind a couple big double doors. She slipped inside quietly, heart racing. It was a small room, maybe fifty chairs, half-full. Harry was already on stage, perched on a tall stool with a mic in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

She stopped dead in the aisle.

God.

He was in a thin dark tee that clung to his shoulders, hair pulled back in that same dumb clip, a silver ring flashing on his thumb when he gestured. He was laughing at something the moderator said, head tipping back, eyes crinkling.

She just stood there like an idiot, hugging her arms to her chest, watching him talk about “building safe corners of the internet” and how people deserved spaces where they could be weird without judgment.

He had no idea she was there.

No idea that the girl who’d been teasing him about cereal and goat-dogs and sending him nervous little voice notes was right in front of him, trying not to melt into the carpet.

When it ended, there was polite applause. Harry thanked everyone, flashed that grin that made her knees weak, then stepped down and disappeared through a side door.

Y/N slipped out with the rest of the crowd, heart in her throat, and made her way to the hotel cafe. It was early afternoon, empty except for a barista behind the counter and a young guy in a hoodie reading something on his phone.

She picked a corner table by the window, set her bag on the seat beside her, and stared out at the fountain.

Her phone buzzed.

h: done. headed that way.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands were clammy again. She wiped them on her jeans.

y/n: already here. trying not to pass out.

h: don’t. m’serious. i need you alive for at least ten more minutes.

She barked out a laugh that startled the barista.

Then another text came through.

h: also. you better still let me be the one to find you.

y/n: bossy.

h: i know. sit tight.

She curled up in her chair, arms wrapped around her middle, foot bouncing under the table. Every time the door opened, her heart lurched into her throat.

The guy across the cafe glanced up, gave her a polite nod. She tried to smile back, probably looked manic.

Her phone buzzed again.

h: where exactly are you?

y/n: corner table. window.

h: m’bout to ruin your life.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

When the door opened again, she knew. Couldn’t see him yet, but every nerve in her body lit up like it was hardwired to him.

Her heart was thundering. Actually thundering. She could feel it in her throat, her fingertips, her ears. Every nerve felt raw, hyperaware.

She kept fidgeting, smoothing her hands down her thighs, twisting the little ring on her middle finger. The young guy across the cafe gave her another awkward glance, probably wondering why she looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

This is so stupid, she thought. It’s just Harry. You’ve talked to him every single day for months. He knows your favorite snack, your weird intrusive thoughts, the exact sound you make when you snort-laugh. This is Harry.

But it wasn’t just Harry. It was him. In real life. Not a voice on the phone or a little face on her screen, but flesh and blood and warm hands and — god — probably so much taller than she expected.

Her stomach did a wild flip.

The door to the cafe swung open again. She didn’t even have to look. It was like her entire body just knew.

She forced herself to lift her head anyway.

And there he was.

Standing in the doorway, scanning the room with wide, eager eyes. Hair perfectly imperfect with a curl placed perfectly across his forehead, wearing the dark tee from the panel, jeans ripped at the knee, arms full of tattoos, and phone clutched in one hand like he’d been texting her the entire walk over.

When his gaze landed on her, it was like the floor dropped out from under her.

His whole face transformed — eyes going wide, mouth parting, then breaking into the most ridiculous, glorious grin she’d ever seen.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, mostly to himself. Then louder, “There you are.”

She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Just sat there staring at him like a deer in headlights, heart doing cartwheels in her chest.

“Not gonna stand up and greet me, then?” he teased, voice warm and bright and so painfully Harryit made her eyes sting.

She let out a helpless little laugh, pushed her chair back, and stood. Her legs felt like jelly.

Harry crossed the tiny room in three long strides. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could see the little bump on his nose, the tiny freckle on his jaw. His eyes were so green.

“Hi,” she managed, voice embarrassingly breathless.

He stared at her like he was trying to memorize every single inch of her face. Then his mouth curved into this soft, disbelieving smile.

“Hi, trouble.”

She laughed again, a shaky sound that was more nerves than humor. “You’re real.”

“Yeah. S’lookin that way.” His voice dropped a little, rough at the edges. “Can I — ?”

She didn’t even wait for him to finish. Just nodded, too overwhelmed to trust her own mouth.

He let out this tiny relieved laugh, then cupped her face in both hands, warm palms bracketing her cheeks, thumbs brushing under her eyes.

“Oh, fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured. Then he was leaning down, pressing his forehead to hers, breath shallow.

She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop trembling. Her hands found his wrists, holding on tight.

“You’re taller than I thought,” she whispered, which made him huff out a laugh against her skin.

“You’re shorter than I thought. Tiny little menace.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She did. Pushed up on her toes and kissed him, soft and a little clumsy at first.

Harry made this wrecked sound, one hand sliding into her hair, the other dropping to her waist to haul her closer. His mouth moved over hers like he’d been waiting forever, savoring it, chasing every tiny shift of her lips.

When they finally pulled back, breathless and grinning like idiots, he rested his forehead against hers again.

“Worth the wait,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, voice catching. “Worth every damn second.”

They didn’t move for a second, still tangled up in each other’s breath, Harry’s hands cradling her jaw like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

Then he seemed to realize they were standing dead center in a mostly empty cafe, making out like horny teenagers. He let out a slightly embarrassed little laugh, dropped his hands from her face, but kept one warm palm resting on her hip like he couldn’t stand not to touch her.

“Alright,” he breathed, eyes still dancing all over her face. “Sit with me before I drag you back upstairs and absolutely traumatize the room next door.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m that easy,” she teased, trying to sound breezy even though her voice came out a bit wobbly.

“Oh, I’m counting on you being that easy,” he shot back, grin going crooked. Then he tugged gently at her waist. “C’mon, trouble.”

They settled back at her little corner table. Harry immediately scooted his chair so close their knees bumped, like he couldn’t help it. His leg pressed into hers under the table, warm and solid, grounding her in the best way.

“You’re staring,” she said after a minute, cheeks hot.

He didn’t even pretend to deny it. Just leaned back, smirked, eyes raking over her face. “Yeah. Been picturing this forever. Sort of unfair how much better it is in person.”

“Stop. You’re going to make me combust.”

“Mm, fine. For now.” He nudged her ankle with his foot. “Order something. We’ll do this proper, yeah? Coffee and awkward small talk before I tell you again how pretty you are.”

She let out a shaky laugh, flagging down the barista. Harry ordered something complicated and way too sweet. She ordered a simple latte because her hands were still trembling and she was terrified she’d spill anything else.

When the barista left, Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. “So. Be honest. Am I taller than you thought?”

“Only a little. I mean, I knew you had to be tall with that tragic camera angle you always use. Could never see half your face.”

“Oi, it’s artsy! Mysterious!”

“It’s lazy. You’re lazy.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Maybe. But you still fell for me, so joke’s on you.”

She rolled her eyes, but under the table, she slid her foot along his calf. His eyes went molten.

“Y’know, when I first saw you across the room…” he started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “Christ. My heart actually stopped. I thought, that’s her. That’s my girl.”

Her own heart lurched painfully, and she reached across the table without thinking, catching his hand. He squeezed back immediately, thumb stroking over her knuckles.

“And you,” she said softly, trying to steady her voice. “You’re somehow exactly what I pictured and also nothing like it. It’s weird.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I dunno. You’re just… more. Louder. Warmer. More real.”

His smile went soft, almost shy. “M’glad. Was worried maybe you’d take one look and run for the hills.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that.”

He squeezed her hand again, brought it up to press a warm kiss against her knuckles. “Well. Lucky for me, you seem to like idiots.”

She laughed, but it cracked into something breathless.

Their drinks came, and they pretended to care about them, but neither let go of the other’s hand for more than a second.

“You’re still staring,” she whispered at one point, cheeks aching from smiling.

“Yeah. Not plannin’ to stop anytime soon, either.”

“Good.”

Harry’s knee bounced against hers, eyes flicking down to her mouth before dragging back up. “After this, wanna go somewhere quieter? Walk around outside maybe? Or— I dunno. I’m not ready to let you go back to your room yet. Might actually die.”

She squeezed his fingers, heart tripping all over itself. “Yeah. I’d like that. Really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said again, laughing through it. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Hopeless. Absolutely ruined by you.”

They stayed like that a while longer, hands twined on the table, feet tangled under it, Harry stealing these small, soft looks at her that made her want to crawl into his lap and never move.

It was like all the months of voice notes and texts and teasing had collapsed into this tiny sunlit moment, just the two of them, finally real.

They finished their coffee in slow, distracted sips, talking about absolutely nothing and everything, fingers tangled so tight it was like neither of them trusted the moment enough to let go.

When Harry finally stood, he didn’t even wait for her to gather her bag properly. Just laced their hands together and tugged her up with this boyish, impatient grin.

“C’mon. If we stay here any longer, I’m gonna climb over the table and get us both banned from the hotel.”

She snorted, cheeks going hot. “That’s one way to start off our weekend.”

“Mm, not quite the meet-cute I had in mind, but tempting,” he teased, pushing open the glass door and guiding her into the lobby.

They stepped outside into the afternoon sun. It was warm and bright, the fountain burbling nearby. Harry didn’t let go of her hand once, thumb brushing lazy little circles over her knuckles like he couldn’t help it.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” she said after a minute, heart still tap dancing against her ribs.

“What does?”

“This. Being… together. In real life.”

Harry smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah. But good weird. Like I’ve been walking around waiting for something to happen, and it’s just… this. You. Finally here.”

She ducked her head, biting back a grin. “Stop. You’re gonna make me cry and I just put mascara on.”

He laughed, then pulled her gently toward the little path that circled the hotel grounds. It was quiet, dotted with benches and tiny blooming shrubs, just enough to feel like they had a bit of privacy.

“So,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his. “What was your first thought when you actually saw me sitting there?”

“That’s trouble,” he answered instantly, then shot her a playful look. “But also… fuck me, she’s pretty. Too pretty. Like I was gonna have a heart attack before I even got over there.”

She covered her face with her free hand, groaning. “God, why are you so good at this? You’re supposed to be awkward and weird and make me feel better about my life choices.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m plenty awkward,” Harry said with a grin. “I just hide it well. I’m currently terrified you’re gonna realize you’ve made a tragic mistake and run off with the barista instead.”

“Not likely,” she shot back, but her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re stuck with me, sorry.”

“Good. I like being stuck with you.”

They walked a little further, hands still twined, arms bumping. Harry kept sneaking these little glances at her like he couldn’t help it — eyes darting to her mouth, her hair, her shoulders.

At one point, he stopped dead, tugged her gently so she stumbled into him.

“What?” she laughed, palms flattening against his chest. God, he was warm. Solid.

Harry just stared down at her for a long second, jaw working. Then he let out a low, helpless sort of noise, dropped their joined hands so he could cup her face again.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Can’t — I just—”

Then he was kissing her.

It was different than in the cafe — slower, deeper, almost reverent. Like he was trying to memorize exactly how she tasted, the way she sighed into his mouth, how her hands fisted in his shirt to drag him impossibly closer.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping a little, he rested his forehead on hers and let out a soft laugh.

“You’re gonna wreck me, trouble. Completely ruin me for anyone else.”

Her heart squeezed so tight it hurt. She slid her hands up to his jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his smile.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s the plan.”

Harry laughed again, kissed her once more — quick and sweet — then grabbed her hand and started walking backwards, pulling her along.

“C’mon. Wanna show you the pathetic little vendor hall. Gotta prove I’m a real internet loser.”

“You already proved that months ago,” she teased, bumping into him.

“Oi. Rude.”

“True, though.”

He laughed, pulled her closer by the hand. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll find more creative ways to shut you up later.”

Her stomach flipped deliciously.

They wandered off together like that, hands tangled, hearts a tangled mess of nerves and giddy relief, already half in love with this new reality where he was real and right there, close enough to touch.

They spent the next hour wandering through the vendor hall, which was exactly as tragic and adorable as Harry had promised.

Tiny tables crammed with stickers, enamel pins, homemade candles, nerdy T-shirts and art prints. A tired looking DJ was spinning some synthy pop in the corner, while groups of awkward twenty-somethings milled around with plastic badge holders swinging from their necks.

Harry didn’t let go of her hand once. Every time she reached for something on a table, he was right there, shoulder brushing hers, thumb stroking lazily over her knuckles.

At one booth, he picked up a truly awful little plushie — a lopsided frog wearing a tiny felt wizard hat.

“Oh my god,” she laughed. “That’s hideous.”

“That’s exactly why I want it.” He flipped the tag over, winced at the price, then smirked at her. “Actually… I think you need it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late.” He handed it to the vendor, pulled out his wallet, then shoved the hideous thing at her with a proud grin.

“Harry.” She tried to scowl but couldn’t stop smiling.

“S’for when I inevitably piss you off. You can punch his little face instead of mine.”

“You’re such a goof.”

He leaned in, brushed a quick kiss over her temple. “Yeah. Your goof, though.”

They drifted through a few more tables, Harry buying them both a cheap iced tea that tasted vaguely like metal, stopping every few feet to look at something he’d insist was “cool” even though it very much was not.

Eventually the crowd started thinning out, people heading back to their rooms or out to the parking lot. The music faded. Someone was rolling up a giant poster banner in the corner.

Harry glanced around, then at her, his thumb still brushing that same soothing line across the back of her hand.

“S’getting late, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Her heart was starting that stupid frantic beat again, the one that made it hard to get a full breath.

He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll walk you up. Make sure no stray goat-dogs get you.”

She laughed, nudged his shoulder. “So thoughtful.”

They rode the elevator up in a comfortable, slightly charged silence, shoulders brushing, Harry’s free hand in his pocket. At her door, he rocked back on his heels, still holding her hand.

“Well…”

“Well,” she echoed. God, she was suddenly so nervous. Her heart felt like it was rattling against her ribs.

He lifted their joined hands, pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, then her wrist, then lower, to the inside of her palm.

“Night, trouble.”

She stood there frozen for half a second, then blurted out, “Wait.”

Harry stopped immediately, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

She bit her lip, heat crawling up her neck, then tried to laugh it off. “Do you… um. Do you maybe wanna come in? To my room? Just — I dunno. I’m not really ready for tonight to be over yet.”

His eyes went so soft she thought she might melt right there. Then he let out a quiet, slightly relieved laugh, thumb brushing her cheek.

“Fuck. I was gonna ask if you’d come back to mine, but didn’t wanna be that bloke, y’know? Didn’t want you to think I was just—”

She cut him off with a smile. “Harry. It’s me. You’re allowed to want to keep hanging out.”

His grin turned a little crooked. “Good. ‘Cause I really fuckin’ do.”

She fumbled her key card, nearly dropped it twice because her hands were shaking, and Harry just laughed quietly, resting a hand on the small of her back.

When the door finally swung open, he followed her inside, shutting it behind them with a soft click.

His hands found her waist almost immediately, pulling her close until their noses brushed.

“Hi again,” he murmured, voice low and a little breathless.

She laughed, slid her hands up his chest. “Hi.”

“Still can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You keep saying that,” she teased, voice wobbly.

He just kissed her, slow and deep, like he was determined to prove it over and over.

They stood there for a minute by the door, still half tangled up in each other, her hands pressed flat to his chest, his breath warm on her lips.

Harry’s thumbs stroked soft little circles at her waist, his forehead resting against hers. When he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, mouth curved in a lazy, wrecked sort of smile.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “I was trying really hard to be a gentleman.”

She bit her lip, heart stuttering. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, mouth brushing her jaw, then lower, nuzzling just under her ear. “Was gonna come up here, tuck you into bed all polite-like, go back to my room and die quietly.”

She let out a breathless little laugh, tilting her head to give him more room. “That sounds tragic.”

“It would’ve been,” he agreed, his mouth hot against her throat. “But now I’m here, and you’re letting me do this, and I’m absolutely fucked.”

That pulled a small, shaky sound from her chest.

She pulled back, just enough to see his face, and slid her hands up around his neck. Her thumbs brushed over the little curls at his nape, soft and sweaty from the day.

“Good,” she whispered. “I want you a little fucked up over me.”

His laugh was low, breathless, hands tightening at her hips. “That’s evil.”

She leaned up on her toes, kissed him.

It was meant to be quick. Just a soft press of her mouth to his. But the second she did it, Harry let out this quiet, desperate noise, his hands slipping lower, fingers digging into her hips to drag her closer.

The kiss went messy fast — all teeth and soft gasps, her hands sliding up into his hair, tugging at the little pink clip until it fell to the floor with a soft clatter. His hair spilled out around her fingers, wild and sweaty, and she fisted it tight, tugging just to feel him shudder.

“Christ,” he breathed against her mouth, voice cracking. “Keep doin’ that and I’m gonna lose it.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, lips ghosting over his jaw. “What if that’s what I want?”

Harry groaned, backed her up until her knees hit the bed. They tumbled onto it together, her on her back with Harry half on top of her, weight pressing her into the mattress in the best possible way.

His mouth was everywhere — her jaw, her neck, the little sensitive spot just under her ear that made her gasp.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered, breath hot against her skin. “Look at you, all sweet and soft, lettin’ me in your room, and now you’re gonna ruin me.”

She laughed, breathless, hips arching up into his. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and a little wild, hair a mess around his face.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Want me to lose my fuckin’ mind over you?”

She nodded, swallowed hard, then slid her hands under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. His skin was hot under her palms, muscles jumping under her touch.

“Take it off,” she whispered.

Harry let out a rough little laugh, sat up just enough to yank the shirt over his head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, then dropped back down, hands bracing on either side of her head.

“Happy?” he teased, but his voice was wrecked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, hands splaying over his warm, bare shoulders. “Now kiss me again.”

He did. Hard.

And when she shifted under him, legs parting to let him settle between, Harry let out the filthiest little groan against her mouth, hips pressing down into hers like he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and blown. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah? Please. I need you to tell me.”

She smiled up at him, heart a wild, happy mess, and slid her hands back into his hair.

“I’ll tell you,” she promised, voice low. “But right now I want everything.”

Harry just stared at her for a second, like she’d just said the most perfect thing in the world. Then he dipped his head, kissed her again, and everything else fell away.

Harry kissed her like he’d been waiting a lifetime — deep and hot and almost clumsy with how badly he wanted it. His hands roamed everywhere, up under her shirt, over her sides, gripping her hips so tight it was like he thought she might slip away.

But then she did something that had his breath stalling out completely. She pushed at his shoulder, gentle at first, then more insistent.

“Lay back,” she whispered.

His eyes flew open, dark and wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, biting her lip, sliding her hands down his chest. “Want you under me.”

Harry let out this absolutely wrecked little laugh, voice cracking as he flopped back onto the pillows. “Jesus Christ. Gonna be the death of me, trouble.”

She swung a leg over him, settling her knees on either side of his hips. The second her weight sank down, Harry’s head tipped back, a groan ripping out of him. His hands immediately found her thighs, squeezing, thumbs stroking up to the crease of her hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath shallow. “Look at you. You’re gonna make me embarrass myself.”

She leaned over him, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her hair slipping down to brush his cheeks. “That’s the point.”

“Oh, you’re evil,” he breathed, voice breaking on a laugh.

Then she started to move. Just a slow, testing roll of her hips, grinding down into him. The sound that tore out of Harry’s throat was obscene, his fingers digging into her thighs like he might bruise them.

“Trouble—” he gasped. “Fuck, don’t stop, please—”

She kept moving, finding a rhythm that had her own breath coming short and hot. The friction was maddening, sending little sparks dancing up her spine.

Then she dipped lower, mouth brushing his ear.

“You’re so easy for me,” she whispered, biting down gently on his earlobe.

Harry actually whimpered. His hips jerked up into hers, hands sliding to her ass to press her down harder.

“Oh my god,” he choked, breath hot and ragged. “Say that again.”

She just smiled, breathless, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Her teeth scraped lightly at the tender skin there, then bit down just enough to make him gasp.

“Mine,” she whispered against his throat. “You’re mine, Harry.”

“Fuck, fuck—” His hands were everywhere now, greedy and frantic, sliding under her shirt, over her back, trying to pull her even closer. His neck arched under her mouth, giving her more room, a helpless offering.

“Say it,” she breathed, nipping lower.

“Yours,” he groaned. “All yours, fuck, been yours since the first voice note you sent me, I’m done—”

She rocked her hips again, harder, and he nearly bucked off the bed. His hands clenched on her hips so tight she’d probably have marks.

“You’re so pretty like this,” she whispered against his throat, sucking another mark into his skin. “So desperate for me.”

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut, a wrecked little smile breaking across his face. “You have no fuckin’ clue, trouble. Absolutely no clue.”

She laughed, soft and breathless, then captured his mouth in another hungry kiss, her hips still moving, chasing that perfect, maddening friction.

And Harry just let her — let her take everything she wanted, moaning into her mouth, hands trembling where they gripped her.

Harry’s hands were shaking where they gripped her hips, thumbs digging into her skin like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. She kept rolling her hips over him, slow and teasing, her mouth pressed to his neck, feeling every helpless groan vibrate under her lips.

Then suddenly his hands tightened, and he growled out a breathless, “Alright, that’s enough.”

Before she could even process it, he was flipping them over, pressing her into the mattress with a low, wrecked laugh.

“Hey!” she squealed, giggling breathlessly, hands flying up to his shoulders.

Harry just smirked down at her, hair falling around his face, eyes dark and hungry but lit with that same playful glint that had made her fall for him from the start.

“What happened to being my good boy?” she teased, trying to sound cocky even though her voice was wobbly.

Harry leaned down, his mouth brushing hers, voice dropping to this low, sinful rumble that made her toes curl.

“Still your good boy,” he breathed, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then right below her ear so she shivered. “But turns out your good boy’s fucking starving.”

Her breath hitched. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed mockingly, biting her earlobe just enough to make her gasp. “What, didn’t think I was gonna let you have all the fun, did you?”

Then his mouth was at her throat, kissing and nipping down the column of her neck, hands sliding under her shirt. He pushed it up, impatient, until she lifted her arms so he could yank it over her head.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, leaning back just long enough to drink her in. His eyes were so dark it made her stomach swoop. “Been dreaming about this for months, trouble. Ruined me before I even had the chance to touch you.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, arching a little under him, needing more of him everywhere.

“Oh, yeah.” His hands slid down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her shorts. “Now be a good girl and lift your hips for me.”

She did, breath catching as he peeled them down slow, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. When he got them past her thighs, he dropped a soft kiss to the inside of her knee that made her whimper.

Harry just smirked. “What, already needy for me? Haven’t even started yet.”

“Harry—”

But he cut her off with a slow, filthy kiss just below her belly button, then another lower, each press of his mouth sending heat pooling low in her stomach.

When he finally settled between her thighs, hands spreading them wider, she thought she might actually die.

Harry looked up at her, eyes heavy, mouth curved in that wicked, lazy grin.

“Gonna make you forget your own name,” he murmured, voice so rough it was almost a growl. “Then remind you it’s mine you’ll be screaming.”

Then he lowered his head, and everything went molten.

Harry’s breath was hot against her inner thigh, and the second his mouth finally landed on her, she made a sound she didn’t even recognize — high and broken, her back arching clean off the bed.

“Fuck, there she is,” Harry groaned, voice dark and awed, like he’d just discovered treasure. He licked a slow stripe up her slit that had her thighs trying to snap closed around his head, but his hands were there, big and strong, spreading her right back open. “Nah. Don’t you dare hide from me now.”

“Harry—”

“Mm?” He pressed a filthy open-mouthed kiss right over her clit, then sucked, gentle at first, then harder when she whimpered. “What’s that, trouble? Can’t hear you.”

“Fucking— you’re such an— oh my god—”

He laughed against her, the vibration shooting through her entire body. “That’s it. Talk to me. Want to hear every desperate little noise you’ve been keeping from me.”

Then he went right back to it — slow at first, dragging his tongue in lazy circles that had her hips chasing after him, then faster, teasing patterns that made her whine. He sucked her clit into his mouth and let it pop free, then did it again, until she was clutching at the sheets like a lifeline.

“Please,” she gasped, voice wrecked. “Harry, please—”

“Please what?” he growled, pulling back just enough to look at her. His mouth was wet, his jaw shining with her slick, and he looked absolutely feral. “Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart. I’m a bit slow on the uptake.”

She made a desperate little noise, hands flying down to his hair, gripping tight. “Please, just — don’t stop. Need your mouth, please.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s pretty.” He dove right back in, groaning low when she tugged hard at his hair. His tongue worked her in deep, filthy strokes, then moved up to suck at her clit again, flicking just the tip of it until her thighs started to tremble.

Her hips stuttered against his mouth, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Harry— I’m gonna— oh my god—”

“Yeah?” He didn’t stop for even a second, words muffled against her. “Give it to me then, trouble. Come on my fuckin’ mouth.”

She broke with a soft sob, everything going tight and bright and shattering. Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding against his tongue, and Harry just moaned, holding her down, lapping her through it like he was starved.

When she finally slumped back against the mattress, shaking and spent, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, a lazy, wicked smile tugging at his lips.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, crawling up over her until they were nose to nose. “You’re a mess. Pretty little thing, all ruined for me.”

She let out a breathless, delirious laugh. “You’re the worst. The actual worst.”

He grinned, leaned in to press a slow, dirty kiss to her mouth — letting her taste exactly what he’d just done.

“Yeah,” he whispered against her lips. “But you love it.”

Her answering moan was all the proof he needed.

Harry pulled back just far enough to look at her, eyes heavy and dark, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His hands were everywhere — smoothing down her sides, gripping her thighs, then sliding up to cradle her face like he needed to hold her steady for what he was about to say.

“Need you,” he rasped, voice all gravel and desperation. “Need to be inside you right fuckin’ now or I’m gonna lose it.”

Her stomach swooped, heat pooling deep and low. She couldn’t help the soft, eager sound that broke from her chest. “Then do it. Please.”

Harry groaned, crashing his mouth back to hers in a rough, breathless kiss that had her head spinning. His hands moved between them, fumbling with his jeans. When he finally shoved them down along with his briefs, he sighed like it physically hurt to be kept from her even that long.

“Look at you,” he breathed, sliding a hand down to guide himself, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds until they were both trembling. “All wet for me already. Fuckin’ hell, trouble.”

“Harry—” Her voice cracked on his name, needy and wrecked, and that seemed to break the last of his control.

He pressed in slow, pushing inside inch by inch. Her mouth dropped open on a strangled little gasp, hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. Harry let out a deep, shuddering groan, forehead dropping to hers.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, hips stuttering forward. “You’re so fuckin’ tight — like you were made for me, swear to god.”

She could barely breathe, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively, trying to pull him even deeper. “Harry, please— move—”

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low and rough, brushing his nose against hers. Then he pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.

Her moan was sharp, desperate, nails digging into his back. Harry grinned, breathless and cocky. “There she is. C’mon, let me hear you.”

Then he set a rhythm — slow at first, rolling his hips into hers like he wanted to savor every second, then faster, rougher, every thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through her that had her clinging to him helplessly.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he panted against her mouth. “Can’t believe I’ve been waiting months for this. Months— thinkin’ about you, your voice, your laugh— didn’t even know what you looked like and I was already gone.”

“Harry,” she gasped, her body twisting under his, chasing each thrust. “Fuck— don’t stop—”

“Not stoppin’. Never fuckin’ stopping,” he growled. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her just enough so he could angle deeper. When he thrust again, she cried out, head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s it,” he rasped, fucking into her harder now, their bodies slamming together with slick, obscene sounds. “Good girl. Take it for me.”

“Feels so— god, you feel so good—”

“Yeah? This what you wanted?” His mouth found her neck, biting down just enough to make her keen. “Wanted me to ruin you, yeah?”

“Yes— yes, please, Harry, I’m so close—”

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Come for me, trouble. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

It only took a few more thrusts before she broke, coming with a sharp cry, nails digging into his shoulders. Her whole body tensed, then went loose and trembling under him. Harry let out a wrecked moan, burying his face in her neck as he followed her over the edge, hips jerking erratically until he spilled inside her.

They stayed tangled up like that, gasping into each other’s skin, his weight heavy and perfect on top of her. His hand stroked her hair, thumb brushing her cheek, grounding them both.

When he finally pulled back to look at her, his grin was lazy and stupidly soft.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough. “Knew you’d wreck me.”

She laughed, weak and breathless, pulling him down into a messy kiss.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because you absolutely ruined me too.”

Harry stayed right there, heavy and warm on top of her, breathing hard against her neck. It should have felt smothering, but it didn’t. It felt perfect — grounding and real, his heartbeat still thundering under her palm where she pressed it flat to his chest.

After a minute, he lifted his head, eyes soft and dazed. His hair was a total disaster, curls sticking up in every direction, still damp at the roots. She reached up and brushed a stray lock off his forehead, and he gave her this small, sappy smile that made her stomach flip all over again.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough, thumb stroking under her jaw.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Better than okay.”

He leaned in and kissed her — slow, gentle, nothing like how frantic he’d been a few minutes ago. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers and let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she breathed.

“Just…” His grin went a little crooked. “Dunno how I’m supposed to go back to my sad little flat after this. S’not fair.”

“You’ll survive,” she teased, even though her chest squeezed painfully at the thought of him leaving.

“Doubt it. Gonna be pathetic without you there to torment me.”

She laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He pulled out slowly, careful and sweet, then dropped another soft kiss on her mouth before rolling off to the side. He flopped down next to her, arm immediately hooking around her waist to tug her into his side.

They lay like that for a minute, catching their breath. Then Harry huffed out another soft laugh.

“What now?” she groaned, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

“Just thinking how smug you’re gonna be about this. Won’t be able to get your head through a door after tonight.”

“Oh, please. I’m the smug one?” She lifted her head to look at him, arching a brow. “Pretty sure you were the one talking about how you were gonna make me forget my name.”

Harry grinned, completely unrepentant. “Didn’t I, though?”

She smacked his chest lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you like it.” He pulled her tighter, kissing her hair.

They lay there in a comfortable tangle of limbs, skin still sticky, hearts finally slowing down. Harry’s hand traced lazy patterns up and down her back, then settled low on her waist, thumb brushing soothing circles.

“Can I stay the night?” he murmured after a while, voice small in a way that made her heart squeeze.

“Of course you can,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “I was hoping you would.”

“Good,” he breathed, then shifted to press her closer. “Need you here. S’like my body’s already addicted.”

She laughed, warm all over. “You’re a sap.”

“You’re gonna keep saying that, but I’m not embarrassed.” He nuzzled her nose with his, eyes crinkling. “Best fuckin’ decision I ever made, driving down here. Even if you did ruin me.”

“You like being ruined.”

“Oh, fully. Hopeless for it.”

She kissed him again, sweet and lingering, then tucked her head under his chin.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, trouble?”

“Don’t let this be a one weekend thing.”

His arms tightened around her. “Not a chance in hell.”

Two years later, and Y/N still couldn’t quite believe how her life had turned out.

It was ridiculous, really — all because she’d been bored and lonely one night, scrolling TikTok with her brain half-melted from work, and stumbled across a scruffy British boy in a pink hair clip rambling about cereal.

Now that same boy was asleep on her couch most nights, leaving half-empty tea mugs everywhere, hogging the blankets, stealing kisses in the kitchen while she was trying to cook.

Harry had moved to her city after six months of painfully sweet long weekends and gut-wrenching goodbyes at airports. “Not doin’ this anymore,” he’d grumbled against her mouth one night, hands cupping her face like she was something breakable. “Want to wake up next to you every bloody day.”

So he did.

They settled into something warm and chaotic — nights in with cheap wine and takeout, quiet mornings tangled up in bed, little trips to bookstores where he’d follow her around with a lazy arm hooked around her waist.

And somehow two years flew by.

They were on a weekend trip up north, renting a tiny cabin that looked out over a stretch of mossy woods. It was chilly, the sky low and gray, everything damp with the smell of pine and earth. Y/N was bundled in one of Harry’s sweaters, hands shoved in her pockets, while he fussed around trying to start a little bonfire.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” she teased, arching a brow.

Harry shot her a look over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Absolutely not. But you love me anyway, so it’s fine.”

“That’s debatable.”

He laughed, then finally got the flame going, settling back on his heels with a smug grin. “Ha. Ye of little faith.”

She rolled her eyes, sinking down onto the threadbare blanket he’d spread on the ground. The fire crackled softly, little bursts of orange against the dreary afternoon.

Harry dropped down next to her, pulling her immediately between his legs so her back pressed to his chest. His chin hooked over her shoulder, arms warm and heavy around her middle.

They sat like that for a while, quiet, just listening to the fire and the distant birds.

Then she felt him shift, heart thundering against her back in this weird, frantic rhythm.

“Alright, trouble,” he murmured, voice suddenly rough. “Got a question for you.”

She twisted a little to look at him. “Yeah? Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“Because I might,” he breathed, and when he pulled back she realized his hands were shaking.

Then he was fumbling in his pocket, pulling out this small, velvet box.

Y/N’s breath completely stopped.

“Harry—”

“Hang on, let me do it before I black out, yeah?” he rasped, popping the box open. Inside was a delicate ring, simple and perfect. Her eyes stung instantly.

Harry laughed, watery, eyes so bright. “Look, I know you’re a menace. You drive me absolutely mad. You steal the covers and use my toothbrush sometimes and leave your hair all over the flat. But I can’t — I don’t want — to do any of this without you. Ever again.”

She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Harry—”

“Love.” His grin was crooked, voice breaking. “Will you marry me?”

She nodded so hard it hurt, a laugh bubbling out through her tears. “Yes. Yes, obviously, you goof.”

Harry let out this wrecked little noise, then was pulling her into his lap, hugging her so tight the ring box squished between them.

When he finally pulled back to slip the ring onto her shaking finger, his own hands were trembling so badly it took two tries.

“Told you you’d ruin me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

She laughed through a sob. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I fuckin’ love you.”

Then he kissed her — slow and sweet and a little salty from both their tears — while the fire crackled on beside them, the sky hanging low and gray overhead, and everything else fell perfectly, irrevocably into place.

[canyonmoonchild-deactivated2025]

⊹ Whiskey and Silk

Pairing: protective!harry x heartbroken!reader

T.W.: cheating (past, mention), explicit sexual content, praise kink, light choking, breeding talk, mild hair pulling, alcohol, strong language, one-night stand, emotional vulnerability

Words: 3,441

Synopsis: one reckless night with Harry Styles leaves you ruined in the best way.

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I shouldn't have come here alone. But after finding that name on my ex's phone yesterday — a string of hearts next to someone else's name at three a.m. — I couldn't bear my friends' pity or their comfort. Their you deserve better speeches would only split me further open. I needed quiet, and the freedom to drown myself in whiskey without anyone trying to fix me. So I'd slipped into my shortest black dress, the one that made me feel powerful. Like maybe, if I looked dangerous enough, I wouldn't feel quite so wrecked.

The bar was cozy but a little battered, the kind of place that smelled like warm wood and heartbreak. A slow, bluesy song licked at the edges of my mood while I nursed a double whiskey neat, letting the burn match the ache inside me.

I couldn't stop seeing it — that new name on my ex's phone, proof that everything between us had been rotting for longer than I'd realized. My hands trembled around the glass, smudging the ring of condensation, mascara still clinging to my lashes in a messy ruin I hadn't bothered to fix.

That was when I felt him — a quiet warmth, settling into my peripheral vision. When I turned, I nearly forgot how to breathe. He was tall, lean, with curls falling around his face, a silk shirt half undone over a white tee, boots scuffed in the best way. His eyes found mine, warm and curious, playful, and something about them made my shoulders unclench for the first time in twenty-four hours.

"That drink looks like it's working overtime tonight," he said, voice deep but gentle, with a soft grin. "Mind if I steal this seat?"

I tried to brush him off, to keep my walls high. "Free country," I managed, voice sharper than I meant.

He only laughed, sliding onto the stool beside me. "Guess that's my invitation, then." He studied me for a moment, his eyes lingering on mine. "Who in their right mind would leave you sitting here alone?"

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could swallow it down. "Let's just say I'm suddenly single."

He nodded, thoughtful, no hint of pity. "Well... they must have left their brain somewhere if they walked away from you."

My lips twitched, a surprised smile threatening. "That's generous."

"I'd have to be clinically insane to pass up a chance to talk to you," he added, glancing at my nearly empty glass. "Let me get you another? You look like you could use it more than a lecture."

My defenses cracked, just a hair. "Sure," I breathed.

He raised a hand for the bartender, then turned back to me with that warm grin. "I'm Harry, by the way." I hesitated, then gave him my name — it felt strange on my tongue, like something new. "Nice to meet you," he said, voice dipping lower, like he might actually mean it. Then he leaned in, just close enough for me to catch a warm, earthy trace of cologne. "If you need a better distraction than that whiskey," he murmured, eyes catching mine with a spark that shot straight to my core, "I'm happy to volunteer."

For the first time that night, I felt a real smile lift my lips. Dangerous, tempting, too soon. But maybe I'd survive it.

Harry kept the conversation easy, teasing with a confidence that should have been off-putting, but instead felt like warm relief.

"Careful, Heartbreaker," he said with a grin, eyes tracing down to my glass. "I'm dangerous when I get you tipsy."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "I doubt you're that dangerous. Show me."

He leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress. "Prove you can outdrink me, then," he challenged, flicking his gaze to the bartender.

"Prove I can't," I shot back, ignoring the strange flutter in my stomach. He laughed — a warm, rough sound that I wanted to sink into — and ordered another round. His accent wrapped around every syllable, and I couldn't help mocking him for it, letting the whiskey loosen my tongue. "God," I sighed, dramatic, "even the way you order a drink sounds posh."

Harry rolled his eyes, all wounded pride. "Heartbreaker, you wound me," he teased, laying the nickname on thick. I nearly laughed, but he caught me in that moment, seeing the crack in my armor. His gaze softened, the grin fading to something real. "You know," he said, voice lower, rougher, "they didn't deserve you. I hope you know that."

The words sliced right through me, leaving something raw and trembling in their wake. I tried to wave it off with a weak laugh, but the sound died in my throat.

Harry's expression gentled even more, and he reached up to brush my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Hey," he murmured, so quiet, "breathe." I swallowed hard, and nodded, feeling the last shreds of the day's bitterness begin to slip. Before I could sink too deep into the ache, he broke the moment with a crooked grin. "So, Heartbreaker," he went on, playful again, "do I get a goodnight kiss first?"

I snorted, smirking despite myself. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

His grin turned molten, heat dancing in those green eyes. The air between us pulsed. His hand moved, slow, letting his fingertips hover just above my thigh — waiting, checking.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, voice so low I felt it in my bones.

I froze for a heartbeat, chest tight, and then slowly parted my legs a fraction, a silent permission. His fingers settled on my thigh, warm, steady, tracing slow circles that left sparks along my nerves. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to keep my head from spinning. "You're bold," I whispered, my voice shaking, but not from fear.

Harry only smiled, thumb brushing the hem of my dress in a teasing glide. "Let me take you somewhere you can breathe," he murmured, protective but hungry, all at once. I hesitated, thoughts of my ex's betrayal still lingering like a bruise — but then Harry's thumb dragged across my lower lip, soft and certain. "I promise you'll forget everything else," he said, so sure it nearly made me believe him.

That was it — that was what tipped me over.

"Okay," I breathed.

He paid without a word, hand never leaving me, then guided me out to the curb where an Uber waited. The city air hit my skin, cool and electric, goosebumps chasing up my arms. Harry slid into the backseat beside me, his thigh pressed against mine, heat radiating from him in waves. His hand stayed on me, a protective weight, reminding me I wasn't alone.

"So, Heartbreaker," he smirked, breaking the tension once more, "do I get a goodnight kiss first?" I shook my head, biting back a grin, but the way his thumb slid higher under the hem of my dress left me breathless. He leaned in, lips grazing my ear, voice a rough whisper: "Can't wait to hear you moan for me," he said, sending a violent shiver down my spine — then softer, gentler, "If you want to stop, say so."

My heart twisted, a painful, perfect ache — torn between guilt and a fierce, reckless desire to lose myself in him, just for tonight. I decided I wanted to let go.

***

Harry's place was exactly what I should have expected from him: sleek, modern, minimalist — but still warm in a way that made me exhale for the first time all night. Soft lamplight lit the space with a honey-colored glow, catching on a plush rug that looked like you could sink into it, and somewhere beyond the glass, the city sparkled under the night sky.

He stepped in first, casually toeing off his boots, then turned to me with that easy grin.

"Welcome to my humble cave. Make yourself at home, Heartbreaker." I tried to laugh, but it came out soft, uncertain. My cheeks felt hot. It all felt so fast. Harry stepped closer, voice low and gentle. "No pressure, okay? We can stop whenever."

I swallowed hard. "Thanks... I... yeah."

He brushed a curl back from his forehead, then cupped my cheek in a way that made my stomach twist, steady and patient. "You're still sure about this?" he asked, searching my eyes.

I nodded, because I wanted him — wanted this so badly I could hardly breathe.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm sure." The look that passed through his eyes was pure heat, but wrapped in something warm and protective.

"Good," he murmured, before leaning down and kissing me — a deep, unhurried pull at my lips that made my heart stutter.

The moment his tongue slid against mine, something inside me let go. I let my hands drift to his shirt, feeling the silk under my fingers, pulling him closer. When he pulled back, he let his gaze wander down, drinking me in from head to toe with such raw appreciation I nearly squirmed.

"God," he rasped, brushing a thumb across my cheek, "you're stunning... every inch of you."

My cheeks burned even hotter, a shy laugh slipping out. Then he stepped behind me, fingers tracing along the zipper of my dress, voice going dark with hunger.

"You wore this just to kill me, didn't you?"

I shivered. "Maybe," I teased, though it sounded more like a gasp.

His hands stilled, fingertips at the strap, and he paused — gentle, careful. "Can I take this off?" I nodded again, too breathless to answer out loud.

He slid the zipper down so slowly it felt like torture, the brush of his knuckles down my spine making my skin prickle with goosebumps. I felt the fabric slide off my shoulders, pooling around my ankles, leaving me in the black lace lingerie I'd chosen, half to feel powerful, half to remind myself I was still wanted.

Harry let out a shaky breath behind me. "Fuck," he sighed. "You're going to kill me tonight."

Heat flooded through me, pooling low and hot. He took his time exploring, hands smoothing over the curve of my hips, fingertips brushing along the lace, tracing where the sheer bra barely held me together.

"Perfect," he said, voice rough with awe. "Every. Inch."

He dipped his head to press hot kisses to my shoulder, letting his teeth scrape just enough to make me whimper. My hands found their way to his hair, threading through the soft curls, tugging gently.

"Harry," I breathed, overwhelmed already.

He pulled back to look at me, one hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

"I've been thinking about how good you'd taste all night," he whispered, a wicked smile pulling at the edges of his lips. My knees nearly buckled. "Mine tonight, yeah?" he added, voice darker, possessive in a way that made me clench around nothing.

"Yes," I gasped, barely recognizing my own voice.

Harry grinned, the heat in his eyes almost too much to hold. "Let me hear you, baby."

Then he kissed me again, harder this time, coaxing another helpless moan out of me. His hands moved down to cup my thighs, lifting me like I weighed nothing, and walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. He laid me down so gently it made my heart ache, then sank to his knees between my parted legs. His fingers hooked under the lace of my thong, looking up with that infuriating patience.

"Can I?"

"Please," I managed, voice breaking. He grinned — and pulled it down with devastating slowness, baring me completely.

Harry just stared at me for a second, like he was trying to memorize every detail, and then he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of my thigh. Each brush of his lips felt like fire, leaving me twitching, breathless, practically vibrating with need.

He chuckled low in his throat, like he could read my mind. “So pretty,” he murmured, tongue teasing just at the crease of my hip. “So fucking pretty with my fingers inside you.”

I let out a strangled sound, hips jerking toward him, desperate for anything, everything. Harry’s hand smoothed along my stomach, grounding me, while the other dipped down, two fingers sliding through the slick heat between my legs. I couldn’t help the moan that broke free — it felt so good, so overwhelming, that I forgot to be shy.

“God, you’re wet already,” he teased, but there was reverence in his voice. “You want this?”

“Yes,” I gasped, shame long gone. “Please, Harry—”

His grin was pure sin. “Good.”

He sank his fingers inside me slowly, curling them just right, and I nearly came undone on the spot. The stretch, the fullness, after being so empty for so long — it stole the air from my lungs.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry whispered, voice low and rough. “Let me hear you.”

A broken, keening moan escaped me, my hips rolling helplessly against his hand as he worked me open with steady, relentless strokes. Then I felt his mouth — soft, warm, teasing — replacing his thumb on my clit, and I almost screamed. He sucked gently at first, then firmer, in rhythm with his fingers, every nerve ending sparking at once.

“Harry—” I panted, fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck, please don’t stop.”

He laughed, breath hot against me, the vibrations making me whimper. “Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice somehow both gentle and filthy.

I felt the orgasm cresting before I could fight it — too intense, crashing over me like a wave. My entire body went tight, trembling, clamping around his fingers while he coaxed me through it, praising me over and over.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he groaned. “Let go for me. There you go.” When I finally caught my breath, he pulled back, licking his lips with a grin that was almost obscene. “I could taste you all night,” he teased, and I let out a half-laugh, half-sob, completely undone.

I barely had a moment to recover before he kissed me again — deep, possessive, letting me taste myself on his tongue. Then he stood, peeling off his own shirt and letting it drop to the floor, revealing the lean, toned lines of his body, dusted with tattoos I’d only ever seen in photos. My breath caught. He was… beautiful.

He caught me staring, and smirked. “See something you like?” I nodded, too dazed to be embarrassed. His hands went to his belt, pausing just a second. “You still sure?”

“Yes,” I whispered, no hesitation left.

Harry stripped the rest of the way, and my mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and heavy and flushed, already so hard. I licked my lips, heat rushing through me, and he noticed. His grin went dark.

“Want to taste me?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I swallowed hard, nodding again. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, guiding me gently to the edge of the bed. I wrapped a hand around him, marveling at the weight, the heat, before leaning in and taking him into my mouth. Harry let out a strangled curse, one hand bracing against the headboard, the other threading into my hair.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he praised, voice wrecked. “God, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

That sent a shiver through me, a thrill buzzing under my skin. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, letting him slide deeper, wanting to give him even a fraction of what he’d just given me. His hips flexed forward, controlled but needy, and I moaned around him, which made him curse again, louder.

“Shit — you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” he warned, pulling back gently before I could finish him off. He leaned down, kissing me rough and sweet at once, breathing hard. “I need to be inside you,” he growled against my mouth.

A rush of heat coiled low in my belly at the thought.

“Please,” I whispered, clutching at his shoulders. “I need you, Harry — all of you.”

His eyes darkened, and he guided me back on the bed, settling between my thighs. One hand fisted in my hair, the other braced at my hip, as he lined himself up and pushed in, inch by inch, filling me so perfectly it stole every word from my mouth.

“Nice and slow, sweetheart,” Harry murmured, voice shaking. “That’s it… fuck, you feel incredible.”

I could only moan, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the fullness. He paused once he was fully seated inside me, giving me time to adjust, his forehead resting against mine. I could feel him everywhere, a delicious, aching fullness that made my toes curl.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes searching mine.

I gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “So good… you’re so big, Harry, it’s—” He kissed me, swallowing the rest of my words, then pulled back just enough to move, a slow, perfect drag that made me shudder.

“Good girl,” he rasped, hips rolling, steady and deep. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Every thrust made sparks explode behind my eyes, the pressure building again far too quickly. My hands scrabbled at his back, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Harry—” I moaned, nearly crying from how good it felt, how right it felt.

He grinned, then caught my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Mine tonight, yeah?”

“Yes,” I gasped, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Say it,” he commanded, voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive rumble.

“Yours,” I breathed, dizzy. “I’m yours.”

His smile turned darkly satisfied, and he slammed into me harder, making me arch and cry out.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “Make you so full of me, yeah?”

My entire body went tight at the words, a deep, animal thrill pulsing through me.

“Yes — please, Harry—”

He shifted, pulling my legs higher around his waist, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. I nearly sobbed at the sensation, head spinning.

“Fuck, look at you,” Harry groaned, eyes blazing. “Falling apart on my cock.” I couldn’t answer, only moaned, letting the wave crest higher and higher. Harry’s hand slipped to my throat, gentle but firm, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch. “Good girl,” he praised again, voice breaking. “You’re gonna come for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” I whimpered, barely holding on.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, thrusts going rougher. “Come on, pretty girl. Let go for me.”

The orgasm slammed into me so hard I saw stars, my entire body locking up, squeezing around him. I cried out, voice ragged, lost in the pleasure. Harry cursed, hips jerking erratically as he followed me over the edge.

“Fuck, I’m coming — take it all, baby,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside me.

We both froze, breathing hard, his forehead still pressed to mine, sweat-slicked and shaking. When he finally pulled back to look at me, the heat in his eyes had gentled, soft and adoring.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Absolutely perfect.”

I flushed, overwhelmed, whispering a shy, “Thank you…”

He kissed me, slow and sweet, then carefully pulled out, watching my face as he did. I felt a messy, aching sense of relief, a flutter of satisfaction that went bone-deep. Harry stood, then returned with a warm cloth, cleaning me up gently, making sure I was comfortable before pulling me into his chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re safe, alright?” I nodded against him, too raw to speak, but feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

Harry held me there, arms strong and warm around me, while the faint city noise filtered through the open window. A distant hum of traffic, the soft beat of his heart.

“I know it’s fast,” he murmured after a moment, voice threaded with honesty, “but I’m glad it was me.”

My throat tightened. “Me too,” I admitted, burying my face in his neck.

He smiled, one hand smoothing along my back, soothing. “Sleep here,” he offered softly. “We can talk in the morning.”

I nodded again, too worn out to protest, letting my eyes drift shut while the last scraps of heartbreak burned away. Harry’s breathing evened out against me, steady and warm, and I let myself melt into it, safe in his arms, the faintest glimmer of hope flickering somewhere deep in my chest.

Maybe tomorrow would hurt. But tonight, I let him hold me.

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author’s note:

first post — thanks for checking it out! feel free to drop your thoughts or just say hi. 💗

love,

🌙 canyonmoonchild

[alohajix-deactivated20250801]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝

Description: when you need a date to your cousin’s wedding, your best friend Harry offers to play the part — fake boyfriend, doting companion, human shield against your ex. But one shared hotel room, a swirl of family expectations, and a few dangerously honest confessions blur every line between what’s pretend and what’s achingly, irreversibly real. One night turns into everything you were afraid to want, and neither of you can go back.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, mild alcohol use, and themes of emotional vulnerability and soft aftercare within a best friends-to-lovers, fake dating scenario.

Word count: 6,271

🌷 Main Masterlist

I'M BACKKK GUYS 🥹🥹 I missed you

***

Clothes were flying across your bedroom like a one-woman hurricane, hangers clattering against the hardwood, the floor strewn with silks, sequins, and broken hopes. A silky slip caught on the corner of the bedpost, swaying mockingly every time you moved, and the suitcase you'd hauled out sat half-open on the mattress, as if it, too, had decided to judge you.

"God, I cannot let him see me looking pathetic," you bit out under your breath, voice tight with a bitterness that scraped at your chest. You snatched a fitted emerald dress off a hanger, shaking it out, trying to picture how it might look under the harsh ballroom lights — if it would scream confidence or just look like a pitiful attempt at revenge. Nothing felt right, no matter how many times you held something up. You were overthinking every color, every cut, and hating yourself for caring so much.

Of course, that was exactly the moment Harry chose to appear, his presence as casual and natural as sunlight spilling through the window. He didn't even bother knocking — he never did — just strolled through the door like he'd been born to walk into your chaos, like your unraveling belonged to him, too.

"Jesus Christ," he drawled, taking in the apocalypse of fabrics littering the room, a grin breaking across his face. "Did the closet fight back, or are you just reenacting a reality show meltdown for my benefit?"

You shot him a glare that would have withered a lesser man, but Harry, infuriatingly unshaken, only grinned wider.

"Don't start with me, Harry," you warned, a shaky edge to your voice.

He raised both hands in theatrical surrender, the grin softening into something far gentler as his eyes moved over your face, reading all the anxiety you couldn't hide. "Hey," he said, voice dropping, warm and steady, "I come in peace, yeah?"

You clenched the emerald dress in your fists, the fabric wrinkling, your shoulders rigid. "It's just—" you struggled for the words, throat tight. "They're all going to stare, Harry. Everyone. Waiting for me to slip up, or fall apart, or—God, they'll look at me like I'm some broken charity case."

Harry's smile faded, the teasing dropping away like a mask, revealing something protective and sharp underneath. He moved closer, the shift so subtle you barely registered it until you could feel the heat of him crowding into your space. His hand came up to rest lightly on your shoulder, thumb stroking through the tense knot of muscle there, and it startled something dangerously tender inside you.

"You're not facing him alone, yeah?" he murmured, so close you could almost taste the mint on his breath.

You blinked, voice snagging on a half-laugh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry's gaze was steady, calm, but there was a flicker of something deeper — something that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. "What if I went with you?" he asked, a casual confidence dripping from every word, though his hand on your shoulder held just the slightest tremor. "Played the doting boyfriend. I'd look great on your arm."

You let out a startled laugh, but it was brittle, cracking apart on the last syllable. "Harry, come on, that's... that's ridiculous." It felt safer to call it ridiculous than to admit how much you wanted to say yes.

He watched you, eyes dark and unflinching, and for a second you wondered if he could see right through the armor you'd spent years building. Then he leaned just a breath closer, voice lower, more intimate, the teasing barely holding together. "I'd rather it be me than some random prick, you know?"

The words landed like a spark in dry grass, lighting up something raw in your chest. You looked away, pulse pounding in your throat, because the idea of letting Harry stand beside you — hold you — was both the most terrifying and most comforting thing you could imagine.

His thumb brushed your shoulder again, gentle, like he was afraid you might break. "You deserve to have someone in your corner," he added, his voice going so soft it almost hurt. "I'm not going to let you do this alone."

***

The second you stepped through the hotel's glass doors, your stomach twisted into a hundred knots, your brain churning up every horrible scenario at once.

"God, they're all going to be here," you blurted, voice cracking with nerves. "My mom, my aunts, him — they're going to dissect everything I do, Harry. What if I cry? What if I freeze up? What if—"

A warm hand pressed firmly against your lower back, interrupting the spiral.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, steady, grounding. "I'm right here. You're not alone, remember?" His voice smoothed some of the chaos swirling in your head, just enough to let you breathe as you stepped up to the reception desk together. "Reservation under Y/L/N," Harry told the clerk, his tone so confident you felt a surge of gratitude.

The clerk tapped at the keyboard for a moment, then looked up with an apologetic smile. "Ah, sir, I'm terribly sorry — there's been a mix-up. The room only has one king bed."

Your breath caught, panic rising — a single bed, after everything? — but Harry didn't even flinch.

He glanced down at you, a small, private smirk curling his lips, then turned back to the clerk. "That's fine," he said easily, then lowered his voice for just you to hear. "It's okay. I promise."

You tried to match his casual shrug, but your cheeks were already hot, and your voice came out higher than you meant. "Yeah. Sure. One bed. No big deal."

He squeezed your shoulder gently, reassuring you again before leading you toward the elevator, his presence solid and protective the whole way.

The suite was huge, luxurious, with tall windows and a massive, impossibly inviting king-sized bed taking up the center of the room. One glance at it made your skin prickle.

Harry chuckled low in his throat when he saw your wary expression. "Don't look so terrified," he teased, dropping his bag on the dresser. "I told you — respectful fake boyfriend, remember?"

Before you could even snap back, he had grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom.

You tried to steady yourself, unpacking your dress for the rehearsal dinner, but your mind was stuck on that stupid bed. The thought of Harry — your best friend, but also impossibly gorgeous — sleeping inches away from you all night sent a dangerous thrill through your veins.

A minute later, the bathroom door opened and steam rolled out, curling around Harry like he'd stepped out of a fantasy. He was in nothing but a towel, hair dripping, shoulders still flushed from the hot water. He looked obscene without even trying, every inch of him carved and damp, and he knew it. He stretched, exaggeratedly, and then flopped down right on the center of the bed, towel slipping scandalously low on his hips.

"Hey," he grinned, catching your shell-shocked stare, "I'm a very respectful fake boyfriend, promise."

Your mouth went dry. You forced a shaky laugh. "Yeah, super respectful, Harry. Real subtle."

"Just testing out the mattress," he teased, rolling onto his side, propping himself on an elbow so the towel gapped open just a hair more. "Gotta make sure it's good enough for you, princess."

You fought the urge to cover your face with your hands, snapping your attention back to the dinner dress instead. Trying to refocus, you struggled to zip the back of your dress, fingers fumbling. "Harry," you finally called, turning half-around, "can you help me?"

He was up in an instant, towel still clinging dangerously low as he moved behind you. His fingers were warm, steady, brushing the bare skin of your spine as he caught the zipper and slowly tugged it upward. Your breathing stuttered at the contact, every nerve screaming at the closeness, at the intimacy of letting him do something so small and so enormous at the same time. He paused halfway, fingers grazing your lower back, and you felt — more than heard — the quiet, unsteady inhale he took. The silence felt hot, heavy, stretching out forever.

Finally, he tugged the zipper the rest of the way, letting his fingertips linger a moment longer than strictly necessary. When you turned to face him, your faces were so close you could count the flecks of green in his eyes. Neither of you moved, neither of you breathed, the air between you so charged it felt like it might combust.

Harry swallowed, voice rough. "Ready?" You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. He gave you a lopsided grin, impossibly sweet. "I've got you tonight, too," he murmured. And somehow, you believed him.

The air outside the hotel felt sharper somehow, slicing through the warmth still coiled under your skin, the tension refusing to fade even as you stepped into the hallway. Harry trailed after you, close enough to brush against your shoulder, that steady calm rolling off him in waves. His voice, low and impossibly gentle, broke the charged hush that had formed around you both.

"You okay?" he asked, his tone almost tentative, searching your face for a sign you were still breathing.

You tried to swallow the mess of adrenaline still fizzing through you, managing a shaky nod, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Harry didn't push, just nodded back, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that might have been relief. You followed him down to the lobby, the silence clinging to your shoulders, heavy and complicated.

In the car, as the lights of the city blurred by, he spoke again, that warm, steady voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

"You look incredible." A pause, then a grin that made your pulse kick. "He's not going to know what hit him." Your stomach flipped, heat racing to your cheeks. You glanced away, voice shy.

"Thanks, Harry."

He didn't say anything else, but you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, protective and soft, and it made the knot in your chest loosen just a little.

The rehearsal venue was buzzing with too many faces and too many questions, glittering chandeliers throwing reflections across a sea of chattering relatives. Harry's hand found its way to your waist the moment you stepped inside, steady and grounding, fingers warm through the thin fabric of your dress. The contact made your entire body tense, that memory of him in the hotel room — damp hair, towel, zipper — crashing into your mind so hard it made you dizzy. I can't think straight with him so close.

Before you could even settle into a breath, Aunt Margo swooped in, her grin practically devouring the air.

"So, when's the wedding, you two?!" she demanded, eyes bright and far too hopeful. You froze, panic rising into your throat, words bottlenecked behind your lips. Harry's fingers squeezed at your side, the smallest reassurance, before he turned to Margo with that easy, practiced smile.

"We're just enjoying the moment for now," he told her smoothly, as though he'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Your heart lurched at the way he made it sound so true.

It didn't stop there, because your family never knew how to let things go. "Oh, you have to let us know when you're planning," someone chirped. "Don't wait too long, you'd have gorgeous babies!" another voice joined in.

You tried to answer, tried to focus, but the words tripped over each other inside your head, tangled up with Harry's touch and the memory of that zipper, that towel, that almost unbearable closeness.

"So you living together yet?" an uncle boomed over the chatter. You blinked, startled, your brain hopelessly behind.

"Sorry, what?" you blurted, mortified, cheeks going hot as Harry let out a quiet chuckle at your side. He leaned in, voice pitched low, mouth so close to your ear you could feel the soft brush of breath.

"Sweetheart, want another drink?" he murmured, slipping the pet name in so naturally it stole the air from your lungs. You nodded, too flustered to answer properly, the word sweetheart thrumming through your veins like a shot of something dangerous.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before another presence sidled up, a woman with perfectly lined lips and a dress that did nothing to hide her curves. She had eyes like sharpened knives, and they fixed on Harry with unmistakable hunger.

"If you get bored," she purred, bold and shameless, "find me."

Your heart slammed against your ribs, a flash of something possessive and messy exploding in your chest before you could think. "He's...with me, okay?" you stammered, voice thin but full of a raw certainty you hadn't realized was there until you heard it aloud.

Harry stilled, something dark and warm blooming behind his eyes. Then he looked at the woman, calm and final.

"All hers tonight," he told her, a quiet steel in his tone, before leaning in and brushing his lips against your temple in a move so gentle, so protectively intimate, you could hardly stand upright. The woman retreated, rolling her eyes, but your pulse still crashed wildly in your ears.

The noise around you pressed in again, laughter, clinking glasses, more intrusive questions you couldn't track. Harry's thumb stroked lightly along your side, a silent signal that he saw you unraveling, and then his voice dipped close, as if the rest of the world had stopped existing.

"I needed you to myself for a second," he murmured, voice rough, edged with something you couldn't name. You couldn't breathe. You could only nod as he took your hand and steered you away, guiding you through the side doors and out onto the quiet of the terrace.

The night air was cool against your overheated skin, the gentle glow of string lights spilling across stone railings, casting Harry's face in soft shadows. Neither of you spoke, but everything unsaid pulsed between you, thick and dangerous. Harry's fingers tightened around yours, grounding and possessive, and you couldn't help but look up into his eyes, searching for the cracks in his easy mask.

"You know I meant it, right?" he asked, low and breathless, something painfully real bleeding through every word. "All of it."

Your chest squeezed so tight you thought you might fall apart. "Yeah," you managed, voice shaking, because somehow — impossibly — you did believe him.

***

You had never worn anything like this before — deep emerald green that clung to your skin like a secret, catching the light across subtle beading at the neckline, the back cut so low you almost felt naked, and a slit running high up your thigh that made each step a quiet dare. It was powerful, stunning, a little terrifying, and you weren't sure whether to stand taller in it or run for cover. As you tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your hands down the slippery fabric, you whispered to your reflection, voice shaking, "You can do this. Just act normal."

But there was nothing normal about how your heart was pounding, nothing normal about how you felt suddenly raw and exposed.

A soft knock startled you, pulling you back to the moment, and then Harry's voice slipped in through the half-open door, quiet, careful, threaded with something warm and grounding. "Hey... you ready?"

He stepped inside, and the world seemed to tilt around you. His eyes landed on the gown, and for the briefest moment, he looked like someone had knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth parted, jaw tightening, and he stood frozen before he managed a rough swallow, fingers scraping awkwardly across the back of his neck. Then, almost like it was torn out of him, he breathed, "You look unreal."

The rush of his words, raw and unfiltered, made your chest clench so tight you thought you might break. You didn't move, letting him see you, letting the heat of his gaze trace every line, even though it made your knees feel weak, because you wanted him to see, really see, who you were under all of it — scared and strong, bold and shaking all at once.

Harry took a slow, reverent step forward, like he was walking up to something holy, and lifted a hand toward your hair, brushing a loose strand behind your ear with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. His fingers lingered, tracing lightly against your cheek, and the touch was so careful, so devastatingly gentle, that a shiver rolled through you without permission.

He saw it, of course he saw it, his eyes darkening, lips parting like he was fighting words he shouldn't say. His thumb kept moving in soft, hypnotic circles against your skin, and the tiniest grin curled at the edge of his mouth — but it couldn't hide the hunger simmering underneath. "Trying to kill me, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice thick and uneven, "walking out like that?"

It should have made you laugh, the teasing edge, but instead it landed hard and hot somewhere deep in your belly, because there was something so honest in his tone, so painfully real you didn't dare breathe too loudly in case you broke it. It was terrifying, the way he looked at you — like you were precious, like you were something worth protecting, worth wanting — and in that moment, you felt safe in his gaze, safe in the way he held himself back for you, as if you were a storm he wanted to brave but didn't dare yet. Your thoughts reeled as you tried to steady your heart, tried to remember you were just pretending, but something between you had shifted, locked in place so solidly you knew there was no going back from it. As he stepped back, eyes roaming over you one last time, you felt the tremor in your hands, because you couldn't deny it anymore: you didn't want to go back, and maybe neither did he.

You left the hotel together in a hush that was heavy but somehow stabilizing, each of them carrying the rawness of what had just passed between you like a spark too dangerous to name. Harry kept a gentle hand at the small of your back, steady, present, and grounding in a way that made you want to lean into him and never leave. He cracked a grin to break the tension, voice pitched soft, teasing, "If we stall any longer, they're going to send a search party, sweetheart."

It was enough to shake a little breathless laugh out of you, even as your mind stayed caught in the slipstream of his touch, his words, the way he'd looked at you in that green dress like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

The walk over felt dreamlike, the air tinged with that perfect early-evening gold, string lights already coming alive around the ceremony arch. Everywhere you turned, blossoms spilled color like something out of a fairytale — roses, peonies, climbing jasmine — and all of it wrapped around you with a perfume so heady it made your pulse stutter. You tried to focus on the aisle lined with flower petals, on the hush of the guests finding their seats, but every step felt unreal, Harry's hand resting low against your spine as a subtle, protective claim. Your brain buzzed, still replaying his compliment — "you look unreal" — and the gentle drag of his thumb against your cheek until you could hardly breathe.

When you caught sight of your ex standing near the rows of white chairs, the sting hit sharper than you'd expected. He looked polished, suit perfect, hair carefully styled, a smile too white and too wide that reeked of performance, the faint chemical sweetness of cheap cologne hitting you like a slap. Smug. That was the word for it, and the twist of arrogance on his lips made your stomach turn.

He clocked Harry's hold on you first, and for a brief, satisfying moment, his carefully curated smirk slipped. Then he rallied, letting out a slow, sticky laugh that made the hair on your arms stand on end. "Oh," he drawled, voice pitched for everyone within earshot, "you brought a date?"

Your spine stiffened, your heart trying to climb into your throat, but you stood a little taller, refusing to fold under his voice the way you had so many times before. Harry's hand pressed gently, support pulsing through that subtle pressure on your back, and he stepped forward just enough to shield you.

"I did," Harry answered smoothly, voice polite but carrying a razor-thin edge that set your pulse on fire, "and she looks incredible, doesn't she?"

A hush fell over the nearest guests, a few gasps breaking through the thick air. You could feel them eavesdropping without even turning to look, their curiosity pricking at your skin, but you refused to shrink, refused to cling.

Your ex scoffed, eyes darting between you both, the sneer back in place. "Well," he said, too loudly, "hope you two enjoy your little fairytale. Must be fun to pretend."

The words hit harder than you wanted them to, but before you could wobble, you steadied yourself, lifted your chin, and drew a shaky but clear breath. "No pretending," you managed, voice ringing with something fierce, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

That faltered him, just for a heartbeat, and Harry shifted closer, that hint of a threat bleeding through his warm tone as he followed up, "You heard her. So maybe focus on your own night, yeah?" Your ex opened his mouth like he might argue, but then snapped it shut, jaw ticking in frustration, and you caught a ripple of reactions around the guests, gasps blending into a ripple of awkward chatter as they pretended not to stare.

Your chest heaved, adrenaline still spiking, but a slow sense of pride began to anchor you — because you'd faced him, you'd stood there and not crumbled, and Harry was right there, steady, keeping you from drowning.

He leaned down, voice warm and low at your ear, a balm over every raw place inside you. "Breathe, sweetheart," he murmured, and you did, shaky but sure, pulling air all the way to the bottom of your lungs. Before you could thank him, he pulled you just slightly closer, arms wrapping you in a brief, solid hug, grounding and protective, his breath brushing against your hair. You melted into it for a second, a small moment of safety in the middle of the chaos, and when you pulled back, the way he looked at you — proud, careful, quietly protective — made your chest feel too tight to hold. Proud, you thought, heart hammering, I'm allowed to feel proud. And with Harry's palm still warm against your back, you felt like maybe — just maybe — you could survive whatever the night had left to throw at you.

***

The tented reception felt like stepping into another world, the ceiling laced with fairy lights that seemed to twinkle just for you, their soft gold glow pooling around candlelit tables dressed in rich burgundy linens and polished place settings that sparkled under the delicate shine. A string quartet tucked in one corner sent gentle notes through the warm dusk air, their melody wrapping around the space like a slow heartbeat. Laughter and the distant clink of glasses painted a comforting background, while a breeze threaded through the open tent walls, carrying with it the mingled scents of night-blooming jasmine and fresh-cut roses.

Your chest was still tight, shaky from the confrontation with your ex, adrenaline simmering in your veins like a warning drum, but Harry’s palm stayed firm at your back, guiding you through the swirl of guests as though you were the only person in the room. You drew courage from the weight of his touch, from the unspoken promise that he’d keep you upright if you started to crumble.

Couples began drifting onto the dance floor, their movements slow and unhurried as the quartet shifted to a familiar, timeless strain — something classic and achingly romantic, a song that felt like it belonged to the first spark of love, or maybe the last. You hesitated at the edge of the floor, your pulse hammering, afraid you might tremble right out of your own skin.

Harry turned to you, and the lights glimmered across the line of his jaw, catching the softness in his eyes. “Dance with me?” he asked, voice quiet, and for a second you couldn’t find the words, only nodded.

He pulled you in carefully, as if afraid you might break, one hand curling around your waist while the other found yours, anchoring you, claiming you, steadying you all at once. The first steps were awkward, your legs still fighting the aftershocks of your nerves, but then the music smoothed them out, carried you both into a gentle sway that felt like safety.

Harry dipped his head, the closeness of him sending a shiver straight through your chest, and he murmured low against your hair, “You did so good tonight, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightened, emotion crowding in. “I was terrified,” you confessed, voice almost lost in the music, but he heard it, you knew he did.

“I know,” he breathed, tightening his hold, “but you still stood up. I’m so damn proud of you.” The words landed with a soft, devastating weight, cracking something wide open in you, and you leaned into him, letting your forehead rest against his collar for one long, quiet second.

You danced that way for a while, letting the quartet’s sweeping chords and the faint rustle of the breeze carry you, until Harry shifted you both a little, guiding you toward a darker, quieter corner of the floor, where the lights blurred to gold in your periphery and no one seemed to be watching. His eyes found yours, steady and impossibly tender, and for a moment neither of you dared to breathe. You could feel the question thrumming between you, as loud as any shouted vow, could feel the impossible ache of how badly you wanted to close the distance. He dipped his head closer, noses brushing, breath mingling, and it was so easy to believe that this moment was yours, that the world would forgive you for wanting it. And then you both froze, fear rising at the same instant, a mirror image of each other’s panic that made you pull away before your lips could meet. The heartbreak of it was sharp, a clean, aching line right through your ribs, but you refused to look away, refused to hide from what you felt.

Harry’s eyes held yours, raw and unguarded, something almost broken shimmering there, and you matched it, letting him see every bit of your longing, even if it hurt.

When the song finally ended, he cleared his throat, voice rough. “We should…grab some water,” he offered, but didn’t let go of your hand. You nodded, breath shaky, and let him lead you off the floor. Before you stepped back into the brighter lights of the tent, he squeezed your hand, small and meaningful, a wordless reminder that you weren’t alone. That ember of hope glowed stubborn in your chest, refusing to die, even as you walked back into the noise of the night with your heart still aching for the kiss you didn’t quite get.

***

The ride back to the hotel felt like a single, drawn-out breath you couldn't quite exhale, your pulse still tripping over itself, skin buzzing from the dance floor and the weight of Harry's steady, unshakable presence. Neither of you spoke in the elevator, but the silence was thick — alive — thrumming with every charged second of tension that had been building from the moment he'd stepped into your life as something more than just your best friend.

When the door clicked shut behind you, the hush inside the hotel room seemed to swallow you whole, and you barely had time to register the soft golden spill of the bedside lamp before Harry's eyes locked on yours, hot and questioning.

"Baby," he murmured, voice protective and impossibly steady even though you could see the storm churning under his skin, "I need to know you really want this."

You didn't hesitate, didn't waver, not now. The answer rose up from somewhere deep, somewhere starved for him, as sure as the pounding of your heart. You took a breath, stepped forward, fingers curling around the dark silk of his tie, and tugged him down to you, your voice bold but shaking as you answered, "I want you."

It felt like something snapping, that final thread breaking in the space between you, and the next second his mouth was on yours, searing, desperate, starved. You kissed him back with everything you'd been trying to bury for far too long, pulling him closer by the knot of his tie until you were flush against the solid heat of him, dizzy from the taste of him, from how soft and hungry he felt all at once.

"I've wanted this for so long," he gasped against your lips, the confession tearing out of him raw and unfiltered, "God, I think I've loved you forever."

A small, helpless laugh broke free from you, a wet sound tangled up with the tears you didn't even know were gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Why did we wait so long?" you whispered, forehead pressed against his. He didn't answer, just shook his head, eyes burning with a mix of heat and something too soft to name, and then his hands were on your shoulders, sliding your dress down inch by inch, baring the black lace underneath in the dim lamplight.

He let out a broken sound, voice reverent, "Sweetheart, you're killing me." The words hit you like fire, and your breath faltered as you stood there in nothing but the thin stretch of lace, exposed but not scared, because the way he looked at you felt like worship.

His mouth was on yours again in a heartbeat, urgent, all-consuming, and you moved with him across the room, bumping into the wall with a soft thud before his hands splayed over your hips, dragging you closer, letting you feel every ounce of how hard he'd been trying to hold back. Your fingers fumbled at his shirt, popping buttons as you pushed it off his shoulders, wanting his skin against yours, wanting everything at once. You were bold, emboldened, running your palms over his chest, slipping lower until he hissed into your mouth, the sound shooting straight through your bones.

You didn't even make it to the bed at first, hands roaming, tangled in hair and fabric, until he had you pinned gently between his body and the cool hotel wall, kissing you like you were the only air left in the world. Then, as if remembering how delicate this was — how fragile — Harry slowed, drawing back to cradle your jaw in one big, steady palm. "Let me take care of you," he said, voice so soft and honest it nearly made you break in half.

You nodded, too full to speak, and let him guide you to the bed, the sheets cool and crisp under your skin. He lowered you down with almost painful tenderness, eyes roaming your body like a man starved, then climbed over you, kissing down the curve of your throat, across your collarbone, tracing the edge of your bra with a reverence that made your belly twist.

When he finally eased the lace away, you shivered, breath caught in your throat, but his praise was immediate and quiet, "Look at you...so fucking beautiful. So damn strong."

You reached for him, pulled him down again, refusing to be just passive in this, letting your hands thread into his hair and tug him closer, mouth clashing against his in a heat that left you both shaking. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him in until you could feel him right where you needed him, and for a second neither of you moved, just breathed each other in. The first push of him against you was slow, measured, but desperate all the same, like he was trying to memorize every single second of how it felt to be inside you, finally, after all the wanting. You choked on a cry, your hands fisting in the sheets, but Harry was there, holding your gaze, whispering, "I've got you."

Every motion after that felt like a prayer — his name on your tongue, his voice in your ear, the world collapsing down to the slick, perfect slide of your bodies finding each other. He was gentle and then rough, hungry and then slow, praising you through every shiver and gasp, calling you baby, sweetheart, so good for me, until your mind was nothing but him. When you finally broke apart together, it felt like a wave crashing over you, unstoppable, powerful, leaving you raw and wrung out in the best possible way. He gathered you close before you could even catch your breath, hands roaming over your shoulders, your sides, steady and anchoring, forehead pressed to yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, voice hoarse, and you believed him, letting that truth settle warm and unshakable inside your chest as you lay tangled up in each other, the city humming softly outside, the night stretching long and hopeful before you.

The room was hushed in the aftermath, the quiet settling around you like a soft blanket, only broken by the ragged sounds of your breathing and the faint hum of traffic outside. Harry was still holding you, his chest rising and falling against your cheek, his hands gentle, soothing, as they traced idle patterns over your back. You felt boneless, completely spent, every nerve left raw and sweet, but wrapped in something so comforting you could barely process it. He didn't rush to fill the silence, didn't pepper you with questions or push at the fragile space that had cracked wide open between you. Instead, he let his hands speak for him, warm and patient, grounding you in the safety of his touch. Every few moments, he'd shift to brush your hair out of your face, thumb sweeping across your temple with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself breathe him in — faint shampoo, his skin, the cotton of the hotel sheets — and the scent felt achingly familiar, like coming home. Your muscles, still trembling, began to unclench bit by bit, and you realized you'd never felt so safe.

Time blurred, neither of you moving except to adjust, to press closer, to bury your faces in the other like a promise. The night carried on outside your window, but the only world you could focus on was this one, small and perfect, right here between tangled sheets and quiet heartbeats. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with you both, dragging you down into a heavy, dreamless sleep, Harry's hand still curved protectively against your waist, his breath warm where it brushed the crown of your head.

You woke with the pale light of morning slipping through the blackout curtains, soft and watery and so gentle you barely realized your eyes were open. The first thing you felt was warmth — Harry, still tangled with you, legs a mess with yours, one arm slung over your middle, breathing even and steady. Your chest tightened, a swell of emotion nearly choking you, because there was no fear in waking up like this. There was no uncertainty, no flinch. Just Harry.

When you shifted, he stirred, groggy and sweet, eyes blinking open as a soft, lazy smile spread across his lips.

"Morning," he rasped, voice warm enough to melt you.

You smiled back, heart pounding in the best way. "Hi," you whispered.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, just looked, soaking each other in, as if trying to memorize what it felt like to wake up finally here, after so many missed chances. Then Harry's hand came up, brushing against your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip with a quiet reverence.

"I'm yours," he breathed, voice rough, truth cutting through every doubt you'd ever carried, "I always have been."

Your throat went tight, and you swallowed down the rush of tears that stung behind your eyes. You caught his hand, pressing it flat against your cheek, holding it there like an anchor.

"We'll figure this out," you promised him, a small laugh threading through the words because it was terrifying and thrilling all at once, "okay? We'll figure it out."

His answering smile was so open, so completely Harry, that it broke something inside you in the best way. He ducked forward, pressing a soft, unhurried kiss to your lips — nothing frantic, nothing hungry, just a quiet sealing of the vow you'd both made without ever really speaking it aloud. The world outside could wait. The questions, the what-ifs, the family, the stories you'd have to tell — all of it could wait. Right now, it was just him, just you, breathing the same slow air, curled together in a hotel bed that had somehow become the safest place on earth. And maybe, you thought as you tucked yourself closer to his heartbeat, you'd been right all along to believe in best friends. Because sometimes, best friends were the ones who could love you better than anyone.

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[harrystyles-recommendations]

older!harry

you again - by @jarofstyles

description: Harry regrets not getting the number of a girl he met at a speed dating event over a year ago.

pairing: older!harry x y/n

warnings: age gap (23/36), alludes to smut.

{part two} - sexual content, daddy kink

Keep reading

[becauseheartsgetbroken-hs]

i fear harry in his 30s has activated something primal in me 🫠

[sushirrrry]

TRACED a harry styles x original character one shot word count: 22k (!!!!) cw: m/f intercourse, dirty talk, humiliation kink, talking her through it, marking kink, the slowest burn I've ever written, angst, praise kink,

summary: lily and harry go to a dinner party, harry wants to talk her through it, & harry seemingly loses chess to let her take control.

read part 1 before part 2.

this is one of the longest one shots I've ever written - over 20k WOW - I've also never written a part two so this just solidifies that this was needed & I hope you loooove the continuation of harry and lily <3

enjoy!

_________________

Harry had his feet up on her coffee table like he lived there – that wasn’t a new thing, he had been like that with her since day one.

Lily stirred the simmering pasta sauce and watched him from the corner of her eye—one leg crossed over the other, fingers absently flipping through a book he definitely hadn’t asked to borrow, curls damp from a recent shower before he had left his apartment, leaving little wet patches on the collar of his faded t-shirt. He scrunched his nose, almost in a move to push his glasses up on his face.

“You’re looking very comfortable,” she stated, staring at the sauce as she began lifting the wooden spoon to taste her work. Needed salt, she thought.

Harry looked up, deadpan from the book he had been reading as if he caught only the end of her sentence. But, to Lily’s surprise, Harry always listened to every little word.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“It’s just… you know. You didn’t even knock.” Lily bit her lip; she didn’t want him to feel like it was a bad thing, but she always had never… experienced this kind of relationship before.

Harry not only didn’t knock, he left his jacket on the ground next to his shoes and grabbed himself a can of Diet Coke from her fridge.

She didn’t just love that he was making himself comfortable – she reveled in the way that he truly was just himself around her.

“I brought the wine for dinner,” he said, holding up the bottle beside him so that they could enjoy it with their dinner. “That’s basically knocking.”

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled, which only seemed to encourage him and all of his antics. She knew that he lived off of the energy that she fed him, which only made him want to push further.

“Also,” he continued, placing the book face-down on his chest as he let his head rest on the back of the sofa, “your neighbor already thinks I live here. He asked me to move my car. Called me ‘buddy.’ I didn’t correct him – said, ‘Hey buddy, can’t usually get out in the mornings, mind parking a bit closer on that side?’”

She flushed a little and turned back to the stove, hiding the way her cheeks from him or she knew that he would react to it. Harry had this effect of slipping past defenses without trying, of filling a room without forcing it; of being comfortable in a space she still sometimes tiptoed through.

She poured the pasta into a strainer and hesitated as she thought of her next question. She knew that there was another question on the tip of her tongue, and she wasn’t sure how to entirely bring it up to him.

It was something that she was a bit self-conscious on, considering she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to partake, but she knew that Harry would be all in the moment she asked.

“There’s, um… a thing on Saturday,” she said, nonchalantly, not wanting to make it a big deal.

Behind her, the couch creaked as Harry sat up, setting his book down again.

“A thing,” he echoed, amused. “That sounds incredibly specific, please don’t tell me anything more – I’m overwhelmed with information.”

She rolled her eyes at his wittiness, “It’s just…  it’s friends, a dinner party,” she said quickly. “We do it every few months. Potluck style. It’s – I mean, it’s nothing fancy. You don’t have to come. I just thought maybe—”

He was already walking toward her when she went to pour the noodles back into the pot.

“Lily,” he said, soft but certain; standing next to her now, he looked down at her. The way that this hand caressed the side of her wrist, he bit his lip at the hot touch. “I’d love to come.”

She met his eyes, those maddeningly open, green-flecked eyes that sat behind those glasses, and tried not to let her breath catch.

“I, uh… I get weird. Around a lot of people. You know that – I mean, even friends. It’s just… that’s actually overwhelming to me. And then having to tell them about you,” Her eyes widened at the way it sounded, “Not that I don’t want to introduce you! I do! It’s –“

“I know.” He reached past her to grab two plates, brushing her shoulder just enough to make her heart race. “But I also know you’re not weird, and that you’re just a bit socially aware to a higher degree than most. I live to be the life of the party, ergo, why we work together.”

“That’s because you’re… not normal,” she muttered with a slightly sly tongue.

Harry grinned at her response. “Normal is deeply overrated. You’re charmingly mysterious. I’m outrageously good-looking and have very talented hands in one way or another. We make a balanced pair.”

Lily scoffed, dishing pasta onto both plates, grateful for something to do with her hands.

“Besides,” he added, tone light but sincere, “I would enjoy seeing you in your world. I’ve already conquered the tattoo shop. Your apartment. That bakery you pretend not to like but always take me to.”

“I don’t always—”

“And now,” he said, stealing a forkful of pasta from her plate before she could stop him, “it’s time to infiltrate the friend group. Win hearts. Win stomachs. Probably win you all over again, but that’s a given.”

She looked at him then, really looked—at the ease in his smile, the affection under all the teasing. He wasn’t just saying yes to a dinner party. He was saying yes to her – he was saying yes to being seen with her, which was the most encouraging part of the entire thing.

Once both of them had their plates, Lily making sure that Harry got his own garlic bread, since he always liked to steal bites of hers, they took a seat at the small table that sat in the nook in Lily’s tiny apartment.

Only two seats; practically on top of one another. But, Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way.

A tiny candle flickered between them—not lit for ambience, really, just left over from the power outage two weeks ago, but it cast enough glow to soften the shadows and make everything feel vaguely more intimate than Lily had intended.

She twirled her fork through the pasta, hyper-aware of every clink of metal against ceramic. Harry ate like he always did—unapologetically, making sounds of appreciation like it was the best thing he’d tasted all week.

“You know,” he said between bites, “if I’d known you were capable of this level of culinary magic, I’d have made you cook for me on day one. Now I know why everyone always wants to kiss the chef.”

“You would’ve scared me off on day one if you told me you wanted to kiss me,” Lily muttered, biting at her lip before looking up with large eyes. The large doe-like eyes that drew Harry in so quickly and effortlessly that day in the shop.

He paused, then smiled like he knew exactly how right she was.

“Probably,” he agreed. “But you’d have come back, obviously. I have that effect on people.”

She glanced up at him, cautious as she took a bite of her pasta. “You’re very confident.”

“I’m also very observant,” he said, nudging her plate slightly closer when she paused too long without eating. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Haven’t left yet?”

She blushed and dropped her gaze, taking another small bite. Harry leaned back in his chair, watching her over the rim of his freshly poured wine glass.

“You ever just want to flirt back?” he asked casually, like he just wanted to rile her up.

Lily cleared her throat, eyes going anywhere but up to the man in front of her. She could feel his grin; could feel his cockiness radiating from across the table.

“I-,” she managed after wiping the side of her mouth with her napkin. “I- I don’t know - ”

“Don’t what?” He coaxed, leaning forward a bit on the table; his lopsided grin was just teasing her now. It was such a small table she felt that he was practically in her lap. “Say it.”

She shook her head, lips twitching, but she couldn’t look at him directly. There was something disarming about the way he looked at her—like he saw every flinch, every half-formed thought behind her eyes, and still wanted in.

“I’m not good at that stuff,” she said quietly. “Flirting. Saying the right thing. I always second-guess it. Myself, all the time.”

Harry’s grin softened, just slightly. Enough to let the joking drop into something real.

“That’s the thing, though,” he told her. “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to mean it.” He stopped for a moment, letting the façade drop before he shrugged. “You already have me; you don’t have to work that hard to keep me.”

She hesitated, toying with the edge of her napkin. “What if I don’t know how to mean it the right way? Or you take it the wrong way?”

“You don’t need a script, Lily,” he said gently. “You just need to stop trying to edit yourself so much.”

The silence between them hummed. Not heavy—just charged, like air right before lightning struck down. It felt like they were waiting for the ball to dorp.

She finally looked at him, and when she did, he wasn’t smiling anymore. Just watching her with a quiet, impossible patience.

So she said the first honest thing that came to her mind: “I like when you’re over here,” She tilted her head, finally letting her eyes lay on his, “You fill the space, and it’s nice.”

Harry’s mouth twitched – he couldn’t help how, in her own way, that was one of the nicest things she could have said.

“See?” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re a natural.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, his fork dangling from his fingers as he studied her for a moment. The way that her hair sat on her shoulders, her make-up was soft but in a dewy way. It made her look alive; made her look like she was glowing from the inside out.

“I like when I come over, too,” he said, quieter this time, trying to match her energy even though he could scream it from the rooftops, if he was asked. “Kind of feels like I’m being let into this secret little world of yours. Even if you pretend it’s nothing.”

Lily blinked at him, unsure what to do with the way his voice lowered like that—gentle, teasing, but edged with something honest. She could barely hold eye contact without her pulse jumping out of her chest.

“I don’t pretend it’s nothing,” she said, almost defensively, shaking her head a little bit.

“No?” His eyes softened. “Then what is it? The bit of nonchalance.”

She floundered, not because she didn’t have an answer, but because all the ones she did have felt too vulnerable. Too true. She swallowed and looked down at her plate. They ate with such purpose, letting their meal be an invited guest in their conversations.

“It’s... it just feels safe,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper as she pushed her pasta around on the plate. “You being here. It’s … different than my quiet. I like quiet, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to make a big deal of it, because then maybe it’ll start being a big deal. It just feels new, and I like the energy that you bring.”

Harry was silent for a beat. Then, with a quiet response that made her feel bad for even allowing his glow to dim: “You know I can be quiet, right?”

She let out a soft laugh. “You’re never quiet.”

“Sure I am. When you’re reading. Or cooking. Or when I’m trying not to scare you away by saying dumb things like I really like the way your voice drops when you’re unsure of something.”

Her breath caught.

“I—what?”

“Exactly like that,” he said, tilting his head as if examining her, gentle and warm and utterly infuriating.

Lily’s fingers tightened around her fork, licking the edge of her lip before feeling the heat of her cheeks rising rapidly. “You do this to me on purpose.”

“What, tell you the truth?” he asked. “Yeah, I do. Relationships are based on truth, aren’t they?”

She shook her head, looking away, cheeks burning at that. “You’re too much sometimes.”

“And yet,” he said, reaching for his wine again, “you still invite me over.”

He didn’t say it like a challenge. He said it like a fact. And maybe that was the thing about Harry—he didn’t demand anything from her. He just let her react, unravel, exist. And somehow, that made her want to give him more.

She reached for her own wine, took a long sip, and when she set the glass down, her hand brushed against his on the table. It wasn’t an accident, though, even though she made it seem that way. Harry stilled, just for a second, as if giving her the choice to move away.

She didn’t.

Instead, she stared at their hands, fingers only barely touching, and said, “I don’t really do this.”

He didn’t move. “Do what?”

“This," She gestured between then, "People. Letting them in.”

His thumb ghosted over the edge of her pinky, the smallest touch. “I know.”

Her chest felt like it might cave in as she took in his words, knowing that he meant them. But not in a bad way. Not in the way she used to associate with being seen.

“I’m trying,” she whispered; and she had been.

She had been trying so hard to compartmentalize this feeling – it was so new. Dating, this whole thing. Harry was so forward, so ready to give affection at any given moment. And then there was Lily, so shy, so meek. So unsure of herself at times.

Harry’s voice was steady, warm. “You don’t have to rush it. I’m not going anywhere.” After another moment, he shrugged, “I don’t have to go with you on Saturday, if you feel that’s rushing it.”

She looked up then, answering quicker than she could have imagined herself, “No, I want you there.”

And maybe it was something about the candlelight, or the way he was still watching her like she was worth waiting for—but she leaned forward, slowly, unsure, until he met her halfway. There was hesitance on his end, knowing it was so unlike her to initiate something that could have possibly lead to rejection.

The kiss was soft. Barely there. Not because of hesitation, but because it didn’t need to prove anything. The taste of red wine on his lips, the taste of the creamy tomato sauce on hers.

When she pulled back, she felt like she’d exhaled something she’d been holding in for years.

Harry smiled, lazy and lopsided like he had been completed overwhelmed with affection. “You’re absolutely ruining me, you know that?”

The way that his voice lowered told her everything she needed to know but would be too afraid to admit. He was absolutely wrecked with her. It was a feeling that could not be described, a feeling that was heavily influenced by the pure attraction and cadence that Lily showed him. Every ounce of her was shifting; her ideas, her thoughts, her wants and needs.

All she could think about was him. It felt too good to be true, it always felt that way no matter what she was thinking. But, sitting here with him in her small apartment on the east side had been more than enough to swell her heart a few sizes larger.

It was enough to calm her; to allow her the dignity to hold her shoulders back and feel that her confidence was there, that she couldn’t have dream this life if she slept for a hundred years.

And she hoped that same confidence would push her through introducing him to her friends – she hoped that her friends found the same intrigue in him that she had. It was all she could do; hope.

***

Saturday.

Lily had a thing for being extremely early, and Harry had a thing for showing up when he was told, but usually fifteen minutes late. So, by the time Harry had arrived at Lily’s apartment like they had agreed, the dinner party was already in full swing.

When Lily and Harry arrived—warm laughter spilling out through the slightly cracked apartment door, the hum of music and clinking glasses weaving a comforting kind of chaos.

Lily shifted the lemon bars in her hands and looked up at him. “We can still turn around.”

Harry, carrying the wine under one arm like a casual afterthought, gave her a look that was both amused and gentle as he looked at the front door. “We’re already here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I brought wine – again,” he said, like that solved everything. “You made lemon bars. That means we’re the best guests here by default.”

She gave him a look, nerves fluttering in her chest. “Just… don’t be too charming, okay?”

Harry’s grin went wide, delighted but also a bit slated by the way that she said it. “You say that like I have control over it.”

Before she could roll her eyes, the door swung open with surprise even though they had knocked—Ava, already barefoot, hair up in a messy bun, holding a wine glass and looking thrilled at seeing the two of them. Her eyes went from Lily to Harry, a bit shocked that there were two of them standing there.

“Finally,” Ava said, stepping back, allowing the two to come in the foyer. “I was starting to think you two were imaginary.”

Lily smiled shyly, gesturing towards the lemon bars that sat in her arms. “These are lemon bars. They’re still a little warm—”

“She made them,” Harry added quickly, shrugging.

Ava took the lemon bars in her arms, smirking at the two of them, “Of course you did, Lily – I’m sure they’re divine, like always,” Her eyes trailed back to Harry as he gave her a warm smile, “You must be Harry, then. We’ve all heard so much about you. I’m Ava.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ava – hope they were good things.” Harry greeted, nodding her head at her. He held a bottle of wine, showing it to her, “Table for this?”

Ava turned to bring them into the room where everyone had been sitting, “Yes, we can put everything over here."

The two of them followed her into the living room and dining space; it looked like mostly everyone was there, which gave Lily already a burst of annoyance that they were semi-late, but it seemed that everyone still hadn’t eaten yet, so that made her feel better.

“Sorry we were late,” Lily offered, feeling Harry’s hand on her back.

“It’s my fault,” Harry shook his head, “Lily would never be late.”

Ava set the lemon bars on the table, taking a sip of her wine before smiling, “Oh, we were worried about her! She’s never late to anything, so I was worried something happened.”

“Gotta’ keep her on her toes a bit.” Harry charmed, “Take her out of her comfort zone once in a while. Not every day you meet a girl who’s just perfect in everything.”

The look on Ava’s face was one of surprise as she noticed Lily’s blush creeping on her face, she gave Lily a small look before she said, “She is quite perfect, I agree,” Ava cleared her throat, “Uh, please help yourselves to something to drink – we have wine, liquor, beer,” She looked at the table, “Stuff in the fridge, whatever you want. I think we are still waiting on a few other people.”

Ava placed her hand on Lily’s shoulder as she moved around her, whispering in her ear, “You said cute, not a fucking art-house stud.”

Lily turned her head as she watched Ava walk away with a devilish smirk on her face, wine being brought to her lips.

Harry turned to Lily with a triumphant look. “See? Easy. I’ll get you something to drink to wash away those nerves.”

Inside, the apartment buzzed with easy energy: twinkling string lights, a mismatched table set with dishes people had clearly brought from home, the comforting smell of baked brie and roasted vegetables wafting from the kitchen where Ava and her partner, Landon, had been standing as they tried to get everything together. It wasn’t fancy, but it was theirs—and Lily was suddenly very aware of how much it meant to bring Harry into it.

Her friends greeted her with grins, hugs, and raised eyebrows as they noticed Harry standing beside her. Most of them had heard something about Harry, but seeing him there—tall, casually dressed in a dark button-down with his sleeves pushed up and his tattoos peeking out from the unbuttoned collar, curls slightly unruly, charm dialed all the way up to a level past one-hundred—made it real.

“So,” said Danika, one of Ava’s friends who Lily had met a few other times, “You must be the tattoo guy.”

“That might be me,” Harry said, sliding into a seat on the couch with a bottle of beer, like he’d always belonged there. That was the thing about Harry – he didn’t need to be babysat by Lily, he just moved around and talked to whomever. It didn’t take effort, so Lily just watched from afar. “But I answer to many titles. Lemon bar connoisseur. Bad influence. Harry, mostly.”

“Professional bullshitter, Lily added under her breath, settling beside him. Harry moved to make room for her, even pulling her into his lap a bit.

He bumped her shoulder, playful. “She likes it, though, so I have to keep that image up.”

Danika bit her lip as she stared between them, “You are so not what expected for Lily,” She gave Lily a look, and then back to Harry, “But I think that’s what makes dating fun, isn’t it?”

Harry turned his head to see Lily blink over at him, “Chance is a funny game, but it’s cool when it works out in your favor.”

The small black skirt, the flowing white top with bell-bottom sleeves, her hair pulled back into a half-up with a clip. The way that her lips were pink and flushed, her eyes mesmerizing with long lashes and a flurry of freckles that danced along her skin.

Every part of Lily reminded Harry of what he saw in her the very first day, and how lucky he had been to have her walk in the tattoo shop that day. 

They fell into an easy rhythm as the evening unfolded. Lily didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was with that soft, deliberate thoughtfulness her friends had always loved—and Harry made space for it, never talking over her, but always giving her room to speak if she wanted to. It was subtle, but she noticed.

She also noticed how quickly he won everyone over. The jokes, the way he remembered names immediately and would say them back as if to engrain them, the way he complimented Ava’s vintage glassware and meant it. He teased, but kindly. Told stories with the kind of easy confidence she envied.

When the group started sharing their worst first-date stories, Harry leaned in like he’d been waiting for this exact opportunity.

“I once took a girl out who told me—mid-bite of my club sandwich, mind you—that she thought tattoos were a cry for attention and that insecure people got them as a shout for help.”

“Oh no,” Ava gasped, covering her mouth. “That’s so crazy.”

“She said marking your skin was a sin of God as he had made you the way he wanted to,” he added. “I told her my parole officer was calling to schedule my court date so I could leave.”

Laughter broke around the table, and even Lily couldn’t hold back her smile at his ridiculous way of trying to make people laugh.

But what made her heart ache—just a little—wasn’t the way everyone liked him. It was the way he kept glancing at her, like she was the one he was trying to impress. Like she was the reason he was being funny. Like none of it mattered without her eyes on him.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Cynthia asked, one of her other friends, chin propped in her hand, eyes bright with curiosity as she stared at the two of them. “And please say it was some cool, grungy bar or a chance encounter at a bookstore where Lily was probably holding way too many books, so you offered to help her carry them home.”

“Not exactly,” Lily’s stomach fluttered, but before she could open her mouth to say any else, Harry leaned forward with an exaggeratedly serious expression; he’d had a few drinks that that point, so his usual chattiness had just upped.

“She walked into the shop like she was going to pass out,” he said, grinning, from the memory and the alcohol mixed together. “Wanted a tattoo but looked like she’d rather die.”

Lily groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Harry—”

“She was really adorable,” he continued, undeterred by her groans. “Kept second-guessing everything. I offered her water like three times. Thought she’d bolt when I turned my back or something.”

“I almost did,” Lily mumbled into her hands.

“But she didn’t,” Harry said, glancing sideways at her. “She sat there and took it like a champ.”

“And the rest is history?” Ava asked, grinning, leaning into Landon.

Harry’s voice softened, just slightly, his hand finding her thigh under the table as they sat next to one another. He looked over at her, a small bait of confidence hopefully.

“I- uh,” Harry, without much to say for the first time ever, found himself trying to hold back the large smile that was trying to break on his face, “Yeah. Something like that.”

Lily peeked at him through her fingers, heart thudding.

It wasn’t the story, really. It was how he told it with the sense warmth, like he had been waiting for her to step into that tattoo shop forever. With just enough truth to make it funny, and just enough fondness to make it feel like a memory worth keeping, even if his version was dramatized a bit.

“And then I asked her to get coffee with me, and I just – I don’t know, I didn’t want to live a life that didn’t have her in it anymore. Really weird how life can do that sometimes.”

At that, Lily turned to look at him – really look at him. His usually goofy, overwhelming self made her shy and want to let him shine. But the comment sat with her for a moment as she felt her radiance for just a small moment; he wanted to live in a world where she shone. He wanted to uplift her, show her off, show her how much she meant to him, and that made her feel as high as she could get.

Danika took a large sip of wine, shaking her head, “We’ve been waiting for Lily to find someone that understood her sparkle.”

Ava added, “She’s quiet, but she’s got unbelievable layers.”

“Guys,” Lily shook her head, letting her hand travel over Harry’s larger one that held on her thigh. “You’re too much.”

Later, while people passed around homemade brownies and Lily’s lemon bars and refilled their drinks with more laughter and drunken smiles involved as the night had gone on, Ava leaned in as they sat on the sofa together and whispered, “He’s a keeper.”

Lily nodded, cheeks warm as she took her own sip of wine. “I know.”

And she did. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was playing catch-up in her own life. She had someone who moved at her pace—someone who never asked her to be louder, or bolder, or someone she wasn’t.

Harry caught her looking at him just then, across the table from where he was sitting, listening to a story. He gave her the smallest wink of an acknowledgement. He didn’t need to be sitting near her to let her know he was thinking of her.

The last of the wine had gone warm. Someone queued a playlist that drifted into soft jazz, and the light hum of conversation settled into the quiet, comfortable lull that came when the night had peaked and begun its slow descent. People were sitting around, enjoying conversations with one another.

Lily sat on the sofa, legs crossed as she took in the conversations around her, her glass empty in her hands, watching the soft chaos of her friends—legs tucked under them on couches, laughter now more breath than sound, plates empty except for brownie crumbs and lemon bar sugar dust.

Harry was leaned back in a mismatched dining chair, his arms crossed, ankles kicked out, the kind of relaxed posture that didn’t try to impress but still managed to. He was in the middle of a story—one of the tamer ones—and she watched as her friends fell into his rhythm easily, drawn in by his dry humor, the wry twist of his mouth when he delivered a punchline without raising his voice.

She watched with intent, watching the way that people were drawn to him in a way that made her jealous, proud, and rigorously enticed in so many ways.

She had noticed that Ava wasn’t around, and moved towards the kitchen to help with some clean-up.

The kitchen was a mess in the way all good parties left it—crumb-speckled plates stacked in the sink, wine-stained glasses balanced precariously on the counter, and serving spoons abandoned in half-empty casserole dishes. Lily stood barefoot in front of the sink, sleeves rolled to her elbows, warm water running over her hands as she scrubbed a baking dish that had once held mac and cheese.

Ava dried a wine glass beside her, hip bumped against the counter, her bun unraveling slowly over the course of the night.

“I really like him,” she said, not bothering to pretend it was a casual remark.

Lily didn’t look up, focusing on getting the dried cheese off the pan instead. “You’ve said that three times.”

Ava shook her head, trying to read Lily as best as she could. “I know, I know. I just keep saying it in case you forget.”

Lily smiled faintly with the thought of her friends loving Harry, rinsing suds from the dish before handing them to her friend who held the drying towel, “He was good tonight.”

“He was,” Ava agreed. “And not in a ‘look at me, I’m impressive’ way. Just... easy. Like, charismatic and fun and… what you need.”

“Yeah,” Lily said softly, acknowledging her friend with a few nods and biting her lip as she continued to focus her hands in the sink, “He makes things feel easy.”

There was a pause as Ava handed her a towel and leaned back against the counter, watching her with the quiet knowing that only came from years of friendship, and for Ava to actually see Lily the way that Harry did. Lily had tried so hard in friendship, wanting to be seen and wanting to be heard. It was something she needed to work at, but she knew that Ava had been that person for her.

Ava had met Landon, they had been together for years and Lily had seen how easy it could be. She knew it was possible – but Ava was beautiful, and charming, and had everything working in her favor.

Lily, on the other hand, worked hard to make all of those things true.

“You’ve never brought someone into this part of your life before,” Ava acknowledges, “Around us, around your friends.”

Lily paused, drying her hands as she nodded, with a knowingness, “I know.”

Ava bumped her shoulder, smiling at her friend. “I’m glad it’s him.”

Just then, the sound of someone walking into the kitchen archway took them out of their conversation to stare at the individuals, already shedding the faint chill of the night air, a leftover lemon bar in hand, half-wrapped in foil like he’d just raided the fridge.

“Thought I lost you,” Harry said, voice low and playful. “I was gonna have to just leave with the lemon bars and never speak to anyone again.”

Lily turned, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “I’m just helping clean up.”

“I figured that’s what you would be doing,” he said, stepping further into the kitchen. He glanced toward Ava and lifted the foil like a peace offering. “Permission to steal her?”

Ava raised her hands, throwing the towel she had on the counter. “By all means. She’s yours.”

Lily gave her a quick look—soft, grateful—and then followed Harry to the door, the two of them slipping on their coats in the hallway. After a quick goodbye, some hugs and thanks given, Harry held the door open for her with a crooked grin.

The air outside was cooler than Lily expected when they made their way out of the apartment building, brushing over her skin in little bursts as she stepped out onto the front stoop. The last remnants of laughter and music echoed faintly behind them like a memory—dull through the walls, yet still lingering in her chest like a hum. The warmth of the wine, the soft buzzing of the evening’s attention still wrapped around her like an oversized sweater.

They walked through the quiet city streets under a pale wash of streetlights, close enough that their arms brushed now and then. The air was cool, the kind that snuck under your jacket and made your skin remember how to feel.

Harry was quiet for once—not in a moody way, but in the way that people get when they’re letting something settle. Lily felt it too, his usually bubbly-self had become quite dim. The party had been loud in the best way, but she was glad for the quiet now, for the sound of his sneakers on the pavement and the occasional soft laugh when he brought up something Ava had said.

Harry walked beside her, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, the other carrying the half-eaten tray of lemon bars. His strides were loose, unhurried, like he had nowhere to be but next to her.

“You know,” he said as they passed under the golden haze of a streetlight, “I think I won.”

Lily blinked up at him, pulling her jacket closed around her. “Won what?”

“Dinner party MVP. Best guest. Most charming presence. Take your pick.”

She huffed out a laugh, cheeks feeling the hurt from smiling all night. “You made one joke about parole and complimented someone’s playlist because they were playing the Pixies. That’s a low bar.”

“Flawlessly executed, ten out of ten,” he said. “I rest my case.”

The streets were quiet at this hour, the occasional hum of a distant car passing, but not too many people past them. Lily pulled her jacket tighter around herself and fell into step just a little closer to him. He made it known that he wanted her close, letting his arm hug over her shoulder to pull her into him as they walked.

Lily heard Harry take a deep breath before he cleared his throat, slowing their walk as they approached an intersection.

“Uh, so,” he started, turning to face the opposite way from her apartment, “My place is actually closer to here than yours is.”

The way he said it wasn’t an invitation, really, but more of an observation that he wanted to introduce to her. It was clear that he may have wanted to give some hints, but didn’t want her to feel that he was pressuring her to do anything she didn’t want to.

It had only been four months – three months of this. It felt that every move they made could be new if they allowed it to be, but the feeling of nerves was there occasionally when they wanted it to be. Harry felt nervous thinking of what she would say, how she would react.

“Five blocks that way, actually,” he said. “You wanna come over? If you’re too tired, you don’t have to, but yours is thirty minutes and two trains. I was just thinking – “

“I’ve never been,” she said before she could stop herself. It came out smaller than she intended, but the intrigue was there.

He glanced over at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then: “I know.”

The way he said it wasn’t loaded. It was just true.

“Okay,” she said, nodding against his arm, her voice steadier now, with decisiveness. “Let’s go to yours.”

Harry didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. The kind of smile that said thank you and finally and I won’t mess this up all at once.

So, they turned towards Harry’s apartment instead. Lily moved first, taking a few steps in the direction Harry had initiated and he felt a ping in his heart as he felt her want, her draw for something new. It took a lot out of her to do something like that, so he appreciated the enthusiasm for the invite.

Harry’s building was one of those old, converted warehouse spaces—tall windows, exposed brick, creaky floors. The kind of place that felt a little like a movie set if the movie was about someone who collected too many books and didn’t own matching chairs.

Ivy was curling along its edges like the veins of something alive. Inside, the stairwell creaked beneath their feet, wooden banisters worn smooth by time. He unlocked the door on the third floor and pushed it open with a sweep of his hand.

The apartment smelled faintly of cedar and ink and paper. The walls were cluttered with framed sketches—some in color, some in pencil. Books stacked in towers against the wall. A vintage record player. A dying plant he kept insisting was “in recovery.” A collection of mismatched mugs on open shelves in the kitchen caught her attention, too.

As soon as Lily stepped inside behind him, she felt her breath catch—not in awe exactly, but in recognition. The space was... him. Every inch of it radiated intention in a messy, artful kind of way. The floors were hardwood and scuffed, a rug with curling edges stretched beneath a low coffee table cluttered with sketchbooks, candles, and what looked like a half-assembled model of a ship that she wasn’t sure he had started, or if he had bought it like that. She wouldn’t have put it past him.

The walls were gallery-like—framed ink drawings, messy charcoal sketches pinned directly to the plaster, a few Polaroids tacked up among them with friends and memories he undoubtedly wanted to keep. There were books stacked in teetering piles by the windows, next to old records and mismatched furniture that somehow didn’t clash but harmonized, like an accidental symphony.

It was a mess, but in the kind of way that told a story. Like everything had been touched, chosen, kept.

“Sorry it’s not minimalist and beige,” he said, throwing his keys into a bowl shaped like a skull. “I was going for eccentric artist with emotional depth.”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Lily murmured, turning in place, arms crossed over her body.

“Boring? Empty?” Harry offered, shedding his jacket and tossing it on a hook by the door. He offered his hand for hers, “Wrong place.”

She shed her jacket, handing it to him with a thanks, “No. It’s... layered.”

He grinned. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

She wandered to the windowsill, where a cracked clay dish held a mess of rings, paperclips, and what looked like a tiny glass vial of gold flakes. A small, battered lamp cast a pool of warm amber over the couch, worn in the cushions and draped in a navy throw that had clearly seen better days.

“This just feels like someone lives here,” she said, staring out the view of his apartment, down onto the street that they were just walking on.

Harry raised a brow, maneuvering into the kitchen. “Good. I do. Every day.”

She looked over her shoulder, catching the way he was watching her—not impatient, not expectant. Just there, fully present, as he always seemed to be. He stood in the kitchen, pouring them each a glass of water, and returned to hand her one.

"You’re nervous,” he said softly, observing her as they stood awkwardly in the corner of his living room.

“I’m not—” She stopped, exhaled as she looked at the glass he handed her. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Harry didn’t press her, of course. He simply sat on the edge of the couch and let her move at her own pace. No rush. No demand.

“You know,” he said, swirling his glass a little, “for someone who gets nervous, you’re surprisingly bold.”

She glanced over at him, confused, she moved to sit next to him but just kept still for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“You walked into a tattoo shop alone. You let me talk you through your first ink, even though I could see you were ready to bolt.”

“I didn’t bolt. I usually do."

“Exactly.” He smiled at her over the rim of his glass. “Takes guts.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered. “I get overwhelmed easily. You know that.”

“I do,” he said. “And I like it.”

Lily turned slowly toward him, cautious. “You like that I get overwhelmed?”

“I like watching you work through it,” he said, voice low and warm like honey moving over. “I like the way you get quiet, like your whole world shrinks to one thought. I like how deliberate you are—how you don’t give anything away until you mean it.”

She swallowed, feeling that the way he said it meant something more as if it had a double meaning as they sat there next to one another. “That’s not how most people feel about me.”

“I’m not most people.”

He set his glass down and leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the couch, like he’d carved out a space for her without needing to ask.

Lily took a step closer, biting her lip as she felt that boldness he had talked about.

“Do you," She swallowed thickly, feeling her skin tingle at the thought of looking up to see him staring at her. When she did, it was all she saw.

"Do you bring girls here often?” she asked quietly, feeling embarrassed for asking the question at all, or prying enough.

“Nope.”

“Not even for—” She gestured vaguely, face flushing as she crossed her arms. “You know.”

He chuckled, deep and low, but feeling entirely too warm from watching her stand in front of him - the fact that she would even insinuate that made him feel a laugh in his throat.

“Nope. Not for that, either.”

She shifted on her feet, flustered. “I guess – I mean, we haven’t even…”

“No,” he said, lips quirking at her suggestion, but finishing her thought for her so she wouldn't have to. “We haven’t.”

The pause hung between them. Not tense. Just thick with awareness. She started to notice the more noticeable things about him; the way his nose ring fit snug, the way his mustache was perfectly groomed, the glasses on the bridge of his nose eventuated the sparkle in his eye, the mess of curls that fell onto his forehead that were a bit windswept as you walked back to his place.

“You never tried,” she said, almost barely making it past her lips.

“I could tell you weren’t ready. And it’s more fun this way.”

Her brow lifted at his choice of words. “Fun?”

He sat forward slightly, his voice dipping as he reached for her hand.

“Yeah. You’re like this beautiful, intricate lock, and I like figuring you out piece by piece. What makes you laugh. What makes you blush. What makes you look at me like you’re doing right now,” He made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning back a bit as he looked back at her, “I like when you look at me like that.”

She hadn’t realized she was looking at him like that—like she wanted to kiss him and also hide from him at the same time.

Harry stood slowly, hand still holding hers, and closed the space between them until she could feel the heat of him, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath. Such a different side, such a welcoming side.

“If you put the wrong key in the lock, you can break it real easy. I don’t need all of you tonight,” he said gently, his fingers running along the side of her face, pushing hair off her shoulder. “Not until you want to."

She didn’t pull away, all she could do was lean in.

And when he kissed her, it was slow, and patient, and made her forget every careful thing she’d rehearsed in her head. She didn’t think - it was all by feeling.

Harry bent his head and touched his mouth to hers like he was learning something—pressing in, pulling back, giving her a beat to catch up. His lips were soft but firm, coaxing her open little by little, his thumb brushing her jaw as if grounding her there.

She responded this time. Surer of herself than she had been before. She knew that Harry liked kissing her; it was something she felt confident on by the way that he held her tightly like he wanted more, more, more. Her hand slid up to his chest, fingers resting lightly against the beat of his heart, and she kissed him back with a quiet kind of hunger that surprised even her.

He made a sound in the back of his throat that was low and revenant and deepened the kiss.

His hand slipped from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, tilting her just enough to draw another sigh from her lips. She stepped into him, the front of her body brushing his, and he instinctively pulled her closer. His other hand splayed along her lower back—guiding, not pushing.

The tension shifted quickly—gentle heat started turning into something sharp, more urgent.

Lily’s breath hitched when his teeth grazed her bottom lip, and that tiny sound, which was barely more than a gasp, nearly undid him.

Harry’s fingers flexed at her waist in an attempt to keep himself sane. He wanted her. God, he wanted her.

Every part of her—shy and fierce and uncertain—was undoing him, piece by piece. The softness of her mouth, the way she clung to his shirt like she didn’t know what else to hold onto, the slight tremble of her breath. He could feel the heat building in his body, the ache of wanting to press her against the nearest wall and kiss her until she forgot her own name.

But he didn’t. He pulled his hips back when she went to press herself against him even more. Just slightly, so she wouldn’t make a huge deal of it.

But, then her eyes opened with a lidded daze and her lips were swollen with a maroon color so obnoxiously addictive, her breath uneven. Harry practically screwed his eyes shut to try and not think about how she looked right now.

Instead, he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her jaw. Slower now, softer. Trying to calm the fire roaring beneath his skin. She fell into his touch, a small giggle escaping her breath as he tickled his way down her neck.

“Harry,” she breathed, her hand fisting in the front of his shirt.

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing the hollow just beneath her ear. “I just… I just need a second.”

She pulled back, blinking at him at him as if something was off. “Did I do something—?”

“No.” He was firm, steady with his response. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right.”

Her brows drew together.

“I mean, I’m not exactly thinking gentleman-esque thoughts at the moment,” he admitted with a hint of humor, his voice raw now as he drew back. “But I want to make sure you know how much I want you. Not just when it’s hot and dizzy and hard to think. I don’t want you thinking that’s why I brought you here, or what I’m trying to get."

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a trembling exhale, she nodded as if to understand. And in that nod was something he hadn’t truly seen from her since on that table at the shop— undoubtably trust.

He kissed her again, just once. Slow. Thoughtless. Instinctively.

Then, without letting her go, he pulled her toward the couch, collapsing gently into it and guiding her down with him, cradling her against his side. She curled into him like she’d done it a hundred times, her body pressed to his, her hand resting on his shoulder as he held her close.

His chest rose and fell beneath her, slow and steady, but Lily could feel the tension in him still—just below the surface. That aching restraint felt so coiled up. The way his hand moved slowly along her back in comforting strokes, even though his jaw was clenched and his thighs were still coiled tight beneath her.

The apartment had gone still, the kind of stillness that came only after hours of slow conversation and soft touches, not the heated moment that settled between them.

The lamp was still glowing nearby, casting gold along the edges of the bookshelf and outlining Harry’s profile in warm light. They were curled together on the couch, Lily tucked into his side, her cheek resting against his shoulder, one of his hands stroking gently along her spine in slow, absent motions.

She hadn’t spoken for a while. Harry didn’t push either way. But then her voice broke the silence—barely above a whisper.

“I used to move too fast.”

His fingers paused, then continued—no rush, no shift in weight. Just presence, like he was acknowledging he heard her but didn’t need to say anything and break her thought.

Lily swallowed before she continued, finding her footing. “With guys. I’d just… go along with things. Let things happen. And I don’t think they meant to take advantage of that – I-I mean, not all of them. But it was like… once things started, I didn’t feel like I could say no. Or stop. Or even slow down.”

Harry didn’t speak but he bit the inside of his cheek as he listened, his hand moved to the back of her head, gently threading through her hair, grounding her there with him.

“They liked me more when I didn’t object,” she said, her voice shaking now, almost in disbelief she was continuing down this path. “When I didn’t ask for space. Or softness. Or… time.”

She felt her words catch as she kept speaking, so she stopped for a moment. His comfort didn’t stop, only intensified as they sat.

“I think for a while I thought I had to be that version of myself. Or no one would stay.”

She felt the shift in his breathing before he even spoke.

“You're in good hands here,” Harry said quietly, he kissed the top of her head as he let his fingers dive through her hair.

“I know.” She looked up at him, eyes shining, lashes damp. “That’s why this scares me more.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, like it physically hurt him to hear her say that and to watch her get teary over memories that she felt were difficult. He cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing gently along her under eyes to the tears she felt ashamed of.

“I’m not here because I’m waiting for you to give me something,” he said to her directly, sitting up a bit. He had to tell her so she knew his truth. “I’m here because I see you. And I like you exactly as you are. Not in spite of how careful you are. Because of it.”

She blinked, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead—light, like a promise rather than a confirmation.

Lily let out a shaky breath and let her hand rest over his heart again, feeling its steady rhythm beneath her fingertips. “I’m not used to being allowed to take my time.”

“I'm sorry they weren't patient with you, and I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could be patient.” Harry said, eyes on her like she was the only thing in the world. “I don't want you to sit here and feel like I'm pressuring you, because I'm not."

Harry smirked for a moment as he shifted his legs, "It's just biology, really – you should feel good to know you turn me on, but I don’t need you to accommodate me."

Lily sat with her head on his chest, letting the silence fill the air as she listened to the sounds below them on the streets. Like it was the soundtrack that narrated their moment here on the small sofa in the unfamiliar apartment that had started to feel like her favorite book. Something she would revisit, something that would bring comfort every time she opened it.

They were still curled together on the couch, a blanket soft and bunched around their legs. The vulnerability in the room lingered like the last notes of a song—quiet, resonant, humming beneath their skin.

Harry let out a breath, long and low. “You know, I wasn’t expecting tonight to feel like this.”

“Like what?” Lily asked, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt as she pulled at one of the buttons.

He tilted his head, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he pushed his feet up on the coffee table, out in front of him. “Like I’m… not even thinking about what I can’t do with you right now. Just… what I get to do someday. Which, at this point, right now, is lie on this couch and stare at your cute little nose while you breathe on my collarbone.”

Lily huffed a small laugh and turned her face further into his chest, trying to hide the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “That’s romantic.”

“It is. Very romantic,” he said, mock-serious. “It’s taking everything in me not to climb on top of you and wreck you, but really all I can think about is your damn button nose.”

Lily blinked, caught completely off-guard—and then she laughed. Really laughed. That kind of soft, surprised laugh that left her glowing.

“You can’t say things like that when I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

Harry looked down at her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? You’re very cute when you blush, which is why I keep trying to make it happen.”

She tried to hide her smile but failed as she dug her face into his neck. “You’re such a menace.”

“I’m a patient menace,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make her pulse quicken, looking at him this closely had made her think differently of him. The way that his skin was perfect; small moles and dimples and the scent of cedar and ash had coated her memory. “Which is far more dangerous, if you really think about it.”

Lily shifted beside him, trying to ignore the way his words settled low in her stomach. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Course I am.” His hand moved idly along the side of her thigh, fingertips trailing to help pull over the blanket. “You’re curled up against me, making these tiny sounds when I talk too close to your ear. I live for this.”

“I don’t make—”

“You do, trust me,” he interrupted, his mouth now just inches from her ear, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. “Especially when I say certain things.”

She stilled, feeling her heart beat faster. He didn’t move, either.

“Like what?” she asked, quieter now, pushing for an answer. She was playing a dangerous game, but Harry was down to push her further; make her squirm, make her blush so bad she would have to take a cold shower later.

He smiled back at her, thinking about what he could say to do just that. He almost didn’t know how to reply, opening his mouth before he shut it to rethink his answer. “You want me to prove it?”

“I want to know what you’d say,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

His hand moved again—slow, gentle, deliberate on top of her thigh. Her skirt was moving up her thighs, and he tried not to think about that. “I’d tell you how long I’ve been thinking about your mouth. Everywhere. How every time you bite your lip when you’re nervous, it makes me want to push you up a wall you just a little.”

Lily’s breath hitched at the boldness of his words; she could tell he had a filthy mouth when he wanted to. The cockiness oozed from him; she fluttered her eyes shut at the thought.

“I’d tell you I notice the way your thighs press together when I say something filthy, even if you pretend not to hear me.”

She swallowed, trying to be discreet at how her thighs pressed together just then. Of course he noticed.

“I’d tell you I think about you riding me, slow at first, real quiet like you can’t even manage a word,” he murmured, “until you get brave. And I think you're real brave, you know – I think you get in your own world."

Her eyes fluttered closed knowing he had completely won.

“And I’d tell you exactly what I’d do when you start to fall apart on top of me. How I’d hold you through it. How I’d talk you through it. How I'd–" He bit his tongue to keep from going.

Lily’s chest was rising and falling faster now, a slight tremor in her fingers where they rested near his ribs. But her voice—when she finally spoke—was steady. He flinched at the way that her fingertips felt hot against him, almost burning through the material of his shirt.

“And you wouldn’t push me?”

Harry’s hand stilled, then retreated, settling gently against her waist.

“Never,” he said. “This doesn’t work if it’s not yours too.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze unreadable. “You’d talk me through it?”

His mouth twitched into a smile as he stared at the ceiling then, huffing out a breath of laugh as he couldn’t believe she was teasing him like that. “Every word, baby. Every breath. Every goddamn second.”

A long pause stretched between them, thick with tension but not pressure. He waited—still, steady, letting her decide what came next. Lily’s lips parted. Her voice was soft, but certain.

“Okay.”

Harry didn’t know how to react, lifting his head to see where her thought process was.

“Not yet, though,” she said quickly when she realized that he had some concern written on his face. “But when I’m ready… I want that.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for hours. Then he smiled—soft and full of something deeper than hunger.

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” he said, almost simply, as if they hadn’t just been talking about something dirty but about something that he knew she needed, “Exactly how you want."

Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just looked at her—really looked at her as if studying every freckle on her face—as if he could memorize the exact shape of her words, the way she said when I’m ready like it meant something sacred. And to him, it did. It was written in scripture.

She was still curled against him, her cheek against his shoulder, and his arm was resting lightly around her waist now. Not pulling her closer. Just there—like an anchor. Steady in the dark water to help make sure she didn’t float away.

His voice was low when it returned. Not playful this time, but with an earnest nature that fluttered the depths of his heart as he thought about his admissions.

“I think about you all the time,” he said, nodding into the universe. “Not just in the way you’re probably imagining. Though… those thoughts aren’t exactly rare. But,” He swallowed, “I just think you’re… really special.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes cast downward, heart beating faster now. The way he said it was unfiltered—blunt, but a hint of hesitancy that she barely saw from him. Like he liked wanting her but knew that he was human– he knew that she was just as capable as producing heartbreak as he was.

“I think about how you’d taste when you’re breathless,” he continued, voice sliding over her skin like velvet. “How your body would feel under me – not even just in a sexual way, but a personal way. How you’d look when you finally stop holding yourself back.”

A sharp inhale escaped her lips as she thought of the moments that Harry could have of her. Harry heard it. Felt it, but he didn’t pounce. Didn’t lean into it like a challenge. He waited, watching her closely.

“You can tell me to stop, and I will.” His voice was practically a breath – he wanted to give her the opportunity, the one that hadn’t been given to her prior. He wanted her to make the rules.

She didn’t – no, of course she didn’t. After a few more beats, he kept going, voice a little lower now, as if daring her to stay in the moment with him.

“I think about what your voice would sound like—messy and raw—saying my name when you’re close. Or when you want something but can’t say it out loud.”

Lily’s thighs pressed together. She didn’t even realize she’d done it until Harry’s eyes dropped—just briefly—to where her legs shifted beneath the blanket. His breath caught at the acknowledgement.

“And I think,” he said, pausing to brush her hair gently off her cheek, “about how good it’s going to feel when I finally get to have you. Not just your body, Lils. The way you trust. The way you unravel.”

She turned her face into his neck then, unable to hold his gaze, hiding in the space where his pulse beat steady just beneath his skin. Harry didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease her for getting shy in the middle of their own heat. He just smiled—something soft and wrecked and tilted his head so his lips brushed the crown of her head.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured into her, almost like to engrain it into her.

“I think I do,” she whispered, her breath trembling as she tried her best to maintain a steady voice.

His hand moved again, slow and lazy over her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt—but only just. The pad of his thumb brushed bare skin there, and it was electrifying, practically shocking him.

“You want to tell me what you want?” The way that his voice asked made her tremble, so softly it was almost a plea.

Lily hesitated at the way that he asked her. Her throat was tight. Not from fear—but from the weight of the want. The newness of it being okay to speak it, almost like she felt drawn in.

“I want to stay here,” she said finally, after a few moments. Even though she loved the way he spoke out to her, she wanted the opportunity to think of it. “Just like this. For a while.”

Harry nodded, eyes heavy-lidded but calm as he let the thoughts swirl around them like a cloud of alchemy. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple like it was a ritual.

“Then we’ll stay here,” he said, simplicity hanging between them. “Exactly like this.”

His fingers didn’t wander further, because he didn’t feel invited. His mouth didn’t ask for more. But his body stayed close—warm and steady—and his desire never left the room. It simply curled around them, like a quiet storm waiting to break when she was ready to call the thunder down.

And she would. God, she would.

But tonight, she breathed him in, curled tighter against his chest, and let herself rest in the heat of what they hadn’t done yet. And the sweetness of knowing that when they did—it would be everything. It was almost addicting, the thoughts, rather than the action.

They hadn’t moved in minutes, but everything about the space between them felt alive. Lily was nestled into the curve of Harry’s chest, his fingers grazing lazy circles over the sliver of skin just above her waistband. It was nothing, but it made her skin hum, made her breath stutter every time he touched that one spot again, again, again.

He hadn’t said anything since she told him she wanted to stay like this. And he hadn’t asked for more.

But her body told the truth. The way his thumb paused when she shifted her hips, not knowing if she wanted more or was asking for space. The way his voice had grown quieter, rougher, when he said her name just moments before.

“Still okay?” he murmured now, his lips brushing against her temple.

She nodded but gave him a quiet yes to confirm.

“Good.” He kissed her hair again, breathing in the sweetness of the vanilla of her shampoo. “But I’ll have you know that if you keep squirming like that, I’m going to start taking it personally.”

Lily’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and she buried her face against his collarbone. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he teased gently, his voice a little heavier now. “And it’s kind of killing me.”

She smiled shyly, but didn’t deny it. He shifted just enough to look at her, his eyes scanning her face carefully. “Talk to me, I’m ready to hear your voice.”

Her lips parted, then closed again. Her pulse was wild beneath her skin; she bit her lip as she let their eyes investigate each other’s again. She didn’t know how this felt so right. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to get it perfect,” he said, brushing his knuckles along her jaw as if to coax her. “Just tell me what’s in your head. Anything.”

She hesitated for the slightest moment; her gaze flicking down to his lips and then back up to his eyes that held so much curiosity and a ferocity of intrigue. Her fingers gripped the hem of his shirt, like grounding herself to him would make the words come easier.

“I want…” She stopped, swallowing. “I want you to touch me more.”

Something flickered in his expression—something sharp, almost like he wasn’t expecting her to be vocal about her needs. He just wanted to hear her, to listen to her, to do as she asked.

“You want me to touch you,” he repeated softly, his hand still on her waist, waiting.

She nodded again, so sure of what she wanted, but so unsure of how it felt to be listened to. “Just… slow. I get overwhelmed.”

“I know.” His thumb traced the slope of her hip, the way that his thumb brushed against her skin tickled her softly, making her bristle at the touch. Harry stopped for a moment, letting them settle. “But you want it.”

Lily breathed outwards, nodded again, “Yes.”

“Where?” Harry’s voice was direct, wanting full consent of the direction.

She exhaled shakily, trembling under his gaze, and whispered, “Anywhere you want. As long as you don’t stop talking to me.”

That broke something in him—in the quietest, most sacred way.

Harry leaned in and kissed her jaw, slow and careful. “I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart,” he murmured. “What I want. What I’ll do. How good you make me feel.”

Her breath hitched. She was already shaking under his hand, not from fear, but from anticipation so deep it made her bones ache. There was an adrenaline that was building up in her; the same kind of adrenaline that she had felt the day she got the tattoo from him. A shaking feeling that gave her a wound-up energy.

“I want to feel you,” she said, voice almost breaking. “But I need you to help me go slow.”

His hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye.

“I’ve got you,” he said, firm and low. “You say stop, I stop. You say slower, I’ll move like fucking honey. And if all you want is my hands and my mouth and my words? Then that’s all you’ll get. For as long as you want.”

Her body relaxed against his then, something in her melting completely, and the way she looked at him—hopeful, wanting, a little scared—was the most devastating thing he’d ever seen. She leaned in first this time.

And when he kissed her, it was deeper than before, hungrier—but careful.

Every breath they shared from then on felt like a promise. Every word he whispered into her skin was one more brick laid in the foundation of trust. And every inch he touched was earned like a medal of honor. Harry kissed her like the whole world had gone quiet except for her breathing; it was the soundtrack that played in his brain.

Lily’s hands had slipped up beneath his shirt—tentative at first, resting against the warm, lean curve of his ribs—but as he kissed her deeper, her fingers curled, wanting to feel more. She could feel the way that his muscles contracted, the way that he held himself back from moving further. It was a slow, deep want. He groaned softly into her mouth at the contact, like even the lightest touch from her could undo him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he breathed, lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

She looked at him then, wide-eyed and flushed, her chest rising fast beneath the soft cotton of her shirt. “I think I do.”

Harry’s eyes darkened just slightly, but his hands stayed gentle—one braced behind her back, the other slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to trace slow, reverent lines along her waist. He watched her carefully as he did, his gaze asking permission even when his body begged for more. Lily didn’t stop him.

Instead, she leaned into him, shifting closer until she was straddling his lap, her knees tucked on either side of his hips. The move surprised them both.

Her breath stuttered. “Is this okay?”

Harry’s fingers tightened just slightly where they rested against her bare skin.

“Fuck, Lily,” he murmured, his voice low and thick as he felt her hands against his chest, moving down to his hips so that she could stabilize herself. The question hanging on his breath was pushed back to her, to solidify that her actions were matching her words. “Is it okay?”

His hands slid up her back, dragging her closer, but he still held back. His whole body was tensed in restraint, like every nerve was screaming to move faster but he wouldn’t. Not until she asked.

“You can touch me more,” she said, voice breathless but certain now; her shyness was masked by the spark of electricity that hung in the air between them. “Please.”

He groaned at that, tilting his head back slightly so he could look at her—his hands now cradling her waist like she was something rare and opportunistic; like being with her was a prize.

“I’ll show you anything,” he said. “Everything, if you let me. Just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

He kissed her again—this time with more heat, more hunger. And this time, when his tongue swept against hers, she met him halfway. Her hands moved to the base of his neck; she felt his head tilt up to meet hers in a fit of need and angst. With each pull of his hair, an elicited groan escaped from between his lips into hers, the vibration creating a sense of need.

Her hands moved to roam beneath his shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head without breaking the kiss, letting her touch him freely now—her palms mapping his chest, his stomach, the ink that curled down his ribs like secrets.

He exhaled hard, forehead pressed to hers. “Lily…”

“Please,” she whispered, and that one word—so soft, so open—was everything.

His hands skimmed beneath her shirt next, lifting the fabric inch by inch, waiting for her to stop him. She didn’t.

When he pulled it over her head and tossed it to the side, his breath caught—his hands hovering, his eyes reverent, like she was art. Like he wanted to memorize every inch.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, barely able to breathe it.

She shivered, nerves fluttering in her belly, but when he touched her again—his hands trailing slowly along the curve of her waist, up her sides, then gently over her ribs. He kissed down her neck, down to the space just above her heart, always slow, always waiting for her to say no. Instead, she leaned into him, leaned into his touch to let her mind wander at the true feeling of want.

Not only did he want her – he wanted to treasure her. His hands were warm where they skimmed her bare sides, fingers brushing along the gentle curve of her ribcage. And then he paused—just under the swell of her breast, where a faint shadow of ink curved along her skin.

Harry pulled back slightly, catching the breaths that he felt he only had a few left, his fingers hovering.

The small, delicate linework he’d drawn months ago sitting beneath the pads of his fingers as he rubbed over it gently. Her first tattoo.

“God,” he murmured against the heat of her skin, brushing the pad of his thumb over it. “This is mine.”

Lily’s breath hitched—not from possession, but from the way he said it. Like it meant something more than ink. Like it was sacred.

“I almost didn’t go through with it,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the spot. “But you did. You let me mark you.”

His hand stayed there, palm warm and flat against her ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of her breath as if it was his only lifeline now. Lily reached for the hem of his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. He didn’t stop her; he just lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head, baring his chest to her, skin golden in the low light, scattered with ink and soft shadows.

Her hands rested against him—curious, slow—exploring the tattoos she’d only glimpsed before. One on his shoulder, a pair of birds settling on his collarbone, a large butterfly under his ribs. A name near his heart in small, typewriter lettering.

“Do they all mean something?” she asked, tracing the edge of one with her finger.

A huffed out laugh came from his lips as he shook his head, “No, not at all.”

She looked up at him, face flushed, eyes wide and unguarded. And then she kissed him. This time, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t tentative. She kissed him with want, with memory, with the understanding that this had always been building to something. Her hands slid over his shoulders, his chest, fingers flexing like she wanted to know him by feel. She pulled him in, and he felt like a sailor in a sea filled with siren songs.

Harry groaned softly, low in his throat, and gathered her closer, one hand slipping to the small of her back, the other threading into her hair as her mouth moved over his. His restraint frayed—she could feel it in the way his grip tightened, in the way his hips shifted beneath her.

But he still held the line. Every kiss, every touch was for her—measured by what she asked for, what she invited. When she rolled her hips gently against him—just once—his breath stuttered, and he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

“Lily,” he whispered, his voice tight. “I need to slow down. Or I’m going to forget how.”

She nodded, humming softly as if to protest, but knowing that she respected his boundaries as she should her own. She knew that she should stop – she didn’t want to move faster but she found it very hard to remember that when she could feel the way that he protected her, she could feel the way that he drew her in so heavenly.

“I want you so badly,” he admitted, his hands shaking slightly now as they cupped her hips to stop her from moving. “But I don’t want to take advantage of just… this moment.”

Lily’s lips brushed his jaw. “You make it hard to want to wait.”

He smiled—wrecked, tender, and completely enthralled with the way that her voice dripped with anticipation and need. “I think that’s the point.”

His hands moved back to her tattoo; his mark. And the only thing he wanted to leave on her that night.

They stayed tangled like that for a while—breathing each other in, heartbeat to heartbeat, the space between them simmering with unspoken want. Lily was still straddled in his lap, her chest against his, their skin pressed so close it felt like her nerves were tuned to his every breath.

Harry’s lips were at her jaw, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth again. Slow, dragging kisses that made her stomach twist with need and something more dangerous—safety. Her hips moved once more—subconsciously, involuntarily—and she felt the way his body tensed beneath her, how he froze mid-kiss, like his control was snapping at the seams.

Then, he pulled away. Not far. Just enough to look at her, chest rising and falling faster now.

“Lils,” he said, breathless and rough and with enough clarity in his head to know that he had to stop, “I’m going to stop thinking straight.”

He could tell that there was an internal struggle as he looked up at her. It was such a different portrait; she was so shy and flushed and reserved when he met her – this was such a different version of her. The darkness in her eyes, the want and need of satisfaction was controlling her now, but he wanted to respect her and understand that this was not the time and place.

“Come here,” he murmured, and kissed her again—slow and deep, like a promise instead of a goodbye.

When he pulled back again, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m gonna get you something to change into, yeah? Then, I’m going to take the coldest shower of my entire life and try not to punch a hole through my own wall.”

Lily laughed softly at his comment, still breathless, her cheeks glowing with affection and embarrassment. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I do,” he muttered, moving to stand and gently lifting her off his lap, setting her on the couch with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Because if I look at you like that for one more minute, this blanket’s not going to be the only thing I rip in half.”

She blushed a red that he hadn’t seen yet. He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her sitting in the golden spill of lamplight, her body thrumming with sensation, her lips swollen and tingling from his kiss. She let her fingers play with them for a moment, knowing how they tingled. A minute later, he came back with a soft, oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

“Boxers are clean,” he said, tossing them gently into her lap. “Shirt is… eh, probably fine.”

“Probably?” she teased, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Might have worn it without washing, hard to tell,” he replied, grabbing a towel from a hook by the door. “You can sleep in the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Lily sat up straighter as she held the clothes between her fingers. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, already heading toward the bathroom. “I, uh, probably need to just be alone.” He bit his lip thinking of what would happen if they fell asleep next to each other in the warmth of his bed after what he knew she was capable of.

He shook his head as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe. “Just leave a pillow out here for me?”

She watched him grab his own stuff, clothes and items in his hands before he turned back to her one last time, her heart tangled somewhere between longing and gratitude. Just before the bathroom door closed, he leaned back out, hair tousled, his eyes warm despite the fire still simmering just beneath the surface.

“Lily?”

She turned her head up, “Yeah?”

He smiled at the large eyes that stared back at him, “Tonight was perfect. Even if we didn’t finish what we started.”

She held his gaze for a long, humming beat. Then nodded, the shyness in her coming back, “Yeah. It was.”

Harry gave her one last smile before shutting the door softly, falling back into it as he let out the largest breath. His eyes shut as he tried to unravel every small feeling that he had ever felt for someone and tried to make sense of the way that he felt now.

He was doomed.

***

One Month Later

Rain pelted the tall windows in uneven rhythms, wind pressing against the glass in slow, heaving breaths with the scent of apples and blossoms from the wax candle that burned on top of the stack of books. The city outside was blurred—soft gold street lights smudged by the storm, like the whole world had decided to lean in, hush up, and listen.

Inside Harry’s apartment, the candle flickered in the corner, casting long shadows across the hardwood. The floor creaked faintly beneath them, the storm beyond the glass a steady hum beneath the stillness of the space.

They sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the low coffee table, a worn chessboard between them, the pieces already in mid-battle.

Lily was bundled in one of Harry’s hoodies, sleeves pushed up as if she had been getting serious about the game, bare legs tucked under her. Harry sat across from her in gray sweats and a loose black t-shirt, sleeves hugging the curve of his arms just right. His hair was still damp from the rain he’d run through earlier to grab the takeout from the corner store, curling around his temples in soft spirals.

“I hope you know you’re going to lose,” Lily said, flicking her rook across the board with precision; the way that her voice was soft and gentle was that much more enticing, as it didn’t have the edge of someone vicious.

Harry narrowed his eyes, thumb rubbing over the edge of his mouth in concentration. “You’ve gotten cocky.”

“I’ve been studying.” Lily answered with a bit of pride, taking a sip of her tea.

“Studying?” he repeated, eyes flickering up to her. “Oh, so that’s why you ignored me for half an hour the other night.”

With a bitten smile, Lily shrugged at him with nonchalance. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was… strategizing.”

“You were watching tutorials on how to crush me at chess.”

“Same thing,” she said, smiling sweetly, innocently.

Harry leaned back on his hands, his legs stretched out long across the worn rug, spine curved just enough to show off the way his shirt clung across his chest. He was watching Lily the way he always did when he wanted to rattle her - calm, unreadable, mouth ticking up like he knew something she didn’t.

His eyes moved slowly across her face, cataloguing her as he studied the curve of her cheekbone, the soft flutter of lashes as she focused too hard on the board, the slight smirk she kept trying to swallow. His gaze lingered, like he was filing it all away for later.

“You know,” he said, pursing his lips with a low, teasing voice, “we never agreed on stakes.”

Lily looked up, raising an eyebrow, her bare thigh brushing against the edge of the table. “Stakes?”

“For the game.” Harry gestured lazily at the board, his fingers toying with a captured knight that sat on the edge nearest to him. “There should be consequences. And a clear winner.”

Her mouth twitched as she tilted her head, wondering how he could turn everything into a romantic gesture. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind?”

He grinned, devilish and slow. “If I win,” He threw his head back in thought before he turned it back up to look at her, “I get to choose exactly how I kiss you tonight.”

Lily blinked at him, and he didn’t miss the way her spine stiffened, the way her fingers fidgeted for half a second before stilling. Her throat bobbed as she moved her piece – a pawn this time.

He tilted his head, his voice dipping to a low murmur. “That includes where… how long… how soft—or how not soft.”

“You’re already kissing me whenever you want,” she managed, trying to sound bored but falling a bit short.

“True,” Harry said, shifting forward, his elbows resting on his knees now, gaze warm and steady. “But tonight, I want permission to be creative.”

Lily stared at him, her pulse starting to pick up speed. There was a curl of heat in her stomach that hadn’t been there a minute ago. She swallowed. “And if I win?”

Harry leaned in, closing some of the space between them. The warm glow from the nearby lamp threw soft shadows over his cheekbones. His voice came slower now, thicker. He moved another piece, a knight.

“Then you get to tell me how you want me.”

Thunder rumbled outside low and heavy, rolling through the walls like an echo of what was already building in her chest.

Lily nudged a pawn forward, fingers steady even if her breath wasn’t. “I think I’ll be keeping you on a leash.”

Harry’s smirk sharpened as he glanced at her legs, then up to her eyes. “God, that’s hot. Say more things like that.”

“Harry.” Eyes like darts hit him before she moved her own knight, to which he bit his lip. He hadn’t been pay attention, and that was clear before he needed to make a more strategic move.

He moved without hesitation, sliding his queen across the board until it landed with a soft click far too close for comfort.

“Check,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lily stilled, her eyes flicking to the board, then back to him. “You're kidding. Shit.”

Harry’s fingers trailed around the rim of his water glass, slow and deliberate as she turned her eyes from the game to him then.

“Am I? Because if I win… I think I’ll start by kissing your thighs. Just above the hem of these little shorts you’re sporting.”

Her breath hitched at his words, almost like they were a kiss of breath. She glanced down at her lap as though realizing for the first time how much skin she’d shown.

When she looked back up, his gaze was already there.

“And then I’ll ask,” he continued, leaning in just a little closer – he was trying to get into her head so he could win, “if you want me to keep going. Or if you’d rather just watch me lose my mind because you’re being such a tease.”

“You’re cheating,” she said, breath catching as she shook her head to get into the game again. She had to win now; she couldn’t have him getting away with this.

He raised his brows, shaking his head. “Nope. Just thinking ahead. Like any good strategist would.”

Lily flushed but kept her composure. Her hand hovered over a knight, then moved it swiftly, landing with a firm, clean snap.

“Check,” she said, daring him with her eyes.

Harry blinked, leaned in like he didn’t quite believe it, then exhaled through his nose. “Well, well. You’ve got me in quite a pickle here, love.”

Inching forward on her knees, holding herself up on her elbows above the game, closing the distance between them. The tips of their noses were just inches apart now. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You just didn’t notice because you were too busy staring at my mouth.”

He stared at her lips for one second too long.

“Oh, I noticed,” he said, his voice rawer now. “I’m just trying to think ahead for when I win, what I’ll get for it, that’s all.”

She froze. Her cheeks turned crimson, her hands going still in her lap.

Then, she whispered, “But, what if I do?”

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes locked on hers, the air between them tight and electric. His hand reached out slowly, placing a piece before his eyes darted back to her.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating her profile in pale silver as if in response to his daring move. The crack of thunder followed with a low, distant roar that shook the apartment windows.

Lily stared at the board like it could give her answers, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“You’re stalling,” Harry said, his voice soft and amused.

“I’m thinking,” she replied, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her as she tried to give him the best poker face.

He leaned forward again, dragging his gaze across her throat, her collarbone, down to where her hoodie hung loose over one shoulder. “It’s part of my charm. Verbal misdirection. Seduction tactics. I have layers.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He shrugged, the shirt pulling on his biceps. “And yet you’re half a second from climbing over this board and proving me right.”

“I’m half a second from destroying you,” she said, moving another piece deliberately.

He looked. Then smiled slowly. “God, that’s also hot. You’re ruthless when you play dirty.”

Harry shifted again, slow and catlike, stretching his legs out with deliberate ease as he leaned back on his palms. His shirt clung across his chest, the motion flexing the line of muscle in his arms, veins visible beneath the skin. It was effortless and sharp at once, and Lily caught herself watching the way his fingers flexed against the rug like he was resisting the urge to move toward her.

His voice was low and teasing, but there was a new weight in it now—something thick, laced with want. “What happens if I win the next game?”

Lily’s eyes narrowed, but her pulse betrayed her, jumping hard in her throat. She tried to hold onto a thread of composure. “We haven’t finished this one.”

He didn’t blink. Just tilted his head and gave her a look that could’ve set the entire board between them on fire—steady, heated, and too-intimate. His gaze dropped, slowly, down to her bare knees folded beneath her and back up to her mouth. The air between them buzzed.

“Just planning ahead,” he murmured, tongue licking over his lips. “You’re the slow burn type.”

Her breath caught. She rolled her eyes, but the pink blooming beneath her cheeks gave her away instantly. She was glowing from the inside out. “Is that a compliment?”

Harry didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he shifted forward on his elbows, the dim lamp casting his jawline into shadow. He watched her like he was about to devour every inch of her quiet—then said, voice dropping to something barely above a rasp: “It’s the highest one I’ve got to give.”

“You’re all soft gasps,” he continued, each word dragging heat across her skin, “and coiled tension and the tiniest sounds when I touch you just right. You act like you’re not asking for it, but your body language says it all.”

Lily’s hands trembled. Her knees dug into the rug beneath her, but she barely noticed. Her breath came unevenly now, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him. His stare held her there like a magnet. Still trying to pretend at composure, she pushed a piece forward. The sound of it on the board felt too loud, too final.

“Your turn,” she managed out, wondering how the game of chess had turned into a game of cat and mouse.

Harry didn’t move right away. His eyes had shifted now—less teasing, more reverent. Something unguarded flickered in his expression, like he was fighting between the game and what was happening underneath it. He looked at the board, then at her.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he kept them still. Instead, he leaned closer, eyes scanning her like he was reading every sharp edge and soft corner. Then, with slow precision, he made his move. Lily didn’t speak; she didn’t have to.

She reached for her queen, the pads of her fingers brushing the carved edge like it was glass. She lifted it and placed it down with the quietest, most lethal sound she could make.

Tap.

“Checkmate.”

Harry didn’t move. He sat perfectly still as if her voice had frozen something inside him. The rain outside had softened to a hush, like even the sky was stunned into silence. His eyes flicked to the queen, then to her face—lips parted, breath shallow, gaze full of something unreadable.

“No,” he said, breathless and barely laughing. “That’s illegal. I’ve been seduced into defeat.”

Lily beamed, her smile slow and wicked as it overtook her flushed features. “Nope,” she said. “Just outplayed.”

Harry exhaled like he couldn’t take it. “You cheated,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes still locked on hers. “With your mouth. And your thighs.”

She leaned forward slowly, closing the final inches between them until their noses almost brushed. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Someone’s a sore loser.”

“Christ, Lily,” he groaned. Harry let out a sharp, strangled laugh—half disbelief, half desperation—and dragged a hand through his curls, tipping his head back.

She crawled around the board slowly, carefully—not like she was teasing him, but like she was still figuring out whether her body could be that bold. Her knees nudged gently against his thighs before she eased herself into his lap, featherlight, like she didn’t quite believe she had permission to be there until his hands came to rest on her hips.

His thumbs traced absent, grounding circles over the fabric of her shorts as she settled, still and quiet, hands pressed gently to his chest. He was so solid beneath her, muscles coiled under skin, breath just a bit too slow like he was trying to keep himself from reacting too quickly.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, but she tilted her chin and looked at him, nervous, but not backing down.

“I believe…” The way that she murmured was barely above a whisper, “I won the right to tell you how I want you tonight.”

His hands gripped just a little tighter at her hips, like he was holding onto restraint by the thinnest thread. His eyes searched hers, begging her to volley with his wittiness and eagerness.

“And how’s that?”

Lily swallowed, her lashes fluttering as she dropped her gaze to his collarbone, her fingers tracing a slow, trembling line along the edge of his shirt.

“I don’t know exactly,” She was so sure but so unsure of how to ask. “But I want to… try. I want it to be slower this time. But not soft. Just… different.”

His chest rose sharply beneath her hands, and she dared a glance at his face again. Harry’s eyes were wide and burning, like her words had reached straight into his chest and cracked something open.

“M'kay,” He breathed out, biting his lip. “I can work with that.”

She smiled—small and shy and impossibly lovely—and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. It was careful, unsure, but full of intent. When he didn’t move—just sat perfectly still beneath her—she kissed him again. Fuller this time. Her mouth brushing over his like she was testing how close she could get before she melted into him entirely. Her hands flattened over his chest, not searching this time, just feeling.

Heat pooled in her stomach as she adjusted in his lap, her hips shifting without thinking, slow and unsteady like they had before. This time, he didn’t stop her, he let her.

Harry let out a breath like he’d been holding it in all night.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he grumbled, voice ragged against her lips.

She hesitated for only a second before whispering, and narrowing her brows at him with blame, “You started it.”

That broke something loose in him—he laughed, soft and wrecked, and kissed her again, this time with just enough hunger to make her gasp. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tentative but needing. She rocked once more accidental, but very much not, and Harry pulled back with a low, guttural groan, his hands flying to her waist like a lifeline.

Instead of answering, she bent down and kissed his neck—slow, warm, her mouth brushing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. She nipped, then soothed the spot with her tongue, and he shuddered beneath her.

“I need to hear you say it,” he said, his voice wrecked now. “Tell me you want it.”

She leaned back, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, and looked him in the eye with her forehead pressed to his.

“I want this,” she said. “I want you.”

His exhale was audible—part disbelief, part reverence. But he still didn’t move.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, his hands frozen on her hips, like if he let them roam, he might lose all control. He flexed his fingers in almost an aching way. “Because I swear to God, the second I let go, I’m not going to be able to pretend I don’t want to keep you like this forever.”

Lily smiled softly, and then—without speaking—she lifted the hem of her hoodie and tugged it over her head, tossing it somewhere behind her to reveal that there had been nothing underneath. Harry’s breath punched out of him, his hands gripping her thighs now like he was trying not to fall apart right there on the rug.

“Jesus Christ, Lily.”

She just leaned in again, kissing him deeper, more insistent on what she really wanted. And when his mouth opened under hers, his restraint snapped—but only just. He kissed her like he meant to unravel her. Like she was the answer to every sharp edge he’d ever carried. His hands finally moved, up her sides, over the curve of her back, palms broad and reverent, holding her like she was both precious and powerful.

“You’re everything,” His breath was hot as he breathed into her mouth, nipping lightly at her lips as he did so, making her giggle, “You know that?”

She kissed him harder in response, pressing her chest to his as his hands slid beneath the waistband of her shorts, slow, testing the boundary line that neither of them had crossed before. She shifted in his lap again, letting out a quiet moan when she felt how hard he was beneath her.

“Fuck,” he breathed, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut. “We need to slow down. I have to—”

She rocked against him again, firmer now, grounding herself there, and grabbed his face between her hands. He still didn’t move for a second as if feeling the internal struggle that she continued to test of him. Like he needed to feel her say it again with her body. And she did—reaching between them, helping him out of his shirt, kissing the ink over his heart, then his throat, then his mouth again like she couldn’t get enough of him.

“Please,” she whispered, mouth hot against his jaw. “No stopping this time.”

And with that, the game was over.

Harry held onto her tightly before throwing her around, her back hitting the rug as he turned them over. Her breath escaping her at his sudden roughness that made her back arch into softness of the rug.  The rug beneath them was rough but grounding, a scrape of texture against the softness of her thighs as she lay back, her body still buzzing from the way he’d kissed her.

Thunder grumbled outside, low and distant, like the sky was holding its breath.

Harry hovered over her, braced on one elbow, eyes raking slowly down her body like he didn’t know where to touch first – he felt like this was his first time and everything was new and exciting again. His free hand was spread across her stomach, warm and steady, thumb tracing over the faint line of her ribs. It was such a relief to have someone who wanted to listen to him; to keep it slow and to allow there to be such intimacy in a moment.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” His eyes drifted down her long torso that had practically opened for him; watching as her chest fill and emptied with every breath, “Lying here like this for me.”

Lily swallowed, cheeks flushed, her fingers curling into the fabric of the rug before she moved her right hand to pull at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“I’ve thought about this,” he went on, dragging his hand, dancing his fingers between her breasts, over her collarbone, to cradle her jaw. “Every night since you walked into my shop. I used to wonder what you'd sound like underneath me,” he whispered almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak out loud, “How you'd taste when you stop trying to be polite.”

She made a quiet, involuntary sound that she wasn’t even sure if she recognized, and Harry smiled—slow with the devilish feeling of sin, like he was unwrapping something delicate and unearthly.

“You like that?” Harry asked, his voice low and gravel-smooth, each word dragging along her skin like a slow flame that burned each inch of her. He nodded slightly, coaxing, his eyes locked on her face. “You like when I talk to you like this?”

Lily turned her head, her cheeks flushed so brightly it spread down her throat. She tried to hide in the crook of her arm, but he followed, chasing her retreat with his mouth—kissing her cheek, her jaw, the delicate spot just beneath her ear where her pulse thudded.

“You get so shy,” his voice was so soft, but set an electricity that made her ache.

“But you don’t stop me.” He kissed lower, the words barely a breath against her skin. “You don’t want me to stop.”

“No,” she whispered, the word barely a thread of sound. “No, no, no.”

He groaned into her neck, like her voice alone unraveled him. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Then his lips found hers again—hotter this time, deeper, slower. His hand slipped lower, between her thighs, fingers sliding deliberately beneath the waistband of her underwear, exploring with pressure instead of permission. Her breath caught, her body opening for him instinctively, hips tilting in invitation as she pushed herself into him. She was already soaked for him, dripping in anticipation, but he loved the long game.

Harry broke the kiss with a sharp exhale, dropping his head to her shoulder like he needed a second to breathe her in.

“Fuck, Lily,” he nipped at her neck, knowing he left a mark – God, he loved leaving her marked.

His fingers moved again—gentler now, more curious than greedy. He found her rhythm, learned it in seconds, and when he brushed right where she needed it, she gasped, her hips jolting in a need she had forgotten about. Her hands flew to the rug beside her, grasping for something solid.

“Look at me,” he said, and his voice was commanding now, but not harsh in any means.

Her eyes fluttered open. His face hovered just above hers so wrecked and beautiful, jaw tight, lips parted, but his eyes—his eyes were steady, dark with focus and want.

“I want to hear you when I do this,” His fingers circled her clit now, slow, devastating. “I want to know exactly how good I make you feel.”

She moaned—soft and sweet at first, her hand flying up to stifle it. Harry caught her wrist, gently but firm enough that made her gasp – almost choking a sob.

“No,” he said, tugging her hand away and pressing it above her head, stretching her out. “I want you loud for me, baby. So fucking loud when I touch you.”

She shuddered at the command, the praise, the sheer gravity of his attention. He wasn’t just touching her—he was watching her unravel, mouth parted like he was memorizing every sound, every twitch of her body beneath his hands.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he whispered, kissing down her shoulder, her collarbone as he watched the way that her nipples hardened as his mouth breathed cooly over them, “Gonna play with you until you’re begging for it. Gonna keep you on this floor until you forget how to say anything but my name, you understand?”

“Harry,” she gasped, hips rolling into his hand now, voice high and broken.

“I’ve got you,” he said, kissing her again, the heat of his voice was radiating through her, practically pumping the blood flow of her heart, “You just stay open for me. That’s it. Just like that. So fucking good.”

Her thighs trembled, the muscles in her stomach tightening as he slid her underwear down her thighs so slowly, kissing his way down her legs as he went. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her knee until she was breathless and shaking beneath him. His eyes tried to memorize the way that she laid along his floor, fully on display for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed out in a haze, pushing his hair on his forehead; the hunger in his made him feel ravished, practically growling as he pushed her knees apart. He could tell that she was tensing, waiting for him to come back to her.

His fingers found their way back to her, spreading her with two as he stared at the way that her head pushed to arch her back, gasping in a fit of need.

Harry moved down, his mouth attaching to hip as his eyes flew to her reaction. Shaking hands wrapped around his curls, almost like she was scared of his reaction to being touched as he let his fingers push inside of her – warm and tight. So tight.

When his mouth finally replaced his fingers, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes against her, she cried out—a raw, desperate sound—and he groaned against her in response. His hands gripped her thighs like he needed to ground himself, to feel her coming apart in his arms. And still—he didn’t rush. Every time she got close, every time her breath caught, and her body tightened, he eased back just enough to draw it out.

It was never to tease or to play games. To worship her. To show her what it meant to be wanted with patience.

“You’re already falling apart for me,” he said against her skin, spitting directly on her as she gasped. Smearing his spit and her wetness together against his fingers, he practically came right then and there.

His eyes flew up to her, “You want more?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling, shaking as she could feel herself starting to lose control but every time she started, he stopped and it only made her want to cry – she wanted it so bad.

Harry demanded more, “Say it.”

“I want more—please, Harry.”

“Mm,” He wanted to tease her – to embarrass her just a bit. “You don’t want my fingers, do you? You want more?” He nodded, trying to get her to push herself, “Tell me what you really want.”

Lily fidgeted on the rug, practically mewling at his words. Her face was flushed as she tried to cover herself, but his hands moved her arms again as he came face to face with her again.

“You want to be fucked, don’t you, angel?” He swallowed as he blinked a few times, wondering if he was pushing a boundary too hard, “I’ll give you my cock, but only if you say please.”

Lily gasped, her breath making the skin against her ribs tighten, “Please – God, Harry, please.”

The storm outside had quieted to a gentle patter against the windows, but inside, the air was thick with something louder than thunder—want, built slow and careful over weeks, finally breaking open between them like a held breath let go.

He kissed her deeply then, tasting every part of her mouth like he needed it to breathe. His body fit perfectly between her thighs, warm and heavy, the press of him against her core enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. It made him groan—a quiet, wrecked sound, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

Lily arched into him, her hands skimming down his back, nails dragging lightly over skin, and he shivered from the contact. She’d never seen him like this—undone, desperate, but still so careful. Like holding himself back was the price of having her.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“I’ve never wanted someone like this,” he shook his head. “It’s driving me out of my fucking mind, like I may need to be sent away after this.”

He worshiped her with his mouth and hands, slow and reverent, every sigh and gasp she gave him another thread snapping in his chest. Her thighs around his waist, her breath on his neck, the way she moaned his name like a secret—it nearly broke him.

Harry pushed his own sweats down, letting himself free of the practical torture. Lily’s thighs practically captured him, pulling him towards her as they fit together, Harry hovered above her, breath shallow, eyes dark and tender as he brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead. His thumb lingered at her temple, like she was something delicate and precious—not because she was fragile, but because she was giving him something no one else had earned.

“What do you need?” He asked against her, “Condom?”

Shaking her head, she blinked at the ceiling, wondering if she was really on earth any longer.

“N-No,” She swallowed, “We don’t – we don’t need one, if you don’t – I mean.”

The stuttering made him smirk, shaking his head as he pulled his lips into his mouth.

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean, I’m clean – I just meant - ”

“IUD,” Lily breathed out, feeling the weight of the small conversation that hadn’t been had. Not that it killed the heat of the moment, but Harry just nodded with confirmation to ensure that she was taken care of.

“Oh, sick,” his lopsided smile made her heart flutter, “So, I mean, theoretically,” He licked his lips, holding himself over her, one arm bent and the other pushed up, “Should I pull out? Like… I mean, do you…”

Lily blinked at him, shaking her head as she thought of it, “I… I don’t think I mind. I’ve never had someone… like, inside.” She bit her lip, knowing that it was trembling as she used her shaking hand to move some hair from her face.

“Really?” Harry asked, biting the inside of his cheek, “I mean, I don’t know… if you realized, but I do have a thing. About like,” Lily noticed the faint hint of color that may have been spreading on his cheeks now, “Marking.”

Lily swallowed, breathing heavy before she cleared her throat, “Um, like, I’m yours?”

“You’re so fucking mine,” Harry stifled a breath of a laugh before he shook his head, letting his mouth fall back down onto hers, “Fucking love marking you, baby. Mine, all mine.”

His body aligned with hers, skin with skin, the space between them shrinking until there was nothing left untouched. Everything moved slowly, deliberately—like they were memorizing the moment, not just physically, but in every breath, every shared glance, every heartbeat echoing between their ribs.

When he began to move, there was no rush. Just a gentle give and take, a rhythm born from trust and quiet longing. Lily gasped, a sound caught between surprise and surrender, and Harry stilled as he pressed himself in, letting his cock take every inch of her.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Just feel me. That’s all I want.”

Her hands clutched at his back, and she nodded, her body adjusting to him, inviting him in piece by piece. Every movement from him was careful, attentive, like he was listening to her body as closely as her words. And when her hips moved to meet his, when her breath hitched in time with his, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a vow made in silence.

It had been a while for both of them - since either of them had been intimate like this. Lily couldn't remember a time that she had felt so worshipped, so looked at. Harry couldn't remember a time when he cared so much about the person underneath him; it made his heart spiral in a frenzy of haze.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, barely able to form the words. “So fucking soft, baby. Fuck.”

She pulled him back to her mouth with trembling fingers, her eyes wide and heavy with want.

Their bodies moved together in rhythm, matched breath for breath, sigh for sigh. And when she started to tremble beneath him, clutching at his shoulders, he talked her through it—whispering her name, telling her how beautiful she looked, how perfect she felt, how much he needed her.

The room had heat and breath and the sound of skin meeting skin in a fervent, terrifying need. Every inch of them slick with sweat and want, tangled in each other like they didn’t remember where he ended, and she began.

Harry was moving deeper now, slower, but harder—like every thrust was significant and laced with a drug so addicting that he couldn’t stop if the room was on fire, like he wanted to make her feel it days from now. His voice was wrecked in her ear, low and constant, a stream of words that curled around her spine like smoke.

“God, Lily—fuck, you feel like heaven,” He struggled to practically breath as he felt her hips meet his,; he sat up for a moment, pulling himself out of her where he heard a bit of a reaction from her. “This pussy could make me religious."

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails dragging over his back in jagged little lines that only made him groan louder. She couldn’t speak, it was like someone had taken her sound and replaced it with breath.

"You... feel so good," Lily murmured out, practically no voice left in her. The small vocals made Harry's ear perk up, like it was enough to keep him going.

“You’re so—tight, baby, so fucking good—taking me so well. So sweet. So fucking sweet.”

She whimpered beneath him, body shaking in an adrenaline high, breath catching with every roll of his hips. And still, he kept talking, kept praising her like he couldn’t get enough.

“You were made for this. For me. You hear me? This perfect little body—fuck.”

Her thighs tightened around him, and her breath stuttered, the pressure building like a crescendo she couldn’t quite name. Harry saw it—felt it. His hands cradled her face, eyes locked on hers like he needed her to look at him when she broke.

“That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing hers. “Let me see it. Let me hear it. Don’t hold back now, baby—give it to me.”

She gasped, high and desperate like she was about to cry, but Harry knew that it was just pushing her to the limit. “Harry—”

Her voice shattered into a cry as the wave crashed over her, her back arching, hips locking around him, her entire body burning and trembling and opening. It was an all-encompassing need that her body clung to him to stabilize her high to the tallest degree.

And he lost it. Harry groaned, deep and broken, his forehead pressed to hers, his rhythm stuttering as he chased the feeling of her falling apart beneath him.

“Jesus—Lily, I’m—fuck, I’m right there, baby—don’t stop looking at me—don’t stop—”

He came with a ragged moan, his entire body felt like he was flat-lining, chest heaving against hers like something sacred had broken loose inside him. His hands shook where they gripped her hips. His mouth found hers again, wild and uncoordinated, but desperate—hungry for her even now. Her hands wrapped around him tightly to keep him as close to her as physically possible.

They stilled together, bodies wrecked and breathing each other in like air. Lily blinked up at him through heavy lashes, her chest still rising and falling in shallow waves. Harry was staring at her like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and the angels from heaven had come down to get him.

“God fucking damnit,” He breathed out without realization that his entire bodily pressure was laying and pressing Lily completely. She felt the safeness and the gratitude, wanting to be buried like this forever. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. Smiled—slow and dazed with a stare so lost in space that she could barely understand what was happening around her. “I’ve never been better.”

He exhaled, lifting up just a bit to get a better look at her underneath him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me either.”

Harry brushed his thumb along her cheek, watching her as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. Lily felt the urge to smile, but her candor was sleepy and wrecked and glowing.

“I feel like the rug might be embedded in my spine now.” She muttered out, laughing just a bit as she tucked some of Harry’s curls behind his ear.

Harry laughed, pulling her closer. “I’ll buy you a new spine, if that’s what you need.”

She closed her eyes and tucked her head under his chin, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel scared. She felt chosen.

Maneuvering themselves, Harry finally felt the need to reposition them, laying on his own back as he stared at the ceiling with her. Lily moved instantly to lay next to him, cuddling up to rest her head on his chest as he pulled her close.

They lay tangled on the rug, breaths slowing, bodies slick with the warm aftermath of what felt like a lifetime compressed into a few hours. Lily’s head rested against Harry’s chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat a quiet comfort against the storm still murmuring outside. Harry’s fingers traced lazy circles along her spine, his touch featherlight now, as if afraid to break the fragile bubble they’d built around themselves.

Eventually, he murmured out, “You know, I think I’m going to have rug burn.”

Lily lifted her head, blinking up at him with a tired smile. “Rug burn?”

He grinned, a crooked, breathless smile. “Yeah. This little rug? It’s seen more of us than any piece of furniture should.”

She laughed quietly, the sound light and warm in the hush. “You’re ridiculous.”

The room was dim and golden, all corners softened by the warm spill of the lamp and candle that had started to flicker with the burnt down wick. Rain still kissed the windows, quieter now, more like a lullaby than a storm. Their clothes were scattered in lazy pieces across the floor as Harry and Lily tried their best to redress themselves.

Lily started to stir first, her skin flushed, her hair damp with sweat and curling at her temples. He started to feel her shift a bit in the quietness, and as he looked over at her, she started to lift her head.

“I should go to clean up,” her voice hoarse and quiet, her fingertips brushing at his collarbone as she lifted on her arm.

Harry groaned softly, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her elbow. “Can’t believe you want to move. I was hoping we’d just fuse to the carpet.”

She laughed—sleep starting to become more of a need than just a want, still breathless. “I don’t think your back would survive it.”

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered, rolling onto his side with a sigh, carefully untangling their legs.

Lily sat up slowly, her body aching in that good, golden way. She reached for the shirt he’d discarded earlier and tugged it over her head before padding barefoot down towards the small bathroom, her silhouette briefly lit by the hallway light as she disappeared into the bathroom without another glance.

Harry watched her go, arms folded under his head, eyes soft and dazed. There was something in the way she moved—still a little shy, a little unsure, but comfortable now. Like she wasn’t afraid to take up space in his home anymore. He sat up with a groan, grabbed a blanket off the nearby chair, and tossed it over the rumpled rug before pushing himself up and stretching. His muscles ached in all the right ways, but his mind had already drifted to his bedroom.

He had put his sweatpants back on, starting to get ready for bed by making sure the door was locked, the windows were shut, the lights were off. He flicked off the last lamp on his way down the hall, the apartment falling into quiet shadows behind him.

By the time he reached the bedroom with two cups of tea, Lily was already there.

She stood near the window, back to him, gazing out at the rain-slicked city. She wore only his shirt—long on her frame, hem brushing the tops of her thighs—and a pair of pale cotton panties. Her damp hair clung to the back of her neck, and the faint curve of her bare legs were decently on display.

Harry stopped in the doorway. His breath caught as he just stared and admired.

It wasn’t because she was half-naked, but because she looked like she belonged there. In his shirt. In his space. Like a painting he wasn’t supposed to touch but he had somehow been invited into. Lily turned slightly, noticing him. Her lips curved, soft and self-conscious.

“What?” Was all she could muster to say as she bit on her lip in a way that made Harry’s eyes glow with significant admiration.

Harry blinked and shook his head, he could barely look anywhere but forward like he was afraid she’d disappear if he even looked to the side.

“Nothing,” He answered, “Nothing at all.”

She flushed, tugging at the hem of his shirt, suddenly bashful again. Harry crossed the room in a few slow steps and reached her to set her tea down on the bedside table then. She laughed as he tugged her gently onto the mattress, both of them sinking into the sheets in a tangle of tired limbs and lingering heat.

Wrapped in his shirt, tucked against his chest, Lily felt something settle inside her—a hum, a knowing, like she’d finally found where she was meant to land. Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his fingers sliding into hers beneath the blanket.

“I was scared of this,” she whispered, her voice low and vulnerable in the hush.

“Of what?” Harry asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“This kind of closeness. Letting someone see everything. It’s... it used to feel dangerous.”

He was quiet for a moment, one hand stroking the soft skin at the small of her back.

Then, he opened up, a completely different thought coming acrossed him, “You ever read The Little Prince?”

Lily tried to think, shrugging a little bit as she thought, “Not since I was a kid, I don’t think.”

“Well, there’s a line in it that stayed with me,” he told her. “‘One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.’”

He went on, voice softer now. “I didn’t really understand it when I first read it. But now, I think it means that the things that matter most aren’t what people show you. It’s what they try to hide. And when someone lets you see that... it means everything,” He turned his head, eyes laying on her as she looked back at him. “Reminded me of you, I guess.”

She looked up at him then, eyes shining.

“That’s what you did,” he said. “You let me see you. And I’ll never take that lightly.”

She didn’t respond with words. She just kissed him—slow, deep, and filled with everything she didn’t know how to say, showing him that not only did she see him, she felt him – every inch of him with a certainty that made her scared to death and hopeful all at once.

***

A Few Weeks Later.

It was a Friday afternoon when Lily decided to walk back into the shop. The bell over the tattoo shop door gave a soft jingle as Lily stepped inside, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, heart thudding despite the knowledge of who was inside and who she was there to see.

Harry looked up from behind the counter, caught mid-sketch of another project he had been asked to create, his curls tied up messily in a clip that he had been sporting for the longer hair, and another pencil tucked behind one ear. His glasses had started to slide down his nose before he lifted his eyes to look up at who had come in.

“Well, well, well,” he said, that lopsided grin, the one that always started in his eyes before it reached his mouth was on full display. “If it isn’t my favorite distraction.”

Lily shrugged, trying to play it cool, though her pulse betrayed her. “Thought I’d come in for something permanent.”

His brow arched at the confidence she wore; so different than she had looked when she previously stood there. “What – you here for another tattoo?”

She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small, carefully folded piece of paper, shaking it in front of him. It looked fragile somehow creased but smoothed out, like she'd been carrying it with intention. She held it out with quiet fingers.

Harry took it from her without a word, unfolding it slowly. His thumb traced the edge of the paper unconsciously as his eyes scanned the familiar handwriting. And then he felt himself start to chuckle, start to shake his head before he looked back up at her and then down at the paper.

The quote sat in the center of the page like something sacred.

One sees clearly only with the heart.

The room went quiet, except for the low hum of the shop lights and the rain sliding down the windows. Harry didn’t speak right away. His expression softened, all of his usual wit and casual confidence falling away, stripped bare in the span of a heartbeat.

He looked up at her, blinking like he was seeing her in a new light. “Lily…”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting slightly under the weight of his gaze. “I want it here,” she said softly, reaching to touch the inside of her left arm—just below the bend of her elbow. “Just small. Simple. Just for me.”

She paused, then added, “But I want it to come from you, of course.”

Something flickered across his face—something deep and quiet and unspoken. He glanced down at the quote again, then back at her, as if trying to be sure he’d really heard her right.

“You know what this means, right?” he asked, voice hoarse with more than just surprise. She nodded, eyes steady despite the way her fingers curled in her coat pocket.

“Well, to me, it means I see you too.”

And just like that, all the air seemed to shift between them; thicker now, heavier with meaning. The kind of meaning that didn’t need to be spoken to be understood. Harry stepped around the counter, sleeves pushed up, falling into a space of pure obsession and completely on a different planet. There had always been a part of him that knew that he would find this, but when he looked at her, he realized how much of him had been waiting for someone like her all along.

No teasing. No smirk. Just his fingers sliding into hers—timid but foundational, warm but alive, and there.

“Let’s make it permanent, then.” he told her, nodding. Without another word, Harry gripped her hand into his, pulling her back to his work station – back to where it all began.

Back to where he knew he was in love. And to be loved, is to be seen.

[sushirrrry]

wrangled

a harry styles one-shot. 14k words. cw: age-gap, sexual content, spitting, spanking, squirting, dirty talk, humiliation kink, coarse language, dom/sub kink

Forte Ranch.

Kettle Falls, Washington.

June Forte is the 24 year old daughter of Travis Forte– the owner of the largest bison ranch in eastern Washington. When she returned home from college, her wishes of becoming a teacher in the area land her with a few different jobs– one that also includes the family business.

It's not lost on her that when she starts noticing that a superbly handsome, older ranch-hand who introduces himself in a deep-posh accent as Harry Styles, that she seems to lose a bit of focus on the picture: make enough money to leave Kettle Falls for good.

But, the older man seems to keep running into her no matter how many times she tries to leave. Maybe, she recognizes, that it isn't a coincidence.

When Harry and June are one day left alone, the tensions are higher than ever. Once June gets a taste, her intuition starts to let her know that maybe seeing the dimples underneath the brim of the Stetson is easier to lean into rather than run from.

He's not letting her run away that easy.

"Goddamnit, Fury– let's go!"

She pulled at the lead; the rope pulled at her hands a bit when the horse continued to stand his ground, obviously more powerful than her.

A quick sigh, a puff of air to move some of the hair off of her face. June couldn't help but groan at the horse's stubbornness that kept him inside the confines of his stall.

She had a lesson in an hour now. Not that it would have been a huge deal— the family that she taught for were very laid back, but her need to follow a schedule made Fury's outburst quite annoying as it would take a bit of time to get him out now.

The horse-riding lessons that she had been giving were supplementing the cash flow through the summer. Next year, she would be starting a position as a teacher at one of the local schools in the area. June had gone to school in Seattle; it was the biggest culture shock for her when she arrived in the big city.

From growing up on the ranch to moving to the big city with just what she could fit in her dad's pick-up–she had loved every moment of it. She loved seeing the way that the traffic built up everywhere in the early mornings, the honking horns, the sleepy travelers in the coffee shops every morning.

It was a learning experience that she had been blessed with. But, in reality, her heart stayed in the eastern mountains; the smell of the fresh air every morning gave her such a high that she hadn't been expecting to miss with her whole heart.

Living on this ranch, in this small town, had been in her heart this whole time. She hadn't recognized how much of her she still had to learn.

When you're young, you want so bad to leave. Then, you see the rest of the world, and you find home so much more appealing. It feels secure, it feels like a place that you can come back to when you're finished exploring.

It's a place to relax. A place to replenish. A place to house your soul.

Now, she say her fighting with her horse who seemed to have the upper-hand.

"Fury, if you don't come on," She rubbed the horse's nose, giving him a look as he tilted up his head quickly. "You're being so stub—"

"Might wanna give him something to entice him."

The sound behind her makes June jump with a fright, a gasp escaping as she had been lost in her own world. There's a man standing on the opposite side of her now, unlocking the gate of the horse stall. She hadn't noticed him before, so she wondered how long he had been standing there watching her struggle with the ropes her hands. 

A chestnut mare stands, grunts softly in front of him as he looks back at her. June recognized the man, which didn't seem to happen often. The farm has lots of people coming through, many stay for weeks– months, maybe. The summer months are preparing for the winter; she knew that a lot more came around at this time of the year.

But she recognized him.

There wasn't a person who wouldn't.

The man's accent threw her for a moment– not realizing if she had heard him speak before. She mustn't have, or she'd know the low drawl of a foreign tongue.

But there's a few certain men that have been around for a bit. This man, in particular, she thought. He wears his hair longer, a bit down on his ears. He pushes it back into his Stetson, the chocolate curls have grown every time she sees him closer.

He has a soft scruff along his jawline that was really only visible up close; a white tank top that has seen better days when it was a pure white on the rack. June lets her eyes wander for a moment before she sees that he notices, a hint of pink painting her cheeks as she watches that he seems to go on about his day without another word.

Not to mention: if you stared at him in the heat of the eastern Washington sun, it was entirely too close to see the shade of green that his eyes shone. They practically became translucent at how luminous they became.

June was a bit taken; her hands adjust on the lead as she watched the man throw a bridle over the large mare's nose. He clicked his tongue to get her to follow, the mare following him out of the stall easily. June watched at how easy it was; she knew Fury was a bit hard-headed to begin with, so it couldn't have been that easy no matter what he had said to her.

As the man started walking away just a bit, Fury took a step forward which helped June aid him out of the stall. It threw her for a moment, her body moving forward to help lead the horse where he needed. He followed, though a bit slowly as he shook his head when she pulled in the lead towards the saddling. 

"See, told you," The man spoke once again, nodding his head a bit towards his mare, "Men are always enticed by pretty ladies."

He had taken the saddle off of the stand, throwing it over the mare's back. June's eyes stared at the way his muscles popped through the sleeveless shirt, pushing the heavy riding saddle up further on the horses back.

"Going for a ride?" The man spoke again, watching as June hooked Fury up to stand so that he was secured. June hadn't spoken yet, feeling her voice caught in her throat over the way that he had been a bit chatty with her.  Her eyes drifted over to him, knowing he had been talking to her again which elicited a response.

She bit her lip, pulling up on the loops of her jeans that hugged around the curve of her hips.

"No, I teach, actually." June commented, brushing down Fury's neck before pushing some of his mane out of his eyes.

The horse chewed a bit, making her smile as his lips tried to nip at her arm. "Have a lesson soon. He's the best with kids, gives them a hard time but it's good for them to learn how to be a bit more assertive. He listens when you're real strict with him, just not well."

"Really all the qualities of a man, huh?" The man smirked; they stood next to each other at the station before June looked over and he had started to move towards her. His hand outreached, his eyes truly on her now as they became closer with each step he took. "Harry Styles."

June swallowed back, her hand moving out towards his as they locked together in a moment. "June Forte. You're a worker here?"

Harry's eyes shift for a moment when he notices the deep blue of her eyes and the familiarity of her generational smile. His tongue flicks out to run over his bottom lip as he lets his eyes drag over her a moment. June squirms under his vision, her breath halted as he takes his hand away and their touch loosens.

"And this is your ranch, I presume." He speaks, his words standing in the air.

June shrugs her shoulders up as if his comment didn't mean much. "Not mine– well, my family's, so technically will be mine or my siblings someday. My dad's dream was to own it, and I guess now he does. Was my grandads, and my great-grandads. He built it, and it's just a family heirloom now. But yeah– we live up there."

Harry's breath baited for a moment, a small scoff of a chuckle leaving his lips as he moved back towards the mare. The mare stomped on the ground, his hand moving to comfort her outburst.

"Guess I don't need to be flirting with the ranch owner's daughter, then. May be a conflict of interest."

June raised a brow at his words, feeling a hotness come across her neck as she moved to throw the big brush through Fury's chestnut coat. She faced away from him now, her head turning to look over her shoulder at the way he continued to smirk at her.

For the first time in a while, June's sharp tongue felt dull. She didn't know what to say as she felt some hair fall into her face as she managed to push the heavy brush through the horse's coat.

"Never been a huge rule follower, though." He followed up, pulling the reins of the tacked horse; he walked backwards out of the barn with his eyes on June– the shape of her body only let his eyes fall down and around her curves.

A soft chuckle came from her lips as she heard the clicking of his tongue, guiding the mare out. "Easy, cowboy." She called back, in a surprising quip, "My ranch, my rules."

"So now you're the boss?" He quipped, "giving me mixed signals, June." Harry paused for a moment, giving her a moment to comeback.

"Let's just say I'm pretty close to the guy in charge." June tilted her head, "But I'd say that flirting with the boss's daughter isn't in your best interest if you want to stick around."

June watched the man quickly bite his lip as if he was stopping himself from another remark.

"We'll see about that one." He called back, his boots crunching on the gravel once again, his eyes staying on her even when leading the large horse out of the barn. "Might be the opposite effect if I'm lucky."

June bit her lip at the thought of him– wondering if he had seen her before. Her legs adjusted just at the thought of his low, raspy voice. She hasn't heard it before, but now all she could hear was his words in the back of her head.

"Hope you find a four-leaf clover out there, gonna need it." June said back, watching as he moved away, a wink flying back at her.

She huffed, looking at her horse before a shake of her head made her feel a bit dizzy.

Maybe it wasn't the head shake that made her feel that way.

***

The following morning, Fury continued to give June quite a time. He was a stubborn horse, but she knew that he trusted her and vice versa. June never felt that she had a problem with him, he had been her horse for over ten years now.

June grew up with horses, riding and watching them was in her blood. She loved riding and watching people become more comfortable as they rode more. It was a pleasure for her to teach young kids to be comfortable and confident while riding, especially when it taught discipline and hard work.

Nothing about riding horses was easy– she continued to learn that the hard way. It took trust, and lots of effort to make sure that the animal underneath you trusted every part of you. The hardest part was putting your life in their hands. But, it was always worth taking that chance.

He kicked a few times, the young girl that she had for the lesson this morning was mostly scared that she was going to fall off. June reassured her that she would hold his lead, but that she needed to be strong.

"When you're scared, he's going to be scared," June tried to reassure her, watching the young girl— her name was Natasha, she was around eleven. "You have to be in control of him, and he's going to respond to you. But we can end the lesson a bit early if you're feeling some nerves— that's okay, too."

Natasha gave June a look; she was unsure, and June could read all over it. However, Natasha pushed through some of her nerves, which led to June eventually letting go of the reins and letting the girl trot some laps around the outside arena space.

"You got it!" She yelled over, staying on the fence, her eyes lighting up at the girl's excitement over her accomplishments of getting the horse to where she wanted him. "Let's loop around one more time, and then bring it back to the center."

June pushed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The outside training grounds was a large area of the ranch, covered by trees and small patches of grass. She tucked some hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the messy bun she pulled at the base of her neck.

A small noise caught her attention as she started to make her way to the center of the arena to meet Fury and Natasha. June bit on her lip as she squinted in the early morning sun that was casting over the field down to the bison pasture. The gates had opened, watching the man from earlier in the saddle atop the chestnut mare.

His head turned to check that the smaller bison calves had made their way through to the other side of the fence.

"Shut 'em in!" He yelled, pulling at the reins of his horse before the other ranch-hand pulled at the metal gate on the other side.

The field sat opposite of the smaller training field that had been built for June's benefit; she absolutely loved teaching, loved the elements of getting young riders out on the back of a horse to feel the fresh breeze in their hair. It had been so therapeutic to her growing up when everything felt that it could have fallen apart at any moment— this was her world.

Growing up on the ranch had been a saving grace for her. It was the yin to the yang of the city that she had grown to love. She had never had the opportunity to fall in love with another place like she had with Seattle.

It didn't hurt that these were the kinds of views that she had, either.

June hadn't been paying attention as she heard her name being called; her head whipped around as she watched Fury stomp a few times and start to buck and push the young girl. June watched her expression as she held at the fence, watching the young girl struggle with the large stallion.

"Hold on, Natasha!" June yelled, sitting up on the large fence before she cupped her hands over her mouth, "Pull the reins real hard to the left!"

She could see the fear on the girls face as she tried to brace, tried to do what June had told her to. She wasn't strong enough to manage the horse as her foot slid from the saddle and her body flung to the side and off into the dirt of the ring.

June gasped outwardly with a few curses as she ran towards where the girl was flung off. Fury moved away now that she felt safe enough that she could grab her and move out of the ring. She felt horrible not being to stop it before it started, not reading the language of the horse before it was too late.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" June asked, the young girl sitting up on her elbows as she tried to brush herself off. "You're not hurt, are you? Nothing feels broken?"

She shook her head, the helmet bearing her fall as she seemed to just be a bit more traumatized than hurt. The adrenaline must've been moving through her as they stood up, June helping her as she looked around the ring to notice that the horse had made his way out of the ring through the gate she had opened, ready to lead them out.

"Shit!" June yelled out, her head moving around at an attempt to find the horse that had been trotting away. She tucked the hair behind her ear as she turned to look around.

"I'm so sorry," Natasha started, obviously in shock, "I-I didn't– I got scared."

June turned to the girl, shaking her head profusely. "No, no, sweetie. It's fine– as long as you're okay."

June took Natasha out of the ring, climbing up the fence and over to the grassy knoll. Her hands landed on her hips as she searched around for Fury who had gotten loose.

"Fuck," She whispered under her breath.

She didn't expect him to get so agitated. She hasn't had that happen before, which set her alert on high. Fury was the horse that she trained on, and without him, she couldn't hold onto her lesson schedule.

The next one was in twenty minutes, so she needed to figure out a plan on how to catch him.

The first part of the plan was to find the horse that had seemingly run away and out of the gate. Her attention moved back towards the young girl, who had taken off her helmet and seemed to have calmed down just a bit. She rubbed at her elbow that had a bit of a scratch.

"You head back to barn," She told Natasha, "If you see him, holler really loud for me. I'm going to go to the other fields, see if I can catch him."

The young girl agreed, making her way back down to the barns where her mother had been while she took the lesson. She would tell them what had happened, and to make sure they could catch him if he got around.

June started up towards the bison fields– the ranch handlers had been up there just a few moments prior to the incident, and she may have an idea of where the horse had run to. The property was large, almost three hundred acres of land. But, with the number of trees and wooded miles, it would be harder to catch him than it was with the open spaces.

The Forte ranch was surrounded by mountainous regions, which was good for the bison and the elk that were seemingly farmed in the area. June's family kept bison and yak, which was separate to the ranches out in the southwest. Their ranch was green and grassy, surrounded by lakes and streams with glaciers and chilly mornings.

The summer heat didn't always feel like summer, which was what made the mornings so delightful. It was June's favorite parts about the lifestyle of working outside, she felt like there was so much more to see and so much more to take in. It was her own sense of meditation.

"Hey," June called out to the two men sitting on the fences. "Did you see my horse run by? He threw my rider off and fled, and I didn't really see where he went."

The two men seemingly similar looked at one another before shaking their head, practically ignoring her as they continued to haul a few bales of hay into a truck that was backed up to the fence. "Sorry, hon, no."

June placed her hands in her back pockets before she stared at them for a moment. "Okay, well, he's black. Long white stripe down his nose, kinda pink on the end. His name is Fury, but he doesn't usually respond," She blinked a few times, starting to ramble as she thought for a moment, "Probably why he's being a pain in the ass."

She could tell that the men were seemingly uncaring for her request, so she sniffled out of awkwardness before her boots started to move her to the other end of the field.

A good thirty minutes flew by as she walked along the edges of the property, whistling softly for any sight of where the horse could've gone. The sudden sound of clicking made her head turn towards the wooded area; a strike of fear spooking her as she turned. It wasn't that she feared being on her own, but something about being vulnerable ate away at her.

Her heart instantly dropped as she saw two horses, one ridden and the other being held close by the familiar leather reins. The rider in question familiar as she felt her lips quirk up in a smirk at the look on the man's face. She released the breath she had been holding in.

"Think you're supposed to stay on the horse, not let him run away." The deep voice teased. He had been holding the reins of Fury while riding his own.

"He threw my rider," She told him, "I was trying to make sure that she was okay, and he ran off."

"She was quite young," He commented, obviously seeming a bit worried now. He slowed his horse down, the horse standing in front of June as she went to pet down the mare's nose. It crossed her mind that he had noticed her earlier, possibly been staring. "Was she okay?"

June shrugged, nodding. "No broken bones. Maybe a bit of broken spirit."

"You know what they say," He licked over his lip, "Gotta' get back in the saddle." It was then that a smile broke on his face, which halted her breath at the beauty of it.

She laughed at his dry humor, raising her brows. "They do say that, but I'm going to have to do a bit more training with him. He needs to be better for younger riders."

Harry threw the reins over his horse's head, June caught them in her own grip. She looked back up at him again with a small smile. "I appreciate your help– catching him and all that."

"Pretty good portion of my job," He told her, turning the horse a bit so he could face her better.

June had started to lead the horse back in the direction of where the ring and the barn were before Harry stopped her with his words.

"C'mon, hop on," He told her, shifting in his saddle, "We're almost a mile away. You don't want to have to walk."

June's eyes shifted a bit as she pulled at Fury's lead, walking backwards as she thinks about his request for a moment. It catches her off guard, but she shakes her head.

"I think I can walk," She assures him him with a chuckle. He sways a bit in the saddle as he starts after them, obviously going in the same direction.

"Didn't say you couldn't," He remarks back, June hears his tone and looks back instantly, watching his eyes lay on her. Her stomach dropped at the way his gaze felt; his words playing off the sharpness of his jaw, "Also wasn't looking for an answer, just action."

June eyed him for a moment, almost a stand off from her spot on the ground. She inhaled sharply before she bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't understand the feeling in her chest that had anchored its way down to a bit of heat. The authoritative speaking of his voice made her swallow.

"But what if I wanted to walk?"

June watches the twitch of his face when she denied him– when she didn't do as he asked. When she didn't succumb to his request; which, she was learning was more of a nice way to demand rather than request.

The man slipped off the saddle, moving away from the mare before he was now standing in front of June with her hair pulled from her face. The freckles on her nose were surrounded by a bit of sun-kiss, which the man took as a reward for being so close. His eyes trained in her for a moment before he noticed the hitch in her breath as they were toe to toe.

June subconsciously took a small step back before she felt the touch of his hand on her wrist. Her eyes stayed along the collar of the navy t-shirt that seemed a bit pulled at the collar. While a contrast to the white tank he wore yesterday, this accentuated the bronze of his skin from working out in the summer heat. The warmth of the summer sun has bronzed him, leaving the ink of his arms darker in contrast.

He took a package out of his back pocket, the cigarette between his fingers and dangling from his mouth now as his bright green eyes have a playful lift to them. She watches him teasingly as he lets it dangle from his tongue before placing one on her lip too, waiting for her lip to catch it.

She doesn't tell him that she only smokes when she can't sleep, or when she's stressed out by something her family has said. But she doesn't say anything, just sends him a smirk as they stand toe to toe. His fingers snap the lighter to his, hers next as he takes a draw.

"Anyone looking for you?" His voice was as smooth as leather as he kept his eyes directed to the way her cheeks sunk into breath in the smoke.

"Probably." She responds, drawing her lips between her teeth. She felt the stare down but folded as soon the dimple popped through the right of his cheek. "I have a lesson that should be starting."

He shrugged, "Your horse ran off, nothing you can do."

June went to speak, her head turning towards Fury before Harry looked down the gravel road towards the home– over a mile away like he had mentioned.

Her words got caught in her throat before she can respond, just putting the cigarette up to her lips before she licked her tongue over her bottom lip that had turned into a smile. June bites the inside of her cheek before she looks over Harry who's already moving away from her.

"What're you doing back here?" He asked her, his European accent ringing a bit different, "thought you moved to the city."

Her thoughts ran to the fact that he knew that much about her. She wondered if her dad had mentioned her before, or if he was just paying attention. Either way, her answer to him stayed true.

"I knew I wanted to work my way back here," June told him honestly, "I wanted to work back home. But I need to save some money."

Harry bit his lip as he held the reins of the horse, pulling his over just a bit to start back down the path. It was slow, but it was moving a bit. June knew she was late to her riding session, but she figured it would've been fine anyways– she wasn't going to let her students ride Fury at this point.

"You're young," Harry told her with a chuckle, as if he was trying to explain the world to her, "You've got to explore a bit before moving back home. How do you think I got here?"

June tucked some loose hair behind her ear, "How did you end up here, I mean? It's quite far."

"Five thousand miles, give or take." He tells her, walking alongside her now. They seem to be moving at a slower pace. Either way, Harry knew that he wanted to be next to her.

June took a last draw of her cigarette, throwing it on the gravel. "Way too far for me. I'd miss my family way too much."

Harry flicked the cigarette, the ashes falling a bit before he nodded a few times. "That's because you have a really great family," He looked ahead, chuckling a bit, which June caught before furrowing her brows. "I don't miss my family at all, truthfully. Not much to miss there. So, maybe I just don't get it."

June nodded a few times, understanding the implications and biting her lip at his words. There's silence in the air before she takes in a breath and pressed her lips together then, as if she's trying to find words to help alleviate a pressure that she added in. But, he speaks before she gets a chance to.

"I just think people maybe need to take a few more chances," He says, "Live a little more freely. What's the worst that can happen if you do what you want?"

"Well, most criminals live by that narrative," June tells him, which makes him laugh a little bit at her remarks before she looks at him with the blue eyes that he can't seem to fully grasp could be that color blue.

"Within reason." He adds, and he stops mid step before he watches as she turns to face him at his abrupt stop in the road.

June looks at him, a fluttering feeling in her stomach as his body moves, letting the leather reins go before he stops in front of her again. It's the proximity that sends her thoughts on a tailwind of what could happen next; the adrenaline pushes in her veins as she stares up at him. He's closer now than before, his head has dropped a bit so he can really look at her, but she's acknowledged that, pushing her chin up to make sure she can hear exactly what he's saying.

"Maybe it's the fact that I don't like playing by the rules, though." The smell of the tobacco was filling her nose as they stood so close. His eyes remained deferred from hers, watching the way that the lips and chin were pulling up, almost subconsciously.

"Seems a bit criminal, if you ask me." She teased, tilting her head a bit as she begged him to look at her. 

"I mean," He chuckled, letting his fingers move up to her chin as he took it between them to steady her, "It would be criminal to let you beg any longer. Bit pathetic to watch."

"Not begging." She pushed back, pulling her chin away from his grip, which tightened his jaw. She noticed the way that her defiance made him react, which sped her breathing up.

"Tell your body that, sweets," He bit, "I could say anything, and you'll react to it."

He licked over his lips, watching as she tried her best to stay calm, to keep her breath under control. Her lips were pursed, her stance was trying to stand off a bit, but he could see right through her—he saw that she was trying her best to stand on her own but knew that she would fold right then and there.

It was the game that Harry liked, he liked watching how she would react to him when he spoke to her. She was young, practically ten years younger or so, he could assume—she was so impressionable and the fight for dominance was almost sweet. Harry ached as he watched her try to stand him down and his eyes moved to her lips before they drew up to her eyes, watching the ocean waves of blue.

June pulled away, suddenly. She gave him a smirk before she clicked her tongue to have Fury follow her down the road.

"You think you've got me figured out," She called, looking back over her shoulder. "Not going to work with me, cowboy."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, watching her walk away. His eyes fell to the way that she walked, seeing the swing of her hips as a tactic to use against him. But, he did what he needed to do. He followed close behind, watching her every move—the silence in their walk back not lost on him.

"Something enticing?" June teased, noticing the way that his eyes had danced over her curves from behind. Harry's eyes lifted just a bit, settling in her eyes before he sent a wink her way.

The silence on the walk back to the barns felt good; it felt understood. It's why they both smiled to themselves, neither one seeing the other.

***

"You think I can really pull him?" June looked at Shelby, "He's older– I don't know, Shel."

"You aren't even seeing the way he looks at you," Shelby said to her friend, taking a swig of her beer. He's not taken his eyes off of her, and somehow June knows that deep inside of her, but she can't bring herself to look back at him. She's a bit timid like that; a sharp tongue when confronted, but a tail between her legs when she thinks of it.

The next night, June had gone out with her friend, Shelby, for a drink. It wasn't lost on her that the town was small. Most everyone knew each other, which made the Friday nights out on the town hard to avoid people you didn't want to see.

You really needed to want to be there, or you would be seen by someone you didn't want to see. June hadn't even thought of it when they went out, that she could possibly see him there. After their encounter yesterday morning, June had kept her distance. Not in a way that she felt was stand-offish, but in a way that felt like she was trying her best to let him come to her.

Dating and flirting weren't new to her, but the idea of playing this game scared her a bit. He wasn't new to this; they weren't trying to figure this out together like she had experienced in college. He was older than her, he had experience with this game.

It scared her a bit, because she didn't know how to handle herself in this type of situation. She wanted to come across as confident, but she knew that he had the opportunity to make her fold.

"You need to be drunker," Shelby stated, pushing her half-empty beer to her, watching as June wrapped her hands around the bottle. It was warm to the touch, not fresh in the slightest. "Let's go to the bar to get more."

June looked at her friend after downing the rest before she fully understood what that meant for her.

Shelby had gotten up, which made June follow her. The strawberry blonde realized without another second to spare that she had walked into the lion's den– eyes were on her as she approached the countertop bar.

One pair of eyes, specifically.

At first, she hadn't recognized him. Without the hat and the dirt-ridden t-shirt, she saw the way that the denim jacket hugged his back. The curls had a bit of bounce to them, and her mouth felt dry as she tried her best to divert her attention away.

But they were almost arm and arm and she had wondered if he would notice.

Of course he had. The scent of cherries and lime only made sense when his attention turned back towards a person who had brushed against him now. He had seen her across the room as soon as she came in with her short skirt and boots. He noticed the way that her waist dipped in with the form-fitting top and the slight curl to her hair.

He sat with his beer in his hand, a rowdy few friends were next to him as he kept his attention on her. June felt heat down her neck as she tried to ignore the staring but started to enjoy the feeling of being seen.

"Two whiskey sours," Shelby leaned across the bar to ask for before June looked at her with confusion, knowing that adding a bit of liquor in the mix would either make it better or worse—she didn't know. Her friend smirked at her, watching the bartender start to assemble their drinks.

June kept to herself for a moment before she heard a stealthy voice next to her. The jolt of her head towards him even surprised her as she licked over her lips at the way that he was looking at her.

"You following me, doll?"

June scoffed; her sharp tongue ready. "You don't think I have better things to do?" She quirked her eyebrow at him; feeling the closeness of them as she stood, and he sat on the barstool under the dim light of the grungy pub.

"No," He shook his head, taking a sip from his bottle before he turned to face her now. She was practically between his legs, his knees on either side of her as she stood closer to him than she thought. "I don't think you do."

He looked the same as he had yesterday morning; he was clean shaven on his cheeks, a bit of scruff on his lip and a twinkle in his eye that was undeniable among the green. A denim jacket covering his shoulders and tattooed arms that were on such display this morning. The hair sat longer on top of his head, just enough to add the definitive addition of chocolate curls.

June could barely look at him without her knees buckling at the bar top. But she took the drink from the bartender with confidence, trying to anchor herself.

"Well, you're wrong." June tells him, taking ahold of the cocktail before taking a sip and trying to play hard to get. A game she knew– a game she played far too often.

Harry watched the way she popped her hip, knowing she did it on purpose.

"I'm never wrong," He bit back, still playful. His eyes met June's, and she didn't dare look away. "So, try again."

June cleared her throat, standing against the bar as she let a breath out. What she hadn't anticipated was the way that his bent knee fell behind her own, pulling her closer between his legs at the busy bar.

June went to speak, a small gasp leaving her lips as she placed her hand on his shoulder as she lost a bit of balance. Her hair fell into his face as she felt herself push away. The smirk on his face only made her blush as she pushed off from him.

"Go on," He urged, "Try again."

She raised her eyebrows, noticing her hand still placed on his shoulder. "What if," She cleared her throat, "It's you who is following me?"

Harry took a sip of his beer, lazily, eyes staying on June as he shook his head softly.

" 'Course I am," He bit his lip, "Who wouldn't?"

His honesty came across, making her feel a bit speechless when she looked at him. She downed a good amount of the whiskey drink quickly, knowing that the quicker it went down, the quicker she'd feel it.

"Looks like what I said about criminal activity seems to be true," She let the straw of the drink rest on her tongue as she looked at him, "You're a bit no good."

"Never denied it," He downed a bit more of his drink before he raised his brow at her, "But you keep coming back, don't you?"

Her tongue rested on the straw, playing with it a little bit as she felt the flirtatious spirit running through her. The cat and the mouse were at their height, now.

"Just gathering all the facts on why I should stay away," She told him, pushing her hair back off of her shoulder. The small top only leaving little to the imagination; Harry tried to hold it together as he swallowed dryly.

"How's that working out for you?" He asked, his hand making its way to her hip as he pulled her a bit closer. June took a step, finding her balance as she stared at him for a moment. He knew the look on her face as he had seen that look a few times before.

A part of him felt the words deeper, which initiated him to reach for his wallet.

"Mind if you let me drive you home?" His voice was thick with a dry, hoarseness that only solidified her position backing into his lap.

June practically melted at his touch, his hand on her hip as she nodded a few times before turning towards him then.

"Don't think that should be a problem." She muttered over the music playing across the bar.

June's eyes found Shelby who was standing at the bar, just a few people over before she winked at them. She moved away, just so that Harry could stand on his feet as she watched the man throw a fifty down on the counter to cover the drinks.

"Drinking fifty dollars' worth and then driving me home?" Her attention turned towards the man as he gave her a lazy smile. "Feels a bit dangerous to get in the car with a drunk stranger."

"Feel like it's my job to pay for you too if I'm getting you to leave your friend to come spend time with me, hm?" Harry walked backwards a bit, reaching for her hand before they reached the door to the bar. "You looked like you were having a good time. But I got something to show you."

Her hand fit into his, her breathing escalating just a bit at the way that he maneuvered her grip, making his stronger instantly as he led them back to the Ford pickup he sport around town.

"I was having a good time," She tells him with a bit of a flirty essence, one that held a bit of attitude as far as he was concerned, "And now you're taking me from it. Wherever you're taking me must be pretty good."

Harry bit on his lip as he sniffles, scrunching his nose at her comment. Her comment only pressing his buttons.

"I'd apologize but I don't know if I'm sorry." He commented, cocking his head.

"You'll only have to apologize if I'm left disappointed–"

When they reached the blue pick-up, his hands instantly grabbed at her hips. They pushed her body into the iron to hold her captive against the side of the truck. It wasn't hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to ground her. She hoped there'd be a small amount of pain as a reminder of the moment.

"You're not gonna question me, are you?" He asked her with the softest voice; the threat in his tone only heightened her senses as she flinched at the way he spoke.

The inside of her thighs fluttered at his growl of a voice. "N-No," June answered, "No, no, never."

His lips brushed against the side of her ear, pulling his body away from her just for a moment before he nodded and found the moment to understand her.

"Good girl," He praised, moving his hands upwards to her waist. The slim part of her torso melted into a perfect hourglass figure. Her hips were wide and held his sight, but his hands loved the feeling of the curve.

June's breath halted at the way that he held her– at first with a physical grip so tight, and then an invisible string of persistence.

The small pub rested just on the outskirts, in the mountains, but just far enough from the ranch. The radio played lightly; the windows were rolled down as the horizon line were just baring a bit of light.

Harry had driven the truck up to one of the horse barns that sat just close to June's guest house, where she had been staying. It was a bit further on the property, but she drove past it almost every day.

"What are we doing here?" She questioned him before he opened the door. He went to the other side to help her out, taking her hand as she jumped down. He had taken her waist in his hands to help her, the touch of him on her was enough to make her breathing hitch.

"Have something to show you, I told you." He said, taking her hand in his as he led her back up to the darkened barn. When they arrived at the open door, he flickered on a switch that gave the large space a bit of light.

When they both walked into the small barn, the only lights were overhead, the sound of the crickets chirping filled the silence. June followed Harry's lead before she noticed that they stopped at the stall at the end of the row, down closer to the tack room.

"Here we are," Harry nodded, leaning his arms on the side of the stall gate. When June turned towards the mother horse and baby that were laying on the ground before them. She felt her heart melt at the sight of the small, brown foal that had two white spots on the top of its forehead.

"Oh my god," She gasped, watching as Harry smiled at her surprise. "Aren't they the sweetest thing?"

"He was born this morning," Harry leaned against the gate, watching the two horses on the ground before he turned back to June. The mare simply in awe of the small baby, seemingly tired as she laid next to him. "Needs a name."

"The ranch has a history of naming them after the stars, you know," June tells him, walking over to the little foal. His legs tucked under him, two bright white spots perfectly in the middle of his forehead.

June leans down a bit, hesitant not to scare him. Her hand reaches out to pet the small foal before she runs over hand over the white spots.

"Well, mum is Forager of Stardust," He tells her, keeping against the gate with his arms crossed, "So, we'll keep it in the family."

June starts to giggle as she turns back to Harry, eyes wide, "Ziggy Stardust– hands down, has to be."

"Ziggy Stardust? Alright, then. Sounds like a perfect name to me." Harry questions with a laugh; his smile becoming a bit more than the typical lazy one he likes to sport. June noticed that the crinkles by his eyes were a bit more defined, her nods insinuating her answer.

June turned back to the little foal before watching as his dark brown eyes blinked a few times with the lashes so long and fluttered. Her heart was built from the small creatures around the farm, the life that had been put into this lifestyle.

It reminded her of the sweetness; the parts of her life that continued to only get better the older she got and the more she enjoyed the peacefulness of simplicity.

This was it– this was the simplicity she craved. The rebirth, the gentle touches that reminded her of what life really was all about. She loved watching the ranch run on its own, watching as it grew everyday with small details.

Harry had moved towards a bale of hay that sat in the corner, taking a seat on it as he leaned against the stable wall. He watched June nuzzling the foal before she turned her head towards him again. He gave her a tilted smirk, dimple pressing into his cheek as he watched the nurturing love that nestled out of her.

"Did you grow up on a farm?" She asked, looking back at him before standing up from her spot. She managed to make her way through the tall stable hay before taking a seat on the bale with him. The small spot was snug, but neither of them seemed to mind.

"I did," He nodded a few times, "But it was a lot different. Sheep and goat, mostly. England is also a bit flatter, so it was a lot easier to ride than it is here. But I just figured that this would be a bit of an adventure."

"Think you made a good choice?" June asked, crossing her arms as her legs settled straight out just like his.

Harry raised his brows before he felt that he couldn't stop himself from smiling all the sudden. He wanted to believe that the few beers had something to do with it, hours ago now, but he knew that it wasn't. His eyes were downcast as he started to nod a few times.

"The views here are incredible." He answered, looking up at her, "But the scenery around here is good, too."

June nodded a few times, sniffling.

Harry decided to return the question, looking back at her. "Do you think you made the right choice coming back home? Assuming you liked the city, I guess."

June shrugged her shoulders, knowing that being home was always difficult in some capacity. She loved her family, loved the ease of being able to go places and knowing exactly what to expect. Home seemed to be a place that was easily accessible to her, all the time. Her family would always bring her back—she always knew that she could lean on them without an issue or judgement of feeling pressured to leave.

"I think I made the right choice to come home and to do what feels easy right now," She nodded a few times, "I think coming home from college is scary because you're like," She shrugged, "You feel like you don't have a direction anymore. You're in school practically your whole life—it's all you know. And then to think that you could go somewhere else and live a new life after that. It's just a lot. They're letting me stay in the guesthouse until I can get my bearings."

Harry understood, to some degree. But he was the opposite—if it wasn't new, it wasn't exciting. He wanted to see new things and to not see the same view twice. It meant that you weren't settled, even though the idea of settling wasn't bad. It was just different.

"It's probably good to know that you have a space in the world somewhere," He agreed, settling a bit, "I understand that. I didn't go to college, but I get that you want to feel like you're... you. And you're not having to reintroduce yourself to a new place or new people."

"My family knows exactly who I am," She smiled, "And that's what I want right now."

That was the truth—June wanted to just stay here until she was able to get her own place, maybe down the road. She could have the best of both worlds—one day she'd be able to live on her own, but still be able to stay connected to the place that felt so close to her heart. Teaching riding lessons was her only income, but it helped pay her loans and aided in her weekend ventures with her friends, specifically Shelby.

There wasn't much more she could have wanted now. Happiness seemed to manifest itself in the little things.

But, of course, after the small incident with Fury yesterday morning, she didn't know that she would have been able to trust him. It felt that there was more she could do about it, but she knew that his outbursts had been due to her lack of maintaining his trust and boundaries. He was also just an asshole half the time, and it wasn't something that she could put up with if he continued.

June sighed a bit, thinking of it when she noticed that Harry had taken interest in her sudden displeasure.

"What's wrong?" He asked. She blinked a few times, watching as he seemed to understand that her sigh was of annoyance.

"Well, I'm not going to be able to give anymore lessons until I can get Fury figured out," She shook her head, watching the man as he listened to her quandary. "I have to get him straightened out or I'll have to get another horse ready just to train on, and work with Fury until then."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he let his eyes move to the side, seeing if he would get the reaction he was looking for.

"Bet you're a real good rider, huh?" He teased, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Probably give good lessons, too."

June pulled her lips into her mouth to keep from the smirk that was approaching, but she rolled her eyes instead. "What a line."

"I'm just asking!" He lifted his hands in defense as he chuckled out a bit, "Was maybe looking into some lessons to help you out."

Their outstretched legs bumped into one another as she pulled at bent knee up to hug into her chest. "I charge a hefty fee."

Harry shrugged, running his hand through his hair. The unruly curls were a bit out of control as he sniffled gently at the way that the hay tickled his nose. "I'll pay up-front."

June shifted her jaw as she licked over her lips. It was a bit dangerous, this game that they were playing. But she had an idea in her brain that she was going to take his advice.

What was the worst that could happen?

She sat up, back straight. Her eyes were downcast as she looked over at him, then. He didn't know how to respond to her stare before he felt the way that she pushed her knee over his lap. Her hands steadily placing on his shoulder as he looked up at her with a smirk that said all of the words that she desperately needed to hear.

"Alright, then," She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, "Let me give you a lesson or two, cowboy." Her hips sank into his pelvis, pushing gently with the added pressure as she took a seat like he had inquired for.

Harry sat up a bit straighter, watching as she straightened up, too. Her skirt flowed over her thighs as he let his hands place on the outside of her hip for helping her balance. A smirk coated her blushing cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous habit.

"I'm already learning so much," He teased her, waiting for her to make another move. She thought she may have a grasp on how to approach him but became nervous as she started to take charge. It was evident to him as she settled into his lap, but he loved the initiative.

They faced one another and she bit her lip at the way that he talked to her. He paid attention to her, let his hands get to know her before he pressed further.

"Dare you to kiss me, though." He said to her, watching as she gave him a look of confusion. She chuckled at him, as she shook her head, but he just smirked, "No one can pass up a dare."

She did exactly as he had dared, pressing down so their lips met. It was like finding water in the desert as she immediately pushed forward, needing more as soon as she got a taste. Her hips rolled at the feeling of his hand making its way to the back of her neck, almost like he was guiding her closer. He was showing her what she needed without words.

The kiss allowed him to press his tongue into her mouth which elicit a whimper from her, his cock straining underneath the jeans that she had been pressing on. He followed, letting his own whimper strain out at the thought of her pressed against him. The skirt not allowing anything between them except the panties he imagined she'd have on.

Deepening the kiss, he pulled her hips forward just enough that he was allowing her hips to ride into him. The coolness of his belt made her shiver, her thighs immediately reacting to the touch.

"You wanna let me take the reins?" He offered, his voice deep and raw as he felt the closeness of them. Her back arched into him, his words giving her a break as she nodded fervently.

"Please?" She asked, practically pleading.

It didn't take any longer before he threw his arm around her, picking her up into his lap as he found the grounding of his feet. Swiftly, he held her up on his waist as she wrapped her legs around his middle, holding on as they pressed their way through the barn.

The small tack closet next to the stable was the closest they got before he threw open the door and led them in.

Harry threw her on the table, letting her sit as he continued to let his lips fall over her again and again. With her help, his hands pulled the denim off of his arms and back, pieces of clothing seem to fall off easily.

He gently allowed his hand to move to the inside of her thigh, pressing down a bit to gauge her reaction.

Her skin was hot, his eyes were down as he guided his hand to the place that she needed him most.

"Please, please," She continued to plead, his ears ringing from the way that she needed. It was so innocent and cute, almost like she hadn't any idea how badly he could wreck her.

"Turn around." He demanded, pulling away just enough to give her room to move. When she didn't, all he saw was a deer in headlights, watching him for a moment like she didn't know what he was asking of her. She swallowed, licking over her lips as she got to her feet.

Her slow movement initiated him to grab her by the hips to turn her around quickly. His hand pressed on her back, pushing her to her elbows on the deck of the tack room.

"When was the last time you were fucked?"

Her throat was tight just at the words that left his mouth; her breathing racing as she anticipated the quickness of this. She had been waiting for it; hoping he'd understand she had been quietly asking for this.

"Been a while," She answered breathlessly, her legs pushed apart as he stood behind her. The flow of the skirt barely covered over her ass before he pushed it up to reveal it all. "N-Not that long."

His eyes grew three sizes larger as he took in the detail of the black lace that lay over her milky skin.

Harry pulled himself down, letting his knees sink to the ground. His eyes were level with the lace as he quickly let his fingers rest on the waistband, pulling them off of her and down her thighs.

She gasped at the feeling, his eyes never leaving.

"Goddamn," He commented, his thumb pressing softly into her. She jerked forward at the initial contact, eyes shutting as she leaned into his touch. "Knew it," He chuckled, "Knew you'd get yourself wet for me."

His thumb moved out slowly, her reaction exactly what he wanted. She pulled back with him, wanting to be filled– he knew exactly where he needed to get her.

"Needy," He berate, his words having a bit of edge. Her eyes flickered open as she gasped at the feeling of his hand slapping the harness of her skin. His thumb removed as he spanked her again, lurching her forward. "So fucking greedy."

Her knees trembled at the feeling, left untouched as he stood behind her. The sound of his belt made her eyes shut as he undid the button on his jeans and smirked at the way she settled underneath him.

"Don't mind that we don't have a condom, right?" He asked, his hand moving to the reddened spot on her skin that she ached took feel again. He smirked, knowing the words he would say would only make her a bit restless. "Can wait if you really need me to."

Her head turned around, her lips a bit raw from where she had been nibbling on it.

"No," She shook her head, "No– no. I'm safe, we're okay." She pleaded, and his smirked lifted at her neediness.

His hands pulled on her hips to arch just a bit for him. June quickly felt the teasing way his tip pressed against her soaked cunt, her hands turned white knuckled as she gripped tightly onto the wood. It was just the feeling alone– she hadn't even seen him, but her anticipation was high.

"Just letting you know," He pressed the tip right into the softness between her, giving her a sensation of euphoria just from how turned on she had been. She let out a moan, her eyes shutting. "We play by my rules. When I say down, you go down. When I say suck, you suck. No backtalking. I'm giving you the best fuck of your life, so you listen to me to get what I know you want. Got it?"

He hadn't even given her a reason to moan, her words caught in her throat as she nodded with. A subtle whimper— the strawberry blonde hair flinging over her shoulder as he moved it away. His lips found their home on the back of her neck, sucking gently at the skin.

"You're going to be such a good girl, though, aren't you? You would never disobey me, huh?" He cooed; his lips continued to ravish at her hair line as she threw her head back in an ache to feel the pleasure he was offering.

June's hips moved back gently, but his hands gripped at her before she could push herself onto him. The slight action gave him a sense of power; his hand smacking onto the curve of her.

The cracking sound familiar to one of a whip— she gasped at the feeling, her eyes closing shut just at the pain that radiated in such a burning sensation.

"Fuck," She whispered, knowing that she was simply dripping at the need. She had never been in a position of such need— she had never needed someone to give her what she needed in such a way that it brought tears to her eyes just to think about it. "I-I'm sorry— I—"

"I'm not." He stated, his breath hot on her neck. A coolness laying underneath—the metal of the cross hitting at her shoulder when he grabbed her hips towards him. When he pushed in, it took a fluid motion before they both moaned out in pleasure. It was a shock of intensity that Harry had truly never felt before.

Sure, he'd been in this position before— but like this? He had been with beautiful women, seen beautiful things. But the enticing scent of wildflowers and sweet vanilla only flourished as his nose brushed the softness of her shoulder.

Harry tried to keep his composure— trying to follow the red behind his eyes, but suddenly feeling the urge to cum at any moment which made him a bit nervous at the quick build-up. It was exceptionally better than he had expected; he had been more turned-on than he had thought.

His forehead rested on her shoulder blade; the small strap of her tank-top the only small detail that was between his forehead and her skin. Harry bit his lip slightly as he wondered when he would be ready to pull out to continue fucking her into an oblivion that would send her to the stars.

But he felt incredibly, incredibly close to the edge just at the initial feeling of her. He grunted in a bit of frustration as he shook his head to try to clear all the thoughts that had gathered there. The curls of his hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. His hands kneaded into the fleshy skin that curved over the small skirt that still rested on her thighs. He had just pushed it up enough to give himself access to what he really needed.

Focus, he thought to himself.

"You are so goddamn tight," He watched as her back arched a bit at his words. Her chin turned to the side, just enough where he could now see her side profile. Her eyes were shut, mouth parted in a small, dainty way. "No one's fucked you in a while, have they, darling? You lie to me?"

Harry pulled himself out just a bit, watching where they connected as he felt himself slip back in. The tightness surrounding him made his eyes clamp shut. She felt incredible to him on every level that he couldn't think of anything else that moment.

It was dizzying.

"N-No, not like you— not like this," June muttered. The way that her hands gripped over the table in the tack room was almost pain to her fingertips. "You're so deep, fuck."

The sound of her voice elicits a response of his hips bucking into her, the rasp and grunt of June's voice painted a beautiful picture in his memory.

"You like me deep like that?"  Harry licked over his lips, eyes moving down her body as he moved his leg to her thigh. "Pull this up on the table— go on," He urged, "it'll be good for you."

June felt the pat on her thigh, Harry's hands slid the remaining clothes down her legs to leave her completely free on the bottom. He pulled out for a moment to help her lift her leg, balancing herself as she felt suddenly empty without him filling her up.

Watching as she lifted her leg on the table, pushing herself up, Harry dropped to his knees as he took in what he saw. A certain hunger elicits his eyes as he grabbed onto the back of her thighs, spreading them apart. In an instant, she felt the spit on her already dripping cunt as his mouth attached to her almost like it was made for his lips to wrap around.

Her head drew back at the feeling of his mouth on her, the knot in her stomach was undoubtedly loosening as she felt the nudge of his tongue against her clit; the feeling of his nose gracing her. In the last twenty-four years, she had never been blessed with a partner that would have given her the opportunity to feel this way. She had never been with an older man before, either.

Maybe her innocence had been brushed away by the complete raging needs of his wandering hands.

Either way, she didn't know if she could get any better than this. The softness of his tongue with a stiff edge and control, the scruff of his upper lip taunting her as he spread her thighs further apart while his mouth took her from behind.

"Could ruin you in so many ways." Harry hummed, his tongue dripping from her arousal that coated it. "You want me to ruin you, doll?"

Her hair fell into her face as she nodded fervently, her hand pushing the locks away as she tried to catch a glimpse of him but leaned forward instead.

"Yes— I want you to ruin me, please." Her voice was a shy, timid tone but it held all of the power of her needs. He knew exactly what she needed, and he would gladly give her every bit of it.

Harry immediately felt the words go straight to his cock; the feeling of arousal only tempting him further and further. What was it about this girl that gave him such an issue? He hadn't always been so easy to please, but something about the way that she moved her hips, her small movements only made him want to be rougher.

A girl that didn't know what she wanted was always the best— it was the moment when she found exactly what she was looking for, but never knew how to express it that made him cum the hardest. Harry wanted to push every ounce of her until she was begging for it.

June lurched forward just a bit as he stood back up from his position, moving to enter her once again. The slickness of his spit mixed with her arousal created the perfect lubrication that guided his swiftly back into her.

Deeper this time— much deeper. He held onto her thighs, pushing his hips into her at a steadier rate as the soft hums of her whimpers started to go deeper and become significantly more adulterated versions of moans. He felt the way he slipped in and out of her like she had been made to pleasure him.

"Keep quiet," He urged, "You're going to get us into trouble if someone hears us."

"I want them to hear how good you're fucking me," She urged, a whimper coming out as he slowed his motions to tease her further. "Fucking me so good."

He leaned in a bit close to her ear, pulling back her neck as her body contorted to meet his needs. She was in his grasp, only moving in the way that he needed her to. His hand pulled at her throat; the coolness of his undone belt buckle was against her thigh as he pushed in completely to get as close to her as possible.

The moan that escaped her lips was cut short by the hand that cupped over her mouth, which only pushed her further.

"You're going to be quiet or I'm going to pull out, do you understand me?" His voice was deep, low, and cold as she shut her eyes to the sound of it. She felt the push of two of his fingers into her mouth, a surprise at first. "Brats get punished and I'm going to leave your little cunt wanting more if you don't listen."

June hadn't felt this way in years— there had never been a man to satisfy the needs that had been built up in this way. It really hadn't been that long since she hooked up with someone, but she had never felt this way in her entire life. She had never felt this full— this satisfied. It was extraordinarily rough— it was to the point where she hadn't ever known a pleasure like this before.

She couldn't have imagined this.

"You understand?"  He says finally; she hadn't recognized that he had truly been waiting for a response before continuing. She had concluded that his pleasure was aided with being in charge. June couldn't understand the way that she became extremely, unbelievably pleasant for him. A few more thrusts pushed her to the brink of extraordinary delight before she dipped her head at the throbbing feeling between her legs.

"I understand— I do, I do, fuck– fuck." She whimpered out, unaware of the way that his thrusts had pushed on her enough that her muscles involuntarily ached as her orgasm became all the sudden wet— a solid gasp releasing her lips as she felt him pull out just at the feeling.

Harry's eyes darkened to a color of coal before he watched her inevitably drip down her own legs, the sight only causing his own mind to fall to a place of filth and absolute insanity. The gushing liquid was only a sight that he never thought he'd see like that– especially from her.

The innocent act was truly just an act.

"Jesus Christ," He commented under his breath, a bit taken by the sight. He choked back for a moment before he looks at the way he left her cunt dripping with need over the dark brown boots that had pushed her legs open. "So, fucking messy, aren't you?"

He watched the way that June's breathing heaved for a moment before he let his hand run down her spine— almost like she had been a bit surprised, like she hadn't expected her body to do anything like that.

Harry paused for a moment, watching to make sure that she was okay. Even in the rough moments, he watched to see if she seemed alright— his head tilting a bit as he hadn't heard anything else from her. A small coax from his hand on the small of back made him pause for a moment.

"Hey," He spoke quietly, "You're okay, doll, hm?"

June felt extremely exhausted already, almost like her body had started to fail her with how her legs trembled in this position. Her head turned back to look at him, a small nod coming from her without any words as she tried to find herself back in the moment.

It was an odd feeling in his chest as he started to feel an ache that went from extremely vile— filthy as he fucked this girl against the tack closet desk, to a sense of vulnerability that he made have started to push her a bit further than she was ready for. She didn't know it until her body was giving her pleasure that she hadn't felt before.

In an attempt to aid in some relief, especially to the legs that shook a bit more than a small foal, he pulled June back to a standing position. Her confusion on her face was obvious before Harry grabbed her by the waist to place her on the end of the desk instead. The skirt that had been pulled around her thighs had been pulled down completely.

"Get you off your legs so I can finish you off without you falling out on me," He told her with a sly smile, "Anyone ever made you feel this good?"

He watched the girl— completely wrecked with a face of pure softness. Her eyes were dazed, her attention stayed on him as he she shook her head. He felt better that she was conscious, even if he had taken practically everything from her.

"I can tell," He tells her softly before he tucks the hair out of her face, "Sorry you've been so deprived," Harry comments, "Would've done it for you sooner, if I would have known. Good thing I know now, hm? Won't let this happen again, angel, promise.

The feeling of their lips presses together as June grabs at her thigh so that Harry can move into the position between her legs once again. His tongue tastes like tobacco, a hint of the gum that he had been chewing.

Harry pressed the tip of his cock back into her to finish what he had started. His muscles ached in his abdomen as he felt himself tense at the feeling through a few more thrusts as he faced her now.

"Feels so, so good," June's words had whimpered out of her, a bit surprising at how quiet she had been and started to become even more so. "I-I'm— it's— fuck. Please, please more."

Harry's hands had made their way to her hips, making sure she had been pulled completely to the front of the desk so that he could feel her deeper. His vision moved down to the place where they connected; a hint of heat on the back of his neck as he thought of the moment more intrinsically.

"C'mon," He coaxed, their noses brush as he lets his forehead rest against hers. His breathing hitched for a moment as he felt her hand move to grab at his bicep. "C'mon, give me one more. You can do it."

His hips snapped further into her; June breathed into his mouth with a hot gasp as she screwed her eyes shut at the feeling of his cock nudging at a place that elicit such a firework of intensity that she hadn't ever felt before. It didn't matter how many college nights, bar hookups, serious relationships— none of those had the control that Harry had over her.

This was a feeling that he had crafted to ensure that the other person felt extraordinarily vulnerable and taken. She recognized that she wasn't the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last. 

She was okay to just be his right now.

"Mm," She bit on her lip at the thought of what had caused her to be sent over the edge prior. She wanted to know what to ask for; she didn't know what she needed, but she was certainly going to try. "W-Want you to...to c-call me a slut," she said with a small voice, just heard between them. Her eyes had turned away from him with a sheepish-shy feeling. "Need it."

Harry paused for a moment before he let his hand move to underneath her chin, propping her up to look into his eyes. He needed her to say it to him— needed to see her embarrassed and shy, wanting him to treat her like a one-night rather than a forever.

"I only call it like it is," He tells her with a grin carved like a devil, "I just have to call you a slut so you drench my cock? Is that it?" He knew he had to push her further, get her to a place in her head where she felt sexy, where she felt loose to the point of unraveling. "Letting me fuck you in a little closet on your daddy's ranch— such a pretty little brat." 

"Fuck me," She whined, knowing that her words would travel if she were any louder. "I-I'm gonna–"

"Do it." He coaxed.

Just at the sound of his words, he could feel the way that she unwound herself— simply, he didn't recognize that his words really did have the effect. His lips part as he watched her body fully shake with a convulsion the wetness coated his front with a small spray of her. Drenching his clothes and their boots as they sat with gasping breaths, he stared at the way that her pussy reacted to him, wondering how his words affected her so easily.

She was wrecked.

"That's such a good fucking girl," Harry told her softly, pressing himself back in, nodding fervently as he reassured her. Her cry was let out of the feeling of sensitivity that came after her explosive orgasm.

His hand placed on the back of her neck, pulling her forward a bit as he snapped his hips harder into her so that he could reach a place of pure euphoria. He couldn't begin to replay the actions of her pretended innocence, wondering if he would ever get to see anything like it agan. "Not going to last—fuck."

In an instant, his muscles tensed with an aching feeling that pushed his hips deeper into hers. Harry's lips placed themselves on her neck, kissing at the spots with a gentle softness—he knew what he had been in for in this intense, heated hook-up, but his cock had found a ferocious love for finishing inside of her all of the sudden.

It was all encompassing.

"Shit– shit." He hadn't even thought of the repercussions of not having the condom but needing to be careless for a few moments of time. He fell into her grip, holding onto her softly as he felt their breathing becoming less heavy.

June's legs were wrapped around his hips like an anchor, her head sat heavy on his shoulder as he mustered up the courage to pull away. He didn't really want to pull out completely, knowing it felt too good to let his cock feel the tight confines of her walls.

He slowly pulled his hips back, letting the mess fall out with him.

"Oh, fuck." He muttered under his breath, watching the display of a horribly sexual sight. One that someone would pay money to see. "I've never felt anything like that."

The way that she breathed against the wall, up on the table. Her eyes were shut as she held herself up and wondered if her choices had been worth it. She blinked a few times, almost like her body was now shutting down after the intensity of their passionate love affair.

Harry waited for her to respond to him, to look at him. He watched as her chest raised and lowered, knowing she was still breathing, but seemed to be missing from behind her eyes.

"Hey," He pulled her back from against the wall, whispering to her sweetly as he felt himself breathing a bit fast, too. "C'mon, doll, we should go clean up. I think we can sneak out the back."

Her movements felt heavy as Harry tried his best to bring her back to her feet. When he felt that she was steady enough, he let go of her to place his jeans and belt back into place, watching her shakily redress herself. The quietness of the small tack closet didn't hinder them, as Harry placed a kiss along her cheek before he let his hands fall on the doorknob.

"I'll go first and then you can follow me," He tells her, watching her nod in agreement. "Front door or back door?" He asks, in reference to the small guest house that June had been staying in. Her breathing had finally fallen into place. The desperation of need still on her eyes, which only excited him to get her back alone.

"Back." She tells him, quietly. Using her words wasn't so bad, but her legs became a bit unsteady, so she held onto the table behind her.

Before he opens the door, Harry gives her a quick once over. His eyes land on her lips before he steps forward to leave a kiss along her pout, letting her sink into him once again. The taste of her instantly feeds him as he groans into the feeling.

It was about time he found the feeling everyone told him he should be looking for. It was a myth for so long, but just in the way that he lips melted into his was enough to make to him blush. Her hands in his hair at the back of his neck, the feeling of her nails along his jaw settled his need for the moment before he pulled back and gave her another peck.

"Don't be too long," He told her, "Don't want to have to wrangle you back to me." 

She smirked at his challenge as he opened the door to slip out. Her eyes shut at the way moved, closing the door behind him. A settled feeling in her chest only made her stumble back just a bit, letting herself rest on the table before she took in a solid breath.

Home had seemingly never felt so right.

[1982grapejuiceblues]

Stranger Lanes - Masterlist

~series~ - ongoing

Summary: Y/N’s summer starts with a betrayal and a very long car ride. Her boyfriend leaves her for Claire. Claire, who also happened to be dating Harry. Now Claire and Ben are together, and Y/N and Harry? They’re the ones left behind—with a cross-country drive to a friends trip they no longer want to be part of. They don’t know each other. They don’t like each other. And they definitely weren’t supposed to share a car, a room, or anything remotely close to trust. But between gas stations, terrible playlists, and late-summer silences… something shifts. Because the worst part of the trip isn’t being stuck with Harry. It’s realizing she doesn’t want it to end.

Tropes: Strangers to reluctant allies to lovers | Forced proximity (one car, two exes, zero escape) | One bed (motel edition™) | Road trip romance | Exes of exes |Slow burn with tension so thick it could shatter | Quiet pining & internal monologues of doom™ | “We don’t talk about it” energy | Grumpy x guarded | Emotional repression Olympics | Falling in love in silence first

Warnings: Off-page infidelity / cheating (by secondary characters) | Breakups / heartbreak (past relationships and emotional fallout) | Emotional repression / avoidance | Loneliness and grief surrounding failed relationships | Light alcohol use (coping, social, and isolation contexts) | Mild language and sarcasm-as-defense-mechanism | Complicated friend group dynamics | Moments of emotional vulnerability, crying, and self-doubt | Subtle themes of trust rebuilding, emotional intimacy, and fear of abandonment

Word Count (so far): 36.4K

Change Of Plans

Passenger Seat Purgatory

New Roads, Old Rules

The Scenic Route

The Space Between

Just for you (coming soon)

[harrywavycurly]

Worth the Fight: A Harry Styles Series

Summary: A one night stand turns into more than you bargain for when you find yourself pregnant after drunkenly hooking up with Harry Styles after a few too many rounds at a karaoke bar. You don't really know him and he doesn't know a lot about you minus the fact your cat really just doesn't like him, but the one thing you quickly learn is boy can you two argue. This series is all about how you and Harry navigate going from strangers to soon to be parents all while trying not to kill each other in the process and maybe see what these weird feelings that develop along the way are all about.✨

Pairing: Harry Styles x pregnant!reader

Trope: Enemies to lovers (with a twist because it's like lovers to enemies back to lovers?), slow burn baby so buckle up.

CW: Mentions of a lot pregnancy/baby things, language, Harry's a bit of a dick, possessive behavior, jealous behavior, angst.

Tag List: Open just let me know if you'd like on it.

Story Type: This series is a mixture of texts and one shots, I think it'll be fun to see a a good mix!

Extras: Here

Update Schedule: Once A Week✨

Part 1: Late for What?

Part 2: City of Love

Part 3: Reviews

Part 4: A Little Treat

Part 5: Mr. Popular

Part 6: Places of Peace

Part 7: Swoon Worthy

Part 8: Good Hands

Part 9: Civil extra: Harry’s convo with Niall here

Part 10: Smells Good

Part 11: Bad Energy

Part 12: It’s Just Cake

Part 13: Comes in Waves

Part 14: I’m Just a Librarian

Part 15: Don’t Ruin It

Part 16: Hand Flex

[ghstyles]

His Angel | H.S

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

Last updated: April 10th

Summary: Your life is pretty normal—classes, exams, coffee runs, and late-night cramming sessions. Everything is exactly what you’d expect for a college student. Well…except for your boyfriend. The one who settles business disputes with bullets. While most girls are dating frat guys or baristas, you somehow end up with Harry—the cold, ruthless boss of a powerful criminal empire. He’s dangerous, intimidating, and not the kind of man you bring home to meet your parents… but with you? He’s frustratingly soft.

Between dodging rivals, dealing with his overprotectiveness, and trying to convince him that no, intimidation is not a valid negotiation tactic for group projects, your life is anything but ordinary. Love might be blind, but it’s also definitely armed and dangerous.

A/N: Ahh! I’m so excited for this one. I’ve written a lot and personally can’t wait for you to read. It’s not like a part 1 part 2 series. More like one shots and blurbs of different scenarios these two find themselves in. I just love them already and hope you do too

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

Taglist: open

Note: For this series, you don’t have to read all the parts in order. It’s up to you. They don’t pick off where the other ended. Just glimpses into their lives. I won’t post them in chronological order but I will list them in that order

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

Red = Smut | Orange = smut if you squint | Blue = Angst

•— Elysium

How Harry Styles met his angel

•— Inevitable

Harry is struggling to differentiate between a partnership and an ownership

•— Apartment 2C

Dinner at your place

•— Ethics

Interviewing Harry for your business ethics class.

•— Customer Service

As a dare, Harry works a normal job for a day

[harrysbabycherry]

VALENTINE

summary: harry doesn’t realize he’s on a date but y/n thought she’d been so obvious about it.

6.7k words

warnings: none really! harry is shy and sweet and really nervous. mentions of anxiety and self-deprecating comments (he’s so me), in harry’s pov

a/n: very creative title, i know. did not plan on writing something for valentine’s day but here’s this. it was supposed to be done on the day but you know how that is :) a request/idea from this ask! thank you anon! i hope you enjoy!!! hugging you all xoxoxo

It took Harry two years. 

He wouldn’t say he was shy, he was just more selective with what and who he put his time into. And that made him a bit of a loner, but he preferred it that way a lot of the time.  

At least until (Y/N) moved in. 

The apartment right beside his had been vacant for almost three months. The previous tenant was an older man who eventually had to be put into a rest home as he wasn’t able to take proper care of himself anymore. Harry was quite close with him and would bring him dinner some nights and always leave his ringer on just in case he needed something. 

The last person Harry was expecting to move in was her. 

He didn’t even know anyone was bringing boxes in. His headphones were over his ears as he lost himself in the book he picked up a few days beforehand. He was curled up on his couch, oblivious to what was happening just next door. 

It wasn’t until there was a very obvious thud behind the wall to his right. He almost let it go, but since that apartment had been empty for months now, he was confused as to why there’d be any noise over there. 

He pulled his headphones off and left his book propped open on the pillow he’d been laying on. He stepped into the hallway in socks, peering around his door frame to see that Fred’s door was open wide and a spread of boxes laid out front where his doormat used to be. 

“Oh, my god. Did you hear that? I was trying to be quiet but that box slipped right out of my hands. I promise I’m not always this loud.” 

His new neighbor stepped in front of him, a regretful smile on her face. Like she really did mean it when she said it was an accident. 

Harry was just about to tell her it was okay so she didn’t think she had to ramble on about apologies when it really didn’t disturb him in the first place. He was just checking on things. But then he met her eyes and that was it for him. 

Any coherent thought he had before had left his mind totally blank. He was at such a loss for how beautiful she was, he had forgotten how to speak. But he couldn’t help it. He’d never been so struck by someone before. 

“It’s, um, it’s yeah.” He shrugged, awkwardly shuffling his socked feet on the hardwood outside his door. He could feel his face heating the longer she looked at him with a much calmer smile. 

“I’m (Y/N),” She stuck out her hand and didn’t even hesitate for a second. She didn’t seem to be bothered by his late reaction but when his hand finally grasped hers, he could’ve melted right there. Her hands were soft and she smelled like cotton candy and her name. Her name was perfect. He’d probably never be able to hear anyone else’s name again. It would only pale in comparison. “And you are…?” She trailed off, but didn’t make him feel weird for not speaking quite yet. She was nice about it and he was grateful. 

“Harry. I’m Harry.” He repeated his name for a reason unknown to him and he’d probably curse himself later, but she nodded as they let their hands drop. 

“Well, I guess that makes us neighbors.” She looked excited by the prospect of that but he knew he’d only disappointed her with how closed off he was. It always happens. Harry wasn’t someone who had friends. It was easier to be on his own. No one to explain himself to when he decided to cancel plans or didn’t respond to a text in a timely manner. He didn’t want to have to worry about friends when telling the barista at his favorite coffee shop down the street that he liked her shirt had sent him into a full panic when she didn’t quite take his compliment the way he intended her to. In his defense, it was a cool shirt. One he’d wear but he could only manage to stutter his way through it so she probably didn’t understand a word he said anyway. 

So, it was easier when Harry didn’t have to deal with people or friends. Because he would only run them off. 

He nodded at her, about the neighbor comment, before shutting himself back in his apartment. No goodbye, no nice to meet you. He just left her there, standing alone in the hallway. And that made him hate himself even more. But she was just so pretty, he couldn’t find his footing around her. 

He wanted to ask her normal things that normal people ask during normal conversations. Like where she was from, how she liked the place. He’d even tell her about Fred if she asked. But instead he shut himself away before any progress could be made. He’s good for that. It’s nothing new. 

Except that (Y/N) didn’t give up on him.

She didn’t write him off when he shut the door in her face. She said hi the next time she saw him in the hall and she even asked him where the best place to get coffee was. 

He wanted to at least speak to her but all he could do was get red in the face and show her the coffee sleeve on the cup he just brought home. 

“Oh, cool. Is this your favorite place?” She asked, patiently. Anyone else would’ve given up by now. 

“Mhm.” Was all he could respond with. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she was in a pair of sweatpants with a band tee from one of his favorite bands. If he were normal, he’d mention that bit to her. Start a conversation. Be friendly. But instead, he said nothing and watched her ramble on about how her wifi hasn’t been connected yet and it had been a week already. 

He didn’t mean to do it but he kept stepping closer and closer to his door. And to her it probably looked like he was trying to escape the conversation but in reality, Harry had no idea what he was doing. He wanted to calm the color in his cheeks and maybe take a breath. That would give him a moment to recenter his focus on her and what she was saying. Not fret over how hot he was feeling in his clothes now that he had all of her attention on him. 

“S-Sorry. I better go.” His hand fumbled with his key before he could get it in the lock and he quickly let himself in, not missing the way her expression had dropped the tiniest bit. But she said bye to him anyway. Like he probably hadn’t hurt her feelings with how he always seemed to brush her off. 

“Okay. Nice to see you, Harry.” 

It had been two years since then at this point. And Harry had slowly, very slowly, let his new neighbor peel back his layers and get to know him on a more personal level. But of course, it took a while to get to there. She moved at his pace and invited him to the library with her one day after she caught him in the hall with a stack of books. He had plenty to read but he wasn’t going to pass up on a chance to spend time with (Y/N). 

Not much happened that day. She did most of the talking and he listened to every word she said, remembering every detail down to how she liked her coffee. Her favorite book genre. What shampoo she used. He never asked, but he loved listening to her talk and didn’t mind much what the subject was. 

That turned into seeing each other several times throughout the week. Harry got better at communicating. He didn’t want to scare her away by keeping so quiet. So, he tried to open up. He felt stupid most times he said anything and he’d regret it right away, but (Y/N) never seemed to care if what he said was embarrassing. She just kept right along, even agreeing with him sometimes. 

It didn’t take long for the small crush Harry had to turn into something massive and downright pathetic. He tried to keep things normal. He didn’t want to freak her out by looking at her too long or tell her she was pretty too many times like he often thought of doing. From past experience, whoever Harry likes rarely returns the sentiment. So, he figured he’d do what he’s best at. Not acknowledging things. Because as soon as he determined exactly what his problem was, he’d end up doing something stupid. The only way to stop himself was to deny the feelings wholeheartedly. Even though it killed him deep down. 

“I have a date tonight, I can’t, Harry.” 

For the first time ever, he asked her if she wanted to join him at the farmer’s market. It was later in the day and it was pretty boring but he went out on a limb. He spoke up. Hetried. Only for it to not go his way. 

“Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll see you around.” He left her there in the hallway before she could say anything more and shut the door behind him. 

How embarrassing. She probably just didn’t want to have to tell him no, so she made another excuse. It was nothing different than what he was used to, so he’s not sure why he took it so hard and why his hands were shaking so much as he made himself a cup of tea. 

His heart was racing and he hadn’t even done anything and the collar of his shirt felt like it was suffocating him. His shoes felt like they were tied too tight. He was so irritated with himself. She’d never give him the time of day. Even if he begged for it. She’s too good, out of his league, and the best part is, the stuff she does do with him is probably all out of pity. She can tell that he’s lonely from a mile away. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out. He’s always home on a Friday night. He works from home. No one other than him is ever coming or going from his apartment. He’d blush if she so much as looked at him for longer than a glance. He’s hopeless and she knows it. 

One of Harry’s favorite things to do is avoid. If he was going out, he’d wait until her door shut and her feet went off down the hallway. He’d take the stairs, just so he wouldn’t accidentally catch the elevator at the same time. He’d do anything but get anywhere near her when he was feeling this way. Like he wasn’t good enough. Like she felt bad for him and that’s the reason for any of her attention. 

“Harry, hey.” 

He’d been stupid. So, so stupid. He’s never done something like this. So forgetful, so irresponsible. And now she’d caught him when he was only seconds from crying his eyes out over a set of forgotten keys. 

He sniffled, keeping his eyes away from hers. It was freezing and dark and he’s actually glad she came when she did. No one else in the building seemed to be out this late. 

“Hi, (Y/N).” He could barely hear himself speak but she smiled anyway, a paper bag in one of her hands. 

“You look cold. How long have you been out here?” It was late. Nearing ten thirty and he didn’t want to admit that he’d been out in the cold for almost two hours. He could’ve gone to a cafe to sit in while he waited to hear back from his landlord but he didn’t. He was sitting on the freezing cement steps leading up to the door so he could punish himself for being so stupid today. For forgetting his keys when he’s never done that before. He was planning to sit out there until someone either came in or out and unfortunately, it had to be (Y/N) coming back from somewhere. 

“Uh, not—not long. Just sitting.” He attempted to smile at her but it probably came out more like a grimace, if her reaction was anything to go by. 

“Why haven’t you gone in? Did you lose your keys?” She sat right next to him on the stoop and grabbed his shaky hands in hers. She gasped when she felt them and hurried to cover them with hers. “Let’s get you inside, okay? It’s okay if you lost your keys. You can stay over at mine until we get this sorted.” 

Harry couldn’t say no. Anything to get out of the cold, even if he still felt bad about their last conversation. 

Before long, (Y/N) had him wrapped up on her couch in a blanket and a space heater not too far away, bringing the feeling back into his feet. 

She was working on a cup of tea and had it in his hands in no time. She made it just the way he likes, but he couldn’t thank her with more than a smile at the moment. His heart was racing when she sat next to him on the couch with a concerned look on her face. 

“I locked my keys in.” He said as smoothly as he could manage as another chill had him practically shaking again on her couch. It took (Y/N) one second to move closer, to set her hand over his arm, and squeeze in the most reassuring way. 

“Did you talk to the landlord?” 

“He won’t be able to help until tomorrow.” 

(Y/N) scoffed, pulling her legs up on the couch under her and focusing her full attention back on him. 

“How convenient. That’s alright. You can hang here until he comes tomorrow,” She offered, bringing her own mug of tea to her mouth. “Unless you have somewhere else to stay.” 

With the way that Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest, he considered seeing a cardiologist. It’s probably something that shouldn’t be happening, but whenever (Y/N)’s around he can’t help it. His heart jumps and flutters and squeezes and races so much he might have a serious problem. 

“No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Sure you could. I’ve got a heated blanket and the pillows that are always cold, no matter what. I promise it’d be no trouble. As long as you don’t mind sleeping next to me.” 

Harry’s heart went wild once more and he tried so hard to keep his expression neutral, maybe even thoughtful, as he tried not to excite himself too much over the idea of sleeping in her bed. Beside her no less. 

“Well, I don’t know. I could call someone—”

“Seriously, I don’t mind unless you do. I’d say the couch could be an option but it kills your back. Take my word for it.” She looked carefree. Genuinely. Like she only wanted to do something neighborly for him with no bad intentions. Who was Harry going to call anyway? There was no one to call. 

“Only if you’re sure.” His hands tightened around the mug. 

“I’m so sure. It’ll be nice to sleep in a warm bed for once.” Her hand rubbed his shoulder soothingly before going back to her lap. 

That night, (Y/N) had given Harry a tee shirt to wear and said she didn’t mind if he only wore underwear. He swore his face has never been so red as he neatly folded his jeans while she was away in the bathroom getting ready for bed. 

The tee shirt he pulled over his head was the band tee he’d seen her wear weeks ago. One of his favorite bands ever. He wondered if he’d ever work up the courage to tell her. 

(Y/N) came back in a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. Her hair was out of her face and she looked completely relaxed as she pulled back her blankets and slid into her bed. She settled and turned to him. 

“Are you coming?” Her hand patted the bed and he didn’t need to be told twice. He laid his head back onto one of her pillows and kept his gaze at the ceiling. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you for doing this. I know it’s not ideal.” Maybe the cold got to Harry and made it so he was able to speak in full sentences. He doesn’t know but he doesn’t think too hard about it because of how sleepy he is. 

“You’re welcome. It’s also really ideal because I’m already so warm here with you. It usually takes forever for me to warm up,” She clicked the lamp off beside her and although Harry kept his eyes to the ceiling, he felt her lay on her side, facing him. “Want to get breakfast with me in the morning before I call Steve and cuss him out for you?” 

“No—I mean. Yes to breakfast but no to talking to Steve. I already sent him a message.” 

“Yeah, but that’s bullshit. Were you just supposed to wait in the cold all night until he got there? That’s not right.” 

“That’s just how he is. I don’t—I don’t want any problems.” He swallowed hard at just the thought of it. He didn’t need Steve thinking he was ungrateful and to pick on him because of it. 

“Okay. I mean, I’m not too upset about it because you’re here right now, but I know how it is to just want to sleep in your own bed sometimes.” 

Little did (Y/N) know, Harry wasn’t missing his bed at all. Not in the slightest. Because here, under (Y/N)’s heated blanket with her knees pressed gently against the side of his leg, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else if he had the choice. 

It got quiet because Harry had not a clue what to say back. He was happy to be where he was too but he didn’t know how to properly express that without sounding so shy.

“How was your date?” He asked instead. It was a bold question for Harry. He’s not entirely sure where it came from, just that he’d been thinking about it day and night. He didn’t hear her leave ever because he had his headphones over his ears for several hours that evening. He didn’t want to hear anything. Especially if she brought someone home. That would crush him in an incomprehensible way. He wouldn’t be able to leave his bed for weeks. 

“Don’t remind me,” She huffed, moving to lay on her back, but somehow shifting closer to him. “He was the worst. I thought about going to the bathroom and ditching him but I’m not that mean,” 

He hummed, saying nothing more. He didn’t know what to say because he felt this tiny bit of relief that it didn’t go well and that sent him on a spiral. Why would he find that relieving? 

“He wasn’t my type. Didn’t read any of the books I do or watch the same movies. He didn’t listen, you know? Not a word I said. He just kept talking about his job and I was so bored.” 

If that’s the only criteria (Y/N) wanted, Harry would be perfect. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he was shooing it away. He really does have quite the imagination. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s not, but he doesn’t like that she feels like she wasted her time. Even though it makes him feel like he might have more of a chance. That’s just one more guy out of the way. He’s closer than ever before even though it feels like he couldn’t be further away. 

“Don’t be. I should’ve known. I would much rather have gone to the farmer’s market with you. Remind me when the next one is, yeah?” 

Harry’s face is ablaze when he hums back, so glad that she can’t see him right now.

Then, (Y/N) fell asleep. He could tell by her breathing. He wanted to sleep too but he was feeling too giddy inside and couldn’t even think about sleep. 

It took him two years, although he can’t take all the credit. (Y/N)’s the one that actually asked. 

“Do you want to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?” Valentine’s Day. Not a normal Friday night. Not a normal Friday night at all. The day oflove. Harry has never spent Valentine’s Day with another living soul in his life. All except for grade school when everyone was forced to bring in signed valentines for the class and all the important people got candy grams. He never did but he never minded much either. He became good at having no expectations whatsoever. He was never disappointed that way. 

(Y/N) showed up to his door with a glass of wine in her hand and a bag of pretzels. He let her in like he was used to doing now and she dragged him to his couch with her before she sat down, taking a long drink from her glass. 

“Rough day?” Harry was much better now. He could tease (Y/N) and not feel like he actually pissed her off when he did. Even when she rolled her eyes, she’d still shoot him a smile and tease him right back. 

“You’re telling me. I’m not meant for working. I don’t deserve this.” (Y/N) could be dramatic at times but it only made Harry’s crush (which was much more than that, two years down the line) grow. 

“Go ahead.” He always let her vent about her day because he cared to know how it went. He cared to know what upset her, what frustrated her, what excited her. He wanted to know all there was to know about (Y/N). And every new fact he turned over had him falling deeper. 

“I don’t want to bore you,” She held out the pretzels to him and he reached in to grab a few. “I’m way more interested in knowing what you’re doing tomorrow night.” 

She raised her eyebrows, almost tauntingly, and set her wine down on his coffee table, turning to give him her full attention. 

If this were two years ago, he’d think she was going to poke fun at him for having absolutely nothing to do for Valentine’s Day and absolutely no one to spend it with. But this was now, and their friendship had grown into something that he’d always wanted to have with another person. She cared about him. And while he wished it was in another sense she still did and that’s all that mattered to him. (Y/N) was a true friend. 

“The usual. I got a new game actually, so I was going—”

“Let’s do something.” She cut him off, looking as if she really liked the sound of spending Valentine’s Day with him. 

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Harry knew he was selling himself short. He always did but it was built into him. He honestly couldn’t understand why (Y/N) wanted to be around him on a normal day. Much less such a significant day like this one. If she truly didn’t have anyone to spend it with, he’s sure she could find someone other than him. 

But then, his instinctual response to things like this kicks in. She’s only offering because she feels bad. (Y/N) had corrected him several times when he insinuated that she pitied him at all. So, it couldn’t be that. Maybe it was so that she just wanted to spend time with him. His poor heart. 

“Uh, really? You’re not busy?” 

“No. Are you?” 

“I mean, my games—”

“Harry. Do you want to get dinner with me?” 

And it went from there. He asked her to clarify about eight times before he finally understood that yes, she did want to see him on that specific day, during a very symbolic holiday that was all about love and admiration. Two things he’s been secretly dabbling in himself. 

“If you have nothing else to do.” He shrugged, trying not to make it seem like a big deal. 

“Hush,” She swatted at his chest and he tried not to crack a smile. “You can pick me up at eight. I’ll send the reservation through.” 

She left him on his couch with the bag of pretzels in his lap after pressing a searing kiss to his cheek and thanking him (him) for wanting to go with her. 

She really didn’t know that she was a dream come true. 

Harry’s Thursday night into Friday was spent trying to decide what he should wear. The restaurant (Y/N) made a reservation at was classy, and while he didn’t have many clothes that would help him fit in, he decided on something simple. Nice pants and a button down. He couldn’t go wrong there, could he? 

Eight rolled around and he’d already sprayed himself up with the cologne of his that she complimented weeks back and wore the ring that she gifted him last Christmas. It was a beautiful emerald stone seated in a gold band. It wasn’t anywhere near as bulky as some of his others so it stood out and he loved that part the most. It had been her grandmother’s and she wasn’t one for rings and knew he was so she passed it off to him. 

At first, he couldn’t accept it. It was her grandmother’s that passed away just the year before. But with some convincing on (Y/N)’s part, he finally did twist it onto his finger and ever since then, he wore it every day, snug on his pinky finger because that’s the only knuckle it could get past. 

He knocked on her door promptly at eight and she opened the door before he could gather his bearings and prepare himself for her presence. 

Harry has seen (Y/N) in a variety of dresses. So, he shouldn’t have been so shocked at the red long sleeved dress that showed off her cleavage and her thighs but he was honestly so in a daze at the sight of her and her sparkly eyeshadow that he couldn’t quite move his mouth. 

“Nice to see you too.” Her red lips pulled into a smile as she stepped into the hall to shut the door behind her. When she faced him again, they were considerably closer and he could feel his hands start to tremble. 

“Uh, you look—wow. Pretty and nice.” He stopped there before he embarrassed himself further. She only smiled at him, her hand reaching up to rub over his shoulder. 

“You too. Pretty and nice.” 

His cheeks burned but she didn’t mention it. She just grabbed a hold of his hand and walked him toward the elevator. 

(Y/N) was glued to his side at the table. She asked specifically for a booth and followed in right after him when they were seated. 

Her arm was wound around his and the toe of her heel kept circling his ankle but he tried to remain calm. There was no reason to take this where it wasn’t meant to go. 

“Do you want wine? I think we should get wine.” Her eyes skimmed over the menu before she pointed one out. He didn’t even read it before nodding. 

“Why not?” 

They kept up conversation the whole time. Harry was impressed with himself. He was able to keep up with her and her million thoughts per second. But there was just one thing that was confusing him. 

The way she was looking at him. Maybe she always does. Maybe she’s in a different mood tonight. He’s not sure, but she keeps looking at his mouth when he talks. And in turn, she’ll bite her lip, making him look at hers. But it never goes further. And then, she’ll put her hand on his knee. She’s done it before but she’s never quite squeezed the way she is now. 

He’d do the same back if he was brave enough. He doesn’t want to be clueless about this. If he knows anything about women (he doesn’t), he’d say that she’s flirting with him. And in quite an adult way. 

“Try some,” She held her fork out to him with the pasta she ordered. It looked and smelled delicious so he didn’t mind opening his mouth for the fork. It was the fact that she was the one holding the fork. But he did so anyway. And their eyes locked as she slowly slid the fork past his lips. “Good?” 

“Mhm.” His mouth was full but he could still tell very clearly in what way she was looking at him. 

“Good. What do you think about the triple chocolate cheesecake?” 

(Y/N) and Harry shared the cheesecake and she even ended up swiping her thumb over his lip where he seemed to have left a mess. And then she sucked her thumb into her mouth and hummed in approval. 

“That’s so good, isn’t it?” He barely nodded at her, stuck on what she just did. This couldn’t all be for nothing. He’s clueless, he really is, but not that damn much. 

He figured he’d come out and say it. Right as the check got set down so he could give himself a starting point. A push to speak up and ask what this night meant. It felt so romantic even though he’d never experienced anything of the sort. 

The check was set down and (Y/N) went to reach for it but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. 

“Can I ask you something?” It was going to ruin the night, that he knew, but it was worth it to him to get some answers. 

“Anything.” Her attention turned to him and she looked a bit…nervous. Like she was afraid of what he might ask her. 

“Is this all you had to do tonight?” 

“What?” 

“I mean. If you’re doing this just to give me something to do, just tell me that. I’ll understand. I know you do like to hang out with me but not like this. Not on a day like today, right?” 

“What are you talking about? We’re on a date right now,” The confusion on her face dropped to something more sad. “Unless you don’t want it to be. I’ll get it.” 

Those two sentences right there sent Harry over the edge. This was a date and he had no idea. He must really be that inexperienced if he missed all the cues pointing to this being a date. When he looks back, it is a date and he doesn’t know why he didn’t see it for what it was. And he’s not sure how she thinks he could possibly not want this to be a date when he’s been dreaming about it since he met her. But of course, he had to ruin it. For her to even think that he wouldn’t want this to be a date is insane. And he fully intends on telling her that. 

“It is?” He started with the most shocking part of it all. A date.

“Well, yeah. I thought…maybe I was reading it all wrong.” She turned her gaze away from him and to the table in front of her. 

“No, no. I didn’t know that it was a date at all. I thought you were just really bored or something.” He was almost ashamed to say it to her face. Because he knew better than that. She’d never do anything purposely to give him false hope.  

“It’s dinner on Valentine’s Day, Harry. What did you think it was?” She laughed, resting her chin in her hand.

“Well, I didn’t want to assume anything.” 

“It’s a date, yeah. But if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I was just so nervous to ask you right out on a date. So, I’m sorry I wasn’t clear on that part.” Her other hand rubbed over his shoulder before trailing down his arm to take his hand. His hands are probably sweating and she’s probably very aware but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Thankfully

“You wanted to ask me on a date?” 

“Is that so hard to believe?” He stared at her, just blinking until she shook her head at him. “I like you, Harry. That’s why I show up at your door every night and drag you places with me. Because I want to spend time with you.” 

“You do?” Harry really hoped this wasn’t some sort of prank. Or a dream. Any second now, (Y/N) could just start laughing, saying how she tricked him into thinking she actually liked him. But she didn’t.

“You couldn’t tell?” 

“I just thought you were being nice to me. I never would’ve thought you…” He stopped there, not sure if he even wanted to say it out loud. She could change her mind and take it back. 

“I do. And this is a date. If you want it to be. You can let me down easy if this is too much.” She still smiled like if he did choose that, she’d still like him anyway. 

“No, that’s not—I just don’t know what to say, really.” Like it always does around (Y/N), his heart is hammering and he’s almost sick to his stomach with how nervous he is of saying the wrong thing. 

“Do you want this to be a date?” She asked, making it so easy for him to just say yes. 

“Yes. I do. I really do. I mean, I’d love it if it was.” 

“Then, it’s a date.” She patted his chest gently, smiling at him the way she always does. Bright and full of something that he knows now is his reciprocated affection. That he was apparently really, really terrible at showing. 

Harry drove them back to their shared apartment building and dreaded pulling into the parking lot. He doesn’t want to let her go. Especially when he knows what he knows now. He wants to ask her a million questions. Ask her why. What it is about him that she likes so much. But he thinks that is better suited for another time. He’s still surprised that it even happened in the first place. If she started listing off reasons why she thinks he’s cute or whatever, he might just die. 

He shut off the car and pulled the keys from the ignition. (Y/N) didn’t move, like she had no intention of leaving the car yet. Instead, she looked at him with her eyebrows raised. 

“Um,” He reached from the back of his neck where his skin was now blazing with something he had no explanation for. “Are we going to, like, go in or—”

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” 

Harry truly is stunned. In all his years. He never, ever expected this. Yes, she likes him, that’s what she said. But kissing? She wants to do that with him? He’s so out of his element that he feels every part of his body warm. His cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck again. His skin feels like it’s on fire and he has no idea why. 

Well. He has a tiny idea why. 

“Kiss you?” He sputtered out, still not believing it. She nodded. “Of course, I want to kiss you, (Y/N). I just didn’t know if it was the right time. You know how timing is everything and that. I didn’t want to, like, get ahead of myself or anything.” His hands rubbed down the front of his pants, trying to calm himself and not mess this up when he’s so close. 

“If you want it, then take it.” 

Harry swears his heart stopped. Maybe all those palpitations were something serious that he should’ve gotten checked out instead of brushing it off and blaming it on (Y/N). He’s dead and he never got to see it through. 

Except, he still is in his car with (Y/N) and she’s waiting, a little impatiently he can tell, but she’s waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Uh, yeah. For sure. Just…I don’t know.” He’s at a complete loss. 

Harry has kissed a grand total of two people and both happened back in uni years ago. And he remembers them quite clearly but he doesn’t really know how they happened. Alcohol was involved, yes, but the other person always took the initiative and all he had to do was sit there and be grateful that someone gave him the time of day. 

With (Y/N), he knows that she likes him and he doesn’t want to mess it up by being so nervous that he ends up kissing her weird or something. That right there might be enough for her to never speak to him again. 

“I know you want to. Here, I’ll rub off my lipstick. One second.” She reached into her purse for a tissue and started wiping her lipstick off. 

“Oh, no. You didn’t have to.” He actually wanted her to keep it on so he might have a way to tell that it really happened in the morning. He could wake up and see lipstick on his face or something and know that she did kiss him. Instead of something his mind made up to combat his crippling loneliness. But he supposed that he’d probably be able to remember anyway because he’s never been so lucky. 

“Did I get it all?” She showed him her lips that were still a pretty color without the lipstick and nodded even though it really made no difference to him. (Y/N) leaned closer to the center console in the car and sent him a look. “Harry?” 

“Yeah. I’m—yeah.” 

He decided to just do it. Harry doesn’t just do a lot of things but he knew he had to. She’s waiting for him to kiss her. He didn’t misread the situation, he’s not going to do something to upset her, he’s not going to kiss weird. She wants him to kiss her and there really is no way for him to mess this up except if he keeps sitting here and staring at her and barely speaking. That could really ruin things. 

So, he does. He didn’t mean to be so awkward when he did it but he brushed aside a strand of her hair that probably wouldn’t have gotten in the way anyway and met her eyes. 

He watched his hand move from her hair to the underside of her chin to lift it the slightest bit before he started his mouth’s descent to hers. 

The first time was just a peck and he went to pull away, but she stopped him with her hands on his shoulders. 

“Where are you going?” 

“You said a kiss. Was that good? Or no?” It was good from his perspective because it made his skin feel like it was on fire again and he felt a little woozy if he’s honest, but it was good. So good. 

“Of course, it was good, Harry, thank you. But I was hoping you’d kiss me until I couldn’t see straight. You know.” 

“Oh, right. Sure, yeah. I can.” This time he didn’t wait so long. He went right in, kissing her until he had to force himself away to breathe. She didn’t let him go far though, giving him just enough time to take one deep breath before she was pulling him back in. 

Her hands were in his hair, pulling and twisting and tangling as her kisses got just a tiny bit more fervent. Her tongue swiped at the seam of his lips and he opened right up for her. 

When she did pull away, she kissed his cheek. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner with me. I’m so happy you wanted it to be a date.” She kept her voice low and gently petted her fingers over his cheek. 

“I’ve never spent Valentine’s Day with someone else before. So, thank you for inviting me.” While that might have been embarrassing to admit a few months ago, Harry doesn’t care anymore. (Y/N) doesn’t seem to care much either because she leans right back into him to kiss him again. 

“How about we go upstairs so you can keep kissing me?”

This was definitely one of his favorite Valentine’s Days yet. 

i hope you liked it!!! and i hope you’re still in the mood for valentine’s day stuff….anyway no clue what’s next. wherever the wind takes me 🤗 <3 <3 <3

tags: @vamprry @1un4zsq @loverofhsandallthings1d @sunflowersloverr @tenaciousperfectionunknown @caynonmoondreams @elidoho @peterbenjaminparke07 @daydreamingofmatilda @kissitnhekitchen @amberbambridge @danaehldy @straightontilmornin @forgetdelaney @harrysonlylover @idrawshapesonpeople07 @me-undiscovered @llina01 @80s-outsiders @littlenatilda @outofthisworl-d @butdaddyilovehim-hs @cherrys4suckers @harrystylessslut @sceleratuspoeta @hssunflowervol6 @indierockgirrl @honeyharlows @satellitelh @daphnesutton @tfharries @opheliaofficial07 @hermionelove @nathalielovesonedirection @velvetballaspark @watermelonlover @kathb59 @theofficialprongs @myloveforrreadingspost @harryshousewhore @harrysolaf @szoszi2004 @buckyssbestgirl @ellaorchard @trooooye @daylighthazzz @prettytulips @stylesfever @mayamonroem @fake-coolbeans @slut-for-artists @kailaxharlow @in-omn1a-paratus @lunaharrygurl @harryshoneybee @uncassettodiricordi @a-strange-familiar @sassamanda77 @fangirl509east @voniikg @adore-you-hs2 @natedelrey @m0mmyfromtarget @savannahwendel @harryshoneybee @babyyhoneyy @st0pwishing-startd0ing @harrygrapejuice @mrschanandlerb @illicitverstappen @stylestarkey

[twohoursoflove]

ON SET OBSESSION

Harry ‘Hot Shot’ Styles, Obscenity Studio’s most famous and successful porn star, has a crush on someone he shouldn’t. You, a set assistant that’s only just recently joined the team, and someone who couldn’t care less about the company's biggest and brightest star.

But when the pair of you are left alone together to watch Hot Shot’s latest movie, things don’t quite stay that way…

Mature Content: explicit language, watching porn, references to squirting/rough sex/handjob and blowjob, oral sex (f receiving) & hair pulling. More tension/yearning than smut. For an 18+ audience only.

Word Count: 6k

Tried a different POV with this one to what I usually write in — it’s all from a heavily pining Harry's perspective — and I love how it turned out. I think it’s one of the best pieces I’ve written!

Thank you so much to the anon that requested this back in October. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I had so much fun dipping my toe in porn star h waters 🤭

There will be a part 2...

Normally a confident, well-put-together guy, Harry is completely flustered by you, Obscenity Studios’ latest set assistant. And with him as the company's most famous, successful and popular porn star, being flustered by you – or anyone, for that matter – is not something he’s really meant to be.

The attraction to you was instant. The infatuation, too. Even after the working day was done, Harry just couldn’t get you out of his mind.

The way you style your hair. The shape of your eyes framed by thick lashes. The plumpness of your mouth never without cherry chapstick – something he often fantasies licking off your lips. 

Your outfits, casual and comfortable for long days on set, but stylish enough that he was influenced to introduce some similar items into his own wardrobe; the stack of mixed-metal pendants around his neck and the dark-humoured slogan, cute-animal print ringer tee tight on his toned torso proof of that. Your voice. Your walk. Christ, even the way you breathe, which isn’t any different to how anyone else does it, really, but it’s you doing it so it’s special and perfect and he just can’t stop obsessing over it and every other little thing that makes you you.

Yeah, it’s safe to say Harry is down bad. And that’s a real rarity for him given his line of work and the fact that even before he became an adult film actor a few years ago, he always opted for casual flings with little to no emotions attached, erring more on the side of no. 

And what only makes it worse — or rather better, considering he’s a bit of a masochist — is that you could not give two shits about him. 

Being the star of the studio, everyone panders to Harry. Treats him like the minor celeb he is, which he doesn’t mind at all. He’s worked hard to get to where he is — pun intended. It’s nice to reap those rewards. To be a little bit of a diva at times, though nothing too crazy. He’s still a gentleman, of course. 

When required, at least. 

But you, well… you simply don’t do that. You treat Harry how you do every other actor, which is professional, a little bit guarded, and a lot grumpy.

There’s no special treatment for him from you, which he loves despite also loving the way everyone else sucks up. You’re different, with your claws sunk deep into Harry without even realising you’ve sunk them at all. 

And that only makes him like, want, need you more. 

Where the real problem arises regarding his obsession with you, however, is that he struggles to keep focus when at work. Specifically during scenes. 

Yep, that’s right. Harry’s eyes have wandered toward you on more occasions that he can count when he should be looking at the person he’s balls deep in. 

Yet he just simply can’t help but stare at you, an addiction so bad that he’s even been caught and called out on it once by Jolie, the studio’s director. 

That led him to blush and apologise, and you — totally unaware he was even looking at you in the first place because you were on your phone most likely ordering or organising something for the studio — to roll your eyes a little, clearly annoyed that the scene was taking longer than it should because the star wasn’t doing what he was meant to be doing: a busty blonde by the name of Crystal. 

After that, Harry managed to snap back into work mode. 

Well, sort of.

Those rolling eyes of yours gave him plenty of incentive to screw the life out of his on-scene partner, but he didn’t see her face or feel her cunt anymore. 

No, it was all you, and he unleashed holy hell until the woman he was actually fucking squirted so much, screaming his name as she did, that it caused applause from all the crew. Including you. 

That notice from you has only left Harry craving more. But given how rattled you’ve made him, he doesn’t know how to get more. 

He truly hasn’t a clue on how to act around you. How to approach you besides the usual brief and basic pleasantries you exchange. How to make you feel even a sliver of how he feels: fucking possessed.

And right now, being in so close proximity to you in the editing room while you, him and Jolie watch the final cut of his latest movie, Harry has half a mind to sneakily Google the number of any nearby priest that can perform an exorcism on him. In his mind, it’s the only solution to his pesky little problem.

Like you and Jolie are doing, Harry should be giving the monitor his full attention. Except that gauging your reaction to what’s going on on screen is way more important to him. It doesn’t help his situation where you’ve bewitched him mind, body and soul, but the masochist in him simply has to enjoy the suffering a little bit more. 

Though is it really suffering when what he feels right now looking at your flushed cheeks and bitten bottom lip is pure pleasure? You’re shy, and he’s caused that. Or rather the on screen version of him has. 

Either way. A win is a win.

What’s even better is you’re turned on, too. Or at least Harry thinks you are, if your pupils blown-out like a drop of iodine to water is something to go by, anyway. 

This is the first time Harry has seen you like this, given you’re usually professional and completely unphased where porn is concerned (one has to be in order to work in the industry) so naturally, he’s in his goddamn element. Naturally, he’s hoping you’re wet between your pressed-together thighs, the clipboard on top ready to take down notes on any last-minute edits gone forgotten about. 

You’re so engrossed with the footage playing out to do your job, and Harry is practically vibrating with giddiness knowing that.

The filmed scene goes like this: Harry, tired after a hard day at work, comes home and runs himself a bath. He relaxes in the tub, letting the warm water soak into his skin and undo the knots of tension that have built up in his body for much too long, and plays with himself a little. 

But it just isn’t enough. He needs something more. Someone else.

Enter Ruby, a curvy red-head with freckles, dimples and a very skilled tongue, who offers to help out her ‘roommate’. Because what else are friends for if not to assist your need to unwind with a lethal handjob-blowjob combo? 

Harry had a great time shooting with Ruby. An even better time shooting all over her, too. She’s yet to appear on screen – it’s just a naked Harry solo in the tub with a wandering hand at the moment – and would be here watching the final cut (as is usually the case for all stars involved in each film so they can present any thoughts or request any edits before it heads out into the world), but she’s on an overseas work trip right now and had her own screening of it prior to leaving. It’s just Jolie, you, him, and his slowly growing hard-on.

As though scripted like a corny porno Harry has proudly made his fair share of, Jolie’s phone rings. She picks up the call, mumbles a couple of curse words both during the brief chat and after ending it, and then excuses herself from the room with a cut-to-the-chase explanation about some lighting issues on set that need her immediate attention, leaving behind you and two Harry’s, because the movie is still playing and you’re still glued to it.

With the clicking sound of the door closing behind Jolie, the small, low-lit editing room grows a few degrees hotter. A few notches more tense. A hell of a lot more quiet, despite the ragged breaths On Screen Harry exudes increasing in volume as he lazily strokes his cock in the bathtub. The slapping sound of the water recorded matches up with the beat of his heart in real time – slow, steady, but excited. 

Nervous, too. 

You and him haven’t been in a room alone together before, never mind one with a monitor showing what he does for work regardless of you seeing him live in action more times than he can count. He’s freaking out in both the best and worst way. Should he speak? Do something? He really doesn’t know.

His moment of turmoil comes to a swift but surprising end a few seconds later when you do both things by leaning forward to crank up the volume a tad while softly enquiring, “Ruby comes in soon, right?”

Harry blinks a few times, though you don’t see. Your gaze is still fixed to the screen, specifically on his right hand working the crown of his cock in slow circles, and he’s still shocked to hear you speak. It’s a rarity unless required. 

“Pardon?”

“Ruby.” You wet your bottom lip, the semi Harry’s been sitting with for at least ten minutes now fully solid and painfully pushing against the zipper of his jeans thanks to that little lick. “She’s due on screen in a minute or two, yes?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms, though the three-letter word barely came out coherently. He swallows hard and tries again. “Yes, she does.” A pregnant pause, then he barrels on to ask, “Why?”

The delicate column of your throat bobs with a gulp. The soft sound would ordinarily be inaudible, but it’s just you and Harry in here and he’s so fucking tuned into every move, noise, breath you make anytime anywhere, so of course he heard it. He treasures it, too. 

“Just wondering.”

Among many other talents – the list is endless, Harry being the type of person that can turn their hand to anything and be immediately good at it – he can detect bullshit like no other. Call it out, as well. There’s nothing to stop him from doing it now.

But he won’t.

Why, you may wonder? Well, because he’s a twenty-nine year-old porn star who’s as terrified of a woman as he is turned on by her, and he knows well and good that all of his vast experience over the years with the fairer sex both on and off screen is irrelevant. You’re nothing like those women, therefore none of his typical tactics will work. 

So, instead, he decides to keep his mouth shut, discreetly readjust his cock in his pants until the pain-level percentage drops from one-hundred to ninety-nine, and wait to see what you do next, because it’s a certainty to him that you will do something. Harry is as sure of that as he is his crush on you.

By the next time you speak, minutes that feel like eons have passed. Ruby has arrived. On screen, that is; in the editing room, it’s still just you, Harry, his hard dick – which has since developed its own heartbeat – and the statement you made that lingers thickly in the air, altering Harry’s world forevermore.

“I’d have done that differently.”

Five words in reference to Ruby’s handjob/blowjob technique in which On Screen Harry dramatised the way his eyes rolled back into his head and how staggered his breaths were for the sake of making porn. It’s an expected thing to do, no slight on how talented the performers are. Ruby gives good head. It’s just that Jolie wants great. As does the audience.

Five words in reference to Ruby’s handjob/blowjob technique in which Real Life Harry doesn’t have to dramatise a goddamn thing about his reaction. The way his eyes roll into the back of his head and how staggered his breaths have suddenly turned is au naturale; no porn being made. It’s an unexpected thing to happen to him, all the props given to how talented you are through words alone. Harry can barely begin to wrap his head around how fucking beyond great yours would be. Jolie would lose her shit.

As Ruby fills her throat with On Screen Harry like her life depends on it, Real Life Harry has to unclog his own. Every thought he’s ever had is trapped inside the column of blood vessels and muscle and whatever else makes up the organ, and if he isn’t careful, he might spew them all up at once and leave you with no choice but to point and laugh at him. Worse yet, he might say something slightly dramatic and not completely inaccurate like I love you, which will inevitably send you running for the hills, because of course it would. It’s totally insane.

After a moment, he’s somewhat straightened out. Or straightened out enough to try his luck with a cheeky response of, “Oh yeah? How?”

For the first time, you look away from the monitor to Harry, and he simply swoons. Because you’re smiling now, brightly, and blushing just as so. There’s a twinkle in your eyes locked on his that tells him something different to the reply you’re about to give.

But that’s okay with the adult film star. He’s got your attention, and he could bust a load from that alone.

“Nice try, Hot Shot.” Your grin softens a tad while his grows impossibly large. His porno name sounds as delicious on your tongue as he just knows your taste would be on his. “Not a chance.”

Curving his lips into a smirk, all the bravado he possesses displayed so clearly through that expression you don’t stand a chance of knowing how nervous he actually is, Harry shrugs flippantly. “Had to shoot my shot.” And then he’s nudging his chin toward the monitor so you can see the facial On Screen Him has just given Ruby. “Double pun intended.”

You laugh, and with it, Harry quickly realises he was a fool to think his life was altered via your I’d have done it differently comment when that sound has officially done the trick. 

It’s a tinkling melody so opposite to your typically gloomy aesthetic and attitude, it’s downright dizzying, yet one that every musician should study. Praise. Try and fail to replicate, because nothing that perfect can be mastered by man.

The screen goes as black as your sleeveless dress and lace-up boots outfit, your trill giggle replaced by the noises of two pairs of lungs; yours soft and steady, Harry’s working overtime. 

He can’t remember a time he’s ever felt as breathless as this in all his life. Not even during the orgy filmed last summer that catapulted his career to new heights. Or the predator/prey scene filmed the summer before that where, masked up, he had a great time chasing his friend and colleague Flora through a forest and fucking her amongst the leaves and dirt after he caught her peachy ass. Or the time he and an old hook-up snorted a few lines of fuck knows what and went at it from sunset to sunrise, and then snorted a few more to keep going until the second sundown, determined to break self-set sex records. Which they absolutely did.

It’s quiet in the editing room, but by no means silent. The stifling tension is as loud as a concert crowd when the star of the stage first takes to it. As exciting as it, too.

And like you did just before while watching Ruby work her mouth and fist, you open the former and squeeze Harry’s heart with the latter, breaking eye contact while speaking words that render him utterly gobsmacked. Entirely giddy. Completely fucking gone.

“I wish it had just been you on screen.”

Much to his surprise, Harry mentally recovers a lot quicker than he did earlier. He supposes the reason he’s able to bounce back so fast is because your focus is fixed to the blank screen once more. 

But his, of course, is fixed on you. Speaking from experience, he thinks – knows – it always will be, even when you’re not around. 

“Come again?”

You look his way, the crinkles at the corner of your eyes so sweet that Harry’s teeth start aching. Your smile so blinding, Harry’s kicking himself for leaving his Raybans in the cup holder of his canary yellow Ferrari Dino. Your whole being so stunning, he’s forgotten all about wanting to call a priest for an exorcism. Not when every fibre of him wants to pour all of that energy into building a park inspired by your beauty: his very own Garden of Babylon for you, his Queen. 

The poetic ramblings of his mind come to a sharp stop when you hum, “Another pun?” only to start up again when you giggle. 

But for the sake of banter, he shelves his yearn-filled thoughts. Delivers a chuckle and dose of cheekiness, instead.

“Maybe… maybe not.” Because it’s true. It could be considered a pun, but given the way he’s literally fit to burst just by being in your proximity, it’s also just a straight-up truth. 

In fact, given that he’s a puddle of goo just for you, Harry isn’t 100% confident that he hasn’t come already. 

A lick of your lips follows his tease, a bite to your bottom one following the lick. Harry exhales a shaky breath, vision tunnelled in on that innocent-looking motion made all the more not-so-innocent coming after your eight word-long statement: I wish it was just you on screen.

He really wants to press you on that, but he doesn’t get the chance. Two quick beeps in quick succession emanating from the phone in your dress’ pocket dissolves whatever moment was happening, and whatever whirlwind was about to happen, quicker than you can say ‘boner’. 

Speaking of which, Harry’s is determined to burst from his pants and touch Mars. Jupiter. Uranus.

Fuck. The thought of yours just nearly knocked his light’s out.

“It’s Jolie.” Your voice pulls him from the self-induced, short-lived coma Harry was sent into just thinking about fucking your ass, a slight frown marring your usually stoic, always stunning face as you read the text aloud. “Said she’s not gonna be able to make it back here to finish the proof-watch. A couple of bulbs have popped in Studio 1, so they’re having to set up in Studio 2 to re-do and get today’s shoot done. I’m to see if you have any issues with the film. Report back to her either way.”

The clicking sound of your phone automatically locking after a few idle seconds urges Harry to swallow hard. Shake his head. Smirk that smirk of faux bravery, hoping it makes him feel it for real. He, for some reason, has the strong instinct he’ll need it. And soon.

A nod from you, your fingers a blur as they work across the screen to unlock and type out a message to Jolie, who responds just as fast. 

“She said great. That’s us finished for the day.”

Actually, we’re just getting started, Harry thinks.

He opens his mouth to say something of the like, but you beat him to it with movement. You stand tall. Smooth out your dress. Fiddle with the pendants around your neck. Tuck the clipboard under your arm and your phone back in your pocket. Cast a quick look Harry’s way, one he perceives as a silent beg for him to make sure the next thing you plan on doing doesn’t happen. 

Leave.

Luckily for you, for him, for humanity’s future that he’s convinced depends on the pair of you banging it out to survive, all the courage he usually has that ups and goes in your presence has decided to come back at a ten-fucking-fold capacity.

If it didn’t, how else would he have managed to utter, “Please don’t go.”

“Why?” You quip back slowly, yet quickly deposit the clipboard onto the desk as your feet in their chunky boots seemingly lodge themselves into metaphorical cinder blocks. You’re not leaving. Perhaps not now. Maybe not ever. 

Or at least not until Harry says, so absolutely not now. Definitely not ever.

And something tells him you’re desperate to hear that as much as he is for you.

He stands too, his wry smile becoming a little wryer at the fact that, thanks to the thick soles of your shoes, you almost reach his six-foot height. If you were bent over that desk you stand before, like he so dreams you were, you’d be lined up perfectly against him. For him. 

He makes a mental note that, in his fantasy you’re the shining star of, your footwear stays on. They’re as hot as they are practical.

Even with the advantage of an extra inch or two, you have no choice but to tilt your head back a little when Harry comes to a stop just shy of your toes. He enjoyed the few seconds where you looked down at him (his submissive side is no secret, and also a massive money-earner for him and Obscenity Studio), but really gets his rocks off looking down at you. 

Please note: at, not on. That distinction is, and always will be, massively fucking important. Just as obvious, too.

Cocking his head a fraction, Harry lets his eyes take a stroll across your face and all its awestruck, awe-inspiring features. Lets his nostrils subtly suck up the scent of your citrusy perfume that reminds him of summer evenings in his Italian villa. Lets his ears listen to your soft breaths that fan across his neck and chin – that slightly tickle his plump bottom lip. Lets his mind wander to how good he bets you taste. How incredible he bets you feel.

And then, when the rubber band of buzzing energy stretched between you is close to snapping, he gives you an answer, praying that yours in return is on the same wavelength as his.

“Because I want to see the mess watching me on screen has made between your legs.”

A soft gasp from you, the limbs Harry speaks of seen squeezing together no doubt to suppress the throb of arousal he hopes you feel. No doubt spreading that mess he just knows exists, too. He can practically smell it.

If you hadn’t delivered the two rule-breaking, earth-shaking statements, Harry wouldn’t have said what he just did. He might be a playboy pornstar, but he knows how to read a room. Or rather a person. It’s obvious when someone is interested and when they’re not.

But you did. So to him, that was the green light given for him to lay his cards out in a way that will hopefully shake your earth. Break a few more rules. He wants you, badly, and it seems you want him, too. 

The saying goes that actions speak louder than words. And you locking eyes with Harry while slowly but surely lifting the hem of your dress up to your waist practically screams.

There’s no hesitance from Harry to break eye contact. No, his gaze flits down to your light grey cotton panties and the dark grey wet stain on them quicker than one can blink, his dry mouth filling with saliva and cock pulsing in time with his heart's rapid beats. His fingers itch to touch you, his tongue yearns to taste you. And his brain is convinced this is all some incredible dream.

That notion doesn’t shake an ounce when a smirking you moves to sit on the computer desk, hands out behind you holding you up, legs spread in front of you welcoming Harry in.

And like a sailor to a siren’s song, he moves into the open space you’ve created. Harry keeps a comfortable distance between your soaked, still-covered cunt and his jean-clad thighs, not wanting to get too ahead of himself, not wanting to rush what he’s waited weeks – months – for, but he can still feel yours trembling either side of his. Paired with the shaky breath you expel, he can tell you’re nervous.

That’s what takes this from being a dream to Harry, to his reality. It’s what makes him let out a sigh of relief, because he’s nervous, too. Nerves are a natural thing for two people together in an intimate position for the first time to feel, but a reaction he has every intention of soothing away with words and touch. For your benefit as much as his. 

Hands hovering over your bare thighs, he gives you a tentative smile and a nod of his chin. “May I?”

You give him a full nod back, your own smile just as timid. “Please.”

With a throaty groan he just couldn’t swallow down, Harry makes contact with your soft skin. He works his palms up and down a few times until the shaking stops and every bit of anxiety in you seems to up and leave. Until you’re humming softly, and that shy smile of yours is one of pure satisfaction with a penchant for more.

And then, like the gentleman he is, he gives you more. It’d be rude of him to not.

Fingers gripping your hips, Harry pulls you to the edge of the desk. Slowly sinks to his knees. Takes a gentle hold of your calves, positioning them over his broad shoulders until your knees are hooked and chunky boots hits the base of his back.

All the while, your wide eyes were locked on his. Your mouth popped open in a cute little ‘O’ Harry wouldn’t mind stretching into a bigger one by feeding it his cock.

He shakes that thought, though, because there’s a far more pressing one at the forefront of his mind. 

Finding out if you taste as good as you smell.

But first, a question or two. Or rather getting answers to the one you gave and comment you made you went onto deflect with sass and jokes.

With his lips pulled into a smirk ghosting the inside of your thighs where a little of the sweet slickness in your panties has slipped to decorate, Harry begins his inquisition.

“Why did you wish it was just me on screen?”

You seem surprised by Harry bringing that back up again and the fact he hasn’t just dove into your damp underwear, yet manage to recover quickly with a confident shrug. “Because that’s your best content.”

The sound of angels at heaven’s gates plays in his mind now, surprise felt at your revelation he’s so ready to pry into. “Are you speaking from a professional perspective, or a personal one?”

“Personal.” A groan from a grinning Harry, who’s dropped his forehead to rest on your thigh, at your bullet-quick response. “Seeing you live and in action was a massive reason I took this job.” 

More surprise barrelling through Harry forces his head up fast, his eyes fixed on yours. “You’re a fan? You’ve watched my films?”

You nod slowly but surely, looking a little shy again despite the certain action. “Big time. All the time. But I’m not a creep or anything.” A nervous giggle from you while his heart skips ten beats. “I’m just a girl with a crush on a pornstar. I never expected this.” You shift a hand to gesture to Harry between your legs, then run it through the front of his floppy locks. “Hell, I avoided this.”

Your behaviour prior to today makes so much sense now. Harry has reframed every interaction and quickly realised that you weren’t acting stand-offish and surly because you didn’t like him. You were feeling quite the opposite.

Just like him.

And that just makes Harry think even more highly of you, if that were a possible thing. You showed restraint and rectitude when he couldn’t. Respected the coworker dynamic, even as an admirer of him that wanted more. That wanted him.

But the gloves are off now. Two hearts are on their owners’ sleeves. Or at least they’re about to be once Harry does his own ‘fessing up. 

“More fool you.” He winks, another giggle from you in response before he adds on, “‘Cause I’m a pornstar with a crush on a girl, and I’ve been dreaming of this.” Harry gestures to between your legs, licking his lips as his focused-on-your-pussy eyes go hazy. “Fuck, I think I still am.”

The movement of your head shaking pulls his attention back to your face. “Not a dream, Hot Shot.” And then you lean forward, plump lips hovering over his until you’re sharing breath and Harry can taste the words “But it’s definitely gonna feel like one” on his tongue that’s desperate to plunge into you.

And because he’s been patient enough, Harry wastes no more time to give in to that torment. To give you what you both want; the fingers on his left hand pulling your panties to the side, digits on his right digging into your hip, and muscle in his mouth sinking into your tight little hole in one fast, fluid move.

Your gasp of relief, delight, pure fucking sex, harmonises with the growl Harry lets out. Your taste… It's like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Perhaps the saying of ‘good things come to those who wait’ is true. 

Or, the more likely reason: you’re a goddess. His. Of course your nectar would be nothing shy of divine.

He dips in and out, in and out, in and out, using the tip to circle your entrance a couple of times between each exit and reentry. Familiarising himself with not only your body, but what makes it melt and makes you moan. Harry has always been a good student, but with a subject like you? Fuck, anything less than Valedvictorian is simply not enough.

It seems you want him to achieve that scholarly status, given the way your fingers – still in his hair, but now gripping the tresses – manoeuvre him until he’s at your clit. And Harry doesn’t need to be told twice on what to do next, nor did he need the help to find it. But he appreciates your eagerness nonetheless.

While his tongue inside you made you moan, his lips latched to suckle around your swollen bud makes you pant. Your chest rises and falls fast with every one, a gorgeous blush on your cheeks and mouth pulled into a dopey smile Harry will never forget. Not when his eyes are a camera, one blink of them acting as the shutter to take a mental photo of this perfect moment.

Too wrapped up in you, Harry has neglected to dish out any of the dirty talk that he’s fluent in. Famous for. There’s a primal need in him to tell you how fucking heavenly you taste, how sensational your pussy is, how he wants you to drench him in the high he’s working you toward, but that would mean deviating away from the feast he’s fantasised devouring. 

And he’s too damn greedy to do such a thing.

So, instead, he adds another language to his repertoire: growls and grunts. A compromise that will only benefit your pleasure given the additional vibration feature, and the fact it’s hot as fuck that you’ve turned him into a territorial caveman that refuses to stop eating.

Add those sounds with the way his nails bite into the skin of your hip, crescent moons destined to be left behind when he finishes his meal (which is only when you finish all over his mouth), and the squelching sounds of the fingers he held your panties to the side with now slipped inside to fuck you where his tongue once did, not a word needs to be said by him. Like you lifting your dress minutes ago, actions speak louder.

You’ve got a few of your own, though. 

The stuffy atmosphere of the editing room is colourful with curse words, all of which either come before or after his government or screen name. A few pleas to God, which makes Harry internally laugh, because you’re talking to no one and yourself at the same time. A couple of directions – “More, more, more”, “Faster, Hot Shot”, and “Don’t stop”, which of course Harry pays heed to. The occasional compliment – “Just like that”, “So fucking good” and “You look so pretty with your mouth on me, Harry”, which makes the complimented feel downright giddy knowing he’s getting you off. Because that’s all he wants. All he needs.

And then, with a sore jaw and satisfied grin, Harry gets what he needed, wanted, worked his talented mouth off for. Your thighs enclose around his head, trapping him against your warm and wet cunt in a makeshift tomb he never wants to escape, his airways blocked in a way he fucking loves, his hair being pulled by your hand so firmly it makes him whimper, and you cum. 

You cum so hard, so much, you start laughing deliriously. Like you can’t believe this is life and it can feel this good. And because he’s feeling just as dizzy, Harry laughs too; his fingers and mouth rinsing every bit of release from you all the while. 

A spent you lets go of Harry’s hair to lie back flat on the desk. You’re too busy shaking, catching your breath, letting out little happy hums, to care about how little space there is to do such a thing. 

A delighted Harry pulls his drenched fingers and glossy lips away from your cunt to sit back on his heels. He’s quickly made busy admiring not only your shaky, struggling-to-breathe, little hums of happiness-self, but the way your pretty pussy glistens. 

Even in the dim lighting of the editing room, the sheen of satisfaction cannot be missed. And the fact it matches the state of his fingers he immediately sucks clean, pulling the digits out of his mouth with a ‘pop’ that pulls your head up so you can see his smirking face and hear his pleased whine, is a detail that could not go without appreciation.

Your arousal coated his skin – covers his tongue – as much as your aura has clutched his heart.

He smiles at the sentiment only he is privy to, though it won’t stay that way for long. Now that Harry knows his on set obsession goes two ways… there’s nothing stopping him from spilling all.

And thank fuck he never got round to calling for that exorcism. He’s more than happy to stay a haunted man knowing you’re just as haunted as he is.

Harry also never got round to asking you the second question, or rather getting an answer to the bombshell you dropped. But given how energised you look – even after an orgasm that seemed close to taking you out – as you sit up with a smile and lean down to his level, a fire in your eye he wants to engulf himself in, he has every intention of correcting that.

But first, he closes the tiny gap left between your mouths to tick another item off his fantasy list: licking the cherry chapstick from your lips.

One swipe of his tongue ends up not being enough, though – for you or for him. Harry had the sudden urge to mix the fruity flavour with your natural taste, making a delicious cocktail of both in his mouth you dip in to sample; smiling and sighing as you do.

A make out session quickly ensues. Hands roam one another’s bodies, teeth nip one another’s lips – breathy laughs and shared breaths throughout.

It’s as simple as it is sexy. As innocent as it is indecent.

By some sort of miracle – or rather Harry’s curious mind and painful boner desperate for answers and action – he breaks away from your mouth, then flaps his.

“You said you’d have done what Ruby did differently…”

A giggle from you and a small nod, your hands smoothing up Harry’s shirt-clad chest to tease play with his pendants. “I did.”

“Care to tell me?” 

Another giggle from you, but a small shake of your head this time. And Harry would be a little disappointed by that if not for your wild eyes, wilder smile, and the words that follow.

“No. But I’ll show you.”

****

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[pinkboaclub]

Cowgirl

[READ PART ONE HERE! Scene Stealers blurb]

Summery: You and Harry are in university and are amateur (yet, famous) porn stars. Your friend invites you to a costume party, but you both can’t wait to get back to your dorm.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: literally just smut, frat Harry, mention of alcohol consumption, fem!reader, this is from your POV so the girl in the photos doesn’t have to look like you !! just a reference for your outfit :), still set in a US university, though Harry is British.

An intense scent wave of alcohol hit you and Harry as you entered the house party. You made your way through the hands holding Red Solo Cups before finding your way to their drinks. Your friends were throwing a costume party, and though he was reluctant to dress up, Harry wore a dark burgundy plaid shirt to match your cowgirl dress.

“Are you drinking a lot tonight?” Harry asked you, as you looked at your collection.

“No, I think I’ll only have a little something. Are you?”

“I think I’ll only have a little too…I was hoping to get a little lucky tonight.” He wrapped an arm around your lower waist, cheekily pulling you into him and giving you a kiss on your neck.

“Oh, were you?” You laughed as his lips casually travelled around your neck.

“Of course, only if you were feeling the same way.”

“We’ll see, cowboy.”

Harry did not attempt to hide his eagerness throughout the night. When you were standing, his hands were on your hips or your ass, when you sat in his lap, his hands were up your dress, resting on your upper thigh. As the night continued and as his hands remained all over you, you felt yourself starting to feel the same. Riled Up. Hot and Bothered. Horny.

“Maybe we get out of here early?” You whispered in Harry’s ear, causing his body to perk up. He hastfully nodded his head and led you to the door.

Your pace only quickened as you raced up the stairs of your dorm room building, hand in hand. As you fumbled with your keys to unlock your door, Harry kissed every square inch of your neck.

“Laila’s not going to be here right?” He asked in between kisses, referring to your roommate.

“She’s still at the party…but we don’t have all the time in the world.” You replied as you opened the door, making sure to lock it behind you.

His lips were immediately on your as the lock on the door clicked.

He turned you around, pushing you onto the bed with a gentle force that made you gasp. The red dress you wore clung to your skin as he yanked it up, exposing you to the coolness of the room. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his thumbs hooking into the lacy thong that barely covered your dripping pussy. He pulled it down your legs, tossing it aside.

He dropped to his stomach on the bed as his eyes took in the sight before him, your legs shaking with anticipation. Harry leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed the inside of your thigh. You whimpered, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. His tongue flicked out, tasting your sweetness as he moved closer to the center of your need. He took his time, teasing the sensitive skin around your pussy, making you beg for more.

As his tongue touched your clit, you gripped his shoulders, stopping him. "Wait," You panted. "You wanna grab the grab the camera"

A cheeky smile spread across Harry's face as he pulled back. "My little slutty girl," he murmured "Always thinking about the fans, huh?”

You bit your lip, unable to resist the urge to watch him as he stood up and grabbed the o camera from your bedside table. You knew it would take a few minutes to set up the tripod and get the perfect angle, but Harry looked too good to not capture him. The bulge in his black jeans was impossible to ignore, straining against the fabric as he moved around the room. You could see his excitement growing with every step, and the anticipation was making your stomach churn.

Finally, the camera was ready, the red light blinking at you from the corner of the room. Harry crawled back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself between your legs. He leaned in, his tongue tracing the outline of your pussy before delving in like he was starving. You felt like you could melt into the mattress as he ate you, his mouth and tongue working in harmony to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you rocked your hips to meet his eager mouth.

He stopped, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing smirk. "You're going to have to be quiet, baby," he whispered, his voice thick. "We are still in your dorm room, remember?"

You nodded, a mix of excitement and embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Harry leaned in and kissed you deeply. He pulled away and whispered, "But I know how much you like it when they can hear you."

You pushed him off of you and sat up. Harry's eyes stayed in you with surprise and intrigue as he took in your newfound assertiveness. You slid off the bed, the white cowgirl boots making a satisfying sound as they hit the floor. Though they gave you a little confidence you slid them off and threw them aside. You strutted over to the camera, your hips swaying with each step, and turned it on. Your red dress clung to your body, your nipples hard and visible through the fabric as you faced Harry with a sultry look.

"Why don't you hold this for a while?" You handed him the camera. You watched him, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you, the lust in them making you even wetter. Harry took the camera, his grip tight as he looked at you through the viewfinder. "You want to show them how good of a little slut I can be for you?" You whispered, your voice low and seductive.

With a smile and a nod from Harry, you straddled him, your knees pushing into the bed on either side of his hips. Your red dress hiked up around your waist, giving him a perfect view of your bare pussy as you reached down to unbutton his jeans. You slid your hands into his boxers, gripping his cock firmly. It was already hard, the heat of it pulsing against your palm.

He groaned as you began to stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate. His eyes never left yours, the camera forgotten in his hand as he took in the sight of you, dressed but still open and exposed to him. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his thigh, your ass up in the air, and took his cock into your mouth.

You could feel him swell in your mouth as you worked him, your tongue swirling around his tip as you sucked. The taste of him filled your mouth, making you want to moan around his length. But you held back, knowing you were supposed to be quiet. Instead, you let out little whimpers of pleasure, muffled by his cock, that seemed to drive him even more wild.

His eyes were heavy with pleasure as you deep-throated him, your hands playing with his balls. His grip on your hair tightened, guiding you faster, pushing you down further until you could feel his cock hit the back of your throat, his breath becoming heavy.

But just as you felt him get to the edge, you pulled away, leaving his cock covered with your saliva. You straddled him again, this time with your dress still rucked up around your waist. He watched as you took his cock in your hand and positioned it at your entrance. Without a word, you sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch.

His hand immediately came to your thigh to guide you through your slow motions. Without even realizing it, your whimpers became louder, moans began to leave your mouth. "What did I say baby?" You ignored his demand for your quietness, his cock feeling too good inside of you.

Instead you lowered the straps of your dress, letting your braless breasts become exposed to him (a part of you thinking they may even distract him from your increasingly loud moans).

Harry's eyes slightly widened as he took in the sight, his cock twitching in response. You began to bounce on him, your tits bouncing in sync with your movements. His hands shot up to cup them, his thumbs brushing against your sensitive nipples as he filmed you.

You leaned forward, taking his hand and bringing it to your mouth. You sucked on his thumb, your eyes never leaving his as you did so.

As you watched his face express how much pleasure he was in, you felt the need to up the ante. You pulled off of him. Almost causing Harry to protest until he saw the determined look on your face.

You leaned forward, taking his cock and placing it between your tits. You started to titty-fuck him, the wetness of your pussy smearing across your skin as you did so. His moans grew louder as you squeezed your tits together around his cock.

You knew that this was a move that always got him off (and your viewers definitely appreciated it as well), so you made sure to keep it going until he was right on the edge. But you didn't stop there. You leaned down and took his cock in your mouth again, sucking hard as you continued to pump him with your tits. Harry's hand found its way back to your hair, pushing you down further as he started to thrust up into your mouth.

“So fucking good, Y/N. Perfect girl.”

You felt him get closer and closer to the edge, but just as you knew he was about to cum, you pulled away. Harry groaned in frustration, his hand slipping from your hair as he tried to catch his breath. You gave him a wicked smile as you lifted yourself up. You turned around and straddled him again, this time, you were facing away from him.

You hiked up your dress, revealing the perfect roundness of your ass, and slammed back down onto his cock. Harry's hands shot out to grab onto your hips to keep you steady. You leaned forward, placing your hands on the bed as you began to ride him in reverse, the camera capturing every bounce and jiggle of your ass.

"Going to be the star of the show tonight, hmm?" Harry murmured, his voice tight with need. You didn't answer, your mind focusing on your body and his pleasure. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, and it made you want to go even faster. But you held back, enjoying the slow, torturous pace.

You heard him place the camera on the nightstand, pointing towards you and him, so he could have more hands on your body. Your pace quickened dramatically, almost like a reward for him for choosing to focus on you.

Though, your body began to tire quickly, your thighs burned, your thrusts became slower and shorter. Harry could see your weakness spreading.

“Where’s my confident girl? Getting tired?” He teased in a dominant way, causing you to mentally roll your eyes.

“No…just teasin’ you.” You mumbled, fully knowing you were lying to him. He caught on and grabbed your stomach to slowly lean you back onto him.

You succumbed, pressing your back into his chest and he held you in place. His hands found your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples until you were crying out. The camera sat just above your head, recording every moment of your passion. You looked over your shoulder, watching him watch you, his eyes filled with lust.

You reached and grabbed his hand, bringing it down to your clit. "Want you to make me feel good," you whispered, your voice soft but thick with innocence and desire. Harry's eyes never left yours as he began to rub your clit in tight circles, his other hand still kneading your breast. Your hips began to rock back and forth, fucking yourself on his cock as he pleasured you.

“God, Harry…I love it so much.” You moaned out.

“Yeah, baby? Like fucking yourself on my cock?” His lips brushed against your ear, you kept your eyes pinched closed and nodded your head.

The sound of your moans filled the room, no longer muffled by the need for quiet and discretion. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you could feel the tension building in your core. Your moans grew louder, turning into cries of pleasure that echoed off the walls of the small dorm room. You have lost full control now, letting Harry and his thrusts control everything you did.

You felt the bed shake beneath you as Harry picked up his pace, his breathing turning ragged as he neared his own climax. The pressure was building, and you could tell he was getting close. But you weren't far behind. Harry's grip on your hips tightened, his own moans filling the room as he drove into you deeper and harder.

You leaned back into Harry's embrace, his hands roaming your body as he whispered dirty encouragements into your ear. "I know, baby...let go. Let that pretty pussy squeeze my cock."

The friction of his fingers against your clit was too much. You threw your head back and screamed out your release, your body shuddering with the intensity of the orgasm that crashed through you. You felt Harry's grip tighten, his own moans becoming more erratic as he felt your walls clench around him.

"You okay?" Harry asked, his thrusts halting to comfort you. Your head nodded in haste as your body was able to quickly recover from the powerful orgasm.

"M'gonna flip you over sweetie, get a shot of your pretty back with my cum on it."

You nodded, feeling a thrill run down your spine. He carefully flipped you onto your stomach, your dress now bunched up around your waist. You felt his cock slip out of you with a wet sound, and you knew he was close. Harry's hand as it gripped the base of his cock. You slowly started to grind your ass against him, slow circles on his thighs to help encourage the thrusts from his hand.

"Fuck, Baby," Harry groaned, his grip tightening on your hip. Your whimpers continued though you were not receiving any pleasure.

He painted your back with his cum as his release came. He watched it dribble down your spine, mesmerized by the sight, he reached for the camera. He adjusted the angle, capturing your ass still glistening from your own arousal, then panned to your painted back. His cheeky smirk grew as he took a step back to film your entire body.

"Maybe I won't clean you up," Harry murmured, his voice low and full of dark promise. "I'll just keep you like this, with your pretty wet pussy and my cum on your back, for everyone to see." You laughed and lightly kicked his leg.

He turned the camera off, deciding to go against his idea and grabbed a rag to wet in the sink before coming over to clean you. Once his cum was clean from your back, he helped you and your knees, which were beginning to sore, flip onto your back. As he continued to clean you up, your body became light and your eyes were heavy.

“Tired from all the riding you were doing?” Harry asked, your tired eyes staying closed as you laughed.

“I haven’t done that much work in a while.” You joked. Harry threw the washcloth into your dirty laundry and leaned forward to brush your hair away and kiss you.

“I know, the little pillow princess is all tired out from taking control.” You both chuckled as Harry continued to soothingly run his hand in your hair. “Let's get you out of this dress, cowgirl.”

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