Summary: Harry gives you the cold shoulder after your passionate encounter in the kitchen, so you decide to torture him until his patience runs out. a best friend's dad!harry x reader au story
Warnings: Harry's the divorced single dad of your best friend, forbidden ''relationship'', age gap (he's only known you as an adult!), a lot of teasing, oral (f!receiving), rough sex, degradation, some dom!Harry, really filthy
A/N: as requested, i've turned this into a series! i have lots of exciting stories planned for these two, so if you don't want to miss anything, let me know and i'll add you to the series tag list x
Word Count: 4,217
...
The morning light filters through the sheer white curtains of the guest room, warming the rumpled sheets tangled around your legs. You lie there for a long moment, eyes half-closed, letting the memories wash over you. The cool edge of the kitchen counter digging into your hips. Harry's large hands gripping your waist with a possessiveness that still makes your stomach flutter just thinking about it. The broken, gravelly groan he let out against the skin of your neck as he pushed into you. The way your name sounded on his lips, breathless, almost reverent, even as his movements turned frantic and desperate.
You stretch languidly, the ache between your thighs a delicious reminder that it all really happened, that it wasn't just a fever dream sparked by too much wine and the salty ocean air.
You slept with him. Emma's dad, the man you've known for years as the charming, slightly awkward single father who makes dad jokes and grills like a pro. The one who always offered you the guest room with a polite smile, never once looking at you the way he had last night. Until he did. Until the tension that has been simmering since the start of this summer trip, maybe even before that, finally boiled over in that dimly lit kitchen while Emma was out painting the town red.
A soft sigh escapes your lips as you sit up and run a hand through your tangled hair. Part of you expected him to be there when you woke, lingering in the doorway with a conflicted look in his eyes, or even slipping into your bed for a second round before the house stirred.
But the room is empty, quiet except for the distant crash of waves outside and the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen downstairs. Of course he pulled away. Harry isn't the type to dive headfirst into something this dangerous without immediate regret. He has rules. Boundaries. A daughter sleeping just down the hall who adores him and trusts you both implicitly. You can already picture the distance he'll put between you today, the way he'll avoid your gaze like it burns him.
Still, the thought of it, the restraint in him, sends a thrill through you that inexplicably settles low in your belly. You're not sure if it's rejection or the delicious frustration of the chase that turns you on more. Man, your parents' divorce really fucked you up.
By the time you pad downstairs in an oversized t-shirt and soft sleep shorts, the comforting smell of coffee and something savory fills the airy beach house: bacon and eggs, Emma's favorite. Sunlight pours in through the large sliding doors that open onto the deck, highlighting the scattered remnants of last night's dinner prep. Emma's already at the kitchen island, hair piled messily on top of her head, scrolling through her phone with one hand while nursing a mug of coffee.
''Morning, sleepyhead!'' she chirps, oblivious as ever, waving you over. ''Dad's making breakfast. I asked nicely, I promise.''
Harry sends her a look of fatherly disapproval that says you absolutely did not.
You smile, keeping it light as you slide onto a stool, deliberately choosing the one with a clear view of Harry. Your eyes drift inevitably toward him. He's at the stove, broad shoulders tense beneath a simple white t-shirt that clings to the muscles you dragged your nails down just hours ago. His hair is damp from a shower, curls tousled, and those grey sweatpants sit low on his hips in a way that feels deliberately torturous. He doesn't turn immediately, but you notice the subtle shift in his posture, the way his hand pauses over the pan.
''Smells amazing, Mr. Styles.'' The honorific feels loaded now, after the way he had you screaming his first name last night, and judging by the way his head tilts like he's in fucking agony, he's thinking of it too.
Harry finally glances over his shoulder, his green eyes meeting yours for the briefest second before flicking away.
''Morning,'' he says, voice even and polite, that familiar low timbre sending a shiver down your spine. ''Help yourself. There's plenty.''
There's no meaningfully lingering look. No secret smirk. Only the same courteous tone he's used a hundred times before. He plates the food with focused efficiency, bacon perfectly crisp, eggs scrambled just how Emma likes them, then busies himself wiping counters and tidying, his movements almost mechanical. The avoidance stings more than you want to admit, but it also ignites something hotter.
You watch him closely while pouring coffee, noting the faint flush on the back of his neck, the tight set of his jaw when your fingers nearly brush his reaching for the creamer. He steps back quickly, muttering something about checking the deck furniture outside, and slips through the sliding doors a little too fast.
Emma doesn't seem to notice, chatting away about her plans for the day, how she wants to spend hours out on the sunbeds soaking it up the early afternoon sun, how she and Andy are thinking of driving into town later for some fresh seafood for dinner.
You nod along, humming in agreement, but your mind is elsewhere. On the way Harry's hands felt last night. On the way he's clearly fighting the same pull you are and how badly you want to make it impossible for him to keep pretending nothing had happened.
Harry returns only to eat quickly and clear his plate with minimal small talk about the weather and how the waves are supposed to be good for swimming. You catch his eye once through the glass doors, letting your gaze linger a beat too long. His jaw clenches visibly.
You head upstairs after breakfast with purpose, the wooden stairs creaking softly under your feet. In the guest room, you peel off your oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, standing in front of the mirror for a moment as you slip into the tiniest bikini you packed for this trip.
The fabric is a deep emerald green that contrasts beautifully against your skin, the top little more than two tiny triangles held together by thin strings that tie behind your neck and back. The bottoms are even more scandalous, high-cut on the hips with minimal coverage in the back, the strings sitting low and delicate, threatening to come undone with the slightest tug. It leaves very little to the imagination.
You adjust the ties carefully, imagining Harry's hands on them later, and a small, satisfied smile curves your lips. Perfect.
Down on the spacious deck, the ocean breeze carries the salty tang of the sea, and the sun beats down warmly on the wide wooden planks. Emma is sprawled on one of the comfortable sunbeds, sunglasses perched on her nose, a book open but ignored in her lap. You join her on the neighboring lounger, settling onto your stomach first, propping yourself up on your elbows so the curve of your ass is prominently on display toward the house and deck area where Harry is working.
The two of you chat idly about university gossip, the latest shows you're both binging, how nice it is to have this whole stretch of summer ahead with no real responsibilities. Laughter comes easily between you, light and carefree on the surface, while you angle your body just so, arching your back a little as you turn the page of your own book.
You can feel the weight of Harry's gaze from where he stands near the railing, pretending to adjust some outdoor cushions or check on the grill setup. He's trying so hard to focus elsewhere, but you catch the stolen glances, the way his eyes drag over the lines of your barely-covered body before he forces them away.
Inside, Harry's mind is a storm of conflicting thoughts. This is wrong. She's your daughter's best friend. But the memories of last night refuse to fade: the way you felt around him, tight and warm and so fucking eager, the soft gasps and whimpers you tried to muffle against your arm. His body reacts against his will, a familiar tightening in his groin that makes him shift uncomfortably and adjust the hem of his shirt.
He knows he should go inside, put more distance between you, but the pull is magnetic. You're doing this on purpose. The little tease. Fuck, the things he wants to do to you right now. He clenches his jaw, knuckles whitening around the cushion he's holding, willing himself to stay away even as his eyes trace the string of your bikini bottoms.
You feel powerful. The rejection from breakfast stings less now, replaced by the thrill of knowing you affect him this much. You sit up after a while, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen, and begin applying it slowly to your legs, your hands sliding up your thighs in a way that feels almost obscene, making the skin there glisten under the sun.
Emma lays beside you, completely unaware, engrossed in her book.
''Mr. Styles, would you mind getting my back?'' you ask casually after a few minutes, glancing toward him with feigned innocence. ''I always miss spots, and the sun's brutal today.''
Harry hesitates visibly, his broad frame tensing as he approaches. Up close, you can see the conflict in his eyes, the restraint warring with desire. His hands are warm and slightly rough as he takes the bottle, squeezing lotion onto his palms. When they make contact with your skin, smoothing over your shoulders and down your back, the touch is electric. His fingers tremble with the effort of keeping it appropriate, but they press firmer than necessary in places, tracing the line of your spine as though he's punishing you for acting out.
''You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,'' he whispers low enough that only you can hear, voice rough with barely contained need as one thumb brushes dangerously close to the side of your breast. ''Prancing around in this fucking thing all day, teasing me like a little slut while my daughter sits right there. Keep this up and I'll bend you over the nearest surface and remind you who you're messing with.''
The words send a rush of heat straight between your legs, arousal pooling instantly. You bite your lip to stifle a smile, pressing your thighs together subtly on the sunbed. You like messing with him.
''Is that a promise?'' you whisper over your shoulder.
The tension crackles in the air between you and Harry, thick and undeniable, as his hands linger just a second too long before he pulls away abruptly, clearing his throat and stepping back.
...
The afternoon sun begins its slow descent, casting a warm golden glow across the spacious deck. Emma's phone buzzes beside her on the sunbed, and her face lights up when she checks it.
''Andy's here! We're going into town for that seafood place we talked about. The one with the outdoor patio overlooking the water, y'know?'' She bounces up excitedly, already gathering her things, completely unaware of the charged atmosphere she's leaving behind.
You wave her off with a bright smile, wishing her a good time, while Harry stands near the railing, offering his daughter a fond smile. ''Have fun, lovebug. Stay safe, and text me if you need anything.''
The moment Emma disappears down the steps, the air between you and Harry shifts. The deck feels suddenly intimate, the ocean breeze doing little to cool the heat simmering between you. You don't waste the opportunity. Still in that tiny emerald bikini, you rise slowly from the sunbed and saunter toward him, hips swaying with deliberate intent.
''All alone now,'' you murmur as you stop just close enough for him to smell the sunscreen on your sun-warmed skin. Your fingers trail lightly down his arm, feather-light but enough to make his breath hitch.
Harry's jaw clenches hard, green eyes darkening as they flick over your barely covered body. You know exactly what you're doing. That bikini should be illegal. He can still smell you from last night, feel how tight you were, and now you're pushing every last one of his buttons. His cock twitches in his shorts despite his best efforts, the restraint he's clung to all day beginning to fray dangerously.
He steps back, busying himself with straightening deck chairs, but you follow, pressing closer, letting your hand accidentally brush his arm as you reach past him for a bottle of water. ''You've been avoiding me all day, Mr. Styles. Afraid you can't keep up?'' you taunt him.
He lets out a low, frustrated groan under his breath, hands flexing at his sides as if fighting the urge to grab you.
''You're going to get us both in trouble,'' he mutters, voice rough with arousal and warning. The struggle is clear in the way his body leans toward you even as his mind screams to pull away. The guilt over his daughter, the age gap, the forbidden nature of it all only makes his desire burn hotter. You push further, whispering filthy recollections of how he bent you over the counter, how full he made you feel, until he's visibly straining against his shorts, breathing heavier, hands hovering like he might finally snap and pin you against the railing.
Just as he reaches for you, fingers barely brushing your waist, the sound of the front door opening shatters the moment. Emma's voice carries through the house. ''The restaurant was closed for a private event! Can Andy have dinner with us, Dad? Please?''
Harry pulls back instantly, composing himself with visible effort, running a hand through his curls. ''Of course, lovebug,'' he calls back, the affectionate nickname warm and fatherly even as his eyes flash with dark promise at you. ''The more the merrier.''
Dinner comes together quickly in the open kitchen area that flows onto the deck. Harry prepares a summery spread, grilled fish with a lemon-herb marinade, a fresh salad with avocado and cherry tomatoes, and roasted vegetables drizzled in olive oil. The smells are incredible.
You try to claim the seat next to Emma, desperate for some buffer, but she leans in with a pleading whisper. ''Please sit on the other side? I really like Andy, and I want him next to me. Pretty please?''
Her eyes are wide and hopeful, the kind of look that always gets her what she wants from you. You sigh and give in, moving around the table so Andy can slide in beside her. This leaves you directly next to Harry.
He plates generous portions for everyone with steady hands, but you notice the tightness in his shoulders as he sits down beside you. The chairs are close, intimate, really, so that your arms brush whenever you reach for your fork or glass. Harry keeps his eyes trained straight ahead, focused on his plate or Emma's animated storytelling about the walk into town, refusing to acknowledge your presence.
The deliberate cold shoulder frustrates you all over again, reigniting that mischievous spark.
Under the table, your bare foot slides slowly up his leg, tracing the inside of his calf, then higher along his thigh. Harry stiffens immediately and subtly kicks your foot away, the movement making the table shift slightly. Emma glances over. ''You okay, Dad?''
''Fine, just stretched my leg,'' he replies smoothly, voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. You're relentless. His daughter is right there. He really should stop this, he knows he has to, but his body betrays him, cock hardening again under the table.
Undeterred, you wait a moment before your hand ventures under the tablecloth. The closeness of the chairs makes it easy, your arm resting casually on your lap as your palm presses against the growing bulge in his shorts, rubbing slowly, firmly, just as he picks up his glass.
Harry chokes on his water and coughs into his fist. Emma looks concerned. ''Dad, are you sure you're alright?''
He nods, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumps. ''Yeah, went down the wrong way.'' He shakes his head slightly to himself, trying to stay engaged in Emma's story about a funny encounter at Andy's surf shop, but his breathing is shallower now. You're going to fucking pay for this later. He'll make sure to fuck the attitude right out of you. His hand briefly grips your wrist under the table in warning, but he doesn't pull you away immediately, the pleasure warring with the risk.
When Emma and Andy eventually head into the kitchen to scoop up some dessert from the fridge, laughing together, Harry turns to you with fire in his eyes. ''Cut it out,'' he whisper-yells, though the strain in his voice makes it sound more desperate than he'd hoped. ''Now.''
You just smile sweetly at him, your hand giving one last teasing squeeze before you pull back. The promise of what's coming later hangs heavy in the air as the evening winds down.
Later that night, after everyone has said their goodnights and the house settles, you lie awake in the guest room. The sheets feel too warm, your body still buzzing with unspent arousal and smug satisfaction from the day's games. You listen to the house, heart pounding in anticipation, wondering when Harry will finally snap and sneak in.
The ache between your legs is almost unbearable now, every minute stretching out in delicious, torturous expectation.
The house has gone completely quiet, the kind of heavy silence that only comes late at night by the ocean, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore and the occasional creak of wood.
Harry lies in his own bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, every muscle in his body taut with unresolved tension. His cock is still half-hard, throbbing insistently against the fabric of his boxers despite the cold shower he forced himself into after dinner. All day you had tormented him: that sinful little bikini, forcing him to apply your sunscreen, your foot sliding up his leg under the table, your hand palming him so brazenly while his daughter sat mere feet away. He knows exactly what you were doing. Pushing him. Testing him. Trying to break his resolve like some childish game.
You're too young for this. Too close to Emma. He's your best friend's father, for fuck's sake. The guilt gnaws at him, sharp and familiar, but it does nothing to dull the lust burning through his veins. He considers taking himself in hand right here, stroking out a quick, unsatisfying release while imagining your mouth or your tight cunt wrapped around him. It would serve you right, leaving you aching and alone in the guest room, wondering why he didn't show. But his pride wars with his need, and lust ultimately wins. With a low curse under his breath, Harry swings his legs out of bed, pulling on a pair of loose shorts.
He walks silently down the hallway, heart hammering as he passes Emma's door. One wrong sound and his life could be in ruins.
The guest room door creaks softly as he eases it open, the sound loud in the stillness. You're lying there in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, sheets pushed down to your thighs, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and panties, and he curses under his breath at the sight.
You lift your head, a smug little smile curving your lips. ''I knew it.''
''Shut up,'' Harry groans, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He crosses the room in two strides, wasting no time. His large hands grab the hem of your tank top and rip it upward, yanking it over your head with impatient force. The panties follow, tugged down your legs roughly until you're completely bare beneath him. ''You've been a fucking tease all day. Thought you would get away with it?''
Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours in a bruising kiss, your tongues sliding desperately. His hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples until you whimper into his mouth. He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips lower, latching onto one nipple with wet, sucking heat. When you moan softly, his hand clamps firmly over your mouth, muffling the sound.
''Quiet,'' he hisses against your skin, biting down on the sensitive peak as punishment. The sharp sting makes your back arch, fresh wetness slicking between your thighs. He switches to the other nipple, sucking hard and biting again each time a sound escapes you, his eyes dark with unconstrained lust and frustration. ''Look at you. Already soaked and I've barely touched you. This what you wanted? Parading around in that tiny bikini, rubbing yourself all over me in front of my daughter like a desperate little slut so I would come fuck you?''
His words are condescending, each one hitting deeper as he works his way down your body. He pushes your thighs apart roughly, settling between them. ''An older man, your best friend's father, no less. So fucking pathetic and greedy.'' He leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds in one long, slow lick, groaning at the taste.
You're dripping, embarrassingly wet, and he makes sure you know it. ''Pathetic. This cunt is weeping for me after one day without my cock.'' His hand stays clamped over your mouth as he devours you, tongue relentlessly fucking into you, sucking on your clit with obscene wet sounds that feel far too loud in the quiet house.
When your hips buck and a muffled cry vibrates against his palm, he bites your inner thigh lightly in warning. ''Emma's right next door. You want her to hear what a whore her best friend is?''
Harry doesn't let up. He adds two thick fingers, curling them perfectly against that spot inside you while his mouth works your clit relentlessly. Your orgasm crashes over you fast and hard, thighs trembling around his head, screams swallowed by his hand. He doesn't give you time to recover. He sheds his shorts, his cock springing free, thick, hard, and leaking. ''On top. Now. Ride me like you've been dying to all day.''
You straddle him eagerly, sinking down onto his length with a shared groan. The stretch is perfect, filling you completely. Harry's hands grip your hips bruisingly as he guides you, thrusting up into you to meet your movements. ''That's it. Good fucking girl. Take every inch. This is what you've been begging for with all your little games, isn't it?''
Sweat slicks your skin as you ride him harder, the bed creaking softly. He pulls you down by the hair for another messy kiss, swallowing your moans. Then he flips you suddenly, putting you on all fours.
''Face in the pillow,'' he orders, pushing your head down. The new angle lets him drive deeper, hips snapping against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. His hand cracks down in a sharp spank, then another, the sting blooming hot across your skin. ''Teasing me while my daughter sat right there, completely clueless. You're lucky I didn't bend you over the table in front of her and her little date.'' His filthy words trigger your orgasm and he fucks you right through it, your cries muffled into the pillow as your best friend sleeps unknowingly just a wall away.
His groans are guttural when you clamp down around him, the sounds soft yet absolutely wrecked. When he finally nears the edge, he pulls out abruptly and strokes himself once, twice, before pushing back in deep and pulsing inside you in thick, warm spurts.
He stays there for a moment, catching his breath, then pulls out and leans down to whisper in your ear, ''You're gonna sleep with my come dripping out of you all night like the slut you are, got it?''
You hum weakly.
''Stay just like that,'' he says, voice rough as he watches his cum slowly leak from your swollen pussy. ''Don't you dare clean up.'' He tugs his shorts back on, already moving toward the door.
You whine softly, turning your head. ''You're just leaving?''
Harry pauses, then grabs your face firmly with one hand, squeezing your cheeks enough to make your lips pout. His grip is tight, dominant, eyes flashing with an intoxicating mix of anger and lust.
''Are you going to act like a fucking brat after I just gave you what you wanted? Stop pushing me or I'll make sure the next time hurts more than it feels good.'' He notices the way your eyes glaze with submission at the rough handling, the spark of something deeper, and mentally files it away for later. Interesting. He releases you, presses one last hard kiss to your lips, and slips out of the room as quietly as he entered.
You lie there in the afterglow, body spent and trembling, his cum warm and sticky inside you. The house is quiet once more, Emma's room silent next door. Satisfaction settles deep in your bones, mixed with that aching want for more. You drift off like that, marked by him, wondering what he'll do to you the next time his restraint snaps.
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open!Ā š
CW: helloo welcome to part two of best friends dad harry!! this is very filthy so minors please do not interact ! enjoy!! oh also this includes soft dom harry with a daddy kink LOL HEHE im so sorry guys i was ovulating and got carried away again
WC: 5k
Read part one here.
PREVIEW:
She gasped, struggling to keep her head straight when he let his other hand slide up her waist. He hummed lowly, āYouāre cute.ā
Determined to stand her ground, Y/N met his eyes fiercely, āYouāre mean.ā She was surprised she could manage the words without stutteringābeing this close to him made her nerves jumble up and confuse her.
He stroked up to her neck, letting his thumb flitter over her pulse. He was just about to reply when Ellaās voice broke them out of their trance. At the first sound of it, Y/N jumped away from Harry like a scared mouse, who let his lip quirk up in amusement.
āDad! Can you get the light?ā
He whispered a small āgoodnightā just for Y/Nās ears before walking away and calling back out to Ella. The whole ordeal left Y/N flustered. She felt like a virgin, with the way her heart raced and her body responded to even the slightest bit of attention from him. But again, it wasnāt often a man as sexy as Harry would be so forward with herāshe felt like sheād won the lottery. He was beautiful, tall, rich, kindā¦ but also her best friendās dad.
Y/N was stressed.
Normally, she thought she was very good at handling stressāpriding herself in her ability to remain calm and in control, and handle the situation with a clear mind. The difference from all of those times and now, was that Y/N was seven seas away from the source of her problems.
It wasnāt a surprise to her that Sam chose now to bring to the surface every issue heās ever had with her, like being away from her made him realise that she was (apparenty) a shitty girlfriend who never picked up after him and lied about going to bed when he could see she was active on instagram from that little green dot on her profile picture. It was an issue that she didnāt have enough sex with him (which he said made him insecure, though Y/N struggled to see how that was so, given he acted like he had the ego of Gengis Khan) and it was an issue she went to another continent to spend 3 months living with a girl she met not even a year ago.
As always, Y/N saw no substance in any of his arguments. She was over the whole relationship, if she was being honest. At the point she was now, throwing the past two years down the drain would be more of a relief than anythingāall Sam ever did was complain about how she wasnāt doing enough and made selfish, jealous comments all the time, like every waiter wanted to fuck her or Ella took up too much of her time. The girl wasnāt heartless, of course, so she knows she would be sad if she did ever break things off with him (which sheās 100% planning on doing) but she also knows that this was a long time coming, so sheās had a lot of time to mentally prepare herself for the final showdown.
It just sucked that even under the beautiful italian sun, living in a charming villa with her best friend, Y/N was bummed.Ā
Her day started that wayāwith about thirteen texts from Sam, not asking her to reason with him or anything, but yelling at her in all caps and calling her all sorts of things. Sometimes Y/N wondered why she ever gave him a chance in the first place. He was so fucking immature, he could rival a middle schooler. Last night she called him and told him she didnāt think this was working, right after he began accusing her of cheating on him one night the past semester when Y/N came to his house with a mark on her neck, which despite her persistently telling him was from her curler, he insisted she slept with someone else. It was shit like this that pissed her off the most about him. He just couldnāt leave the past in the past.
Y/N ended up rage ending the call on him mid sentence and turned her phone off to go the fuck to sleep. She already had a long day spent swimming at the beach with Ella and then ending with dinner at a rooftop restaurant Harry told them about, handing the girls a generous gift card to spend there. She wasnāt going to let Sam ruin more of her trip than he already had, Y/N decided, as she woke up and silenced his number and all of his accounts on social media so he couldnāt reach her. Sheād deal with that problem when the time came.Ā
Right now, she wanted to savor her time in this eden. Ella texted her if she wanted to go shopping that morning, followed by brunch with her other friends whom she was driving down to San Lazzaro to meet and maybe spend the night with. Y/N was feeling out of sorts. She wanted to spend the day lazily, lounging around the house and maybe going for a swim in the pool she seldom used. She wanted to wrap up the book she was reading, and do a face mask and at-home pedicure before she went to sleep. These were all the things sheād do when she needed a reset; to clear her conscience and recharge her batteries.Ā
Ella persisted just a tad bit, but then completely melted when she finally came to Y/Nās room to see her snuggled sadly beneath her blankets like a kicked puppy and kissed her forehead. Her best friend offered to cancel her plans and stay back so they could do a girls day, but Y/N told her she appreciated her offer, but she needed time to herself to sort her own shit out. She also didnāt want Ella to have to cancel because of herāshe was talking about seeing Gia and Vikki all weekend, and Y/N didnāt want to take that away from her.
So, with a heavy heart, Ella bid Y/N goodbye and left for the day, leaving the sad girl to recollect herself and remember who the fuck she was. And wellā¦ she wasnāt completely on her ownā¦ Harry was still at the house.Ā
Now, Y/N could say that her relationship problems were the only reason she wanted to stay back, but even she can admit that that wasnāt 100% necessarily the truth. A very small, miniscule part of the reason she decided not to go today was so she could maybe be alone with Harry for a little while, without feeling on edge, like Ella knew what happened three nights ago in the kitchen and was going to storm in and yell at Y/N to leave her house any second.
Obviously, Y/N was upset and wanted to be by herself for that reason, but she also craved more.
More than what she had a taste of that night.Ā
Things between her and Harry had changed.
To the untrained eye, everything was normalāHarry was his usual sweet, gentleman self, looking after the two girls, giving them rides, keeping them fed, spoiling them with his wallet; and Y/N was the shy daughterās best friend who didnāt meddle with him and stayed behind the line she (shouldāve) vowed to never cross.
To the trained eye, their entire world had flipped upside down.
Harry was still gentle and kind, but also now affectionate. Like the morning after, Y/N and Ella dragged Harry to the shops, where Harry let his hand linger on Y/Nās lower back, her hips, her shoulders, which he held on to and steered her like Linguini from Ratatouille. All of this was much easier to do when they were out and about, as Ella remained distracted by every other shop she came across, walking ten steps ahead of both Y/N and Harry while she conversed animatedly with each shopkeeper.
He began calling her pet names, pretty ones that made her hot and blushāsweetheart, darling, loveā¦angel. These mostly happened when Ella was not in the room, and were used sparingly, accompanied by a gaze that made her tummy flutter and do sommersaults. And then there were the smaller gesturesāhis fingers brushing against hers as he passed her a plate to set the table, a small smile and a cute dimple making an appearance when she came down the hall dressed for the day in a yellow sundress she picked out keeping the heat in mind.Ā
Maybe Y/N was being delusional and it was all in her head, but she had to romanticize her life someway, somehow or else she would go crazy. Despite all of thisāthe lingering looks and the yearnful touchesāY/N and Harry were never alone for long enough to actually talk about what happened. The implications of it. What comes next. Every time she thought to bring it up, something would get in the way, be it Ellaās excited voice prattling on about the plans she had for the next day or Sam making her phone blow up because she hadnāt replied for half an hour.
The only time she had him longer than maybe three minutes was on Sunday night, right before bed. Y/N and Ella retired to their rooms for the night after getting stuffed full with lasagne and bidding Harry goodnight. Her first priority is always getting changed into something more comfortable as soon as she is on her own, and knows no one would be seeing her, so she shedded her clothes when the door shut and put on her favorite Hello Kitty pyjamas.
Those were her comfort pyjamasātheyād been through the wash hundreds of times so the color was a little faded, but nonetheless Y/N adored them and couldnāt bear leaving them behind when she was packing for her trip. The set was a short one, comprising of a long sleeve button up and shorts, nothing even remotely sexy about it.Ā
So, itās safe to say that when five minutes after she dressed, she heard a shy knock on her door, it made her stop in her tracks. Ella never knocksāthis Y/N knew for a fact, because sheād normally just barge right in and flop down on Y/Nās bed. And this left just one other person in this house who could possible be standing behind her doorā¦
Y/N apprehensively opened the door, just a few inches, to see Harry standing past the threshold. He was also in his night clothes (or sheās assuming he was), wearing a plain wife beater and loose plaid pants. He was holding something, and when Y/N looked down at his hands, she saw his fingers wrapped lazily around her phone charger. āHey,ā He greeted, giving her a playful smile as he sweeped his gaze over her body, āNice PJs.āĀ
A deep dimple formed on his right cheek and Y/N wanted to dig her thumb right into it. Her face flushed with embarrassment, āStop teasing,ā she muttered, careful to be quiet so she didnāt alarm Ella down the hall.
āBut teasing is the fun part.ā Harry was a handsome, cheeky man who made her all too flustered with his words. Y/N tried to hide her annoyance, but the small pout forming on her lips was betraying her nastily. A small giggle escaped him as he held his hand out for her, āPut that away,ā He said, motioning to her bottom lip, āYāleft your charger out on the sofa.ā
As she met his hand to take her charger (after grumbling a mean āthank youā), their fingers brushed once again, but this time thanks to them finally being alone together, Harry took advantage of the moment and let his fingers go up her wrist which he grabbed and pulled on gently so Y/N was closer to him. She gasped, struggling to keep her head straight when he let his other hand slide up her waist. He hummed lowly, āYouāre cute.ā
Determined to stand her ground, Y/N met his eyes fiercely, āYouāre mean.ā She was surprised she could manage the words without stutteringābeing this close to him made her nerves jumble up and confuse her.
He stroked up to her neck, letting his thumb flitter over her pulse. He was just about to reply when Ellaās voice broke them out of their trance. At the first sound of it, Y/N jumped away from Harry like a scared mouse, who let his lip quirk up in amusement.
āDad! Can you get the light?ā
He whispered a small āgoodnightā just for Y/Nās ears before walking away and calling back out to Ella. The whole ordeal left Y/N flustered. She felt like a virgin, with the way her heart raced and her body responded to even the slightest bit of attention from him. But again, it wasnāt often a man as sexy as Harry would be so forward with herāshe felt like sheād won the lottery. He was beautiful, tall, rich, kindā¦ but also her best friendās dad.
Ella probably didnt clock that Y/N and Harry would be by themselves for the day, or if she did, she probably thought she had nothing to worry about, which made Y/N feel all kinds of guilty. She tried not to think about it too much or it did her head in.Ā
This fine Tuesday morning, Y/N wanted to finish her book by the pool, tan and go for a swim. Her mind was a mess of confusion, anger and sadness, and she needed something to refresh her whole system. Thankfully, it was a beautiful sunny day, with little clouds decorating the picturesque blue skies. She slipped on her red bathing suit (it was one of her sexier ones, and she might have put it on hoping Harry would see her in it, but whoās keeping track?) and made her way to the deck.
There was no sign of Harry yet, so the coast was clear as she put down her towel, book and phone on a chair and dipped her toe in the water. It was the perfect temperature, crystal clear and yelling at her to get in and have a swim. Harry took great care of his houseāmanaging the pool, the lawn, the bee farm all by himself. He said it was what kept him occupied, given he had a lot of free time on his hands. Y/N envied his lifeāhe was so lucky to be able to retire early and enjoy his time in this gorgeous villa by the beach in Italy.Ā
She took a deep breath before plunging inside, letting the water engulf her completely. A few seconds she spent just beneath the surface, the sound of the birds chirping muffled. When she came up, she swam two laps horizontally across the pool. Getting her body moving was another one of her favorite ways to destress, so this did wonders for her emotional state.Ā
Eventually, she made it over to the edge of the pool. Her forearms balanced her as she rested her chin on the damp skin, letting her face get warm. It was then she noticed Harry from across the deck, wearing denim overalls with nothing beneath them, a pair of lawn clippers in his right hand as the other wiped the sweat off of his forehead.
Now that was a sight Y/N thought she should be paying to see.
He looked like he stepped right out of a filthy porno, especially making Y/N hot when he unclipped one of his straps and let the overalls fall over his right pec. His skin was golden and smooth, a number of tattoos on display which Y/N so desperately wanted to trace with her own fingers. He caught her eye and gave her a big smile, which screamed Iāve caught you watching me and I know Iām hot.Ā
His hand came up in a lazy wave which Y/N returned. This time, she tried not to look like she just got caught red-handed, playing it casual as she lifted herself out of the pool. She tried her best to look sexyāmaking sure she slicked her hair back and jiggled her thighs and ass. Y/N could practically feel his eyes burning into her bare skin, but she tried to act nonchalant; like looking this good was her day-to-day, and she was definitely not horny about his sexy gardener getup.
Her ankle charm moved with every step she took, making a clinking sound that she wore for the sole purpose of attention-grabbing. There was an outdoor shower attached to the side of the house which they barely used, but Y/N decided today was as good a day as any. Harry continued to watch her, his gaze lidded. His eyes were dark, and it was then Y/N realised all those books she read about eyes being the windows to a soul made senseāshe could see the desire in them from a mile away.
She deliberately faced her back to him so he got a good view of her ass. The water came down on her, warming her cool skin. She glided her hands all over her body, trying to look appealing, inviting, but she wasnāt sure if it was working. Not a peep sounded from where Harry was standing and Y/N was starting to think she looked maybe a little dumb when she (tried to) seductively cup her breasts and throw her head bacā
āEnjoying this a little bit too much, are we?ā
Harryās deep voice made her jump, coming from her left where her stuff lay on the chair. She took her hands off her tits and turned to look at him, again, feigning nonchalance, āI dont know. Are you?ā
Her confidence was a sham.
In reality, her heart was thumping as fast as a kangaroo. The way he looked at her, the way he himself lookedā¦ his silly smirk drove her nuts. Harry only hummed lowly, raking his eyes up and down her exposed body. āHow can I not?ā Under normal circumstances, anyone looking at Y/N so intensely woud make her want to cross her arms across her body and cover up, but there was something in the way he saw herāit made her feel more confidentāit was like she could see how much he was enjoying this.
Slowly, she turned the water off, and Harry took a step towards her. His biceps bulged and sweat pebbled on his chest. Y/N never thought she coud have such filthy thoughts, but she found herself wanting to lick it off of him and bite his muscles all overā¦ maybe bite them while he fucked her, and she thinks he really knew how to fuck, if that night was a taste of how he had sex. She would do anything to have him like that, and that thought was so incredibly pathetic, Y/N felt she was setting feminism back fifty years.
āāyou?ā
Y/N was snapped out of her thoughts. āHmm?ā
Harry chuckled, taking another step closer to her. One more, and sheād be able to feel his hard muscles beneath her fingers like she wanted to.
āI said can I touch you, baby?ā
āOh, uhm. Yes.ā She breathed. Her voice was suddenly lost to her, like she couldnāt find the ability to speak in coherent sentences anymore. Harry looped a finger in the middle of her bikini top, between her breasts and gave her a tug, pulling her from under the shower head and up against his body. The simple action made her clench around nothing as her hands came to rest on his meaty pecs.Ā
Harry watched her closely when he lifted his fingers up to her neck, running along her jaw and her collarbone, like he couldnāt settle where he wanted to touch her. Her own squeezed lightly at his pecs which made him laugh, āWe have the whole house.ā He stated the fact, twirling a strand of her wet hair around his finger.
Y/N struggled to focus, too caught up in his small touches which made her go insane. She was quite ticklish, so his other hand which made circles on her back made her skin jump, but Harry was only amused by this. āWhat are you trying to say?ā She replied, trying once again to bring back that confident version of her. Right now, she just felt like a little pet for him; if he told her to roll over and bark, Y/N would do it in a heartbeat.
Harry leaned in close until his lips were right by her ear, āIām wondering where I want to fuck you first. The kitchen? The shower? Or right here, by the pool, where all our neighbours can hear you cry my name and you can tell them exactly how good I give it to you.ā He kissed the skin below, and then moved lower, more open-mouthed as his tongue peeked out.
Y/N whimpered at his words, her fingers digging into his chest. Her neck rolled back, exposing more skin which he suckled greedily, hard enough that she felt it, but soft enough so it didnāt leave a mark. āAnswer me.ā The words were mumbled into her skin. She snaked a hand up into his curls and used the grip to pull him back, the action making him groan deeply. His lips were spit slicked and red.Ā
āEverywhere. Fuck me everywhere, please, I need it.āĀ
āYeah? Need daddy to fuck you? Need him to make that ache go away?ā Now that had to be her last straw. Y/N had no sense of self from then on. When he talked to her in such a tone and called himself daddyā¦ fuck if she knew anything about self-respect. She was ready to put her life on the line for him. She gasped wetly when he suddenly cupped her needy pussy, rolling his palm against the damp fabric of her bikini bottoms. āUh-huh,ā She managed to say, malleable in his arms as he turned her against the wall.Ā
Her back scraped the bricks, but the pain was completely numbed by his fingers sliding over her clothed folds. āWords.ā
āYes, daddy.ā She whined. Harry murmured a small āfuckā beneath his breath before quickly sticking his fingers inside her bottoms, āShit, baby. So soaked already.ā He played around with her folds, not fully giving her what she needed; pinching her clit and flicking it side to side, but just before she could feel something real, he pulled back. What she didnāt expect was his palm coming down on her cunt hard, making an embarassing, wet thwuack sound.Ā
Y/N moaned loudly and tried to squeeze her thighs together but Harry was having none of it, stuffing his leg between her own to keep them open. āMmm. That feel good?ā He asked, now softly running circles over her clit. Y/N bit her bottom lip, her eyes shutting close, āSo good.ā
āEyes on me,ā He demanded, accompanied by a light pat on her cheek from his free hand. Y/N did her best to oblige, lazily keeping her lids open but she wasnāt doing a very good job, especially when his middle and ring finger suddenly slid impossibly deep inside her. Her body wanted to fold in on itself, but Harry held her up, moving his fingers at a delicious pace.Ā
āI said,ā He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to face him, āEyes on me.ā The filthiest fucking sounds came from her pussy due to his movements, and Y/N could feel herself dripping down her thighs. He stroked the spongy, sensitive spot inside of her.Ā
āFuck, Iām gonna come. Harādaddy Iām gonna come,ā She mumbled. It was hard to talk with Harry squishing her cheeks with one hand, but she persisted. It was then she noticed the iron grip she held his busy hand with, tight around his wrist like she was scared he would pull away. He let go of her face only to tug her bikini top down hastily, wasting no time in taking one of her nipples in his mouth.
He bit down on it before soothing with his tongue, āGive it to me, angel. Come for daddy.ā The sounds coming from her pussy and his mouth combine could make a nun pass outāwet, sloppy kisses and slippery fingers plunging in and out of her. Y/N was in heaven. Her other hand found his hair which she held on to tightly, her moans getting louder and higher as she pushed her thighs together.
Her orgasm ripped through her like lightening; from the tips of her toes and to the ends of her hair, her whole body shaking and spasming. She could feel her hole clenching around his fingers which didnāt let up on their pace, pressing against her gummy walls. She took a few seconds to ride her high and come down, while Harry continued to massage her worked up pussy. He came up from her tits, nudging his nose against hers. āYou look beautiful when you come.ā
The comment made her blush. She gave him a fucked-out, lazy smile, āYouāre fucking magic.ā
Harry laughed at this, patting her hip as he brought his hand out and fixed her bottoms. He licked his fingers clean, wich made Y/N whimper weaklyāhis face contorted into one of pleasure, like he didnāt just taste her pussy, but the sweetest fruit plucked from the garden of eden itself. The moan he let out after was what made her do what she did next.
It didnāt take much for Y/N to get on her knees for a man who knew how to treat her rightāespecially when they looked like Harry and smelled like himā¦ she was realising maybe he himself was just her weakness. She was ready to pay a million dollars so she could record the look on his face when he understood what she was planning to do, tugging needily at his overalls like a kitten.
āFuck me,ā He groaned, hard as a rock at the sight of her so willingly on her knees, staring up at him prettily; like his own personal angel. He quickly shedded his overalls, but Y/N couldnāt wait too long, grabbing his thighs and digging her hands into the meaty skin when his cock sprung free. It was the first time she was seeing it in all itās gloryāhe was big, probably the biggest sheād ever seenācurving slightly with a glistening pink tip that begged her to wrap her lips around it.
āI want daddy to fuck my throat,ā She hummed, experimentally licking the head. Harry jumped and moaned highly, a pained expression on his face, āYouāre just a little minx, hmm? Greedy thing begging for daddyās cock. How long have you been thinking about this?ā
āSince the moment I saw you,ā Y/N managed to say in between licks. She didnāt wait for his response, pulling him into her mouth, inch by inch. He was big, so she had to really open up for him, but Y/N liked the weight of him on her tongueā he was comfortable, which she knew was an odd word to use, but it was the only one she could use to describe how she felt. He showed off the smooth skin of his neck as he threw his head back, rolling it forward to look at her.Ā
Y/N did her best to take him as much as she could but he was fucking massive, and Harry knew this, as he fisted her hair and chuckled. āSlow down, baby,ā He said, strained, scraping his nails against her scalp soothingly. He was trying to make it easy for her but Y/N wanted to feel him everywhereāshe wanted to feel the burn in her throat and she wanted to make it good, and sloppy, and amazing for him, so she loosened her jaw, trying to communicate with her eyes.
When she halted her bobbing, Harry got the memo. She saw his eyes darken, his hands now cupping her head which he held still. Tears brimmed Y/Nās eyes when he began thrusting, really fucking her mouth the way she wanted him to. She didnāt want him to be gentle with her like she was fragileālike she was something he could break. She wanted to be his little plaything.
Every thrust punched a sound from her, which to some might be off-putting; her gagging and choking around his length, but it was music to Harryās ears, who cried her name and groaned deeply. The vibration rolled throughout his body and into hers, making her shiver in her spot. She was getting all worked up again, drooling around his cock like a mad womanāhe made her feral, made her feel things she didnāt think she could feel.
She was so far gone, she didnāt know where he began and she ended. The pretty noises he made fueled her, coupled with his small words of encouragement, āSo beautiful, baby. Youāre so good.ā It didnāt take too much for him to come after that. Y/N tried to keep still as he fucked her mouth, holding her hair in a makeshift ponytail. His thrusts got lazier, and he warned her he was going to come when Y/N stuck her tongue out to collect his release.Ā
He whined her name and came at the same timeārope after rope of hot, white cum, some catching on her tongue but some escaping and painting her cheek and tits. Y/N kept her mouth open for most of it, only closing occasionally so she could actually swallow and taste himāhe took care of his diet and always ate clean, and this was evident in the heady taste of him.
When he was finally spent Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Harry met her eyes, a cheeky glint in them as he gave her his hand to help stand back up. She was a bit wobbly on her legs, tired and just about ready to crash into bed. Maybe he would join herā¦ or was that too much to ask?
No words were exchanged between the two.
Harry quietly ran his fingers over her cheeks, picking up his cum, cleaning her face. And perhaps no words needed to be saidā¦ with the way they looked at each otherāplayful yet apprehensive. They were having fun with each other, but at what cost? This was a headache to think about, especially considering the circumstances they were in but really, neither had it in them at that moment to care enough. What mattered was that they were together, right now, and they enjoyed each other. Thatās all it had to be and thatās all it would be, they decided.
No one would be harmed if no one ever found out, and if there was one thing Harry and Y/N was good at, it was keeping a goddamn secret.Ā
A/N: YYYYAYY I HOPE U LIKED THIS ONE!!!! THIS SERIES IS GETTING A LOT OF LOVE AND THAT MAKES ME SO VERY HAPPY! I AM TRYING MY BEST TO WRITE FOR U GUYS IN ALL MY FREE TIME SO IF U HAVE ANY THOUGHTS FEELINGS IDEAS SEND THEM THROUGH!!! LIKE AND REBLOG AND REPLY AND ASK AND LOVE ALWAYS!!!! HAVE A LOVELY DAY/NIGHT/EVENING!!
A/N - hii welcome to best friend's dad harry x reader!! i know i said this was going to be a one-shot but i got really carried away writing this so i think its gna be a series!!?? anyways enjoy!! longer an at the end ;)
WC: 5.9k
Y/N and Ella had been friends for about seven, going on eight months maybe when Ella asked her if she was keen to come live with her and her dad that summer in a small town called Positano in Italy. The two met in a bathroom at a clubāY/N was having a nervous breakdown because her boyfriend, Sam, wasnāt replying to her texts or picking up her calls and Ella walked in, immediately noticed Y/N hyperventilating in the bathroom and asked her if she was okay.Ā
Like most female friendships, it didnāt take long after that for Y/N and Ella to get closer. Y/N ended up spilling her guts (literally as well, because she had too much to drink) to Ella and confided in her about Sam, how he always got like this when she went out with her girlfriends, who had no clue about Y/Nās crashout because she had gotten so good at hiding it around them.Ā
Ella expressed her dislike for Sam as soon as she heard the reason for her tears, consoled the poor girl and gave her the pep talk she needed. She put her number in Y/Nās phone and told her to call her if she ever needed anything or if she ever wanted to talk, and by that point, both girls were teary and emotional, partly owing to the fact that they were both drunk and their little moment in the bathroom was so special and healing to their inebriated versions.
Unsurprisingly, Y/N found herself texting Ella the following morning, expressing her gratitude and asking her if she ever wanted to meet for a coffee so Y/N could repay her for her kindness. Coffee dates then turned to shopping dates, which then turned to movie nights, which then turned to sleepovers, and that was how Y/N got to where she was nowācontemplating Ellaās generous offer for the summer.Ā
Since Y/N was a sane, normal person, she promptly said yes, because, hello!? Who wouldnāt want to spend summer in a dreamy town in Europe with their best friend, all accommodation paid for just for the price of her ticket going to and fro? And even that was a stretch, because apparently Ellaās dad had offered to pay for Y/Nās travel when Ella told him she was coming along too, but thankfully Y/N had enough pride in her to politely decline his generosity.Ā
He was already letting her live for free in his own house, Y/N would be very selfish to greedily let him pay for her ticket as well. But the offer did get Y/N thinkingā¦ Surely Ellaās dad was crazy rich to so easily offer to pay for her like it was nothing, all while owning and living in a house right by the water in Italy. All this made her even more curious about who he was and what he didāher and Ella hadnāt reached the family introduction stage yet, so Y/N was very, very nervous about meeting her dad.
All she heard about him was that he never remarried after his divorce, he loved animals and he lived in Italy for nearly a decade. Ella would go spend the summer with him every year but apparently it got a little lonely and kind of boring with just her and her dad, so she practically begged Y/N to come along this year, promising her how fun it woud be and how they could go to the beach every day and eat good food. Y/N didnāt need to hear anything elseāElla had her sold the moment she mentioned Euro summer and pasta everyday.
And so, three weeks later, Y/N and Ella were on a plane, fingers interlocked as they grinned at each other. The excitement was nearly unbearable. The only thing Y/N was scared about was meeting Ellaās dad. She did agree to spend three months living in a house with him, so she really hoped he wasnāt a creep. Anything else she thinks she can deal with.Ā
After what felt like a lifetime in the air, the two landed in Italy. Right off the bat the air already smelt different. Cleaner. Y/Nās stomach was flipping with giddiness. āHe should be here by nowā¦ā Ella murmured, staring down at her phone. The two stood outside the airport with their luggage, now just waiting for Ellaās dad to come pick them up. āAre you sure this is okay, Ella? He doesnāt have a problem with me literally living in his house for free for the whole summer?ā Y/N rambled, lip between her teeth.
āOh shut up. Heās more than happy to have you here. Iāve told him so much about you!ā Ella rolled her eyes at Y/Nās words. Her reassurance had the opposite effect on Y/N, though. āOh my god, that makes it so much worse. What have you told him? What does he think of māā
āThere he is!ā Ella exclaimed, a massive smile on her face. Y/N tried following her gaze, looking for a what she thought her dad looked like, but she didnāt really see whā
Oh.
Now Y/N was not expecting this.Ā
Ellaās dad was maybe the most handsome man Y/N had ever laid her eyes on (and she says this with no shame, as a girlfriend of two years). He was tall, wearing shorts and a light blue button down. He was very much still in shapeāshe could tell by the way his biceps bulged when he wrapped his arms around Ella. He had beautiful green eyes that reminded Y/N of the forest, a straight nose and chocolate brown curly hair which was not too short. He genuinely looke like he walked right out of a magazine.
āWow, Iāve missed you. How was your flight, love?ā He asked Ella. He was hugging her tightly, a blissful look on his face as his daughter pulled back, āit was perfect, thank you dad. I missed you too.ā He kissed her cheek before his eyes found Y/Nās, āAnd is this your friend whoās joining us this year?ā
Ella stepped aside, āDad, this is Y/N, Y/N, this is my dad.āĀ
Y/N stuck her hand out to greet him, trying to mask her shock and fake some confidence. It was then that she noticed that not only was he handsome, but he was decorated with tattoos which covered most of his arms and some parts of his legs. Judging by the ink that peeked out from his top, she knew there was probably more that she couldnāt see at the moment. Unfortunately for her, this only made him sexier.
His hand was huge compared to hers and also surprisingly warm. āLovely to meet you, Y/N.ā He gave her a polite, cordial smile. āYou too, Mr. Styles.ā
āPlease, call me Harry.ā
āThank you for letting me stay with you this summer Harry,ā Y/N said, shyly. She could feel her cheeks aflame and she should be very ashamed for reacting this way to her best friendās dad, but God, could anyone really blame her? This man looked like he was carved by the angels. āItās no trouble. Any friend of Ellaās is a friend of mine.ā He flashed her another knee-weakening smile and Y/N was instant putty. Despite living in Italy for some time he still had the cutest British accent, accompanied by a deep, sexy voice which was driving Y/N insane.
Luckily for her the conversation was directed elsewhere as Harry began loading their luggage in his car and Y/N was left wondering how she was going to survive living with him for a quarter of a year.
-
Harryās house was prettier than Y/N had imagined.
It was all one storey with a small porch out the front where he liked to garden. Around the back was a small bee-keeping farm that he had and a massive, round pool surrounded by two yellow and pink sun chairs. The house had four bedrooms with a huge, rustic kitchen which opened up to a sitting area and a dining area. She noticed he didnāt have a single colour themeāthe decor just felt like pieces he decided he liked and brought into his home, and somehow, it all worked so well together.Ā
āMy room is the first one down the hall, and then yours will be at the end!ā Ella said to her excitedly while she gave Y/N a small tour. The girl was at a loss for words. āElla this place is beautiful. I canāt believe I get to live here,ā Y/N said, astonished. āI know right?ā Ella giggled. She grabbed Y/Nās hand and dragged her outside to the deck by the pool.
Everything, from the weather to the smell in the air, was perfect. Y/N was living in a dream, āThis is my favorite part. I usually just spend most of my time here while dad looks after the bees.āĀ
Y/N thought it was kind of cute that Harry kept bees. It was such an odd, niche hobby to have. āThatās so nice that he has a bee farm,ā Y/N hummed mindlessly. She took a set on one of the chairs. āYeah. Heās a bit of an animal and literature nerd. Oh my god Iāll show you the library!ā
Ella took Y/Nās hand and rushed her inside again. Y/N felt bad that Harry was stuck unloading their bags but she did offer to help. Obviously, being the gentleman he was, he declined and told her he would take care of it and she should go explore the house. She caught a glimpse of him lifting one of her duffle bags as they walked past the front door and the sight made Y/Nās heart race.
Sweat dripped down his veiny forearms and the back of his shirt was visibly damp as he heaved the bag over his shoulder. His skin was golden and inked, so delicious, Y/N was tempted to take a bite. She had to physically shake her head to rid herself of the sinful thoughts she was having about her best friendās dad.
Eventually the two girls arrived at the library and Y/N was immediately floored. Being a sucker for books herself, Y/N was enthralled at the huge, stacked shelves of atlasses, classics, encylopedias and journals she saw before herself. She could spend the whole summer in here and never get bored.Ā
āI knew you would love this,ā Ella said excitedly. She stood behind Y/N with a grin on her face, watching the girl run her fingers along the spines of books. Just as she was about pick one out of the shelf, she was interrupted, āIām just about to head to town to grab some things for dinner.ā
Y/N turned around to see Harry had joined them in the library. He stood at the doorway, looking expectantly at both of them. āTake us with you please! I want to take Y/N to Violettaās!ā Ella pleaded. Harryās expression softened at his daughter and Y/N saw the moment he melted at her tone, āOf course,ā He replied, āweāll leave in fifteen.ā Harry smiled briefly and left to get changed.
āWhatās Violettaās?ā Y/N asked finally. She followed Ella as they left the library and went towards their rooms to wash up, āOnly the best gelato in the whole world. Dad and I go there at least twice a week when Iām here,ā Ella said, āwear something short. Itās going to get really hot later.ā
Y/N had no doubt about it.
-
Positano was a charming small town. It looked like it popped right out of Y/Nās pinterest board, with chiseled cobblestone streets and kind shopkeepers who knew Harry by name and stopped the three of them every few seconds to say hello. The sun was beating down on Y/Nās back, which was bare save for the two pieces of string that tied to keep together her dress. The garment fell just about mid-thigh and fit her waist snugly, the neckline deeper than she normally wore. She remembered packing it specially for the tripāit was cute but sexy.
They finally arrived at Violettaās, which was a pretty dessert shop tucked into the corner of a busy, crowded street. Harry and Ella walked in first and were greeted by a small, short woman with tied back black hair.
āElla, tesoro mio, come stai? I was wondering when you were coming,ā She said sweetly, engulfing Ella in a hug. Ella closed her eyes and hugged her back, āIām great, Violetta, how are you? I missed you!āĀ
Violetta had a heavy Italian accent, āMe too, tesoro. I was getting bored of your old padre,ā she teased, winking at Harry. āWho is this bella ragazza? Is this your friend?ā Violetta, Harry and Ella now all looked at Y/N, who albeit felt a little out of place, was quite endeared by the bond the three of them had. āThis is my best friend, Y/N. Sheās spending the summer with us this year.ā Ella introduced.Ā
āOh che emozione! Welcome to Positano, principessa,ā Violetta grinned. She pulled Y/N into a hug, āThank you. Itās wonderful. You have a beautiful shop.ā
āThis is nothing. You have to try the gelato. Tell me, what flavors do you want today?ā
She asked this question to all three of them. In the end Y/N just went with whatever Violetta recommended, all the other flavors looking to good to choose from herself. She stepped outside to enjoy her dessert in the sun when her phone buzzed.
Sam
hows italia? any cute boys?
jkĀ
Y/N rolled her eyes at his lame text. She got that he was trying to crack a joke but he was kind of just irritating her. This was always what happenedāwhenever she was somewhere he wasnāt, heād assume she was getting approached by a lot of males, which was not true and only pissed her off that he even thought that. She ignored the text and decided to reply later, choosing instead to enjoy her gelato.
The flavor was raspberry and lemon sorbet, and it was truly the best thing she had tasted in a while. āEverything okay?ā Harry asked her, coming out of the shop as well. Y/N cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see Ella was engrossed in conversation with Violetta. āUh yeah, itās nothing,ā Y/N brushed it off. She leaned against the brick wall, watching as Harry licked his spoon.
Y/N was maybe being erotic for no good reason, because her eyes drank in the sight of him greedily. She never thought it was possible to be envious of a spoon. āMmm. Do you like your gelato?ā He asked her, making small talk. āOh itās great. What uhā¦ what flavor did you get?ā
āNocciola. Hazelnut.ā
āYum. That sounds nice.ā
āDo you want to try?ā
Y/Nās eyebrows shot up. āIf you donāt mind?ā
āWouldnāt have offered if I did.ā
She used her own spoon to take a bite, and sheād be lying if she said his was not better than hers. āThatās so good!ā She said, eyes widening. Harry smiled softly, āYeah, itās my favorite.ā
āIām so getting that next time.ā
āOh, wait, you got a little something there,ā He said. His eyebrows furrowed as he zeroed in on her face, gaze focused on the right side of her chin. Y/N blindly reached up to wipe it, āDid I get it?ā
āTo your right.ā He motioned with his finger. She tried again, āIs it gone?ā
āWaitālet me,ā Harry put his wooden spoon between his teeth, using his now free hand to wipe her chin. Y/N was nearly about to combust. His fingers were gentle and somehow they felt like they enveloped the whole bottom side of her face due to the sheer size of his palm. The position was oddly similar to one she would be in if he was about to kiss her, but Y/N stopped that thought before it could spiral into something worse. āThere.ā
āOh. Thank you,ā She breathed, slightly discombobulated. Her heart raced as he took a step back and took the spoon out of his mouth. He gave her a shy smile just as Ella walked out.
āCan we go home now? My feet hurt.ā She looked at Y/N and gasped, āDid you like it!? I knew you would like it!ā
Y/N nodded enthusiastically, agreeing with Ella. āNow you have to try dadās carbonara. Itās like the best thing in the world. Youāre cooking tonight, right dad?ā
āYes love,ā Harry beamed at his daughter. He threw an arm around her shoulder as the three of them walked and kissed the side of her forehead, āWhatever you want.ā
-
Y/N and Ella made use of the pool as soon as they got back to the house. Y/N changed into the red string bikini she bought especially for the trip and spent an hour lounging on the sun chair and reading her book before she got in the water. The deck door was open and all the aromatic smells from the kitchen flowed through the property. Harry had music playing from an old record player, making the evening dreamier.Ā
After watching the sun go down, the two girls finally went back inside. Y/N pulled on a white coverup and Ella a big t-shirt as they walked into the kitchen. Harry was humming along to a song wearing a pink āKiss the Chef!ā apron which amused Y/N. āIt smells so good,ā she commented. āJust wait until you try it.ā Ella and Y/N sat next to each other and Harry set down two plates for them and then one for himself.
Steam rose from the bowls of heaping pasta, decorated with parsley and a sprinkle of what Y/N believed was parmesan cheese. She didnāt waste anytime in taking a bite. Her eyes closed in pure pleasure. āWow,ā was the only word she could say. Ella was not lying when she said this was the best thing in the whole world. If Italy was always going to taste this good, Y/N was scared she would never ever leave.
āIām glad you like it,ā Harry drawled. He poured the three of them red wine and then took his own seat. Ella and Harry recalled all their memories from the past summers spent here, and their stories ranged from days holed up in the house doing nothing but eating pasta and swimming in the pool to impromptu camping trips and catching the train to different cities every weekend.Ā
Y/N enjoyed every minute of her time. She was always more comfortable as a listener, afraid to talk too much and say the wrong thing, which is often where she would end up when she rambled with her boyfriend. She tried not to think about him too much though, because he wasnāt doing much other than ruining her trip with his clingy little messages. Maybe later in the night she would call him so he could finally stop.
After dinner Y/N offered to help clean up, seeing as Harry cooked for them and took them out to get gelato, all at his own expense. But the man didnāt hear one bit of it, softly holding her wrist back when she went to collect the dishes from the table, reassuring her that he would take care of it. It didnāt take long after that for Ella and Y/N to bid Harry goodnight and resign to their bedrooms.
Ella stayed with Y/N for about an hour, just gossiping and giggling about everything she had planned for their stay at the house. Y/N thanked her another time for bringing her along. She was immensely grateful for both Ella and Harryās hospitality and she didnāt, for one moment, want to seem like she was imposing at all. After telling Y/N to shush and just enjoy her stay, Ella went to her own bedroom and Y/N fell fast asleep.
The next week and a half went past like a blur. Y/N and Ella would wake up and prepare breakfast together, usually pancakes or oats or french toast drizzled with honey fresh from Harryās farm. They would get ready for the day and either go down to the beach, which was a two minute bike ride from the house, or down to the shops where they enabled each other to buy anything and everything. Street food vendors called the girls over, shoving samples into their hands which they took gratefullyāsometimes they would stop at Violettaās and get a fix of her amazing gelato. All of this for the day to end back at the house to eat another home-cooked dish that Harry made for themāat this point Y/N had to wonder if he was a chef or something before he retired to the Italian countryside.
Y/N would be lying if she said he didnāt make her days all the more sweeter. It was enough that Y/N was living in a house with him for three months where he cared for her and pampered her and took her out and never let her spend a dime when she was with him.
He was incredibly caring and just deliciously nerdy and so sexy. Y/N felt like a teenager around him. It was awful already that she was thinking these things about her own best friendās dad and she swore she really, really tried to stop thinking about him the way she did but it was just so hard.Ā
Her bedroom was angled just right so that right outside of her window she could see the sliver of the back deck where Harryās bee farm was. On days where she woke up before Ella, Y/N would often take her book by the windowsill and read while listening to the birds chirpābut about two days ago, that became near impossible to do in solitude.
Y/N was on the windowsill like planned, her book in hand as she peered out of the glass with a soft smile on her face. She was just about to pop open where she left off when she noticed a tall figure on the deck. She caught Harry right after he had tended to his bees and she watched shamelessly, like a starved woman, as he walked towards the pool and shedded the protective suit off of his body. Beneath it she was met with miles and miles of golden, tanned, inked skin. He wasnāt chiselled like a bodybuilder or anything, but he had faint lines on his stomach which showed sign that he definitely used to.
She was practically hypnotised by the sight of himāwatching the butterfly on his torso move up and down as he breathed, his biceps bulging as he stretched, his hair flopping messily over his forehead. Her thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly dove into the pool but her gaze never strayed.
He swam a lap before surfacing and wiped his face with his hands. Almost like he could feel her watching him, he turned his head and met her eyes. Y/N nearly jumped out of her own skin. She was caught redhanded oogling him like a creep. Immediately drawing the curtain shut and getting off of the windowsill, she noticed she was actually drooling when she touched her chin. She was so engrossed she didnāt even noticed, and she really, really hoped Harry didnāt either.
After that Y/N was avoiding Harry like the plague. She didnāt mean to act so standoffish around him but she felt like she had no choice. She was so embarrassed of her actions. She pretended like she wanted to walk to the market today instead of being dropped off in Harryās car and forced Ella to trek the 7 kilometers with her, which by the end of it they were both sweaty and exhausted, and lowkey not even in the mood for shopping anymore. At dinner time she made minimal conversation and pretended like she had a headache so she could go to bed early.Ā
Ella checked in on her a few hours later but Y/N pretended to sleep. What was she to tell her? That Y/N thought about fucking her dad 24/7 and now he probably knew this as well? She felt like she couldnāt even face Ella. She felt like a fraud.
To top it all off, her night was worsened by the constant stream of texts that Sam was sending her. He was on her ass about where she was all the time, who she was with, if she met any new people, even though he made her share her location before she got on the plane. He was on a whole other continent, yet Y/N felt suffocated by him.Ā
She looked at the time on her phone.Ā
2:34AM.
The air was humid, and Y/N wore her tiniest nightset which could pass for lingerie if you squinted your eyes. Although her bare tummy and legs were exposed, she felt like she was melting. She quietly left her room and went to the kitchen to get an ice cold drink. Surely that would help cool her down, mentally and physically. As for the text messages, she switched off her phone and tucked it under her pillow, blissfuly choosing to ignore the issue. She didnāt need this negative energy while she was having her dream Italian summer.
The night was quiet save for the quiet cricketing sounds outside. Y/N hummed a tune to herself as she grabbed a diet coke and popped the can open. She turned around and was immediately startled when she bumped into a strong figure.Ā
āOh my goāā She started to yell, assuming that an intruder broke into the house. Her eyes were wide with fear when a hand came down on her mouth gently, cupping it and silencing her. āShhh. Itās just me Harry.ā Y/N allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and in that darkness she recognised his familiar voice. She allowed herself to calm down, her shoulders relaxing as his hand slipped away from her lips.Ā
āYou scared the life out of me!ā She whisper yelled. Harry took a step back and it was then Y/N noticed that to her dismay, he was completely and utterly shirtless.
He wore nothing but a pair of lose plaid pyjama pants which looked lazily tugged on. āSorry, sorry. I didnāt meant to. Are you alright?ā He asked her. Y/N put a hand to her forehead and leaned against the counter. Harry did the same on the opposite side. If she took three more steps she would be pressed right up against his bare, hot skin but she didnāt let that thought linger for long.
āI was just getting something to drink. Itās uhā¦ itās hot,ā She replied. Harry sweeped his gaze over her exposed skin. Her tiny shorts and tank didnāt leave much to the imagination and Y/N was just now realising how promiscuous she probably looked. Nervous, she crossed her arms over her stomach.Ā
āMe too.ā
She wondered if she should bring up what happened that morning, with him catching her watching him from her window like a stalker, but she didnāt know if that would make her situation worse. What if he didnāt even notice her and sheās just convinced herself that he has? What if she was just imagining things?
āAbout Friday morningāā
āIām so sorry about whāā
They both started talking at the same time, deciding to unanimously address the elephant in the room. So she didnāt just make it up in her head. Harry did catch her watching and he was obviously still thinking about it like she was since he was bringing it up now.
Y/N felt her cheeks go red, and although she knew she should probably reply to Harry, all she could think about was how from this up close, she could see the stubble forming along his jaw and coming over top lip, which was plump and heart shaped, and she saw as his tongue swiped over it anā
āDonāt be sorry. Itās not your fault the window is right there.ā
Y/N was yanked out of her thoughts by his apology, which felt so wholly unnecessary. If anything, she felt like she was the creep in this situation who made him uncomfortable with her staring. ā I hope I didnāt bother you,ā She replied. She fussed with her own bottom lip, biting and tugging like she was physically holding herself back from grabbing the man and kissing him silly.
āDid you like what you saw?ā Harry questioned. Y/N was dumbfounded. She had no idea where this was coming from. She could practically see the shift in mood in his eyes as he watched her carefully.Ā
For a few moments, all Y/N could hear was the racing of her own heart.
āYeah.āĀ
Harry hummed low in his throat. āMe too.ā
Y/N tried to process what was happening, actively consoling the butterflies in her tummy that were going crazy with each passing second in his dizzying presence. She noticed as Harry grabbed the counter behind him with both hands, knuckles turning white, as her own tightened around her stomach, lip turning bring pink from all the abuse it was undergoing.
There was a push and pull energy between themāY/N could practically taste it in the air. Both of them looked like they were refraining themselves from touching the other person, channeling their energy and desperation into other parts of their bodies. Her eyes drank him in greedily and she could only hope that he wasnāt following the needy look on her face in the dark kitchen.
Y/N didnāt know who gave in first, and to be honest, she didnāt care to tell. For what could she ever care about and what could ever matter in her life when Harryās hand was enclosing around her jugular and his lips were on hers hungrily pressing his entire being against her like he couldnāt get enough. A soft moan escaped Y/Nās lips as he pushed his pelvis against hers.Ā
It was like a flip was switched. She could already feel his arousal through the layers of fabric separating them.
āLittle minx,ā he mumbled against her mouth, biting her bottom lip now himself. God knows how long heād been waiting for this, āyouāre nothing but trouble.ā His fingers tightened against her throat as he angled her head to his liking. He wasnāt shy with his tongue, as it invaded every crevice of her mouthārunning along her teeth, looping with her own tongue and sponging wet kisses all along her jaw and neck.
Harry was just as sinful as her own thoughtsāmaybe even more.
His other hand grabbed her ass before sliding down to the back of her thigh which he spread open to press his hard dick against her pulsating cunt. Y/N could feel her clit swelling and her underwear getting soaked the more he pushed against herādeep and hard rolls that nearly made her eyes water.
āI fucking knew the moment I saw you.ā He slapped her bum and rubbed his palm over it after, like he was trying to sooth the pain.
Now this was a side of Harry Y/N was not expecting.Ā
Even in those shameful moments when Y/N would think about what he might be like in bed, Y/N pictured a soft and gentle lover, much like how he was in his normal day-to-day lifeācaring and considerate. But now, when he was biting all over her neck like a fucking vampire and choking her with his massive hand, she realised she was very, very sorely mistaken, "d'you think I don't notice? Think I don't see you staring, hmm?"
She came to the epiphany that she actually didnāt know Harry at all.Ā
"Tell me, Y/N," Harry started, tugging her bottom lip before letting it snap back into place, "do you touch this pretty pussy and think about me?" She felt his hand now trail down and cup her hot center, his fingers sitting right where she needed him most, "do you imagine me fucking you, right here, with your best friend asleep in the other room?" He spat lowly in her ear.
He let his fingers roll on her cunt. The small movements made her even more desperate as she felt her knees buckle beneath her.
"Yes. Please, Harry," Y/N whined. Her mouth settled in an almost child-like pout and she felt tears in her waterline. Harry's hand rubbed her clit over the fabric of her shorts, "Always knew you were a dirty little thing."
Y/Nās hands roamed all over his bare back just like she wanted to when she first saw him that day at the airport. She savored every momentāletting her tongue taste his skin, letting his hands squeeze her hip and then her tit, pinching her nipple in a way Y/N didnāt even know she liked. He resorted back to grinding against her pussy and Y/N felt her wetness spread all over her folds.
āFuck Iām gonna cum,ā She whined, hugging him closer to her body. Harryās hand came up to her jaw which he cupped, eyes never leaving hers, āOpen your mouth.ā
Y/N was too cock-dumb to think for herself in that moment as she obliged immediately. She didnāt expect Harry to purse his lips and spit right on her tongue, and she didnāt expect that she would like it at all.Ā
But she loved it.
"Swallow," He slapped her cheek lightly.
She loved how filthy he was and she loved how she felt degraded but taken care of at the same time, she loved the way his thumb flitted aross her chin gently as he watched her swallow his spit and she loved how he didnāt slow his hips, grinding faster when he noticed her nearing her end.Ā
She came hard and she tried to stifle her moans, but Harry made sure to cover her mouth with his own, letting her muffle her sounds against his tongue. Her high lasted for ages, and Y/N didnāt remember the last time she had such an amazing orgasm, especially one that was through her clothes. Harry groaned and then that stretched into a whiny cry of her name, "Fuck, Y/N."
The sound made Y/Nās entire body feel like it was on fire.Ā
Harry made her feel like she was on fire.
The euphoria she experienced that moment could never compare to anything Y/N had been through before. She slumped into Harryās arms, utterly exhausted and spent, even though they barely did anything. A gentle hand came into her hair, nails scraping against her scalp. She heard the words vibrate in her body as his lips touched her forehead.
āWe are so fucked.ā
A/N - OMG LOL I HOPE U LIKED THIS ONE!! i lowkey got so excited writing this and had idea after idea pop into my head which is why i lowkey rambled and made this one a bit too long hehe but i hope u dont mind!!!! this might just be total trash cos i lit wrote it in a manic episode in 2 days so apologies if it sucks!! please please pleaaaseee as always if u have any thoughts or feelings or ideas or if u wanna say hi come do it!! leave replies and reblogs girls YOLO!!!1 luv u!!
harrys been in pain without u on tour. when he misbehaves at dinner due to pure desperation, its only right to treat him how he deserves.
for all the subrry anons. love u
CW: sub harry, intense begging/crying, masturbation(f), oral(m), just some good old subrry.
likes/reblogs so appreciated !
WC: 6.7k
Itād been two weeks since the two of you had last been intimate.
Tour was always hard. Late nights. Different time zones. Weeks where you just couldnāt get off of work to travel with him. Lagging phone calls. Brief intermissions between rehearsals and the show.
To be honestāyouād been totally fine. You were more than fed. All you needed at night was a 30 second clip of him on stage and the help of your vibrator. Every night was an orgasm night when Harry was on tour. Even when he wasnāt physically with you.
Harry, on the other hand, was quite tense.
āHarry, are you gonna touch yourself when Iām gone?ā You asked softly, tangled in the sheets of the luxe hotel bedding. Your finger ran small lines across the hairs on his chest, gently grazing over every inch as your head tilted up to look at him.
His head shook quickly. āNo. Donāt want it. Iāll wait for you.ā
You couldnāt help the grin that crawled its way onto your face at his easy compliance, sighing into his chest as you wrapped a bare leg around his waist.
āThank you baby,ā you cooed, reaching up to kiss him softly and pinch the bottom of his earlobe between your fingers.
āUm,ā his throat cleared, āare you sure you canāt take off? Itāll really be 16 days?ā
āMhm,ā you nodded slow, āIām sorry, baby. But you can do it, canāt you? Behave for me?ā
His nod came even quicker this time. āYes. I can, I promise.ā
Because really, at the end of the day, there is no better pleasure than pleasing you. Not to him. To fall under your control and obey every command. He really hadnāt ever failed you yet either.
But this one was harder than the rest. 16 days was a long period of time for anything, let alone restraint from an orgasm. Harry never really went longer than a day without one. To go 16 days, with the added obstacle of your mischief over the phone, had to be something worth awarding. It was truly astonishing.
So now, as the two of you get dressed for a long overdue dinner with your friends, his patience has begun to string out.
āWhat time are we leaving?ā Harry asked, tying the lace of his left shoe as he sat on the edge of your mattress.
āAbout a half hour. If I had to guess. You okay?ā
You knew he wasnāt. You knew why, too.
He knew youād make him say it.
āMhm. All good. Just wondering.ā
You spun away from the mirror to face him, clasping your earring tight with both of your hands as you raise a brow.
āAre you lying to me?ā You tease with a little smile, slowly walking towards him on the bed as he pulls the end of his laces tight.
You could tell he was considering denying it again, through the way his eyes moved and his cheeks bit into themselves in a nervous tick. His breath was unsteady and his hands a bit clammyārubbing against the fabric on his thighs once he was done with his shoes.
āI was thinking maybe you could help me out, please. You know, before we leave. It just, um, it hurts a little bit. Itās okay if notā¦just, if you wanted to.ā
The grin that slipped its way to your lips was fully involuntary.
But how could you not when he was this sweetā¦so gentle and careful with his ask. Like if he came off too pushy it would be breaking a forbidden law.
āYeah?ā You hum, strolling closer towards him until your legs stood between his knees, āyou want my help?ā
āYes, please,ā he nodded, tilting his head back to stare up at you with a thick swallow and glassed eyes.
You sigh, curling your lips further up to the right as you wrapped your palm around the nape of his neck. His chest rose up and down in a half steady pace, eyes blinking slowly as they waited for your next move.
āOk, baby,ā you nod, āI can help you.ā
You wouldāve thought he was just granted eternal life.
It was endearing how bright his eyes lit and how quick his grin grew. He let his eyes fall closed in a moment of gratitude, like he was silently thanking whatever god put this pretty girl here in front of him and shoved between his knees.
Your hand slipped down and over his pining bulge, āwhat do you want, honey? My mouth? My hand?ā
His eyes fell shut at the brief contact and his neck tipped even further back, āYes, please. Whatever you want. Thank you, baby, thank you.ā
You just hummed, squeezing softly through the twitch underneath his pants and leaning further down towards his lips.
They were soft when you met them. Lightly wet and familiarly warm. To say you missed him was more than an understatement. Regardless of your secret stash of fan clips from tour and the blissful buzz of your toy, nothing compared to his tongue in your mouth.
It was deep, sensual. Your lips meshed as if designed for each other, pressing your mouths open wide and fluttering both of your mouths shut in a shared moment of peace.
Well, peace for you anyway.
Harry was hungrier than you were. His lips moved quicker and his hips jutted up into your palm more times than they shouldāve. Quicker than they shouldāve too. He was desperate and it showed, hands clawing at your sides and pinching at your hips without a second thought.
āNeedy, hm?ā You hum into his lips, tugging tighter at the pain on his crotch.
āYes, baby, I need you to touch me. Please, just need something. Please.ā
āOk,ā you coo, āyou want it now?ā
It was cruel. You knew it was.
āYes y/n please, now,ā his nod was frantic agaisnt your head, swallowing thick and shifting his hips against the mattress for the thousandth time.
And once your hand tugged down on the slick fabric and his stinging erection perked up against his stomach, the sigh that rolled out of you was straight instinct.
Youād almost forgotten how much you loved his cock. The way it swelled when he was extra desperate and dripped down his shaft. His crown was such a vivid red that you could nearly feel the pain yourselfāthe throb and the ping of a need for relief.
āSo pretty, Harry,ā you whisper, dropping to your knees in front of him as his eyes follow you.
It was better closer up. The veins that swelled thick and shined a pretty purple. Your eyes fell to the little freckle that sat at his base too, shifting up and down with every heavy breath he took and glistening once his leak dribbled down to the bottom.
With your eyes pointed up at him and his locked to yours, you pressed your tongue flat against the back of his curve with one long drag.
And when his mouth fell open and his brows caved into themselves, you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.
But youād have your fun. Heād enjoy it, too. Even if he acted like he didnāt.
āFuck,ā he cursed under his breath, āmissed this. Missed you. Feels so good, shit.ā
You hummed, wrapping your lips around his crown and sucking softly at sensitive skin. The salty bud of his precum drenched your tastebuds, coating your mouth as it rolled his cock in and out in slick motions.
Through his heaving chest and his subtle groans, you knew his orgasm was already only seconds away. Itād only been a couple of moments since the first contact. But itād been weeks since heād had any sort of touch, and youād honestly be offended if he got there any slower than this.
Your lips slipped off of his tip with a pop, stopping his breaths in the midst of it all and sighing as you sat back on your knees.
His head lifts fast, confusion written all over his face before he even fully processes it. He just stares at you while you stand from the floor like nothing happened, his cock still twitching in place and soaked in your saliva where you left it.
He doesnāt say anything at first. Just watches you.
Completely flushed, cheeks a warm pink, brows pulled together tightly, breathing still heavy while his brain visibly tries to catch up to whatever just happened. Like he genuinely cannot understand why you stopped when he was that close.
And you donāt explain.
You just walk over to the mirror, brushing your hair back calmly while he stays exactly where he is on the mattress, hands still propping himself up behind him and legs still spread wide.
His mouth parts slightly like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. He just keeps staring at you with this completely baffled expression, eyes flicking between you and his dick like maybe he imagined the entire thing.
āAre you ready to go?ā You ask, spinning around from the mirror and placing your brush back on the burrow.
The question makes him blink.
āNow?ā he asks through raised brows, still breathless, still visibly flustered.
āYeah,ā you say simply, āItād be rude to be late.ā
He stares at you for another second like heās hoping something will suddenly make sense.
It doesnāt.
But he still zips up his fly, pushes himself up off the mattress through the confusion, and stands up with an awkward cough. His hand runs over the back of his neck while he follows after you, face still flushed and brows still faintly pinched together like heās going to be thinking about it for the rest of the night.
And he did.
It was 7:56 PM.
26 minutes into the dinner and 26 centuries into Harryās pain.
It started small. Subtle taps of his foot against yours beneath the table. A pinch to your thigh every time he was feeling especially uncomfortable. A tap on your side followed by a desperate glance. A subtle sigh that was over exaggerated for the sole purpose of stealing your attention.
And then things started to unravel into something more intense.
Clawing at your leg like it would somehow help his situation. Whispering gentle pleas into your ear while a friend was telling a story. His head falling flat into his hands as his right leg bounced up and down against the floor. His finger constantly tapping at your shoulder just so he could show you the real dramatics of what was going on.
Then there were the texts.
Baby
Baby
???
Baby
Home soon??
How long are we staying
????
Baby
A tap on your phone case to get you to finally look at the constant notifications.
Once you did, you just glanced at him with a soft smile. Like you couldnāt believe this was the extent he was going to. Slamming your phone with texts while you chatted with friends you hadnāt seen in months.
But you didnāt answer. You just flipped your phone back over and returned to the conversation, laughing at a joke someone told and nodding along when it felt right.
So, to him, bothering you though barely there whispers was the clear next step.
āY/n, Iām full, Iām ready to go soon.ā
When the food hadnāt even come out yet.
āPlease, baby, I need to go.ā
When he really had no place to be.
āIt hurts, please.ā
As his palm pressed softly against his crotch.
āBaby, Iām making a mess. We have to go.ā
And even when that one almost got you, you stayed sharp. You added to the conversation. You ordered another drink. Two, even. You even asked to see the desert menu, taking your time to read through the options even while knowing you were full already.
And Harry? He was dead silent.
Watching everything you do and staring for longer than he shouldāve. He liked to watch as your fingers flipped through the thin pages of the drink booklet. How your eyes squinted harder at the small text because you always refused to get glasses. He watched your chest as you sighed at the taste of your cocktail, humming softly and wrapping your pretty fingers along the cold glass.
āAlright, well, we should really get going,ā the sound of your friend referring to her and her boyfriend was music to Harryās ears.
āAw, ok,ā you sigh, āit is getting pretty late. We have to do this again sometime. Soon!ā
And as the table filled with agreements and soft goodbyes and empty promises of coffee dates, Harryās jacket was already on and his lips were pressed tight in a polite smile.
By the time youāre both leaving the restaurant, heās practically attached to your side.
One hand stays fixed at your waist while the other hooks loosely around your wrist, like if he lets go for even a second you might disappear into the crowd around him.
Itās excessive even for him, but he didnāt even seem to care. You werenāt actually sure if he was aware of how clingy he'd been acting. You considered the fact that he might be so fogged in discomfort that he was only half present.
You barely get through saying goodbye to the maĆ®tre dā before heās tugging you toward the door again, hovering so close behind you his chest brushes your back every time you slow down. His fingers tighten around your hand the second you step outside into the cool night air, like some delayed desperation finally catching up to him.
He still looks flustered.
Cheeks faintly pinched inward, pink from tension he probably doesnāt even fully understand. His jaw tightened as he followed half a step behind you, like heās running entirely on instinct now.
Itās almost funny how obvious it is.
The way he keeps glancing at you like heās trying to solve something. The way his arm winds around your shoulders the second you reach the sidewalk. The way he exhales slowly when you lean back into him for even half a second.
Like that tiny bit of attention fixes something.
āYouāre clinging,ā you mumble finally.
His grip only tightens.
āI know,ā he says quietly, immediate enough that it almost sounds involuntary.
And somehow that makes him cling harder.
Once youāre back in the car, it only gets worse.
Kisses to the back of your hand as he inhales your skin. Uncomfortable shifts in the leather of the seats like any kind of friction will take him out of his hell.
Itās not like you were making it any easier.
Gentle sighs in the passenger seat. Squeezing your arms together subtly so your breasts press against each other. You even bent in half as he went to open the door for you, pressing your ass back into him as you picked up the lipgloss you accidentally dropped.
You knew it worked the moment you dropped your gaze to his pain.
Thick. Bulging. Screaming for any kind of help beneath the rich fabric of his trousers. He was tented up like youāve never seen before, pressing up so hard that you thought his pants might just rip open right there.
So when you were back at home and shrugging your jacket off by the front door, you knew there was only one clear next step.
Wait for him to beg.
You kick your shoes off by the door without really looking at him, dropping your keys into the bowl on the entry table before wandering farther into the house. And, just like he had the entire walk back from the restaurant, he follows immediately.
Not saying anything. Just there. Close enough that you can hear his footsteps trail a second behind yours from room to room, matching your pace without even thinking about it. Like he doesnāt really know what else to do besides cling around you now.
You walk into the kitchen to feed the cat. He leans silently against the doorway watching.
You stop to fold the blanket tossed over the couch earlier, smoothing the fabric before putting it back into the basket beside the TV stand. Heās still there too, hovering nearby without purpose, eyes following every absentminded movement like theyāre the most important thing heās ever seen.
Itās almost strange how little mind he seems to have of his own right now. Like heās gone completely dumb at the lack of relief and instead just lives by you now. As if itās easier than having a thought of his own.
The second you move, he moves. The second you stop, he does too. Not touching you. Not interrupting. Just lingering constantly at your side with this quiet, desperate sort of attachment he probably doesnāt even realize is obvious.
And every time you glance at him, he looks away a second too late. Still flushed, and still tense against his pants.
Still carrying that same confused expression from earlier like his brain never recovered from you stopping right before that sweet release heād been dreaming of for weeks.
You head toward the bedroom eventually, and of course, he follows again without question.
By the time youāre sitting at the vanity pulling your earrings off one by one, heās settled himself quietly at the edge of the bed behind you. Elbows on his knees. Hands loosely clasped together. Watching.
Completely silent.
The room fills with small noises insteadāthe soft clink of jewelry against the tray, the brush dragging slowly through your hair, the rustle of fabric when you move around the room. And through all of it, his stare never really leaves you.
Patient.
Almost too patient. Like heās just completely lost his mind and is just running on auto pilot now.
The way his breathing keeps changing every time you walk past him. The way his jaw tightens whenever you ignore him for too long. The way he watches your hands like heās waiting for them to touch him again and genuinely doesnāt know what to do with himself in the meantime.
But you donāt budge. Because you know he will before you even get a chance to consider it.
āY/n,ā a quiet voice proves you right, āare you almost done?ā
You turn to face him, sighing as if in deep thought as your fingers grab for the zipper of your dress.
āJust about,ā you tug down on the zip, āwhy?ā and further, āyou okay?ā until youāve reached the end.
He just watches your fingers as they work against it, dragging down on the metal as more and more of your skin exposes itself to him.
āYeah,ā he nods mindlessly, eyes still locked to your fingers, āJust wondering.ā
You hum, nodding at his lie and sighing once your zip has reached the base. You shimmy your shoulders to let the straps of your dress fall naturally, shivering at the cool waft of the AC. It slips against your skin smoothly, sliding down your arm and hips until itās pooled at your ankles casually.
To you, anyway.
This was nothing casual to Harry. He was fucking aching, and the sight of your half naked body had his eyes shutting before his mind could catch up.
āY/n.ā
It was basically a whisper.
āHm?ā
You tilted your head, vaguely glancing down at your black undergarments and running your palms over the dips of your waist.
āBaby,ā his head drops for a moment before glancing back up at you, āPlease, I really need you to touch me. Been thinking about you for weeks on end. Your fingers. Your tongue. Anything. Please, baby, Iāve been good. Just tell me what I need to do.ā
You stared at him deeper than you shouldāve.
He was looking up at you with this pure desperation written all over his face, so obvious and intense that it was nearly suffocating. His eyes were glossy already, wide and fixed on you with this helpless, almost pathetic need that made his entire expression look weak around the edges.
His breathing had gone uneven again, brows drawn together tightly while he just sat there staring at you like he needed something from you so badly it was physically wearing him down.
And the worst part was how hard he was trying to hold himself together despite it.
His jaw kept tightening like he was swallowing words back, fingers flexing uselessly against his knees, but none of it hid the fact that he looked seconds away from crying from sheer desperation alone.
Like if you touched him gently right then, he might actually break apart from relief.
But he really hadnāt been good. Heād been a mess. Pawing at you in front of all of your friends, slamming your phone with texts and whispering pathetic pleas in your ear.
āOk, baby,ā you nod, stepping towards him, ājust sit back on the bed for me.ā
The look on his face was so sweet that you nearly stopped your cruel plan. But you knew heād prefer it this way. Regardless of his begs and complaints.
He shimmied back on the mattress until his back hit the head board, legs sprawled out long on the bedding beneath him. His palms pressed against the tops of his thighs nervously, a deep breath rolling through him as he watched you with rounded eyes.
āNow, honey,ā you start slow, crawling on top of the mattress until youāre sat on your knees in front of him, āgood boys get to cum. But you havenāt been good, have you?ā
His face shifts, a sharp contrast from bliss to agony as he catches on to what isnāt to come, āNo, baby, I was good, Iāve been so good, please. Did just as you said, I promise.ā
You sigh, disappointment laced through your chest before you speak again. āGood boys donāt beg at the dinner table, hm? What do good boys have?ā
He swallows thick, looking down at his lap and then back to you.
āPatience.ā
Your nod is slow, āThatās right, baby. Did you have patience tonight?ā
His head shook softly, facing back down at his crotch as he drowns in self destruction. He failed you. He knew he did. Heād been nothing but misbehaved all night and he hadnāt gotten away with it.
You huffed, stepping back off of the mattress and pattering over into the bathroom without another word.
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror while smoothing moisturizer absentmindedly across your cheeks, expression perfectly calm, almost smug.
Behind you, through the open doorway into the bedroom, heās still sitting at the edge of the bed exactly where you left him.
Shoulders slumped slightly now. Quiet.
The desperation from earlier has settled into something worseāthis frustrated, defeated sort of tension that hangs off of him heavily while he stares at the bedding between his thighs.
Every few seconds his jaw tightens hard enough to show through his cheek before relaxing again, like heās arguing with himself internally and losing.
He keeps glancing toward the bathroom doorway before looking away again immediately, brows pinched together tightly while he fights for some kind of dignity to hold onto. Some way to get what he wants without sounding as desperate as he feels.
Itās impossible, though.
The desperation already consumed him completely.
You catch his reflection in the mirror finally, and the second his eyes meet yours he looks absolutely wrecked by itāflushed face, tense shoulders, glossy eyes full of pure helpless wanting.
Like heās hanging onto his self control by a thread.
āTake your pants off,ā you call through the bathroom, speaking to him through the reflection of the mirror and watching as his eyes widen in a hint of relief.
He was quick to comply, unbuttoning his pants in a hurry and tugging them down until he could push them off of his ankles.
And once he was done with the first instruction, his eyes were back at you through the mirror, waiting for what he should do next.
You stare at him blankly, like heād missed something that was obvious.
āAll of it.ā
He nods immediately, scrambling to shrug off his boxers now as he mutters a sad āsorryā underneath his breath.
āThatās better,ā you nod, stepping back out of the bathroom and staring at him on the bed.
Naked. Exposed. Throbbing in front of you. Just covered by the few buttons of his shirt and the hair on his head.
He was just so pretty like thisā¦it was impossible to refrain from staring. His eyes were glassed over as he beamed up at you, brows hung loosely together as he pried for any sense of approval from you.
His cock was swollen, vivid red and twitching in real time. He was all leaky tooā¦dribbling down his thick shaft until his salty drip pooled in the hairs of his base.
āOh, poor thing,ā you hiss, examining his prick as you walk slowly to the chair in the corner.
He nods, blinking his eyes shut as they follow your path.
āItās just a shame,ā you continue, shrugging as you sit yourself across the room from him, āItās beenā¦how long has it been, baby? Remind me?ā
ā16 days.ā
āRight,ā you nod, sinking deeper into the cushion of the chair, ā16 days. And on your first day back with me, you just canāt seem to get yourself to behave.ā
He nods in slow defeat, keeping his eyes on yours as his dick twitches and wettens despite him.
āYou made a fool of yourself,ā you spit, knees slowly drifting apart, āright in front of everyone. But you like humiliating yourself, donāt you? Getting rid of all your self respect?ā
He gulps at your honest words, eyes locked between your legs as your thighs push further and further apart.
āI mean,ā you sit up straight, spreading your legs as far apart as theyāll go, āwhat would everyone say? Harry Stylesā¦slutting out on stage every night. Making yourself so sexy for everyone in that stadiumā¦just to come home and make an idiot of yourself.ā
His eyes shut as he lets out a shaky breath, hands clenching against the duvet in a desperate attempt for some sort of grounding.
His cock was swelling more than youād ever seen. You knew it had to be painful. His tip was crying, dripping more and more with every passing second like his balls just couldnāt keep it all in anymore.
And then you pulled your panties to the side and pressed two fingers into your soaking hole.
āFuck,ā you tossed your head back dramatically, āfeels so good. Mmm..ā
His posture fixed itself as he sat straighter against the head board, eyes turning inwards as he fell into the sight before him. His lips parted before he got the chance to think about it, like the image was far too much for him to handle and his face was just reacting instinctively.
You pressed deeper into your tummy.
āAh! Shit,ā your head pulled forward again to look at him, āMmm, itās so deep, baby. So deep in my tummy, feels so good up there.ā
His breaths were so loud that they almost masked yours. Knuckles whitening against the bedding and throat straining with every forced swallow. His cheeks were redder than the polish on your fingers, beaded in a thin layer of sweat as he squirmed through discomfort.
āY/n, please, Iām sorry. Iām so sorry, Iāll be better, I promise.ā
His whines only spurred you further.
āOhh, fuck,ā you groaned, letting your jaw fall apart as you thrust into yourself harder, āIām so wet, baby. You hear how wet I am?ā
He whimpered at the sound of your gushing pussy, clenching around your fingers helplessly from across the room. So unreachable. Forbidden.
His cock was flinching with every new sound that slipped through your lips, hardening past the point of a normal erection and instead slipping into something that was pain beyond words.
You pressed a third finger into your hole easily.
āMm, your cock would slip right into my belly, baby. Fill me up just the way I like it.ā
He groaned, scrunching his face up in a whiny plea for any touch as his legs kicked against the blanket. He was thrashing in front of you, head pressing back into the blanket and toes curling into themselves without a second thought.
āY/n, please! I need it, please. Iāll do anything, please tell me what I need to do,ā he screamed into the space between you two, dizzying himself in stress as your fingers pumped harder.
āFucking pathetic,ā you spit, switching your fingers to your clit, āyou like to beg like that? Hm?ā
āYes, please, Iāll do anything! Hurts so bad, just give it to me, baby, please,ā he shakes against the bed, pulling at his thigh hairs and straining his jaw with every passing second.
You liked to watch him like this. He couldnāt be described as anything else than an absolute mess. A dirty, whiny, fucking annoying mess. Screaming for a bit of your touch like it was the fix all to life.
Humiliating.
But he liked it too. No matter how much he tried to pretend he didnāt. He liked the way you tormented his diluted mind and tugged at him until he broke. He even liked the way you spoke to him. Reminding him right to his face about his disgusting nature. That he was a failure. A disgrace, even.
āYeah? You want it?ā You spur on, rubbing your clit faster as your face scrunches inward.
āPlease, oh my god, it hurts so bad, please.ā
That whine was different.
And then you noticed itāa tear. Crawling down the side of his face slowly as his lips formed an automatic pout. Chin quivering for a moment. Blinks moving quicker than they had before.
He was crying.
āAw, baby,ā you coo mockingly, āare you crying?ā
His knuckles whiten even brighter and his jaw snaps tighter before he gets a chance to respond.
āY/n, please,ā he cried, ātouch me. Iāve been so good, I earned it, baby, please. Please.ā
It wasnāt even desperate anymore. It was a fucking cry for help.
Heād lost total and complete control of himself. Thrashing around on the white bedding while his tip leaked through his swelling. His hips would press up into the air randomly, like they were instinctively searching for something without even thinking about it.
But you were nearly at an orgasm yourself.
āOhh, fuck Harry,ā you called, quickening the pace of your fingers as the heat builds, āIām gonna cum.ā
A soft, barely audible sob echoed into the space around you.
And when you finally came, it only got worse.
You forced your eyes open through your orgasm just so you could watch him. The envy. The way his head threw back and he sewed his eyes shut like if they watched you it might just kill him right there. The way the veins of his neck strained against themselves so hard that they were a vivid purple through the dim lit room.
You let your moans fall out of you whatever way they pleased. There was no filtering them. You were just loud and obnoxious, deafening his cries with the glorious sounds of what he wished he had.
Your orgasm slowed once you removed your fingers from in between your legs. Body buzzing, mind hazy, breaths working together to find their rhythm again.
All layered beneath the sad whimpers from across the room.
āY/n,ā he started again, softer this time, āplease. Please tell me what I need to do. It hurts so bad, I need help. Iāve been good. I havenāt touched myself, Iāve behaved.ā
You sigh, pressing your legs back together and standing up from the chair with unstable legs. You were still half jelly from your orgasm as you walked, slow careful steps until you landed at the end of the bed.
He was even worse from this close. Face bright red and wet from tears. His eyes half bloodshot and glassed in a sad sheen. His hair was a fucking wreck above him. But it was really his cock that took the cake.
Youād never seen a thing like it. Drenched. In precum alone. 16 days of cum and tension built up inside of him and pushing past the brim. He was bright red and so fucking swollen that you actually felt sorry for him.
You tut at the sight in front of you, shaking your head slowly as you crawl your way onto the bed and between his knees.
āPlease.ā
His voice was set to a low whisper, lips trembling and face hot as he mustered up the courage to beg one more time.
āPlease. Please. Something, y/n, please.ā
You nodded, eyes still locked on his cock as you hovered your face over it. His adrenaline skyrocketed as he watched you, praying to any god that would listen for you to press your lips against it. Just once.
So when the pads of your index and middle finger rested against the top, the sigh that fell through him was nothing short of a second life.
āYes, yes, please, yes,ā he whispered incoherently, practically to himself, as you stilled your fingers against him.
And then you moved them. Apart. Spreading his tip open until his little hole stretched into a wide long gap right in front of you.
He gulped at the feeling, swallowing fear and accepting any touch he can get from you. He was far too scared to interrupt.
You pulled your face closer above it as he squirmed beneath you, patiently waiting for your next move as you shifted around him. He was so riled up that he had to consciously stop his hips from bucking up into your lips.
And when you tightened your lips into a tight O and blew cool air straight into his gaping tip, the reaction came quicker than you thought.
His whole body tensed immediately, shoulders locking up while he shifted uncomfortably against it, breath catching sharply in his chest. There was this instinctive panic in the way he squirmed at first, brows furrowed tightly while his fingers gripped at the blanket beside him like he was trying to endure it rather than let it happen.
āIt hurts,ā he says quickly, almost defensively.
And it did.
Not unbearable, but enough to make him flinch every few seconds, enough that his body keeps resisting automatically instead of relaxing into it. So worked up from everything before that his body seemed to be rejecting anything other than nothing.
Every tiny movement makes him brace for the discomfort again before it even comes, breathing uneven from anticipation alone.
But then, slowly, it starts to settle.
The initial sting fades little by little until the tension drains from his shoulders in small increments. His grip loosens. The squirming stops. Even the tight line between his brows softens as his body finally realizes the closest thing to what he wanted.
And once that pain disappears, something else replaces it entirely. Relief. So raw and intense made you grin.
His breathing slows, head tipping back slightly as a pleased whimper crawls its way out of him. It was embarrassing how quickly he starts leaning into it after fighting so hard against it.
āYou like that?ā You ask, spreading his tip further as he nods immediately.
āYes, yes, thank you.ā
Thankful for his gratitude, you decide to give him some more. You reach down to his swollen red crown and place your lips around it softly, sucking gently as your eyes lock up to him.
And now he was gone.
His breathing turns uneven again, except now itās from being overwhelmed in the best way possible, and thereās this weak, stunned look on his face like he canāt even form a coherent thought anymore beyond oh my god.
āIām gonna cum already, yes, thank you, feels so good, thank you,ā he was rambling now, squirming against himself as you pressed your lips further down his shaft.
The truth was that you really missed his cock in your mouth too. The way it stretched out your lips, sucked at your cheeks until they were hollow and coated your tongue with a fresh film. You honestly wished he wasnāt so worked up so that you could suck him off a bit longer.
āTastes so good,ā you hum, āso yummy, Harry.ā
āOh my god,ā he groaned at your praise, āIām soā¦Iāmāā
He couldnāt even finish his sentence before his cum was shooting into your mouth and down your throat.
He was salty and thick and there was just so much of it. Enough for you to take two thick gulps as you stroked him through his orgasm.
He was so loud that you couldnāt even hear your own thoughts, completely clouded by the groans of bliss and pleasure swirling around you uncontrollably. His mind was mush. His throat was dry. His body was hot. Completely vulnerable in front of you.
Once his body went limp and his groans died down to a heavy breath, you popped him out of your mouth and wiped your wet palm against his thigh.
He was fucked.
His face is flushed from the orgasm, damp hair sticking slightly to his forehead, but thereās this small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth like heās too tired to fully hide how good he feels right now.
His eyes stay closed.
Every breath comes slow and deep now, the kind that makes his whole chest expand before leaving in another shaky exhale. The roomās quiet except for the sound of his breathing settling little by little while he lays there completely spent, eyes fluttering every once in awhile as he fights sleep.
āYou okay?ā You ask softly, climbing up higher on the mattress and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He peels his eyes open for a moment to look at you, āMhm.ā
Heās sprawled across the bed completely exhausted, barely moving except for the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Eyes closed, face relaxed in that sleepy way where he looks seconds from passing out entirely.
You kiss his cheek again as you lay on top of him, āDo you need a shower?ā
āMhm,ā he hums instantly.
You smile a little. āDo you need help?ā
āMhm.ā
His answer comes just as quick as the first one, voice all soft and sleepy without even opening his eyes.
āDo you wanna go now or do you need to rest a bit first?ā
āMhm.ā
You pause.
Then laugh quietly under your breath before lightly punching his shoulder. His eyes finally crack open at that, brows pulling together in confused offense while he turns toward you sluggishly.
āHeyyyy,ā he complains weakly, voice still thick with exhaustion.
One hand comes up to rub his own shoulder dramatically like you actually injured him, even though the hit barely had any force behind it at all. Just full of the dramatics.
āYou werenāt listening to a single thing I said,ā you laugh.
He just smiles tiredly into the pillow, eyes falling shut again almost immediately, looking way too comfortable to care.
So you didnāt either.
You just laid there, head on his chest and hair across his neck.
He was asleep in minutes.
You followed quickly.
And honestly, just hoped to god no one with a key would come visit in the morning.
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Rule number one: do not fall in love with your boss.
Rule number two: do not forget rule number one.
Rule number three: when he looks at you like that, pretend it doesn't mean anything.
Summary: When you land a job as the personal assistant to Harry Styles, the calm, charismatic CEO of Fine Line Enterprises, you quickly learn the role is much more than managing a calendar. From early morning calls to last minute flights and being the gatekeeper to one of the busiest men in the industry, your lite becomes completely intertwined with his.
General Masterlist
famous!Harry x fem!reader / flowershopowner!reader
Summary: After losing his wife, Harry struggles to navigate his grief, An encounter with Y/N, a kind florist, who shares the same experience.
A/n: Hello, everyone! Iād like to welcome you to this new series. I want to give credit to @harrys-baby āI stumbled upon her page. Sheās a bot creator, and one of her openings (I think thatās what itās called?) caught my attention. I asked for her permission to turn it into a story š„°. If youād like, you can check out her bot page!
Word count: 4.2k
Warnings: Angst, A slightly rude Harryāheās just mad at life. Mentions of loss and grief.
āYes, Mum. I just got to the flower shop I told you about. Iāll head to the cemetery as soon as I buy them.ā
Harry stepped into the quiet shop, his phone pressed to his ear. A sigh escaped his lips as the soft jingle of the door faded behind him. A long black coat wrapped around his tall frame, his sunglasses still on despite the overcast London sky. He hadnāt realized he was still wearing themāheād left in a rush.
Today wasnāt easy. It never was.
It was July 25th, 2024ātwo years since Sophia had died. Two years since his world had shattered.
Theyād only been married for a year. Breast cancer had stolen her away fastātoo fast. Heād tried to fight time, to pause the tour, to be thereābut sheād insisted he finish what heād started. He listened. And then he lost her.
Harry spent the first year after her death shut inside their home. Curtains drawn. Photos of her scattered across their bed. His guitar untouched. Bottles piling up more than notes written. The world moved onāhe didnāt. Therapy helped, eventually. So did silence. And now, slowly, painfully, Harry was returning to life. He wasnāt healed. But he was showing up.
He couldnāt write music yet. But he could walk. He could feel the sun. He could buy the lilies Sophia loved.
On the other end of the call, his mum was reminding him, āWhite lilies, Harry. You know those were her favorite.ā
He barely nodded when a soft voice broke through the silence of the shop.
āCan I help you?ā you asked.
It startled him.
He turnedāand there you were. A stranger. Calm. Kind-eyed. Something about you made the world pause.
āAre you looking for something specific? Or maybe a bouquet?ā you asked again, offering a smile. You knew immediately who he was: Harry Styles. Your sister, a college student, often wondered when heād return to music. But you werenāt much of a fanānot because you disliked his music, but because you simply didnāt follow much outside of flowers. You were a bit of a nerd that way.
āIām... Iām looking for lilies,ā he said, clearing his throat.
āOf course! Right this wayā¦ā you said, leading him to the lilies. āWe have pink, orange, and white, or I can make a mix,ā you offered.
āWhite. Only white, please. In a bouquet. Maybe some foliage?ā he replied.
āFoliage it is,ā you said with a smile. Selecting about twelve white lilies, you moved to another section to pick out foliage. You worked with care, knowing not all foliage paired well with lilies. They were big, open, expressive flowers, so you chose discreet, delicate greeneryāsmall but perfectly complementary.
āIāll wrap the bouquet over here and ring you up,ā you said, walking back to the payment area. He followed silently.
These days were hard for himāhard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to feel safe. But something about your energy calmed him.
You grabbed a piece of branded paper, its subtle pattern adding charm. Your hands moved with practiced precision, as though you could do this in your sleep. A snip here, a tie there. You adjusted a slightly wonky bloom, turned the bouquet, and ensured the heights were balanced. It was clear to anyone watching: you were doing what you were meant to do.
āLike it?ā you asked with a smile, your radiant personality shining through as always. You noticed he seemed off, but maybe you thought he was just a very serious guy.
āPerfect,ā he replied, his gaze fixed on the flowers.
āDo you want a card?ā you asked, flipping through your price book.
āUmā¦ sureā¦ā he said, not giving it much thought.
āDo you want to write a message, or should I?ā you offered, glancing back at him.
āYeahā¦ a messageā¦ā he hesitated. His mind was elsewhere.
You grabbed a pen and a card, leaning on the counter for support, then looked at him expectantly.
āRest in Love, forever yours ā H,ā he said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.
Thatās when it hit you. You suddenly remembered your sisterās endless chatter about himāhow he hadnāt released new music in two years, and how she understood, knowing heād lost his wife. A knot formed in your throat. Your steady hands felt clammy, and you quickly wiped them on your apron before writing the message.
Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at him. His expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask as before.
āIām sorryā¦ā you said softly. Was that rude? Nosy? Maybe. But you had your reasons.
And you had a promise to keep.
Placing the bouquet and card in front of him, you said, āItās on the house.ā
He frowned, confusion and irritation flashing across his face. āI donāt need pity. I need to pay for this bouquet,ā he said, his tone sharper than he intended. Heād had enough pity to last a lifetime.
āSorry, yesā¦ā you said, feeling a bit embarrassed. Youād had clients like this before, so you knew another way to keep your promise if things went south. Glancing at the iPad, you tapped your way to the final screen. āItās 34 pounds,ā you said softly, your previously confident demeanor now replaced with a shy and anxious one.
āYou should mind your own business,ā he said, tapping his card.
It wasnāt like him to snap, especially not at a stranger, let alone a woman. But today? Today was different. He knew he could react poorly, even unfairly, and he didnāt care.
āYes, sir,ā you replied almost instantly, your voice small as the room seemed to close in on you. āWeāre justā¦ considerate with loss.ā
āLoss? Bet you donāt know a thing about loss,ā he shot back, his tone cutting.
Your breath hitched. His words struck deep, and you looked up at him, frowning, your eyes narrowing. Anger flickered in youāa rare emotion, very rare in you, but heād managed to hit the one nerve that could ignite it.
āYouāre right,ā you snapped, your voice trembling. āWhat do I know about loss? Maybe you should ask my dead fiancĆØ about it.ā
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.
You both froze, staring at each other. Neither of you was acting like yourselvesāthis was pain speaking, raw and unfiltered. The kind of pain that left no room for kindness.
The silence stretched, time seeming to stop, until he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
āIām sorryā¦ Iā¦ā He trailed off, his words faltering as he realized just how cruel heād been to someone who clearly didnāt deserve it.
āAs you saidā¦ I donāt need pity,ā you replied, looking away to avoid letting your tears fall.
āOf courseā¦ I said thatā¦ā he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. āThanks,ā he added, taking the bouquet without another word and walking out in silence.
The door jingled softly as he left, and you stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the bouquet paper scraps and ribbon remnants on your workbench. You hadnāt meant to snap, but heād pushed you to the edgeāan edge you rarely let anyone see.
With a shaky breath, you turned away from the counter, leaning against the wall as the weight of the interaction hit you. Your chest felt tight, and your hands gripped your apron to steady yourself. Loss. It was such a fragile, devastating thing, and yet today it had been thrown around like a weapon.
A muffled gasp escaped your lips, and you quickly wiped at your eyes. Not here. Not now.
Outside, Harry walked briskly, bouquet clutched in his hand. The lilies were beautifulātoo beautiful for the anger he felt. He stopped at the corner, glancing down at the flowers. Whatās wrong with you? he thought. Heād seen enough of life to know pain took many forms. He hadnāt needed to lash out at someone trying to be kind. His hand tightened on the bouquet.
But what could he do now? He wasnāt great at apologiesānever had been. His words always fell short. Turning around, he debated going back inside, but a lingering sense of shame kept his feet planted on the pavement.
Inside, you finally steadied yourself, your hand reaching for a bottle of water under the counter. As you took a sip, the door jingled again.
Your head snapped up, and there he wasāstanding awkwardly in the doorway.
āIā¦ā he started, his voice softer now. He took a hesitant step forward, holding the bouquet awkwardly in his hand. āI shouldnāt have said what I said.ā
You blinked, unsure how to respond. The anger youād felt earlier was already fading, replaced by the awkwardness of the moment.
He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the bouquet as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. āI donāt have an excuse. Iām sorry.ā
You hesitated, the lump in your throat returning. āItās okay,ā you said quietly, though your voice wavered. āWe all have bad days.ā
He nodded, his hand brushing through his hair. āThis isā¦ a bad day for me.ā
āI figured,ā you replied, offering a faint smile. āLoss has a way of making every day harder than the last.ā
His eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between youāa shared understanding of grief, raw and unpolished.
āYouāre right,ā he said softly. āAnd Iām sorry if I brought up anything painful for you.ā
āIām sorry if I brought up anything painful tooā
Neither of you said anything more, but as he turned to leave again, something in the air felt lighter. And when the door jingled shut, you didnāt feel quite so small in your shop anymore.
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A few days later, after the strange tightness in your chest had finally faded, you were busy doing inventory. You were organizing supplies, preparing to place flower orders for the upcoming week, and trying to keep everything running smoothly. Claire was there with youāyour rock during tough times.
Youād met her a few years ago at a crafting convention, and sheād known Alex before he passed away. When grief had threatened to overwhelm you, Claire had stepped in, making sure the flower shop stayed afloat while you found your footing again.
āIāll take this to the back,ā she said, picking up a large bag filled with dead flowers and other organic waste that needed to be disposed of.
āSure,ā you replied softly, focused on your clipboard.
The soft jingle of the front door caught your attention, and you instinctively turned your head. āWelcome toā¦ā The words froze on your lips as you saw him.
It was him again.
For a moment, you werenāt sure what to make of his expressionāit was unreadable, guardedābut you managed to offer a small, sincere smile.
āWelcome back,ā you said gently. āCan I help you with anything?ā
āIām looking for some flowersā¦ and a big apology,ā he said, his voice softer this time.
āI do sell flowers,ā you replied, ābut Iām not sure apologies are in stock.ā You chuckled lightly, teasing him just a bit.
He smiledāsmall but genuine. He could tell you werenāt mad. āCan we start over?ā he asked.
āOf course,ā you replied softly. āSoā¦ flowers? What are you looking for today?ā you asked, brushing off your apron with a quick motion.
āTheyāre for my mother. Iām visiting her, and I want something colorful,ā he said, his voice lighter than before.
āOf course. I can make an arrangement with a mix of flowers,ā you said, walking toward the displays.
You began selecting blooms, your movements seemingly random to the untrained eye. But you knew exactly what you were doingāeach flower carefully chosen for its color, balance, and meaning.
"Is this okay, or would you like something more?ā you asked, holding up the medium-sized arrangement youād just finished.
āPerfect,ā he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he admired the vibrant bouquet.
You nodded, satisfied with his response, and began wrapping the bouquet in your shopās signature patterned paper. āYour mom must love bright colors,ā you said casually, tying the arrangement with a matching ribbon.
āShe does,ā he said softly, his gaze lingering on the flowers.
āThen I think sheās going to love these,ā you said, offering a gentle smile as you handed him the finished bouquet.
He accepted it carefully, as if it were something precious. āThank you,ā he said, his tone sincere. āFor thisā¦ and for not holding a grudge.ā
You chuckled softly. āLifeās too short for grudges, donāt you think?ā
He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. āYeah, it is.ā
āItās 27 pounds,ā you said, tapping on the iPad.
āSure,ā he said, pulling out his phone and tapping it on the terminal.
You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice a little uncertain. āI know itās totally none of my business, butā¦ā You reached into a drawer, pulling out a small card and sliding it across the counter to him.
āWhatās this?ā he asked, frowning slightly as he picked up the card. The bold letters across the top read: Potterapy.
āItās something that helped me a lot,ā you said, fiddling with the corner of your apron. āItāsā¦ like a pottery-slash-group-therapy-slash-club?ā You gave a small laugh, unsure how to explain.
He looked at the card, then back at you, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. āPottery and therapy?ā
You nodded. āYeah. I know it sounds odd, but it helpsā
He stared at the card for a long moment, then tucked it into his coat pocket. āThanks,ā he said, his voice quieter now.
āAnytime,ā you replied with a warm smile. āAnd, well, no pressure. Just thought you mightā¦ I donāt know, I find it helpful.ā
He nodded again, his expression unreadable but no longer closed off. āIāll think about it.ā
The bell jingled softly as he left, and you watched him disappear down the street, bouquet in one hand, card in the other. A small sense of hope flickered in your chestāmaybe, just maybe, youād helped.
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The familiar creak of the gate greeted Harry as he stepped into the garden of his childhood home. His motherās house always smelled of lavender and freshly brewed tea.
āHarry?ā Anne called from the kitchen as she heard the door open.
āYeah, Mum. Itās me,ā he replied, his voice soft as he stepped into the warm kitchen, the bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand.
Anne turned, her face lighting up as she saw him. āOh, those are beautiful!ā she exclaimed, walking over to take a closer look. āYou didnāt have to, love.ā
āI wanted to,ā he said, handing her the bouquet.
She took it gently, admiring the vivid colors. āTheyāre perfect. You always pick the best flowers.ā
He smirked faintly. āI had a bit of help.ā
As she turned to place the bouquet in a vase, her eyes caught on the small card that had slipped between the blooms. She picked it up curiously, reading the bold letters aloud. āPotterapy?ā
āOh sorry, thatās mine, The florist gave me that. Said itās a pottery-slash-therapy group or something.ā
Anne turned to him, eyebrows raised. āAnd why did the florist give this to you?ā
Anne studied him for a moment, her gentle gaze cutting through the walls he so often tried to put up. āAnd do you?ā
Harry sighed, leaning against the counter. āI donāt know, Mum. Maybe.ā He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his coat sleeve. āI meanā¦ itās been hard, you know? Iām trying, but itāsā¦ā
āOverwhelming,ā Anne finished for him, her voice soft but knowing.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Anne stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. āHarry, youāve been through so much. Thereās no shame in finding help wherever you can. Sometimes, itās the unexpected things that bring the most peace.ā
He looked at her, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. āYou think I should go?ā
āI think you should do whatever feels right for you,ā she said simply, placing the card on the table. āBut if you do go, maybe bring me back something you make. Iāve always wanted a new teapot,ā she added with a teasing smile.
Harry chuckled softly, the weight in his chest lifting just a bit. āWeāll see.ā
Anne returned to arranging the flowers, the bright blooms bringing life to the room. As Harry sat at the table, his gaze fell back to the card, its bold letters staring back at him. Maybe, just maybe, heād give it a try.
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Harry stood outside the small studio, its painted sign reading Potterapy in bold, colorful letters. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, feeling the weight of hesitation pressing on his chest.
āJust go in,ā he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.
Pushing the door open, he was greeted by the warm scent of clay and the faint hum of soft music playing in the background. The space was cozy, with shelves lined with handmade potteryācups, bowls, and vases in every color imaginable. A handful of people stood around a large central table, their hands working the clay, their conversations easy and light.
āHi there!ā
Harry turned to see a woman in her mid-40s with short, curly hair and clay-smeared hands walking toward him. Her apron bore the same colorful Potterapy logo.
āYou must be new,ā she said with a bright smile. āIām Elaine, the guide here. Welcome!ā
āUh, yeah,ā Harry said, awkwardly pulling his hand from his pocket to shake hers. āIām Harry.ā
āWell, Harry, youāre in the right place,ā Elaine said warmly. āNo pressure here. Just grab a seat, and weāll get you started.ā
He nodded, his nerves still buzzing as he made his way to an empty seat at the table. A block of clay sat in front of him, along with a small set of tools. He glanced around, observing the others. They were of all ages and backgroundsāsome chatting, others focused on their work.
And then he saw you, sitting directly across from him. When you turned around to hang your bag on the back of your chair, your eyes met his.
āHey, Harry,ā you said with a warm smile. āYou came.ā
āHiā¦ā he replied, then frowned slightly. āIām sorry, I donāt even know your name. I just realized that.ā
āY/N,ā you said, still smiling.
Before you could say more, Elaine clapped her hands gently to gather the groupās attention. Both of you turned to face her.
āAlright, everyone, letās take a moment to check in before we start shaping our clay. If youāre new, donāt worryāitās just a chance to share how youāre feeling today. No pressure.ā
One by one, the group went around, sharing simple updates about their week or their current mood. When it was Harryās turn, he cleared his throat.
āUhā¦ Iām Harry,ā he began, his voice quiet. āThis is my first time here. Iāmā¦ not really sure how Iām feeling, to be honest.ā
Elaine smiled encouragingly. āThatās perfectly fine, Harry. Sometimes itās enough just to show up.ā
The group nodded in agreement, and the check-in continued.
When it was your turn, you cleared your throat. āIām Y/N, for those who donāt know me. I had a busy week at the flower shop. His birthdayās coming up, so Iām feeling a bit on edge. I hope this class helps me work through those feelings, and I hope the new ones here find some comfort.ā You finished, glancing briefly at Harry.
When the check-in was done, Elaine began demonstrating how to work the clay, her hands moving with practiced ease.
āClay is forgiving,ā she explained. āYou can shape it, press into it, and if it doesnāt turn out the way you want, you can start over. Itās about the process, not the product.ā
She paused, her tone softening as she continued. āForce and strength are crucial virtues here. You have to learn to manage the force within youāhow it shapes your feelings and how those feelings manifest in your life. Too much force, and youāll have to start over. Too little, and nothing changes. Focus on finding that balance.ā
Harry listened carefully, her words resonating more deeply than he expected. He picked up the clay, its cool, firm texture unfamiliar but oddly grounding. Slowly, he pressed his fingers into it, experimenting tentatively. The shape that began to form wasnāt anything recognizable, but it was his.
Harryās hands moved clumsily over the clay, his brows furrowed as he pressed and pulled, unsure of what he was doing. The clay didnāt seem to respond the way Elaine had demonstrated, and frustration began to bubble up inside him.
You glanced at him, noticing the stiff way he worked, his jaw tight with concentration.
āHey,ā you said softly, leaning slightly toward him. āDo you want some help? It looks likeāā
āNo, I can do this, I don't need help,ā he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.
Your smile faltered, and you quickly straightened up, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. āOhā¦ okay. Sorry,ā you mumbled, turning back to your own clay.
Harry froze, the sharpness of his own words hitting him like a wave. He hadnāt meant to lash out, especially not at you. The way your face fell made his chest tighten with guilt.
For a moment, he sat there, staring at his clay, his hands still. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. āI, uhā¦ā He hesitated before glancing toward you. āIām sorry. I shouldnāt have snapped at you.ā
You looked at him.
āI justā¦ā He sighed āI donāt know what Iām doing, and I guess Iām a littleā¦ frustrated.ā
Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and you gave him a small, understanding smile. āItās okay. Itās not easy at first.ā
He met your gaze, his expression softer now. āDo you think you could show me? I mean, if you donāt mind.ā
āOf course,ā you said, your voice warm again as you turned your chair slightly to face him. āHere, let me show you.ā
You reached out, showing him how to press the clay gently while keeping the base steady. āItās all about small, intentional movements,ā you explained, your hands brushing his briefly as you adjusted the pressure he was using.
Harry watched closely, following your instructions. Gradually, the clay began to take shape, and his frustration eased.
āSee?ā you said with a grin. āNot so bad, right?ā
He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away. āYeah. Thanksā
āNo problem,ā you replied, turning back to your own project.
As you worked side by side, the air between you felt lighter, and Harry silently vowed to keep his temper in check. He didnāt want to ruin the fragile sense of peace he was starting to feel hereāwith the clay and with you.
As the minutes passed, the tension eased, and the soft hum of conversation filled the studio. Harry glanced over at you, watching as your hands skillfully shaped the clay. The movements seemed almost second nature to you, each press and pull deliberate and confident.
āSo, what are you making?ā he asked, his voice breaking the quiet between you.
You glanced up at him with a small smile. āA vase,ā you replied. āWhat else would a florist make?ā
He chuckled softly, leaning back slightly. āFair point. Is that, like, your go-to project?ā
āKind of,ā you said, focusing on the curve of the vase as you spoke. āI like making different shapesāones that arenāt perfectly symmetrical. Itās like every vase has its own personality, you know?ā
Harry tilted his head, intrigued. āDo you use them in your shop?ā
āSometimes,ā you said, pausing to inspect your work. āIāll display a few, but most of the time, I give them away. Customers, friends, anyone who might appreciate them.ā
āThatāsā¦ niceā he said, his tone softening.
You shrugged, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. āItās nothing, really. I just think handmade things have a way of making people feel special. Like someone put a little extra thought into it.ā
He nodded, running his fingers over his own misshapen project. āI get that. Thereās something about creating something with your hands. It feels moreā¦ real.ā
You smiled at his comment, nodding in agreement. āExactly. Even if itās not perfect, itās still yours. Thatās what makes it special.ā
Harryās lips quirked into a small smile, and for the first time, he felt a little more at ease. He glanced back at your vase, admiring the smooth curve and unique shape.
āItās really good,ā he said, motioning to your work.
āThanks,ā you replied, glancing at his clay. āYours isnāt too bad either. What are you making?ā
He let out a short laugh. āHonestly? I have no idea.ā
You laughed with him, the sound light and easy. āWell, thatās the fun of it. Sometimes, the clay decides for you.ā
He smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of comfort in your words. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt like maybe he didnāt have to have everything figured out.
PART 2
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General taglist:
@hermionelove @mads3502
Let me know if you liked it! š there will be more chapters soon.
CW: this is part two to lhh gang/mafia!harry x sweet ice cream shop worker!Y/N. its like grumpy x sunshine, slowburn, and invovles heavy themes like kidnapping, guns and violence so please read at your own discretion :-). its got a lot of sexual tension and fluff cos harry is a sucker for yn (as he should be!). this might not be my most popular series but i love it very very dearly! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it x
Insipired by the song Too sweet by Hozier!
Read part one here.
WC: 3.6K
Y/N was absolutely terrified.
Not only was she basically deathly afraid of bikes (though she would never admit this out loud to anyone) but she was very obviously, and very reasonably, scared for her life.Ā
When she clocked out of her shift at the ice cream shop not even three hours ago, she didnāt think her night would result in this āher arms wrapped tightly around Harryās waist, head buried in his curly hair as he whizzed at a pace that felt way too fast on the motorbike she thought only he looked hot riding. Plus to top it all off, he made her wear his ridiculously large helmet which was definitely like two sizes too big for her, so it kept sliding all around her neck like an upside down fishbowl. But again, her brain didnāt let her worry much about this, burying her self-conscious thoughts deep beneath her panicked feelings. She tried not to think about what he told her right before she got on the bike with himāthe whole story about her being stalked and followed and nearly kidnapped. If it was anyone but Harry, she would never ever believe them. Sheād have brushed them off with the wildest laughter she could muster, because who on earth would ever want to kidnap Y/N? And why?
There was nothing inherently special about herāshe was an English lit graduate just trying to make her ends meet. Trying to get her student loan bills paid, keep her rent paid, her tummy filled and her dog healthyā
Oh god, her dog!
Poor Coco. He must be all alone in her apartment, probably waiting by her door like he normally did, hoping that she would walk in any moment with a treat in her hand and a promise to let him sleep in her bed that night. Poor Coco, who must be so hungry, and jeez, so starved, Y/N was actually going to burst. She couldnāt take it.Ā
She was riding Harryās bike, trusting him so blindly, letting him take her to whatever ominous place he hinted at, for God knows what! All because what? She was going to get kidnapped?Ā
The more she thought about her circumstances, the more she sank into a state of disbelief. None of this could be true, because what do you mean her life was at risk!?
The frightened girl was just about to thump her hands on Harryās shoulder, demanding him to stop his bike and answer her questions at once when the rain came. First one drop, and Y/N was going cross-eyed staring at the line it left down her (Harryās) helmet. And then two, threeā¦ and then came the downpour.
And boy was it a pour.Ā
She felt the rain beating down on her back, and within seconds she was fully drenched. Harry turned his head back towards her, his hair whipping all over his face as he tried to say something along the lines of āyou okay?ā and āweāre almost there.ā She tried to communicate by nodding, but she was unsure how much he could actually comprehend due to the fucking planet engulfing her whole head at the moment.
Alas, she accepted her faith and gave up, relaxing against Harryās back as she surrendered to the rain. If this was her life, then so be it. She was going to find a way out of this and if the solution was to be stuck to Harry like cling-film as he drove them both on his bike like they popped out of a 1980ās film, then who was she to complain?
Finally after what felt like hours, the bike stopped. Y/N lifted her head off of Harryās broad shoulders and quickly looked around, trying to decipher through the helmet where the hell they were. Harry kicked the bike stand out and got off. He shook his hair out much like a dog would do, and then stuck out his hand for her to take. A bit wobbly on her feet, Y/N held his fingers and hopped off.Ā
Sadly she did not anticipate being so incredibly off balance after having ridden a bike for what felt like maybe thirty hours, so she stumbled right into Harry. Luckily for her he was not only strong but also had the instincts of a freaking super hero, so he caught her very quick, big hands coming down on her shoulders, āAre you okay?ā He asked, knocking a knuckle against her helmet.Ā
Y/N again tried to nod but she wasnāt sure he understood what she was doing. He slowly took her helmet off, careful not to hurt her in any way. Beneath it was a sight he was not ready to see.
Y/Nās eyes were wide with what Harry could only decipher as fear and perhaps adrenaline. The rain paired with the humidity had tinged her soft cheeks pink and her lips were again in a poutāthe same pout that made his heart go all fuzzy and his brain turn to mush. She took his breath away with nothing but a single look. A single, innocent expressā
āI need to feed my dog, Harry.ā
Her words pulled Harry out of his lovestruck haze. He had to physically shake his head to rid his thoughts, eyebrows meeting in a furrow, āWhat?ā
āMy dog, Harry! Heās going to starve!ā She exclaimed. He could see the panic in her eyes, her mouth agape in worry. Rain poured down on the both of them but he noticed how it clung to Y/Nās eyelashes, the poor girl blinking ridiculously to keep it from irritating her pupils. Harry frowned.
Well, that just wouldnāt work.Ā
In one swift motion he pulled his favourite leather jacket off of his shoulders and tugged it gently over her head like a mini umbrella. His ringed fingers held it there as a satisfied expression graced his face. It was easy to ignore his sopping wet clothes when Y/N was as comfortable as he could make possible.
āWhat are you doing!?ā She asked him, exasperated.Ā
āIt was getting in your eyes,ā he murmured, simply. He let her fingers take ahold of his jacket as he put his hand on her lower back and started guiding her towards the warehouse. āYouāre going to fall sick,ā Y/N stated, looking up at him through wet lashes.Ā
āI wonāt.ā
She noticed his jaw clenching, vision never straying from their path as he led them down a narrow passage. His curls were soaked now, clinging to his face and his expression was sternāstony, as invisible cogs twisted and turned in his brain.Ā
Y/N hated that even now, despite being panic driven, she still thought he was the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on.
This time, Harry snapped her out of her daze.
āIāll get Coco for you tomorrow morning.ā He suddenly stopped walking, standing before a rusted door. The building was worn down and old, and Y/N was incredibly confused as to where he brought them. He knocked in a sequence of 2-1-2 and Y/N heard shuffling from the other end. Voices echoed but she struggled to decipher what they were saying.
āWhy tomorrow? Why canāt we go now?ā She had to raise her voice as the rain got worse, drenching the two of them save for Y/Nās face thanks to the jacket which smelled dizzyingly just like him.Ā
He leaned down to speak so that she could hear him better, but before he could say anything, the big creaky door was pulled open and Y/N saw another unfamiliar face. It was a man, and he was slightly shorter than Harry. He had long hair too but it was tied back in a low bun. He sported a beard which framed small lips and narrow eyes, āWhat the fuck?ā
Harry didnāt say anything but sighed, fingers encircling Y/Nās wrist as he quickly pulled her inside. Y/Nās eyes danced around the wide space, taking in the peeling walls yet sleek TV and pristine couches surrounding it; a long table stood behind the sitting area which was littered with ash trays, cards and beer cans. The lights were dim, and across the room she noticed a tiny kitchen tucked into the corner, on the edge of which the man now stood.
āWhatā¦ whoā¦ who is that?ā he said, kicking the door shut and locked before turning to where Harry and Y/N were. She finally pulled the jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders instead, āHarry?ā
āY/N, Mitch. Mitch, Y/N.ā Harry quickly introduced. He ran a hand through his wet curls, looking at both of them expectedly. The manāMitch, eyed Y/N warrily but offered no greeting, āYou know we arenāt allowed to bring dates back here? Or anyone for that matter?ā
āWe are not dating,ā Y/N suddenly blurted. Both boys turned to her, sort of startled by her sudden confession, āI just wanted toā¦ make that clear.ā Her cheeks were pink and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat.
āShe was going to get kidnapped. Deanās boys,ā Harry said, swiflty moving past the awkward moment, āDonāt we have any towels around here?ā He looked irritated, stomping around the mysterious room they were in and pulling open random closets.
And honestly, how could he not be irritated? Y/N was shaking like a skeleton from the cold. The last thing he wanted was for her to get sick.
As if on cue, another woman walked in, joining the party of three. She was beautiful, with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and icy blue eyes. āUhh, who is that?ā She said, gaze drifting to Y/N. Having fully accepted the absurdity of the situation she was in, Y/N gave the pretty woman a polite smile. Fuck, if she knew what to do in these circumstances. She almost convinced herself this was all a big nightmare.
āTowels? Do we have any?ā This time Harryās voice raised and Y/N had never seen this side of him before, granted they only met enough times that she could count their interactions on one hand.Ā
āHere.ā The woman scurried across the room and opened a lone, rusted drawer. She tossed a towel each at Harry and Y/N. Y/N muttered a small thank you, aware of Harryās gaze on her, making sure she was drying herself off properly. Only after he noticed her body stopped spasming from the cold did he let out a breath he didnāt know he was holding.
āSo, are you going to tell us what the fuck is going on?ā
-
It was an hour and a half later, and Y/N was drained to the core.
Mitch and the woman, whose name Y/N learned was Sarah, brought two cups of tea to her and Harry before the three of them revealed maybe (definitely)Ā the most insane thing she had ever heard in her life.Ā
In her defence, Y/N fully did not think that gangs were a thing that still existed in todayās day and ageāand even if they did exist, she did not think they still involved guns and drugs and raids and kidnappingā¦ but recently life just decided to keep dealing her with a surprise after a surprise. It was genuinely like she could not catch a break.
She tried to school her expression into one of calm and collectedness, but she knew she failed miserably when she drank in Harryās ashamed face. Although he looked and felt fucking exhausted, he powered through if only to make sure Y/N went to sleep that night with no doubts in her head or questions on her mind. It would kill him if she started thinking differently of him because of what she just found out, but he wouldnāt necessarily blame her if she did.
āLet me get this straight,ā she started, setting her mug down. Mitch, Sarah and Harry watched her keenly as she cupped her forehead with her fingers, āYou,ā she pointed at Harry with her finger, āare a part of a gang. This gang,ā she motioned around the mostly empty room, āthis is your likeā¦ meeting spot. And youā¦ oweā¦ another gang money because of some sort of drug shipment delay,ā she said that like a question, her other hand fidgeting with her bottom lip, āand one of their guys saw us at the bar that nightā¦ and thought they could use me toā¦āĀ
Harry quipped in, āBribe.ā
āYes, bribe, your gang andā¦ get theirā¦ moneyā¦ back?ā
Mitch and Sarah nodded in unison. Harry pursed his lips. āYep.ā
āSoā¦ is the gang just the three of you or like are there other people?ā
āThereās sixteen of us.ā
Her eyes narrowed suspicsouly as she cast another wary glance around the warehouse, āAnd they areā¦ā
āGone for the night.ā Mitch checked his wristwatch, āIt is two AM.ā
āThis is fucking crazy.ā Y/N finally said it. It was the only string of sentences she could think of after what they told her. It felt like someone pulled the rug from beneath her feet. Her entire world has been turned upside down within the span of like two months. She buried herself further in Harryās jacket, finding odd solace in the scent of him.Ā
āI know.ā He said, quietly.
āWhat now then? My life is over? Do I have to change identities and move to another continent?ā Y/N was coming up with irrational hypotheticals, because, well, that was what she saw in the movies and this whole thing was starting to feel like one too.Ā
This time, Sarah replied. Hesitantly, she sat down next to Y/N and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, āListen, I know this is a lot to take in right now and you must be so scared, but I also need you to do exactly as we say, okay?ā
Y/Nās eyes shifted from Sarah to Harry. She couldnāt quite read the expression on his face; it was a mixture of worry and regret, but she could also see the nonchalant mask he attempted to put up to hide all of his feelings. It might be cliche to say, but eyes really were the window to his soul.
She took a deep breath in and out.Ā
āWhat do I have to do?ā
-
When Y/N envisioned Harryās house in her guilty moments where she let herself daydream, she didnāt expect this.
She thought it would be like most guys she normally sawāgray or navy sheets, a single pillow, a lone TV and a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. Maybe a dirty sock under the bed.Ā
What she didnāt expect was pretty, green walls, decorated with odd pieces of art and photos of whom Y/N assumed was his familyātwo women, one a bit older but they both resembled Harry to a large extent. As they went further inside, a hallway opened up to a massive bookshelf stocked to the brim and a small TV, accompanied by a comfy looking orange couch. To the right of that was a cozy kitchen and she noticed he had a brown kitchen aid, which was so endearing to her she didnāt know what to do with herself.
And then he guided her to his room. It came as a surprise to her that it had three big windows, overlooking the park that was right in front of his complex. She assumed ample amount of sunlight probably poured through them every morning, and Y/N was a sucker for that. He had a fluffy blue carpet and a massive bed with white sheets.
There was an adjoining bathroom which Y/N really wanted to get into so she could finally shower and rid herself of the daysā griminess, but that desire was delayed when Harry cleared his throat from behind her.
She turned around to face him as he dropped his keys and their forgotten groceries on his counter. His hair was still a little damp from the rain since he took most of the impact, opting to give Y/N protection under his leather jacket. The article stayed hugging her shoulders, āNice place.ā She hummed, looking around the room observantly.
āThanks.ā
āHow long before I can go home?āĀ
Harry sniffled, feeling a slight cold creeping up on him. āI really canāt tell at this stage. I need to talk to the others first.ā
The girl sighed, rubbing a palm over her face in distress, āAnd Coco? My car?ā
āIāll get both first thing in the morning.āĀ
āPromise?ā
āPromise.ā
For the first time that night, Y/N felt the emotions finally hit her all at once. The stress combined with the sheer ludicrousness of the situation made her feel like she was going insaneāher mind and body just could not accept the circumstances she was in. Before she knew it, she felt tears prickle in her eyes. This really was the cherry on top. If there was one thing Y/N hated in this world, it was crying in front of people.
So she tried to hide her face, trying discreetly to rub her eyes like she had something in them, but of course Harry saw fully right through her and took two strides towards her. Instantly, his hands were around her wrists again, pulling them down so he could see her better, āHeyy, stop. None of that,ā he muttered. His gaze flitted across her sad face, and he could practically feel his own heart shattering into pieces with every tear that trailed down her rosy cheeks.
Y/N tried her best to avoid eye contact with him but he freed one of his hands to cup her face, tilting it towards him. The cool sensation of his rings grounded her and he gently ran his thumb underneath her bottom lashes to collect her tears. āSorryāI hate crying. You donātāyou donāt have to do this,ā she said weakly. Her waterline glistened even further as Harry ignored her request and instead pulled her into his chest.Ā
It felt weird and sort of uncomfortable because they were both damp and slightly cold, but neither actually cared. Surprisingly, Harry still packed a lot of body heat, which did wonders for Y/N shaking shoulders. She was sobbingālike full-on, runny nose wet face sobbingāand she was probably getting his clothes all snotty too but the boy pretended he did not care. He continued rubbing big, soothing circles on her back, cooing gently as if consoling an injured cat or a scared child (both of which Y/N was feeling very similar too).
It took her a while to finally stop crying, but Harry didnāt mind holding her as she calmed down. Call him cheesy, but he was honored to be that person for her. Just the fact that she felt comfortable enough in his presence to be so vulnerable could make him explode. He canāt remember the last time anyone showed him so many emotions. Everyone was always walking on eggshells around himālike they were intimidated by him.Ā
When she pulled away, Harry swears he could have melted into a puddle by her feet.
Her eyes were wet and glossy, lashes clinging to each other. Her cheeks were splotched with tears and the tip of her nose was pink, like she was Rudolph or something. The thought was so adorable Harry had to hold himself back from kissing the irritated skin until she laughed and pushed him away.
She avoided meeting his gaze and took a small step back, āUh sorry Iā¦ I just got carried away, Iām sorāā
āYou have to stop apologising all the time,ā He said, with a small chuckle. Up close, Y/N could admire the deep dimples that carved into his cheeks, making him all the more charming. She was so tempted to stick a finger in it, give it a kiss, even bite it, but she didnātāinstead she worried her bottom lip tentatively, āItās a habitā¦sorry.ā
His hand travelled up to her cheek as she apologised so sincerely, eyes never straying from his own. Harry knew that if he did not stop himself now, things could go awry and that might not be what she needed in her state of mind. She was already so fragile, he didnāt want to shatter her further by confusing her.
He only hummed, letting his thumb wipe away the evidence of her sadness. He was so close to her, all Y/N had to do was lean up and her mouth would be against his and her mind would be put at restāall she could think about was what he felt like and how he tasted. What type of a kisser was heāwould he be gentle and give her soft, slow pecks, or would he be rough and take control, tangle his hands in her hair and invade her mouth?
It was as if he could read her desperation and temptation when he let go of her face and cleared his throat again, āYou should change before you get sick,ā he muttered, āIāll get you some clothes.ā
Harry was about to turn away from her when she stopped him, speaking up softly, āThank you. For everything. If you hadnāt been there tonightā¦ I donāt even want to think about what could have happened.ā
He could tell she was still reeling in her emotions and he didnāt want to see his pretty girl crying again, so he just gave her a small smile (barely there, like a ghost of one) and nodded, āYādonāt ever have to thank me, Y/N.ā
AN: okayyy hello here we go!! i hope you guys liked this one!! i know i said this one might be a bit longer and tbh it was longer, i didnt include the next like 2k or so words BECAUSE IM NOT GOING TO LIE i wanted to write something else and i CANNOT work on two things at the same time lol!!!! but i do love this chapter and i love this pairing so i hope u do too!! again like i said this story is not my most popular so any like or reblog or reply or comment or ask i get matters A LOT so please do not be shy!!!! sorry this took ages!! xx
Summary: Opening gifts on your six-month anniversary opens old wounds.
Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement turned relationship, old insecurities, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (unspecified so might be on the pill), use of handcuffs, mix of domestic fluff and hot, steamy smut you're welcome
A/N: lovelies!!! i'm so incredibly excited to share this with you after working on it for a month. doing harry and y/n's story justice was really important to me, so i hope i've done right by them as well as you guys. let me know your thoughts, it's my favorite thing in the world x
Word Count: 7,180
...
Six months.
It still feels a little unreal sometimes, how drastically everything has shifted since that night on the rooftop. Since Harry stood there under the string lights with his heart in his throat and told you he was in love with you. Since the rules he'd clung to so desperately finally snapped.
The last six months definitely haven't been perfect.
Nothing about the two of you has ever been simple, and love didn't magically erase the sharp edges you started with. But God, they've been good. Messy and beautiful and yours.
You wake up in the morning to the smell of coffee now instead of the cold silence of your old flat, Harry's side of the bed still warm. When you're lucky he's still there, shirtless, hair messy, watching you with that soft, half-lidded look he's grown more comfortable wearing.
You've learned the small things about each other that no contract could ever cover. He hates when you forget to put the cap on the toothpaste or leave used mugs on the counter; your messiness has caused more arguments than you care to admit (Harry's a neat freak, really). You've discovered he sings when he thinks you're not listening, voice rich and raspy in the shower. You fight over the thermostat like an old married couple, and he lets you win more often than he probably should.
Of course, not every day has been filled with laughter.
There was the night he came home from a long meeting and found you stressing over bills you refused to let him touch. His jaw tightened, that familiar authoritative tone creeping back in as he offered to ''handle it''. The argument that followed was ugly. You accused him of still seeing you as someone who needed fixing with money. He got defensive, retreating behind that wall he used to hide behind so easily. You slept on the couch that night. He came to find you at 3 a.m., eyes tired and guilty, pulling you into his chest with a quiet ''I'm sorry, baby.''
Sex has changed, too. The old dynamic hasn't disappeared, and you wouldn't want it to, but it has... evolved. The nights his hand finds your throat and his words become filthier still leave you breathless, but now they end differently, with slow kisses and whispered praises and I love yous instead of tears and early morning departures.
You moved in with him three weeks ago. It was a big step, one that made your chest feel tight with both excitement and nerves. His house is beautiful, of course, with high ceilings and soft lighting and art he doesn't care about, but it's the little changes that you love most. Your books on his shelves. Your favorite mug next to his in the cupboard. The way he clears space in his closet without having to be asked.
He's trying so hard to be a normal boyfriend. He asks about your day. He kisses your temple in the morning. He attends your work events.
You've had ups and downs, but you're happier than you've ever been.
And now, here you are.
The sleek black car pulls up the long gravel driveway of the private villa Harry booked for the six-month anniversary of the night of the rooftop confession, the night you both decided counted as the real beginning. The countryside stretches out around you, golden and peaceful under the late afternoon sun. Rolling hills, lavender fields in the distance, and this stunning stone villa waiting like something out of a dream.
Harry's been buzzing with excitement the entire drive, though he's tried (and failed) to play it cool. His hand hasn't left your thigh for the last twenty minutes, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. Every so often he glances over at you, uncharacteristically on edge.
As the driver stops and pops the trunk, Harry dips his head, pressing a slow kiss just below your ear.
''Welcome to our little getaway, honey,'' he murmurs, voice warm. ''I wanted to do something special for us.''
He looks almost boyish as he helps you out of the car, one hand on the small of your back, the other reaching for your suitcase before you can beat him to the punch. You can feel the anticipation rolling off him.
You have no idea yet what he has planned inside, but something in your chest flutters, equal parts love and that old, familiar wariness you can never quite shake when he spends money on you.
The villa is even more breathtaking inside: warm stone walls, high wooden beams, and soft golden light pouring through the tall windows. Harry's hand stays at the small of your back as he guides you through the entrance, his touch gentle but undeniably possessive, the way it always is when he's proud of something he's done for you.
''Let me show you around,'' he murmurs, pressing a brief kiss to your temple before steering you toward the master bedroom. The moment he pushes the heavy wooden doors open, your stomach drops.
The closet doors are slid wide open, and inside hangs an entire new wardrobe. Carefully curated, screaming of his taste, and undoubtedly expensive. Silk dresses in soft creams and deep emeralds, cashmere sweaters, delicate lace pieces that make your cheeks burn just looking at them. Every hanger is perfectly spaced. Every piece chosen with the kind of intimate knowledge of your body that only he possesses.
Your breath catches.
Harry watches you closely, green eyes bright with hope and a touch of nerves. When you don't speak right away, he steps forward and opens the top drawer of the built-in island. An oblong velvet box rests inside.
He picks it up, thumb brushing over the soft fabric almost reverently before turning to you.
''I saw this a few weeks ago and couldn't stop thinking about it,'' he murmurs. ''It reminded me of us.''
He opens the box.
A delicate gold necklace lies inside: a thin chain, almost weightless, with a small, elegant pendant shaped like a fountain pen nib. On the back, in the tiniest engraving, are the words: Rules are meant to be broken.
Your throat tightens.
Harry steps behind you, gently sweeping your hair over one shoulder. His fingers are warm as he clasps the necklace around your neck, the metal cool against your skin. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, ''My world was black and white before I met you, Y/N. I never knew life could be as beautiful as it is every day I'm with you.''
You try to smile. You really do.
His words are unbearably romantic, so unlike the man he was when you first met him, and the gesture is so sweet you want to burst into tears.
But dread settles in your chest at this lavish display of money and expensive gifts, and old insecurities flare up rapidly. To make matters worse, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out one more thing.
A sleek black card. Matte finish. Your name embossed in silver on the front.
He presses it into your palm, closing your fingers around it with both of his hands.
''No limit,'' he says softly, eyes searching yours. ''It's yours. The arrangement is behind us, I know that andā and I'm glad it is, but you deserve the world, baby, and I want to give it to you.''
The silence that follows is deafening.
You stare down at the card, feeling its weight even though it's featherlight. The familiar panic rises fast and vicious, the same cold wave that used to crash over you in the early days when he'd slide thick envelopes across marble tables. Your chest constricts. The beautiful clothes suddenly feel like costumes. The necklace, while thoughtful, sits heavy against your collarbone, making it harder to breathe.
Is your relationship slipping backwards? Does he miss it? The power? The control? The version of you that didn't argue when he opened his wallet? Has he been pretending this whole time that he's okay with how things have changed? What if he regrets letting the rules go?
You force a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. ''It's... it's beautiful, Harry. Really. Thank you.''
But your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. Quieter. The kind of quiet he knows too well.
Harry's brows pull together the tiniest bit, that little crease appearing between them. He studies you for a long moment, reading the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers have tightened around the black card like it might burn you. He swallows once.
Then he nods, almost to himself.
''Alright,'' he says gently, stepping back to give you space. His voice is careful now, measured. ''I'll let you freshen up. We've got a dinner reservation in a couple hours.''
He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, soft, reassuring, but you can feel the uncertainty behind it. His hand lingers on your waist a second longer than necessary before he pulls away and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
The second he's gone, your thoughts swallow you whole.
You sink down onto the edge of the massive bed, the black card still clutched in your hand. Your eyes burn.
Is he pulling away because this version of you isn't enough for him anymore? What if tonight isn't a celebration, but one last hurrah before he ditches you for someone more... submissive?
Your fingers rise to touch the delicate pendant at your throat. Rules are meant to be broken. The words mock you now.
You stare at your reflection in the full-length mirror across the room, wearing the necklace he picked, sitting in the beautiful room he booked, holding the card he just gave you, and for the first time in months, you feel painfully, terrifyingly small again.
...
The early evening light has softened the sky into something warmer and golden by the time you stand in front of the floor-length mirror. The dress you chose from the new wardrobe clings to your body, a deep, forest green silk that slips over your curves, the neckline dipping just enough to catch the delicate gold pendant resting against your sternum. It presses into your skin like a brand.
You stare at your reflection longer than you should.
Your fingers trace the cool metal of the necklace, then drop to smooth nonexistent wrinkles at your hips. The girl looking back at you is beautiful. Expensive dress, expensive man, expensive life. But something inside you keeps flinching away from the image, like touching a wound you thought had already healed.
The soft click of his shoes on the hardwood floor announces him before his voice does. Harry appears in the doorway behind you, sleeves of his black button-down rolled to his forearms, the top few buttons undone in that effortlessly devastating way of his.
His eyes find yours in the mirror, dark and searching, before they drag slowly down the length of your body. For a moment, something hungry flickers across his face, that old possessive glint that used to make your knees weak and your thoughts scatter.
Then he frowns.
''You don't like it,'' he says, voice low and a touch rough. He steps into the room, hands sliding into his pockets as if to stop himself from instinctively reaching for you. ''The dress. I chose wrong, didn't I?''
You watch the way his jaw tightens slightly, the twitch of muscle that betrays just how much he wants this night to be perfect.
You shake your head quickly, the movement a little too sharp. ''No, it's not that. The dress is beautiful, Harry. Really. Everything is.''
The corners of your lips twitch in a poor attempt at a convincing smile, but it never quite lands. Instead, your gaze drops back to your own reflection, fingers curling tighter around the silk at your sides.
He doesn't let it go.
Harry moves closer until he's standing just behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his chest. He doesn't touch you yet. He simply watches you in the mirror with those intense green eyes that have always seen straight through you.
''Talk to me, honey,'' he murmurs, patient but still firm. There's that gentle insistence in his tone, the one that used to command obedience but now asks for honesty instead. ''You've been quiet since we got here. I know that look. Don't shut me out, baby, I'm begging you.''
The silence stretches between you, thick and trembling.
Your chest feels tight, breath coming shallower as the spiral you'd tried to bury claws its way back up your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes before you can stop them. When you finally speak, your voice is small, shy, but laced with months of quietly carried fear.
''I'm scared,'' you whisper, the confession cracking open something raw inside you. ''It feels like... before. The clothes waiting for me. The black card with my name on it. The way you looked at me when you gave it, like you were trying to pay for my time the way you used to. And I just kept thinking... what if you miss it? The old us. When I just let you give and give because that's what the arrangement was for. What if thisā'' your hand gestures vaguely between the two of you, voice trembling, ''āwhat if this isn't enough for you anymore? What if you're only doing all of this because you think you have to prove something?''
Harry's expression shifts instantly.
For a second, defensiveness flashes hot across his face, that old wall slamming into place, jaw locking, shoulders squaring like he's preparing for battle. His mouth opens, probably ready to argue that he's trying, that he's changed, that you're being unfair.
But then he stops.
You see the exact moment he catches himself. The way his lashes lower, the subtle exhale through his nose, the way his hands flex at his sides before he forces them to relax. The growth is quiet, but it's there, hard-won and still a little clumsy, but real.
He steps forward until his chest brushes your back. This time, he doesn't hesitate. One arm slides carefully around your waist, the other hand coming up to gently turn your chin so you're looking at him in the mirror. ''Oh, honey,'' he breathes, voice rough with emotion. ''I'm sorry.''
His forehead drops until it rests against the side of your head, eyes closing for a long moment.
''I love spoiling you,'' he admits, the words coming out quieter than usual, almost shy. ''Not because of the old shit. Not because I want to buy your love. But because I look at you and I think... you deserve the entire fucking world, baby. I want to shower you in gifts and worship you at your feet because that's what a woman like you deserves.''
Your heart clenches painfully at the vulnerability in his voice, this intensely brooding man who used to hide behind control and cash, now laying his undying devotion bare for you.
You turn slowly in his arms until you're facing him, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. His heartbeat is fast under your palm.
''I do want your gifts,'' you tell him softly, thumb brushing over the fabric of his shirt. ''But I want them from you. The man who dances with me while I cook dinner and wakes me up at 2 a.m. to tell me that he's dreamt of me. Not the one who gets his way by opening his wallet.''
Harry's eyes search yours for a long, heavy moment. Then something in him seems to settle, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms fully around you.
''I hear you,'' he whispers against your hair, lips brushing your temple. ''No more overcompensating with money when what you really need is me. I'm still learning, baby. But I'm in this. All of it.''
He pulls back just enough to cup your face with both hands, thumbs gently wiping away the tears you didn't even realize had slipped free. His gaze is dark, intense, and so full of love it almost hurts to look at.
''I love you,'' he says, simple and reverent. ''Not the arrangement. Not the version of you that was mine on paper. Just you. My stubborn, beautiful girl.''
You press your forehead to his. ''I love you too,'' you breathe, the words settling warm between your bodies like a promise renewed.
Now that the heavy weight in your chest is lifted, replaced by something lighter, warmer, you both decide to still go to dinner.
Harry watches you intently as you touch up your makeup, his gaze tracing the delicate line of the necklace against your skin. He doesn't push. He simply waits, pensive in that way only he can be, until you slip your hand into his and murmur, ''Let's go.''
The restaurant is everything you've come to expect from Harry's taste: intimate, luxurious, and just secluded enough to feel like the world outside doesn't exist. Nestled in the heart of the nearby town, the old stone building has been transformed into something almost ethereal. Low golden chandeliers drip soft light over dark wood tables dressed in crisp white linens. Candles flicker inside glass hurricanes, casting dancing shadows across exposed brick walls adorned with climbing ivy.
The air carries the rich scent of truffle oil, aged wine, and something floral from the fresh arrangements at every table. Soft jazz hums in the background, saxophone curling lazily through the space like smoke.
Harry's hand rests possessively at the small of your back as the host leads you to a quiet corner table. His fingers press just enough through the silk of your dress to remind you he's there, grounding and claiming all at once. He pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman, but the way his eyes darken when you sit, the way his tongue briefly wets his lower lip, betrays the hunger simmering just beneath the surface.
You talk easily at first, the kind of conversation that has become more natural over the last six months, even if Harry still arches his eyebrow when you ask him personal questions... before remembering you're his girlfriend now and are allowed to ask him these things.
He tells you about a ridiculous meeting he had last week, voice low and dripping with a hint of irritation as he recounts how one of his executives nearly spilled coffee all over important contracts. You laugh softly, chin resting on your hand, watching the way the candlelight catches the sharp line of his jaw and the subtle curl of his hair at the nape of his neck. He looks devastating tonight, in a black tailored suit, the shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease the ink on his chest.
There's a comfortability between you now. You tease him gently about how he scowls at his phone when emails come in after hours, and he shoots you a smirk, eyes gleaming with something dangerously fond.
''Old habits,'' he murmurs, reaching across the table to brush his thumb over your knuckles. ''Can't have everyone thinking I've gone completely soft just because I'm stupidly in love with you.''
Your cheeks warm at the casual admission. Even after six months, hearing him say it so openly still makes you flushed, an embarrassing giddiness blooming in your chest.
The main courses arrive, Italian pasta for you, a rich steak for him, and the conversation drifts into more playful territory. You're taking a sip of wine when Harry leans back in his chair, watching you with that intense, half-lidded stare that always makes you press your thighs together.
He swirls the deep red liquid in his glass once before speaking, his voice dropping.
''Have you decided if you want to try them? The handcuffs?'' His lips curve into a slow, wicked smile, though his eyes stay serious, searching. ''You got all shy on me and changed the subject. Still thinking about it?''
You nearly choke on your wine, heat flooding your face. You think of his low voice in bed one night, murmuring filthy promises about restraints and complete surrender while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your stomach. You had blushed furiously and buried your face in his neck, too overwhelmed by the idea and too turned on to admit it.
''I wasn't that shy,'' you protest softly, though the way your voice wavers gives you away completely. You bite your lip, glancing around to make sure no one is listening before leaning in a little. ''I was just... surprised. You know I trust you. But the idea of not being able to use my hands, of not being able to... touch you? Are you sure that's what you want?''
Harry's gaze darkens noticeably. He leans closer, elbow on the table, voice a hushed rasp meant only for you.
''Yes. And that's exactly why I want it,'' he murmurs. ''Watching you fall apart when you can't guide where my mouth is going next. Hearing those pretty little sounds you make when you're desperate for me.'' His eyes flick down to your lips for a beat. ''You'd look so fucking good handcuffed to the headboard for me, baby. Trembling... just waiting helplessly for me to make you come so hard you forget your own name.''
You squirm in your seat, heat pooling low in your belly. Nerves clash with the quiet thrill that runs through you at his words. The spark is still there, bright and electric, even after everything you've been through. You love this version of him: still intensely brooding, still carrying that dominant edge, but now it's wrapped in love instead of transaction.
You tilt your head, giving him a cheeky little smile that surprises even you. ''Only if you promise not to be too mean about it. I know how much you like making me beg.''
Harry's low chuckle is dark and pleased. ''Wouldn't dream of it, honey. I like hearing you beg... but I like hearing you scream even more.''
The tension between you simmers, warm and familiar, until it's sharply interrupted.
A few tables away, a well-dressed man, probably in his mid-thirties, charming in that polished, slightly arrogant way, catches your eye as you laugh. He raises his glass toward you with a bold, flirtatious smile, clearly undeterred by the fact that you're sitting across from one of the most intimidatingly beautiful men in the room.
''Beautiful smile,'' he calls over, loud enough to be heard. ''You should let me buy you a drink sometime.''
You feel the shift in Harry instantly, the way his jaw ticks hard, the subtle flare of his nostrils, the dangerous glint that enters his eyes. The old Harry would have been across the room in seconds. The old Harry would have made a scene, voice cold and cutting, marking his territory with sharp words and darker promises for later.
But this Harry... his hand finds your thigh under the heavy tablecloth, sliding up slowly, possessively, fingers digging into the silk-covered flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. He doesn't even glance at the man. His eyes stay locked on you, dark and burning.
Leaning in until his lips brush the shell of your ear, he speaks in a low, filthy murmur that sends shivers racing down your spine.
''You're mine, baby,'' he promises, voice thick with restrained need. ''Only I get to see you when you're falling apart on my cock. Only I get to hear the way you whimper my name when I'm buried so deep inside you that you walk funny for days.''
His fingers creep higher, brushing teasingly against the apex of your thighs. Your pulse thunders.
''Take your panties off,'' he whispers, the command quiet but absolute. ''Right now. Hand them to me.''
Your heart stutters. Heat floods your face as you glance around the elegant restaurant, cheeks burning. But the command, paired with the firm grip on your thigh and the dark promise in his voice, makes you dizzy with want. With slightly trembling hands, you manage to slip them off beneath the table, delicate black lace that still carries the warmth of your body. You fold them discreetly and pass them under the table into his waiting palm.
Harry pockets them smoothly, the movement so controlled it looks effortless. A satisfied, predatory glint flashes in his eyes as he leans back just enough to look at you properly.
''Good girl,'' he breathes, so quietly only you can hear it. ''Now be patient for me.''
The rest of dinner becomes unbearable in the most delicious way. Every bite of food tastes like nothing compared to the heavy, aching tension between your legs. Harry keeps his hand on your thigh the entire time, occasionally squeezing, occasionally tracing maddening little circles that make you want to whine. His conversation stays deceptively calm on the surface, but his eyes keep promising ruin.
By the time the waiter asks about dessert, you're both vibrating with need.
Harry declines for both of you, voice perfectly polite even as his thumb strokes dangerously close to where you need him most.
''We'll take the check,'' he says smoothly. ''Something's come up.''
The drive back is thick with silence and anticipation. His hand never leaves your thigh, gripping tighter every time you shift in your seat. By the time the car pulls up the long driveway, you're practically trembling.
The moment the villa door clicks shut behind you, the air shifts, thick, electric, and Harry doesn't give you a second to think.
You stumble backward as he presses you against the nearest wall, his body crowding yours until you feel nothing but heat and the hard lines of his body. His mouth crashes into yours with a hunger that steals the air from your lungs. It's not gentle. It's nothing like the soft, reverent kiss on the rooftop six months ago today.
Your hands fly up, fisting in the front of his black shirt as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, deep and claiming. A low, guttural sound vibrates from his chest when you moan into him.
You knock into a side table on the way down the hallway. Something ceramic clatters dangerously but neither of you cares enough to stop. Harry's hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding down to palm your ass, lifting you just enough that your toes barely brush the floor as he walks you further inside. Your back hits another wall. A framed picture tilts precariously. His mouth never leaves yours for longer than a gasp.
''Fuck, baby,'' he groans against your lips, the sound almost pained, biting the bottom one before soothing it with his tongue. ''Been painfully fucking hard since you handed me those panties under the table. You have no idea what you do to me.''
You can't even form words. All you manage is a broken whimper as he lifts you suddenly, setting you on the edge of the console table in the hallway. The silk of your dress rides up your thighs as he steps between them, grinding his clothed cock against your bare, already soaked center. The friction pulls a sharp cry from your throat.
You can't stop touching him. Your fingers push through his curls, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, then slide down to yank at his shirt buttons. One pops off completely and skitters across the floor. Harry chuckles darkly into your mouth, but the sound is ragged, desperate.
Neither of you can stand to be separated even long enough to walk properly to the bedroom.
By the time you reach the threshold of the master suite, your dress is already halfway unzipped, one strap hanging off your shoulder, and Harry's shirt is completely open, revealing the firm, inked expanse of his chest: the butterfly, the swallows, the delicate ferns that disappear teasingly beneath his waistband... His trousers hang low on his hips, the bulge obvious and straining.
He kicks the bedroom door shut with his foot and finally lifts you properly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the bed. You land on the soft mattress with him following right after, bodies still fused together, mouths hungry and breathless.
For a moment, you just kiss, slow, deep, devouring kisses that taste like red wine and relief and six months of choosing each other every single day. Your hands roam over his bare chest, tracing every ridge of muscle, every line of ink you've come to know by heart. Harry groans when your nails drag down his back, hips rolling into yours with barely contained need.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, green eyes dark and wild, pupils blown wide with lust and something far deeper.
''Want to see all of you,'' he rasps.
His hands are reverent yet urgent as he peels the silk dress from your body, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin: your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, the soft curve of your stomach. You arch into him, shy but burning, the way you've always been with him.
When he stands to finish undressing, you can't look away.
Harry shrugs the black shirt off his broad shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. The low lamplight kisses every defined line of his torso, every tattoo that tells stories you're still learning. His fingers move to his belt, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. He pushes his trousers and boxers down in one smooth motion, and his cock springs free. Thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. God. The sight of him fully naked, hard, and wanting you never fails to make your breath catch.
You reach for him, but he's already crawling back over you, caging you in with his arms.
Another heated make-out session consumes you both. Tongues sliding, teeth nipping, breaths mingling until you're dizzy with it. Then Harry begins his descent.
He kisses down your body with devastating patience, sucking marks into your neck, tongue flicking over your nipples until they pebble under his attention, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ribs. When he finally settles between your thighs, he doesn't tease for long.
He spreads you open with strong hands, smirking devilishly up at you before disappearing beneath the sheets completely.
The sight is obscene and intoxicating, the white linen tenting over his broad shoulders and dark curls as his mouth finds your dripping center. The first broad stroke of his tongue pulls a broken moan from your throat. He eats you like a man starved, like he's trying to memorize the taste. His shoulders shift under the fabric as he works you deeper, tongue circling your clit before dipping inside you, over and over.
Your head falls back against the pillows, one hand flying down to grip the sheets while the other searches blindly for him. When his large hand slides up your body from beneath the sheets, warm and possessive, you instinctively thread your fingers through his. He squeezes once, grounding and tender, before palming your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple as his mouth continues its relentless assault.
The sensation of his tongue buried between your legs while his hand gropes and claims your breast, fingers intertwined with yours, sends you spiraling. You can't see his face, only feel the devastating pleasure and the intimate connection of your joined hands. It feels filthy and sacred all at once.
When you're trembling on the edge, whimpering his name like a prayer, Harry finally emerges from under the sheets, lips glossy and eyes feral.
He crawls back up your body, kissing you so you can taste yourself on his tongue. Then his voice drops into that low, raspy register you love.
''Been thinking about this for weeks,'' he murmurs against your mouth, grinding his bare cock against your slick folds. ''Handcuffing you. Keeping you completely at my mercy while I fuck you slow and deep. You trust me, don't you, honey?''
Your heart stutters. The old fear flickers, the memory of refusing this exact thing months ago, when everything between you was still a power play. But this is different. He is different.
You swallow, shy but aching with need, and nod.
''Okay,'' you whisper. ''I want to try.''
Harry's eyes flash with gratitude, hunger and love. He reaches into the bedside drawer (he must have planned this) and pulls out a pair of sleek, padded handcuffs. His movements are careful as he guides your wrists above your head and clicks the cuffs into place around the headboard.
The cool metal against your skin sends a shiver through you. Vulnerability floods your chest, but so does trust. You're completely exposed to him now, arms stretched, body open, heart bare.
Harry groans at the sight, his cock twitching against your thigh.
''Look at you,'' he breathes, voice thick with awe and filth. ''My beautiful girl. All mine. Finally letting me have you like this.''
He doesn't rush.
He kisses you senseless again before sliding into you in one slow, deep thrust. The stretch is exquisite, his thickness filling you completely. Once he bottoms out, he stays there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
Then he starts moving, with deep, rolling strokes that make the headboard creak softly. One hand wraps loosely around your throat, not squeezing hard, just enough pressure to remind you who's in control while his thumb strokes your pulse point tenderly.
''Such a good girl for me,'' he rasps, hips snapping harder. ''Taking my cock so fucking well even when you're tied up for me. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it? Only me.''
Your moans grow louder, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure and the overwhelming feeling of being completely his. The handcuffs bite into your wrists every time you tug instinctively, heightening every sensation.
Harry fucks you with raw desperation and aching reverence, whispering filthy praises between kisses, telling you how perfect you feel, how much he loves you, how he'll never let you go.
When you come, it crashes over you like a wave, vision whitening out as you cry his name. Harry follows moments later, burying himself deep and moaning your name like a prayer, hips stuttering as he fills you.
Afterwards, the room is quiet except for your ragged breathing.
Harry carefully unlocks the cuffs, rubbing your wrists with gentle thumbs before pulling you into his chest. His lips press softly to your forehead, your temple, your swollen lips.
''You did so good, honey,'' he whispers, voice hoarse but warm. ''Such a good fucking girl.''
Then he collapses beside you with a heavy, satisfied groan, his body slick with sweat and flushed from exertion. For a long moment, the only sounds in the villa are your mingled breathing and the distant chirping of crickets outside the open windows. Then he shifts, curling into you in a way that still makes your heart stutter every single time.
He settles his head on your chest, cheek pressed against your skin, one arm slung across your waist. It had taken him weeks after you first started dating to admit this was his favorite way to fall asleep; this big, brooding man who used to fuck you and leave envelopes on the nightstand, now seeking the steady comfort of your heartbeat like it was the only thing that could quiet the noise in his head.
Your fingers find his curls immediately, carding through them in slow, soothing strokes. Your other hand trails gently down the warm expanse of his back, tracing the raised lines of scratches you'd left there minutes earlier. Harry lets out a contented hum, nuzzling deeper into your chest.
''I love you,'' he mumbles sleepily against your skin, voice rough and low. ''I'm so grateful you decide to put up with me.''
You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. ''I love you, idiot.''
As his breathing evens out and his body grows heavier against yours, your mind drifts over the past six months like pages in a book.
The quiet mornings where he brings you breakfast in bed, still learning exactly how you like it. The way he scowls at his laptop during work calls but softens the second you walk into the room. The ridiculous arguments over whose turn it is to pick the movie, ending with both of you tangled on the couch anyway. The nights you cry over silly things and he holds you for hours, murmuring apologies for every time he used to make you feel small. The spontaneous Sunday market trips where he lets you drag him around by the hand, buying random trinkets and mismatched flowers just because you like the way they smell.
Then there are the times he tries to solve your stress with his wallet, the nights you pull away because the ghost of the arrangement still haunts you... the quiet fear that maybe this kind of love, born from something so transactional, can never be entirely clean.
But you had chosen each other through all of it.
And tonight had felt like another quiet vow. Not perfect. Not without old shadows. But real. Yours.
With that warmth settling deep in your chest, and Harry's soft snores ghosting across your skin, you finally drift off, fingers still tangled in his hair.
...
The next morning, soft golden sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, painting the room in gentle hues. Harry stirs slowly, reaching out with a sleepy groan only to find empty sheets where your body should be. He cracks one eye open, then the other, a small frown tugging at his brows.
The faint sound of music drifts in from the kitchen, something soft and upbeat, the kind of song you always hum when you think no one's listening. A slow smile spreads across his face.
He stretches languidly, muscles deliciously sore in all the right places. When he stands, he catches his reflection in the full-length mirror across the room and turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. Red scratches decorate his back and shoulders, evidence of last night's passion. His smirk deepens, dark and satisfied.
He wears them proudly: badges of honor from the woman who owns every piece of his body and heart.
Pulling on a pair of black boxers, he pads barefoot toward the kitchen, following both the music and the delicious scent of cooked eggs.
There you are.
Wearing nothing but one of his oversized button-downs, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, hips swaying gently to the rhythm as you flip an egg. Your hair is still messy from sleep, and you're humming under your breath, completely lost in the moment. The sight hits him square in the chest. Warm, domestic, and so beautifully you.
He leans against the doorway for a moment, just watching, that secret, down-bad softness he only ever lets you see blooming across his face.
Then he steps forward.
You startle when his arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, a little gasp escaping as he pulls your back flush against his chest.
''Harry!'' you laugh, nearly dropping the spatula.
''Dance with me,'' he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep but warm with affection. He doesn't wait for an answer, simply spins you in his arms until you're facing him, one hand settling on the small of your back while the other holds yours.
You let out a delighted squeal as he starts swaying you around the spacious kitchen, the music guiding your lazy, playful movements. He dips you dramatically, making you laugh in surprise, then pulls you back up and presses a kiss to your temple, your nose, and finally your lips, slow and sweet.
The moment is perfect.
Until the unmistakable smell of burning hits you both.
''Shit. The eggs!'' you gasp, pulling away.
Harry glances over at the stove where dark smoke is curling up from the pan and lets out a low, amused chuckle. ''Worth it,'' he declares, reaching over to turn off the burner with one hand while keeping the other firmly around your waist.
He looks down at the charred remains with a soft, almost boyish expression. ''I'll order something. That place in town does incredible pastries and they deliverā''
You cut him off gently, placing your hands on his chest.
Harry pauses. He feels the quick desire to take care of everything, to make it easy and perfect with a single phone call. But he catches it this time. His eyes soften, and that proud, loving smile returns as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
''Yeah,'' he murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek with unbearable tenderness. ''Sounds good, baby.''
He leans down and kisses you again, slow, deep, full of promise and gratitude. When he pulls back, there's a familiar teasing glint in his eyes.
''Though I can't promise I won't buy you something ridiculous while we're out,'' he says, voice low and playful, as his gaze drifts briefly toward the window, toward the direction of the town.
You laugh softly, shaking your head as you loop your arms around his neck. ''As long as it comes from you... I think I can live with that,'' you murmur fondly, completely unaware of the weight behind his words.
But Harry feels it settle deep in his chest as he looks at you, standing here in his shirt, flushed from sleep and last night's... activities, smiling up at him like he's the best thing in your world. The same girl who he once fought with in the rain outside a club now sways barefoot in his kitchen, humming to music and burning pancakes with him.
Last night, on the drive to dinner, he spotted a small jewelry shop tucked between the old stone buildings. The thought had flickered through his mind then, quiet but persistent. And now, holding you in the morning light, it suddenly becomes crystal clear.
Yes.
This is what he wants. You. This life. Waking up to your humming and your burnt eggs and your shy little smiles for the rest of his life.
Harry presses a kiss to your forehead, letting the decision settle warmly inside him.
While you're distracted in one of the little shops, maybe tasting coffee or admiring the lavender fields in the square, he'll slip away for a few minutes, murmuring something about taking a quick business call.
He doesn't know exactly when he'll drop to one knee; it won't be rushed, not with everything you've both been through. You deserve the kind of proposal that erases every shadow of how you started.
But he knows, with a certainty that feels almost overwhelming, that he's going to buy the ring today.
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open!Ā š
SUMMARY: Prince Harry falls obsessed with the one girl who refuses to swoon. Y/N must survive a cruel court and a scandal to wear his crown. It is a romance of forbidden heat, witty banter, and finding a spine of steel.
PAIRING: Prince Harry x Reader (Y/N)
RATING: Mature (for heavy making out, heavy petting/touching)
STATUS: PART I - V. -> Completed
WORD COUNT: Approx. 22.4K words
TROPE: Royal AU, Regency Era, He Falls First, Protective Harry, Clumsy Reader, Touch Starved.
THE VIBE:
Bridgerton style courtship
stolen glances across ballrooms
the pressure of "The Season,"
witty banter in rose gardens
stolen touches in candlelit corridors.
Whispers behind lace fans and scandals written in the morning papers
EXCERPT:
āYou shouldnāt touch me like this in the corridor of a palace.ā
āThen marry me,ā he said, utterly unflinching. āAnd Iāll be able to touch you wherever I like.ā
Y/Nās breath caught, her cheeks blooming with heat as his thumb gently brushed her cheekbone ā reverent, tender, and yet charged with something far more dangerous.
Her voice was barely a whisper, but steady. āI already am.ā
For a single beat, he didnāt move. Then, slowly, his lips curled into something between awe and desire. He looked at her like she was the very first star to appear in the night sky ā and the only one worth wishing on.
He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against hers, and let out a breath that trembled between restraint and longing.
āGod help me,ā he murmured, ābut I think Iām already lost.ā
if you want to get ahead and get access to all chapter then check out my patreon!
When Y/N becomes the nanny to a guarded billionaire CEO, Harryās carefully controlled world begins to unravel. Secrets and forbidden feelings soon follow.
masterlist
Thrust into power after his fatherās death, Harry must lead the family mafia while facing his volatile brother. An arranged marriage to Y/N Castellano binds their fates.
masterlist
Harryās routine college life is shaken when he meets Y/N, someone who doesnāt belong in his world but refuses to leave his mind.
SHORT SERIES: Harryās arrival on Love Island stirs Y/Nās feelings, sparking tension with her partner, Tom, and the rest of the ladies, as sheās drawn to Harryās charm and intrigue.
The full series is already completed and available to read over on my Patreon. š¤
āļø Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
āļø Please consider submitting your one shot request -> Forms
You became his sugar baby to survive, but Harryās possessiveness soon turns into something softer. The black card pays the bills, but itās the unexpected love that threatens to ruin you both.
Authorās Note: Surprise! Iām posting Chapter 1 of Baby early so you guys can start requesting tags. This is a 10-part one-shot that Iām still finishing up over on Patreon (Part 8 goes up tomorrow!). Iāll start posting the remaining chapters here once the Patreon run is finished, but if you canāt wait to see what happens next, you can read ahead for $2 by joining my Patreon!
Rating: Explicit. š content. reader discretion is advised.
š Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon
š all of my work :)
š w.c -> 10k
The city looked better from forty stories up. From here, London was just a grid of amber lights and rain-slicked streets, silent and manageable. It was the only time Harry liked looking at it, when he was far enough away that he couldn't hear the noise.
Harry Styles adjusted the cuff of his shirt, the movement sharp and precise. His office was a cavern of glass and mahogany, smelling faintly of leather polish and the aged scotch sitting untouched in the crystal tumbler on his desk.
He stared at the spreadsheet on his monitor, but his focus was broken by the vibration of his phone against the wood. It buzzed like an angry insect.
Olivia.
His ex-wife.
Harry didnāt even blink. He simply reached out and silenced the call, flipping the device face down. She would be calling about the house in Surrey, or the alimony adjustment. He made a mental note to have his assistant handle it in the morning. He didnāt have the energy for the argument tonight.
He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the roughness of stubble against his palm. Forty-five years old. He had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, but right now, all he felt was the throb of a headache behind his left eye.
A soft knock at the glass door made him look up.
"Harry?"
He suppressed a sigh, forcing his expression into something neutral. It was Camille. She was thirty-two, an art dealer heād been seeing for three months. She was beautiful, intelligent, and currently, looking at him with an expectation he knew he couldn't meet.
She pushed the door open, balancing two takeout boxes from that Thai place she liked.
"I saw the light was still on," she said, stepping inside with a soft smile. She placed the food on the edge of his desk. She walked around to his chair, her hands finding his shoulders. "Youāve been here since seven this morning. You need to eat."
Harry sat still. He didn't lean into her touch, but he didn't pull away either. He just felt... heavy.
"I have another hour of work, Camille," he said, his voice low.
"It can wait," she murmured, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Come on. Letās go back to yours. We haven't had a proper night together in two weeks. I bought that lingerie set you liked...ā
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was sweet. It was domestic. And it made Harry feel absolutely suffocated.
He gently took her hand, removing it from his shoulder, and stood up.
"Camille," he said softly. He waited until she looked at him. "We need to stop."
She blinked, her smile faltering. "Stop working? I agree."
"No," Harry said. He kept his voice even, calm. "Us. This."
The silence in the room was instant.
"What?" She laughed nervously. "Where is this coming from?"
"You want a partner," Harry said. He walked over to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. "You want weekends in the country. You want dinner conversation. You want someone who is going to be present." He turned back to her. "I am not that person. I don't have that to give you."
"Harry, I'm not asking for marriage," she argued, though her voice was tight. "I just want to spend time with you."
"And I don't want to waste yours," he cut in. It wasn't malicious; it was just a fact. "Youāre a lovely woman, Camille. But Iām not interested in a relationship. I thought I could manage it, but I canāt."
She stared at him for a long moment. She was looking for anger, or sadness, or passion. But Harry just looked composed. Detached.
"Wow," she breathed, shaking her head. "You really are made of ice, aren't you?"
Harry didn't argue. "My driver is downstairs. Heāll take you home."
She grabbed her purse, her eyes shiny with tears, but she held her head high. She didn't slam the door when she left, but the click of the latch echoed in the empty office like a gunshot.
Harry stood there for a moment. He didn't feel relieved, exactly. Just... resolved.
He sat back down at his desk. He picked up the scotch and took a slow sip.
He didn't want the mess. He didn't want the guilt of disappointing someone just by being himself. He wanted something simple. Something honest.
Transaction.
He woke his computer. He ignored the market trends and opened a new private browser window. He typed in the URL heād heard two senior partners joking about in the elevator last week.
Mutually Beneficial Arrangements.
The site loaded. Sleek. Discreet.
Create Account.
Harry began to type.
Name: H.
Age: 45
Net Worth: Verified.
Looking For: Discretion. Obedience. No emotional attachments.
He hit enter. The screen refreshed, showing him a grid of profiles. He scrolled past the ones that looked too eager, too flashy.
And then he stopped.
A profile with no face. Just a silhouette. The bio was three sentences long.
University student. 21. Serious inquiries only. I have a tuition deadline, you have needs. Letās not waste time.
Harry stared at the screen. Practical. Desperate. Perfect.
He clicked Message
If Harryās world was defined by silence, Y/Nās was defined by noise.
The bass from the flat upstairs was thumping through the ceiling, a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that shook the dust off the light fixture. Down the hall, one of her roommates was laughing loudly on the phone, the sound carrying through the paper-thin walls.
Y/N pulled her oversized hoodie tighter around herself and curled her legs up on the second-hand sofa. Her laptop sat on her knees, the fan whirring loudly as it struggled to keep up with the twenty tabs she had open.
JSTOR. Shakespearean Criticism. The evolution of the sonnet.
She rubbed her temples. Her dissertation proposal was due in three days, and she had written exactly two hundred words.
Ping.
A notification slid onto the top right of her screen. It wasn't an email from her professor. It was from the University Bursar.
Subject: URGENT: Outstanding Tuition Balance - Final Notice.
Y/Nās stomach dropped. She didn't want to open it. She knew what it said. She opened it anyway.
Dear Y/N,This is a final reminder regarding the outstanding balance of Ā£3,400 for the Spring Term. Please be advised that if payment is not cleared by Friday, your access to university facilities will be suspended and you will be unable to sit for exams.
She bit her lip, looking at the incognito tab minimized in the corner of her browser.
She had made the account two nights ago, after a panic attack in the library bathroom. Her friend Molly had joked about it once, how she went on "dinner dates" with older men who paid for her textbooks. It sounded sleazy. It sounded dangerous.
But being kicked out of university three months before graduation sounded worse.
With a shaky breath, she maximized the window.
SugarBabyConnect.
The interface was pink and tacky. Her inbox had four unread messages. She clicked on them, wincing.
BigDaddy69: hey bby u want some fun? (Delete.)
RichGuy_London: send pics. (Delete.)
TravelLover: I can fly you to Dubai tomorrow. (Delete. Too scary.)
Then, she saw the fourth one.
It had come in twenty minutes ago. The profile had no photo, just a grey silhouette. The username was simple: H.
She clicked it.
H: I value discretion and punctuality. I am looking for a mutually beneficial arrangement. No drama. No emotional attachments. If you are real, and you are serious about your financial needs, reply.
Y/N stared at the screen.
It was... different. The grammar was perfect. The tone was cold, almost corporate. It didn't sound like a creep trying to get nudes; it sounded like a business transaction.
No emotional attachments.
That was exactly what she wanted. She didn't want a boyfriend. She didn't want to be wined and dined and romanced. She wanted to pay her tuition, finish her degree, and disappear.
She looked at the calendar on her wall. The red circle around FRIDAY mocked her.
She typed. Her fingers trembled slightly over the keys.
Y/N: I am real. And I am serious. I have a deadline this Friday, so I don't have time for games either.
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
Almost immediately, the three dots appeared. He was typing.
H: Meet me. Tomorrow, 6 PM. The Cobalt Bar at the InterContinental. Ask for the booth in the back. Dress appropriately.
Y/N let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The InterContinental. That was fancy. Public. Safe.
She typed one last message.
Y/N: I'll be there.
She closed the laptop and hugged her knees to her chest. The music upstairs was still thumping, but the knot in her stomach had tightened into something else. Fear? Excitement?
She wasn't sure. But for the first time in weeks, she had a plan.
The hotel smelled of expensive perfume and old money. Y/N smoothed her hands down the front of her dress for the tenth time. It was the nicest thing she owned, a simple midi dress sheād bought for a cousinās wedding, but walking across the marble lobby, she felt like she was wearing a costume.
People here moved differently. They didn't rush. They glided.
She checked her phone. 5:59 PM.
Punctuality. He had been specific about that.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the Cobalt Bar. The lighting dropped as she entered, the space intimate and hushed, filled with the low murmur of business deals and illicit affairs.
"Iām meeting someone," she told the hostess, her voice sounding thin in her own ears. "A booth in the back?"
The hostess didn't even check a list. She just nodded, her eyes flickering over Y/Nās outfit with professional indifference, and led the way past velvet armchairs and crystal glasses.
"Here you are, miss."
Y/N stepped forward.
He was already there.
He was reading something on his phone, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked... nothing like she expected. And exactly like she feared.
He was older, yes. The silver at his temples caught the low light, shining against his dark hair. He was wearing a navy suit that fit him so perfectly it looked like a second skin, crisp and sharp. He wasn't soft. He wasn't smiling. He looked hard, composed, and devastatingly handsome.
He sensed her presence and looked up. He took the glasses off, folding them slowly. His eyes were green, piercing, and completely unreadable.
He checked his watch. "Six o'clock. Exactly."
His voice was deep, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air between them.
"I can't afford to be late," Y/N said, gripping the strap of her bag. She tried to keep her voice steady, but the dryness in her throat betrayed her.
"Sit." Harry gestured to the waiter hovering nearby. "Sparkling water. Lime." He looked at Y/N. "And for you?ā
"The same," she said quickly as she sat.
The waiter vanished. Harry turned his full attention back to her. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. He was dissecting her. She could feel his gaze tracing the cheap fabric of her dress, the way she had pinned her hair back, the nervous clasp of her hands.
"You look terrified," Harry observed flatly.
Y/N straightened her spine. "I'm not terrified. I'm... apprehensive. This isn't exactly a standard job interview."
"No," Harry agreed, a flicker of amusement touching his lips. "It isn't. Tell me, Y/N, why are you here? And don't tell me it's just for the money. There are easier ways to make money than selling your time to a stranger."
The leather was cool against her legs. She felt small. She felt out of her depth.
"You're younger than you sounded in your message," he observed.
"I'm twenty-one," she said quickly. "I have ID."
"I don't need your ID," Harry said, his tone clinical. "I need to know if you understand what this is."
He reached into a leather portfolio next to him and slid a thick cream envelope across the table, along with a heavy fountain pen.
"First," he said. "Sign this."
Y/N blinked, looking down at the paper. "What is it?"
"A Non-Disclosure Agreement," Harry said calmly. "It states that anything discussed at this table, and anything that happens between us moving forward, remains completely private. You do not mention my name. You do not post about me online. You do not tell your friends."
He leaned back, watching her. "If you breach it, the financial penalties will ruin you. If you aren't comfortable with that, leave now."
Y/N didn't move. She picked up the pen. She felt the weight of his gaze on her hand as she signed the bottom of the page. Y/N Y/L/N.
She pushed it back to him. Harry checked the signature, nodded, and put the document away. The air shifted. It felt... heavier.
"Good," he said. "Now we can speak freely."
He took a sip of his whiskey. "Iāve read your profile. English Literature student. Tuition debt. Correct?"
"Yes."
"A romantic degree," he mused, his tone bordering on condescending. "You spend your time analyzing stories that aren't real.ā
"I spend my time analyzing human nature," Y/N corrected him, surprising herself with her own boldness. "Which is useful. Even in rooms like this.ā
Harry stopped swirling his glass. He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. The coldness in his eyes thawed just a fraction, replaced by sharp interest.
The waiter returned, depositing the waters. Harry waited until he was gone before he shifted, his demeanor hardening back into business.
"I am not looking for a girlfriend, Y/N," he began, his voice clinical. "I have a demanding career in investment banking. I manage assets worth billions. My days are spent making high-stakes decisions. My evenings are often spent managing the expectations of an ex-wife who feels entitled to my energy.ā
He took a sip of his drink. "I am tired of expectations. I require a release. I require companionship on my terms. Someone who is there when I want them, and gone when I need silence.ā
He paused, his eyes darkening. "And I require control."
Y/N felt a flush rise up her neck. "Control?"
"In my professional life, I have to be diplomatic. In my private life, I don't want to negotiate," Harry said calmly. "In the bedroom, I want to be obeyed. Does that scare you?ā
Y/N swallowed hard. She looked at his handsālarge, strong, resting on the table. She imagined them on her. A shiver went down her spine that had nothing to do with fear.
"No," she whispered.
"We need to discuss your history. For my safety and yours." He didn't look embarrassed; he looked bored, like this was standard procedure. "When was your last sexual partner?ā
Y/N choked on air. She grabbed her glass of water. "Is that necessary?ā
"It is a health question. And a compatibility one," he said. "Answer it.ā
"Six months ago," she whispered, her voice small.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "And how many partners have there been in total?"
"Two," she said, her face burning hot. "Just... two."
Harry sat back, a look of genuine satisfaction crossing his face. "Inexperienced. Good. I prefer not to have to undo bad habits.ā
"I know what I'm doing," she defended quickly.
"Do you?" Harryās voice dropped an octave, turning velvety. "Weāll see. Do you have any hard limits? Anything you refuse to do?ā
Y/N thought about it. She looked at his hands, large, strong, resting on the table. She imagined them on her. A shiver went down her spine that had nothing to do with fear.
"I... I'm not into pain," she said quietly. "Not real pain."
"I don't hurt women," Harry said, his voice dropping an octave, turning velvety. "But I will own you while you are with me. I will tell you what to wear, when to speak, and how to touch me. Are you comfortable with that dynamic?"
Y/N felt dizzy. The conversation was incredibly clinical and incredibly erotic at the same time. She thought of her debt. She thought of the way he was looking at her, like he wanted to devour her, but only if she gave him permission.
"Yes," she breathed. "I think so."
"Don't think," Harry commanded softly. "Know. Because once we start, I won't want to stop to reassure you."
"I know," she said firmly. "I can handle it."
Harry held her gaze for a long moment, assessing her. He seemed to come to a decision.
"The terms," he said, switching back to business mode instantly. "I will pay your remaining tuition balance directly to the university tomorrow morning. In addition, you will receive a monthly allowance of Ā£15,000."
Y/Nās eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. That wasn't just tuition money. That was life-changing money. That was freedom.
"Fifteen... thousand?" she stammered.
"Tax-free. Cash or wire, your preference," Harry said indifferently, as if the amount was nothing to him.
"In exchange," Harry cut her off, "I want your weekends. Not just Friday nights. You arrive here Friday at 8 PM. You leave Sunday at noon. For those forty hours, you are mine. You don't make plans with friends. You don't study. You focus entirely on me."
Harry pulled a stack of cash from his pocketācrisp Ā£50 notesāand placed it on the table.
"For a taxi. And a new dress. Something black. Something easier to take off."
He stood up, buttoning his jacket. He towered over the booth.
"A car will collect you on Friday at 8 PM. Don't be late."
He turned and walked away without looking back, leaving Y/N trembling in the booth with a signed contract and a racing heart.
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of anxiety and surrealism.
On Wednesday morning, Y/N had woken up convinced she had dreamt the entire meeting. It seemed impossibleāthe dark bar, the handsome older man, the talk of "owning" her.
But then she opened her banking app.
Balance: Ā£1,242.50.
Harry hadn't wired the allowance yetāthat was for the start of the arrangementābut the cash he had left on the table was real. And when she logged into her university portal, the red warning banner was gone.
Tuition Status: PAID IN FULL.
Y/N had sat on her bed and cried for ten minutes. The crushing weight that had been sitting on her chest for three years was just... gone. Vaporized by a man she barely knew.
Now, it was Thursday. The reality of what she had to do in return was setting in.
She was standing in the changing room of a boutique in Covent Garden. It wasn't the kind of shop she usually dared to enter; nothing had a price tag visible.
She held up the black dress. It was silk, cut on the bias, with thin spaghetti straps and a back that dipped dangerously low. It was elegant and undeniably sexy.
Easier to take off.
His voice echoed in her head, making her skin prickle.
She slipped the dress on. It felt like water against her skin. She looked in the mirror. She didn't look like a student anymore. She looked like a woman who belonged in Harryās world.
She bought the dress. She bought the matching lingerie, black lace, expensive, sheer. She bought a new perfume that smelled like vanilla and amber.
When she got back to the flat, her roommate Josh was in the kitchen making toast.
"Hey!" Josh chirped. "You look fancy. Whatās in the bag?"
Y/N felt a spike of guilt. She hugged the bag tighter. "Oh, just... I picked up a shift at a private event this weekend. Catering. High-end stuff. They made us buy a specific uniform.ā
The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.
"Oh, nice,"Josh said, unbothered. "Does it pay well?"
"Yeah," Y/N whispered, thinking of the Ā£15,000. "It pays really well."
"Cool. Want some toast?"
"No, I'm... I'm going to go study."
Y/N retreated to her room. She packed her overnight bag. Toothbrush. Makeup. The lingerie. The dress.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Friday at 8 PM.
She was terrified. But beneath the fear, there was something else. A dark, thrumming anticipation. She kept replaying the way Harry had looked at her in the booth. The way he had said I want to be obeyed.
She had never been with a man like that. Her ex-boyfriend, a fellow student named Ben, had been sweet but clueless. Sex had been awkward, hurried, and mostly for his benefit.
Harry didn't seem like the type to hurry.
Harry sat in his office, staring at a merger agreement worth four hundred million pounds. He had read the same paragraph six times.
He checked his watch.
Four hours.
He closed the file. He couldn't focus. This was rare for him. Usually, he could compartmentalize anything. But the image of Y/N, her wide eyes, her nervous hands, the way she had challenged him about her degree, kept intruding.
She was young. Innocent. But there was a spark in her. A defiance. He liked that. Breaking that defiance down, layer by layer, until she was unraveling for him... that was going to be the real pleasure.
He hit the intercom button.
"Cancel my dinner with the Tokyo partners," he said.
"Sir?" his assistantās voice crackled, confused. "Thatās been on the books for months."
"Reschedule it. Say I have a family emergency. I'm leaving early."
"Of course, Mr. Styles."
Harry stood up and grabbed his coat. He needed to go home. He needed to shower. He needed to make sure the wine was breathing and the steaks were prepped.
He wanted everything to be perfect.
He wasn't just acquiring an asset tonight. He was starting a game. And he intended to win.
The car Harry sent was not a taxi. It was a black Mercedes S-Class with tinted windows and an interior that smelled of fresh leather. The driver, a stoic man named Paul, had opened the door for her without a word.
Y/N sat in the back seat, clutching the handles of her overnight bag until her knuckles turned white.
The drive from her cramped, noisy street in Hackney to the leafy, silent avenues of Mayfair felt like crossing a border between two different countries. The graffiti and neon lights faded, replaced by wrought-iron gates, white stucco facades, and trees that looked like they were manicured with nail scissors.
The car slowed, turning onto a private street that didn't even have a street sign. It stopped in front of a massive, double-fronted townhouse with a glossy black door.
"Weāre here, miss," Paul said, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror.
Y/N took a shaky breath. "Thank you."
She stepped out into the cool evening drizzle. The house was imposing. It looked like a fortress. There were no lights on in the windows that she could see, giving it a dormant, brooding quality.
She walked up the stone steps. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it pulsing in her throat. She reached for the brass knocker, but before her skin could graze the metal, the lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Harry stood there.
The air left Y/Nās lungs in a rush.
He looked different than he had at the hotel. He wasn't wearing the suit jacket. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, but the top two buttons were undone, exposing the tanned skin of his throat and a hint of chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate tattoos on his forearms.
He looked less corporate and more... dangerous. Domestic, but in the way a tiger is domestic in its own cage.
He held a crystal tumbler of whiskey in one hand. He didn't smile.
"You're on time," he murmured. His voice was lower than she remembered, vibrating through the quiet street.
"I..." Y/N started, but her voice failed her. She nodded instead.
Harry stepped back, opening the door wider. "Inside."
Y/N stepped over the threshold. The hallway was cavernous, dark brown wooden floors, a sweeping staircase with a mahogany banister, and a chandelier that cast a dim, golden light.
It smelled of him. Cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain.
Harry closed the door behind her. The heavy thud of the locks sliding into place echoed in the large space. It was a sound of finality.
"Coat," Harry said.
Y/N fumbled with the buttons of her trench coat. She felt clumsy under his gaze. She shrugged it off, revealing the black silk dress.
Harryās eyes darkened. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze traveling from her strappy heels, up the curve of her calves, over the bias-cut silk that clung to her hips, and finally resting on her face.
"Good," he said softly. "You listen to instructions."
He took the coat from her hand and hung it in a closet, dismissing it. Then he turned back to her. He didn't touch her. He just stood close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
"Leave your bag there. Follow me."
He turned and walked down the hallway. Y/N abandoned her bag on the marble and followed him.
They entered a kitchen that was bigger than her entire apartment. It was a masterpiece of industrial designādark charcoal cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a massive island made of veined marble.
But what surprised her was the smell. Rosemary. Garlic. Seared meat.
"You... you cook?" she asked, surprised.
Harry walked around the island to where a bottle of red wine was breathing. "I live alone, Y/N. I don't like staff in the house in the evenings. If I want to eat well, I do it myself."
He poured a large glass of wine and slid it across the marble toward her.
"Sit."
She sat on one of the high velvet stools. Harry picked up a pan from the stove. He plated two steaks with a precision that bordered on surgical, adding asparagus and roasted potatoes.
He placed a plate in front of her.
"Eat," he commanded.
Y/N picked up her fork. She took a sip of the wine first. It was rich, velvety, and clearly cost more than her monthly rent.
"So," Harry said, taking his seat opposite her. He cut into his steak, his movements precise. "Tell me about your week."
Y/N blinked. "My week?"
"We have forty hours, Y/N," Harry said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. "I don't intend to spend them all in silence. I want to know who is in my house."
"I thought you didn't want emotional attachment," she challenged, the wine giving her a sudden burst of courage.
Harryās lips quirked in a ghost of a smirk. It made him look devastatingly handsome. "Knowing your day isn't an emotional attachment. It's intelligence gathering. Speak."
Harry paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "The tragic hero. Aristotle?"
"Mostly," she said, surprised. "Though I'm focusing on the modern adaptation of hubris."
Harry hummed, a low sound in his throat. "Hubris. Excessive pride. A dangerous thing." He looked at her pointedly. "Men destroy themselves because they refuse to know their place. Do you know your place, Y/N?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and charged.
Y/N put her fork down. Her heart skipped a beat. "I think so."
"You think so?" Harry repeated softly.
He turned his body fully toward her. He didn't stand up. He didn't ask permission.
His large hand shot out, gripping the metal base of her velvet stool. With a sudden, forceful jerk, he yanked her sideways.
Y/N gasped as her stool scraped across the floor, colliding with his. The impact jarred her, bringing her flush against his side. Her knees knocked against his thighs, her space completely invaded by him.
He was right there.
He didn't give her a second to recover. He leaned in, his face inches from hers.
"You're too far away," he murmured, his voice rough with impatience.
His hand came up to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the loose hair there, holding her steady. He tilted his head and crushed his mouth onto hers.
It wasn't a tentative first kiss. It was starving. It was a collision of teeth and lips. He tasted of the red wine and something darkerāsmoke and desire. He bit down gently on her lower lip, urging her to open for him, and when she did, he groaned, a low vibration that she felt in her own chest.
Y/Nās hands fluttered uselessly for a moment before landing on his shoulders, gripping the cotton of his white shirt. He felt solid, warm, and overwhelming.
Harry broke the kiss for a split second, just to change the angle, his nose brushing against hers.
"I've been wanting to do that since you walked into the hotel," he confessed against her mouth, his voice a breathless growl. "Since we first met."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming her. His free hand moved from the stool to her waist, squeezing the silk-clad flesh possessively, pulling her even closer until there was absolutely no air left between them.
For a moment, the world dissolved. There was no tuition, no contract, no NDA. Just the heat of his hand on her waist and the taste of him on her tongue.
Harry pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked like he was in pain, or ecstasy, or both.
"I'm done eating," he rasped, opening his eyes. The green was swallowed by black pupils. "And so are you."
He stood up, taking her hand and pulling her up from the stool in one fluid motion.
"Bed. Now."
Harry led her up the staircase. It wasn't the creaky wooden stairs of a Victorian home; these were floating steps of pale oak and glass, suspended in the air. The house was silent, smelling of filtered air and cedar.
He opened the door at the end of the hall.
The master bedroom was vast and brutally minimalist. There was no clutter, no personal photos, nothing soft. The floors were bleached oak, covered partially by a large, textured grey rug. A low-profile platform bed dominated the center of the room, made up with crisp, white linens that looked like they had never been slept in.
One entire wall was glass, looking out over the rain-slicked city.
Harry walked over to a small touch panel on the wall. He tapped it once. The automated blackout shades hummed softly, descending to block out the world, plunging the room into a moody, low-lit intimacy.
He turned to her. He didn't embrace her. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down on the firm mattress. He leaned back on his hands, his legs spread wide, looking perfectly at ease in the stark, expensive space.
Y/N stood in the middle of the room, her heels clicking on the wood floor. She felt exposed in the open space.
"Come here," Harry said. His voice was quiet, absorbed by the acoustics of the room.
Y/N walked forward until she was standing between his spread knees. She could see the reflection of the room in the dark window behind him.
He looked up at her, his face serious.
"You're shaking," he observed. He didn't sound sympathetic; he sounded like he was stating a fact to be analyzed.
"I'm nervous," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I've never... I've never done this before. Not like this."
"Not like what?" Harry asked, tilting his head.
"With a contract," she whispered. "With... you."
Harry reached out. His hands settled on her hips. His thumbs rubbed small, soothing circles into the silk of her dress.
"I am just a man, Y/N," he said softly. Then his eyes darkened, shifting the mood.
He dropped his hands from her hips.
"Take the dress off."
Y/Nās breath hitched. "Now?"
"Yes. Now. I want to watch."
She reached for the zipper at her side. Her fingers were clumsy. The sound of the zipper sliding down seemed deafeningly loud. She shrugged the straps off her shoulders. The silk pooled at her feet in a black puddle against the pale wood floor.
She stood there in the lingerie she had bought. It was black lace, sheer and high-cut. It hid nothing. The air in the room was climate-controlled and cool, making her nipples peak against the lace.
She instinctively moved to cover herself with her arms.
"Ah," Harry tutted, reaching out and gripping her wrists gently but firmly. He pulled her arms away from her body. "None of that. No hiding. Not here."
He pulled her a step closer until her thighs were pressed against the inseam of his trousers. He looked at her stomach, her breasts, the curve of her hips. He took his time. It was agonizing.
"Did you buy this for me?" he asked, his eyes tracing the lace edge of her bra.
"Yes," she managed to say.
"Turn around."
She turned. She felt his hands land on her bare ass, squeezing the flesh firmly through the lace. She gasped.
"Good," Harry murmured. "You have a beautiful body, Y/N. Soft. Unmarked."
He spun her back around to face him. His face was level with her stomach. He reached out and unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his white sleeves up further. The sight of his forearmsāstrong, veined, and tannedācontrasting with her pale skin made her knees weak.
"But you're stiff," he noted. He looked up at her face. "You're holding your breath. You're waiting for me to hurt you."
"I..."
"I told you," Harry said, his voice dropping to a low, teaching tone. "Iām not going to hurt you. But I do need you to relax. Because if you're this tight, this isnāt going to workā.
He patted his thighs.
"Sit on my lap. Facing me."
Y/N hesitated. "Like... straddle you?"
"Yes. Leg on either side. Sit."
She climbed onto him awkwardly. The bed was low, so his knees were high, creating a cradle for her. She settled onto his lap. The intimacy was shocking. She could feel the hardness of his erection beneath his suit trousers, pressing right against her core.
Harry didn't kiss her immediately. Instead, he reached up and began to pull the pins out of her hair, one by one.
"We need to get rid of this," he murmured, dropping the pins onto the floor. Her hair fell around her shoulders. "Much better."
He combed his fingers through the strands, then cupped the back of her neck, his thumb resting on her pulse.
"Now," he whispered, staring into her eyes. "We are going to learn how to kiss. Because what you did in the kitchen was messy."
Y/N flushed. "I thought you liked it."
"I liked the enthusiasm," Harry corrected. "But you were rushing. You were grabbing. I want you to feel everything."
He leaned in slowly. "Open your mouth."
She opened her lips. Harry brushed his mouth against hersāfeather-light. He teased the corner of her lips, then the center. He didn't deepen it. He just hovered there, making her wait.
"Kiss me," he commanded against her lips. "Slowly."
Y/N pressed her lips to his, trying to match the slow, agonizing rhythm he had set. It was difficult. Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy, and every instinct screamed at her to rush, to grab, to get closer.
But she forced herself to be slow. She softened her mouth. She moved her lips against his with a gentle, exploring pressure.
Harry made a low noise in his throatāa vibration that she felt in her chest.
"Good," he murmured against her mouth. "Just like that."
He allowed the kiss to deepen, his tongue sliding against hers, not invading this time, but dancing. His large hands slid from her waist up her ribcage, his thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts.
Y/N gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking instinctively against his lap. The friction of the lace against her sensitive skin and the hardness of his erection beneath her created a jolt of electricity.
Harry broke the kiss. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
"You're sensitive," he noted.
"I... yes," she breathed.
"And impatient."
He moved his hands fully over her breasts, cupping the weight of them in his palms. The black lace was sheer, offering no protection. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching her face closely as she bit her lip to stifle a moan.
"Don't hide it," Harry commanded softly. "I want to hear you."
He pinched lightly.
"Harry," she whimpered.
"Thatās it."
He gripped her waist again and lifted her easily, shifting her position. He leaned back, guiding her backwards until she was lying flat on the crisp white duvet.
The change in perspective was dizzying. The ceiling was high and shadowed. Harry loomed over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. He looked like a giant from this angle, his white shirt glowing in the dim light, his face shadowed and severe.
He looked down at her, spread out on his bed, wearing nothing but black lace and fear.
"Breathtaking," he whispered.
He moved down the bed, crawling over her. He didn't take his clothes off. He stopped when he was kneeling between her legs.
He reached for her ankles. His grip was firm as he pulled her legs apart, widening her stance until she was completely open to him.
Y/N tried to close her legs instinctivelyāit was too exposed, too much light, but Harry clicked his tongue.
"Ah," he warned. "Stay open. You belong to me right now, remember?"
"I remember," she whispered, relaxing her muscles with effort.
Harry looked at the scrap of black lace covering her core. He reached out, tracing the seam with one finger. Y/N arched her back, a shockwave going through her.
"Wet," Harry observed, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're soaking through the lace."
He looked back up at her face.
"Have you ever come from oral sex, Y/N?"
The question was so direct, so clinical yet filthy, that Y/N blushed crimson. "I... no. Not really. It usually takes too long, and guys..."
"Guys are lazy," Harry finished for her. He sounded disgusted. "And selfish."
He reached for the waistband of her panties.
"I am neither."
He pulled the lace down slowly, dragging it over her hips, down her thighs, and off her ankles. He tossed the underwear onto the floor without looking at it.
Y/N lay completely naked now. She felt like she was vibrating.
Harry didn't touch her immediately. He unbuttoned his cuffs completely and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, revealing the full ink of his tattoos. It was a deliberate, methodical gesture that built the anticipation to a breaking point.
"I'm going to teach you something," Harry said, his voice dropping to a velvet growl. He placed his hands on her inner thighs, pushing them wider. "I'm going to teach you that your pleasure isn't something you have to apologize for. But you have to earn it."
"How?" she gasped. "How do I earn it?"
"By staying still," Harry said. "And by keeping your eyes open. I want you to watch me while I taste you."
He lowered his head.
Y/N cried out as his breath hit her damp skin, hot and erratic. And then, his tongue was there.
It wasn't tentative. It was masterful.
He licked a long, slow stripe from her entrance up to her clitoris, savoring her. Y/Nās hands flew to the sheets, gripping the white cotton in tight fists. Her hips tried to lift, to grind against him.
Harryās hands tightened on her thighs, pinning her down.
"Still," he commanded against her skin. The vibration of his voice on her most sensitive point made her sob.
He began to work. He knew exactly what he was doing. He alternated between broad, flat licks and targeted pressure that made her head spin. He didn't rush. He treated her like a fine meal he had been waiting all week to eat.
"Harry," she panted, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Harry, please."
He pulled back for a second, looking up at her. His mouth was wet. His eyes were blown wide.
"Please what?" he asked. "Please stop?"
"No," she begged. "Please... more."
"Ask properly," he murmured. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," she cried, tears pricking her eyes from the sheer intensity of it. "I want you to make me come."
Harry smirked. It was a dark, victorious thing.
"Good girl."
He went back down, and this time, he didn't tease. He increased the pressure, his tongue moving in a relentless rhythm that stripped her of every thought. He sucked gently, and Y/N felt the tension coil in her belly, tighter and tighter, like a rubber band about to snap.
"Don't close your eyes," Harry warned, sensing her climax approaching. "Look at me."
Y/N forced her eyes open. She looked down at the top of his dark head, at the movement of his shoulders between her legs. The sight of this powerful, wealthy man on his knees for her pushed her over the edge.
"Harry!"
She shattered as waves of pleasure crashing through her so hard her toes curled. She cried out, a loud, broken sound that echoed in the silent, modern room.
Harry stayed with her, drinking every drop of her release, only stopping when her tremors finally subsided into soft twitches.
He pulled back slowly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at the mess he had made of her with absolute pride.
He crawled up the bed, looming over her panting form. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. He tasted like her.
"See?" he whispered against her mouth. "You can be taught."
Y/N lay on the white sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs feeling like melted wax. The aftershocks of the orgasm still tingled in her fingertips. She watched Harry through half-lidded eyes.
He didn't give her long to recover.
He stood up from the bed, towering over her again. He looked down at her naked, flushed body with a proprietary dark gaze.
He reached for the buttons of his shirt. He undid them with maddening slownessāone, two, threeārevealing a chest that was tanned and defined, dusted with dark hair. He shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle.
Y/N swallowed hard. He was... magnificent. In the suit, he looked powerful. Naked from the waist up, he looked like a brawler. A faint scar ran along his ribs. The tattoos on his arms seemed to flow onto his chestāa swallow, a cross, ink that spoke of a life before boardrooms and tailored suits.
His hands moved to his belt buckle. The metallic clink echoed in the room. He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down, stepping out of them and his boxer briefs in one motion.
Y/Nās eyes widened involuntarily. He was thick, heavy, and fully erect.
Harry saw her look. He didn't hide. He stood there for a moment, letting her see exactly what she had agreed to.
"I won't hurt you," he promised again, his voice rougher now. "But I am going to fill you. All of me."
He walked to the bedside table and opened the drawer. He pulled out a condom, tearing the packet with his teeth. He rolled it on quickly, efficiently.
He climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. He crawled over her, settling between her spread thighs, bracing his weight on his forearms so he didn't crush her.
The heat of his skin against hers was a shock. Chest to chest. Hip to hip.
He reached down, guiding himself to her entrance. He pressed the head against her, testing the fit.
Y/N gasped, her hands flying up to grip his biceps. "Harry..."
"Shh," he soothed, brushing the hair off her forehead. "Breathe for me, Y/N. Deep breath."
She inhaled shakily. On her exhale, he pushed forward.
It was slow. Agonizingly slow. He stretched her, inch by inch. Y/N whined low in her throat, a mix of discomfort and fullness.
"That's it," Harry praised, his jaw clenched tight. He was holding himself back with visible effort, the cords in his neck straining. "You're so tight. fuck."
He pushed one last time, sinking all the way to the hilt.
Y/N let out a sharp cry, arching her back.
Harry froze. He held completely still, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent while her body adjusted to him.
"I've got you," he whispered against her skin. "I'm not moving. You're okay."
He waited until her muscles relaxed, until the initial sting faded into a dull, throbbing pressure. He kissed her throat, then her jaw, then her lips.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Y/N opened her eyes. Harry was staring down at her with an intensity that made her soul shiver.
"Good."
He pulled back almost all the way, then thrust back in. A long, smooth stroke.
Y/Nās breath hitched. It didn't hurt anymore. It felt... incredible.
Harry set a rhythm. It wasn't frantic. It was heavy and deliberate. He ground his hips against hers with every thrust, hitting a spot deep inside her that made her vision blur.
"Wrap your legs around me," he groaned.
She obeyed, locking her ankles behind his back. This pulled him deeper, eliminating any space between them.
The friction was overwhelming. Harryās control began to slip. His thrusts got harder, faster. His hands gripped the pillow on either side of her head, his knuckles white.
"You take it so well," he growled, his voice guttural.
Y/N couldn't speak. She could only moan, meeting his thrusts, her nails digging into his shoulders. The pleasure was building again, a dark, heavy coil in her stomach.
"Thatās it," he encouraged roughly. "Use me. Squeeze me."
He leaned down, bracing his weight on his elbows so he could frame her face with his hands. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips.
But after a few minutes, the angle wasn't enough for him. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. He pulled out of her slowly, leaving her feeling suddenly, achingly empty.
Y/N made a small noise of protest, reaching for him. "Harry?ā
"Hush," he soothed, catching her hands. "I'm not done. I just want to see you.ā
He sat back on his heels, kneeling between her legs. He looked at her flushed chest, her swollen lips, the way her thighs were trembling.
"Turn over," he commanded softly. "On your hands and knees.ā
Y/N rolled over, her muscles heavy and lethargic. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. The cool air of the room hit her back, contrasting with the heat radiating from Harry.
She felt his hands on her hips, large and grounding. He gripped her firmly, pulling her hips back until she was positioned exactly how he wanted her.
"Arch your back," he instructed. He ran a hand down her spine, tapping the base of it. "show yourself to me.ā
She arched, her stomach sinking toward the mattress.
"Beautiful," Harry murmured.
He didn't enter her immediately. He leaned over her back, his chest pressing against her spine. He moved her hair to one side, exposing her neck. He bit down on the sensitive cord of muscle thereānot hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark.
"Do you know how good you look like this?" he whispered into her ear. "Waiting for me? Submissive?ā
"Yes," she gasped.
"Tell me you like it."
"I like it," she whimpered.
"Good girl."
He reached between her legs, finding her wetness, prepping her again. Then, he lined himself up. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
He pushed into her from behind.
This angle was different. It was deeper. Intense. Y/N buried her face in the pillow to stifle a scream as he seated himself fully to the hilt.
"Fuck," Harry groaned, his head falling back. "You feel... tighter like this."
"Count them," he ordered suddenly.
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. "What?"
"Count the strokes," he growled, thrusting harder. "Focus on what I'm doing to you.Every time I'm inside you. Count.ā
"One," she gasped as he hit deep. "Two." "Three."
"Louder," he commanded. He reached around, his hand finding her breast, weighing it, teasing the nipple while he pounded into her.
"Four!" she cried out. "Five... oh god, Harry..."
"Don't stop counting," he warned, his voice rough with pleasure. "Be a good girl for me."
"Six... seven..."
He let go of her breast and moved his hand down, sliding it between her legs to find her clitoris. He began to rub her in time with his thrusts.
The sensation was blinding. Being filled by him, held down by him, and touched by him all at once was too much.
"Harry, please," she begged, losing count. "I can't... I can't hold it."
"Then don't," he said against her ear. "Give it to me. Show me how much you like my cock."
He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming snappy and hard. He wasn't gentle anymore. He was claiming her.
"Whose is this?" he demanded, punctuating the question with a deep thrust.
"Yours!" she sobbed.
"That's right," he snarled. "Mine."
He twisted his hand, adding pressure to her clit, and she fell apart.
Her climax hit her like a physical blow. Her inner muscles clamped down on him, milking him, pulsing in a wild, erratic rhythm. Her arms gave out, and she collapsed onto her stomach, burying her face in the sheets, screaming his name into the fabric.
The sensation of her tightening around him shattered Harryās last restraint.
He groaned, a loud, ragged sound of surrender. He let go of her hips and wrapped his arms around her chest, pulling her back against him, holding her tight as he drove into her one, two, three more timesāhard, deep, desperate.
He froze, his entire body going rigid against her back. He buried his face in her neck, shaking with the force of his release, emptying himself into the condom.
"Y/N," he groaned, her name sounding like a prayer and a curse.
They stayed like that for a long time. The only sound in the room was their harsh, synchronized breathing and the hum of the city outside the window.
Harry didn't pull away immediately. He stayed inside her, keeping her close, his heart hammering against her back. He kissed her shoulder, his lips damp.
"Fuck," he breathed, sounding exhausted and exhilarated.
He slowly withdrew. Y/N felt the loss of him instantly, a coldness rushing in where he had been.
Harry rolled onto his back next to her. He threw an arm over his eyes, his chest heaving.
Y/N lay on her stomach, unable to move. Her body felt hummed, rewired. She felt... different.
After a moment, Harry reached out blindly. His large hand found hers on the sheets. He interlaced their fingers, his grip tight and possessive.
He turned his head to look at her. His hair was messy, sticking to his forehead. His eyes were soft again, the black receding to reveal the green.
"You did good, Y/N," he rasped, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Very good."
"Harry?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Hmm?"
"Is it... is it always like that?"
Harry let out a low, dark chuckle. He pulled on her hand, urging her to scoot closer until she was curled into his side, her head on his chest.
"With me?" he murmured, stroking her hair. "Yes. Always like that."
The first thing Y/N noticed was the smell of coffee.
She blinked her eyes open. The room was filled with grey morning light filtering through the edges of the blackout shades.
She was alone in the massive bed.
For a second, panic flared. Had she dreamt it? Had he kicked her out?
Then she saw the note on the pillow next to her. It was written on thick, cream stationery in sharp, angular handwriting.
Thereās a robe in the bathroom. Come downstairs when youāre ready. Coffee is hot.- H
Y/N sat up. Her body felt different. Sore in places she hadn't expected, heavy, but... good. She looked at the empty side of the bed. The sheets were rumpled.
She got up and walked to the bathroom. It was entirely marble. She found the robeāa thick, white waffle-knit hotel robe that swallowed her whole. She brushed her teeth with the spare toothbrush that had been laid out (still in its packaging).
She walked downstairs. The house was quiet.
She found him in the kitchen.
Harry was sitting at the island, reading a newspaper (an actual physical newspaper, the Financial Times). He was wearing grey sweatpants and a soft-looking t-shirt. He looked unfairly domestic. He looked younger in the morning light, his hair messy, glasses perched on his nose.
He looked up when she entered. His eyes swept over her disheveled hair and the oversized robe.
He didn't smile, but his expression softened.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," Y/N whispered, tightening the robe belt. She suddenly felt shy. Last night, she had been naked and screaming his name. Now, standing in his kitchen on a Saturday morning, the reality of the arrangement hit her.
Harry stood up. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured a mug. He brought it to her.
"Black?" he asked. "Or do you need sugar?"
"Milk, please," she said.
He added a splash of milk and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed. The spark was still there, buzzing under the surface.
"Sit," he said, nodding to the stool she had occupied last night. "I made eggs."
He put a plate in front of her. Scrambled eggs, toast, fruit.
Y/N took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect.
"So," Harry said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms. "How do you feel?"
He wasn't asking about the eggs.
Y/N looked down at her plate, blushing. "I feel... okay. Sore."
Harry nodded. "That's to be expected. We'll take it easy today."
He took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes shifting from her face to the pile of books she had left in her bag by the door the night before.
"You mentioned a thesis," he said, shifting gears effortlessly. "Hubris. The tragic hero."
Y/N blinked, surprised he remembered. "Yes. I'm struggling with the proposal. My professor thinks my scope is too broad."
"Who is your professor?"
"Dr. Aris. He's brilliant, but... impossible to please."
Harry hummed, setting his mug down. "Aris. I know him. He consults for a firm I work with. Heās a pedant. He doesn't want broad; he wants specific. He wants you to argue a point he hasn't thought of yet."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the marble island.
"Don't write about the tragic hero in general, Y/N. Thatās been done to death. Write about the moment the hero realizes theyāve lost. The transition from power to ruin. Thatās where the human element is."
Y/N stared at him. She had spent weeks banging her head against a wall trying to figure that out, and he had just unlocked it in thirty seconds over scrambled eggs.
"Thatās..." She grabbed a napkin, looking for a pen. "Thatās actually perfect."
Harry watched her scramble to write it down with a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "I told you. I'm not just here for the physical aspect. I expect you to excel, Y/N. If I'm paying for your education, I expect a First."
"No pressure," she laughed nervously, but she felt a swell of pride.
"Pressure creates diamonds," Harry countered smoothly. "And I have very high standards."
He stood up then, the moment of academic mentorship vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the dominant protector.
"Paul has deposited the tuition," he said casually, dropping the bomb like it was nothing. "And your allowance is in your account. You might want to check."
Y/N froze. She pulled her phone out of her robe pocket. She opened her banking app.
Balance: Ā£16,242.50.
She stared at the number. It was real.
She looked up at Harry. He wasn't looking at her phone; he was looking at her face, gauging her reaction.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Harry, I... thank you."
"Don't thank me," Harry said, his voice dropping to that familiar, possessive low rumble. "You earned it."
He set his mug down and walked over to her. He kissed the top of her head.
"Eat your eggs, Y/N. We have a long weekend ahead of us."
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18+ marked as *
ONE SHOTS
she feels so good*
harry writes carolina about u and warns u the day before. at the sounds of his whines and screams, how could you not call him for another run?
did she fk u like this, baby?*
after harry breaks up w his gf, thereās only one person who heād call. he heād been waiting to call. age gap
please, baby, please*
you and harry have spent ages apart while on his kissco tour. after you surprise him at a show, heās worshipping u the moment he gets u to his bed.
donāt you think you owe me?*
ur used to people think u donāt belong in the fancy hotels harry books for u two. when he has to come to sort out ur shit, donāt u think u owe him? HEAVY DEGRADING, age gap
purely professional*
your co-star, harry, discovers youāve never had an orgasm before. he offers to help you for your next scene by giving you your first, for purely professional reasons.
house tour*
he can take u to the first, second third floor! u and harry take a trip to his private estate in italy together, age gap
kissy
after too many drinks at the club, ur bf harry comes to pick u up and take care of u back at ur place. theres only one very strict ruleāno kissy until ur tucked in! age gap fluff
keep him satisfied*, pt 2 -> soon!
as harrys assistant, u live by one thingākeep him satisfied. even if that means helping him cum over the phone. the gap, ceo harry
amoeba
you and peter still act like highschool sweathearts after years of being together. both of you have no intentions of ever changing.
bug boy*
you and peter have been enemies since you could remember, and staying late in class alone together proves that
spider woman*
(AU) peter finds out your secret identity, and enjoys it a little more than you wouldāve thought.Ā
stay with me
maybe breaking up isnāt the right idea.
hazy*
your hookup with peter has been going well, until he realizes heās slept with your roommate. this is entirely based off of that one scene in friends but i just had to rewrite it as peter.
