u and harry finally meet over the shared need for some help. u needed some cash, his house was a mess from the divorce. simple. until u decided to wear that little outfit to get the job done. PT 1
COMPLICIT (DBF) masterlist -> here
cw: large age gap, dads best friend, inappropriate thoughts, mention of penetration
wc: 3.5k
It started with rent creeping up quicker than you had expected.
It’s not like this was anything new. The end of the month was always filled with nothing but stress and tears and maybe even an occasional tantrum in the privacy of your own bedroom.
And anyone who knew you at all knew that if you were calling your Dad for help, you had run through all other options.
“Dad, I don’t want you to just give me it. I appreciate it, really, but I can’t owe you money. I just need some help finding something to pick up some extra cash.”
It went on like that for a while. The promise of borrowed money from your father, who only cared about your wellbeing, followed by the quick rejection from your end. You were sure you went back and forth like this for at least six times before you landed on something in the middle.
A job.
Sort of.
Straightening up his close friend’s house after a messy divorce and a broken heart. Which left him—apparently—debilitated enough to lack all sense of cleanliness and organization.
You’d done some texting back and forth with said-friend. His name was Harry, you learned. Recently lit to the end of the tunnel and building himself back up to a normal life after shit hit the fan.
He agreed to pay you $30 by the hour. It was more than you had needed, and you were sure to express your gratitude through your messages. Which was quite pleasing to him.
He met your dad in the office a couple of years back and they’ve had a strong tie ever since. You’ve never met him. No real reason why. It’s just that your dad rarely brings friends home and opts for a night out at the bars and such instead. It felt nice to finally make the connection after all of this time.
Now, as you pulled into his luxe driveway and turned down your music for respect sake, the nerves hit you tougher than you had thought.
It was big. The house.
It looked almost unreal through the windshield of your sweet little civic. Pale stone, towering windows, deep chocolate wood that parted the home into wide sections.
The hedges that lined the drive were perfectly trimmed and lacked any gaps, while old oak trees stretched their limbs long and strong as if protecting the home themselves.
You were starting to understand the pay rate.
As you began the walk up to the main door, it only got more intense. Intricately stained glass, thin linings, all lead to a thick slab of deep wood with a handle bolted on tight.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
And a thick gulp that was honestly loud enough to be considered a knock itself.
You stood there for a couple moments longer than you would’ve liked as you waited for an answer. Cleaning supplies at your side, hair tied loose in a sweet pony tail that was high enough to allow a breeze to waft your neck. Cute little shorts, a half tight cotton tank top that was thin enough to show what shouldn’t be shown if you got too chilly. But you figured it wouldn’t matter. It was your dads friend, after all.
You stared at your feet as you waited for your response. Flip flops. A white gloss on each toe of your tanned skin that drifted up your legs and your arms and anything else that’s seen the sun this summer. You considered for a moment if you should’ve dressed more proper. Professional.
But this really wasn’t professional, more so a favor that was only happening because of your dad. So you considered it to be ok.
The swing of the door grabbed your attention away from your twitching feet and up to the figure in front of you. Tall. Handsome. Bulky arms and thick quads that strung tight against the black material of his shorts.
“Hi,” you said, gripping the handle of your bag tighter and letting your lips curl into a polite smile.
His eyes were green. A sort of deep confusing green that had you searching through them without really trying to. They were half squinted in the summer sun, paired with the curve of two thick brows that were strong and pressed a small crease between them.
He was dressed casually. A grey tshirt. Loose around the slim of his waist and accidentally tighter around the curve of his pecs. His legs were long and strong and belonged to an athlete of sorts. You weren’t sure what exactly yet. But he was fit.
Your eyes darted back to his face before they could stop themselves, scanning across the bridge of his nose and the way it flooded into his temples across his forehead. He was strikingly attractive. A sharp jaw. Healthy stubble that had yet to grey. You honestly started to question if this was really someone who was your fathers age.
You also started to question how long you’d been standing there checking him out.
“Hi,” you said again, cursing to yourself mentally the second the stupid word slipped through your lips again.
The smirk that followed was coma inducing.
“Said that one already,” he nodded, smile growing, “Hi.”
“You must be Harry,” you stuck out your free arm with a warm smile, “I’m y/n. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
He grinned at your polite nature. The way you held your composure and offered a hand in greeting. You were cute. All smiley and nervous and glistened in the heat from outside.
His hand grasped onto yours in a firm shake.
“Took too long to meet,” he agrees, “M’sorry to hear about your stress lately. Seems like both of our issues lined up just perfectly. I’ve really needed some help.”
You swallow, releasing your hand from his grasp and tugging back a straggled fly away to your scalp.
“Yeah,” you nod, “I really appreciate this.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just doddles his head, taking a step backwards into his place before moving to the side to create an empty space for you. You read the gesture quick enough, stepping inside with your things and slipping your flip flops off by the front window.
“This is a really nice place,” you call, striding through the entryway as he shuts the door behind you both.
“I’d like to think so,” his voice echos behind you, “but I’m not really respecting it as such. Sort of let go of myself a bit. Hard to find the motivation to keep up with cleanliness in a place this size. Alone.”
You giggle before you can stop yourself. “Yeah. I guess if you make a mess in one room you can just move to the next and pretend the rest isn’t there. There’s enough space for that habit.”
The second you spin around to face him you’re met with a deep dimple and a gentle curve of his pink lips. Eyes low like they’re still surveying whatever is going on inside of his head when he looks at you.
“Mhm,” he hums, “pretty much.”
“So…” you tap your palm against the side of your thigh, “Are you going to be here while I clean?”
He nods once, slipping his hands into his pockets as he drifts towards the kitchen. “I’ll be here. I’ll be working in the office. It’s further down in the house, so feel free to play music if you’d like. There’s speakers connected to each room.”
You smile, twisting at your own fingers as you take a short breath.
“Ok. Thanks.”
You’d spent the morning moving from room to room in a kind of peaceful rhythm, straightening things before diving into the details. The obvious messes came first—the surfaces, the floors, the things that made a house look clean at a glance.
Then came the stuff that made you sweat and your pony start to mess. The corners that collected dust. The spaces behind furniture and beneath cabinets where dirt liked to hide.
By the time you left a room, it looked untouched in the best way possible, like it had always been that spotless. It had to. He was paying you more than you would’ve asked for, more than you honestly needed, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything less than your absolute best. Besides, you’d never be the type to half ass a job. You hoped he’d notice that about you.
The problem was that cleaning left too much room to think.
Every time you settled into the familiar motions of wiping, dusting, scrubbing, your thoughts drifted right back to him.
You blamed it on the heat at first.
Then on the fact that he’d helped you out when you needed it, and maybe your brain didn’t know how to process gratitude without turning it into something else. That had to be it.
It certainly couldn’t be the way he’d looked at you when he’d answered the door this morning. Or the amused look he’d given when you joked about the never ending rooms. Or the way he’d smiled when you’d greeted him twice because you’d gotten flustered and forgotten you’d already said hello.
Those were normal things.
Completely normal things that you definitely weren’t replaying in your head for the hundredth time.
It was wrong. Sick, really. He was your fathers best friend. Not a coworker. Not an acquaintance. A best friend who he spent nearly all of his free time with. It was twisted in a way that was hard for your head to process right now.
By the afternoon, you’d made your way to the kitchen. Music hummed softly from the speaker built into the ceiling, barely loud enough to fill the space as you scrubbed at the sink in a pair of yellow rubber gloves. The warm water ran over the material while you swayed absentmindedly to the beat, lost somewhere between the song and your own thoughts.
The house was calm enough that you almost didn’t notice the sound of footsteps approaching until Harry himself appeared in the doorway, stepping into the kitchen for a break from work and, judging by the glance he gave the refrigerator, to make himself some lunch.
“Going ok? Looks great.”
The ping between your thighs at the praise was half humiliating and half disturbing.
“Mhm,” you hummed, shutting the faucet off for a moment. “Figure I’ll be done with everything in a few hours.”
“Well, you’re doing a nice job. The walk to here from my office was almost unrecognizable.”
You laugh softly as he makes his way closer to the fridge, a small grin on his face that had you dizzying more than you already had from your thoughts earlier.
“Would you like some lunch? A break?” He asks, pulling out some sandwich bread and a couple of fix ins and placing them softly onto the counter.
You shook your head quickly. “No, that’s ok. Thank you. Just going to finish the kitchen first and then I’ll eat. Can’t stop something until the job’s done.”
He stood with that for a moment. Closing the doors of the newly-shining refrigerator softly as he took the words in with thought.
The way you held yourself. The extents you went to for a good job. The smile you wore through every brief conversation.
The way your gloves were loose on those little fingers and the way your nipples stung sharp under the thin cotton of your top.
But those were the things he was desperately trying to ignore.
“Mm.”
He just hummed, nodding to himself as he forced his attention away from you and onto the food in front of him.
But it didn’t last long. Because once the distraction was gone and the ingredients were back in the fridge—there was nowhere else to look. No where else he wanted to look.
He was sitting at the counter as you resumed your work on the sink. Eating peacefully and pretending to listen to whatever music you had on. No phone. No laptop. No stimuli whatsoever. Just you. Working.
But he sort of wanted you to know that he was looking. It was messed up, he knew. But he thought you might’ve liked it a bit too.
And you did.
So he stared as you leaned over further into the stainless steel, scrubbing hard with your right arm until your tits shook against themselves and your top would fall looser and looser and looser and looser.
He stared as you bent in half, really digging deep into every corner and putting your all into making his space spotless. Your cleavage was soft. Your breasts were spilling. Just barely flowing over the edge of the neckline and hiding the pretty pink of the nipple that sat below the cotton.
He felt his dick hardening before he could stop it. Before he could look away. But he didn’t want to look away. It was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen—the milky skin that hung off your chest, swaying and hitting into each other and revealing more and more and more and more—
“Ok,” you stood straight, “just gonna do the floors and then I’ll be done in here. Need me to clear that for you?”
He hadn’t even noticed he’d finished his entire plate.
“No, that’s ok. I’ll take care of it,” he stood quickly, tugging down on the tight tent on his crotch and shimmying past you to take your place at the sink. You didn’t think much of it.
The water ran as he scrubbed at the ceramic white, taking slow breaths to himself as he let his eyes fall shut in a desperate attempt for some strength.
You were young.
Very young.
24.
Oh, and you were the daughter of the one person he had to be most loyal too.
But when he spun around from cleaning his dish to find you on all fours, ass pointed towards him and tits hanging low, all that seemed to go out the window.
Suddenly, he was very hungry again.
And who eats a meal without a show?
“Just need a little more energy before I get back to work,” he starts, as if an explanation is necessary for eating in his own home. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
You spin your neck around to look at him, head over your shoulder as a sweet smile graces your face.
“Thats okay. I like your company.”
You didn’t mean to shift your hips in the air for a moment while you said it. Really. You swear. It just happened.
But he was looking at you with his eyes turned inward and his lips parted mindlessly like you’d just struck him dumb. It’s not your fault you like to please people.
And then his lids snapped shut, forcing away from you on the floor and turning back to task at hand: a snack. An easy snack. A snack that says I’m totally not about to shove these empty calories in my face just so I can watch my best friend's daughter scrub my floors with her ass in the air.
Cereal. Safe. The quickest thing that can get him back on that stool and back towards you.
And when he took a dig into the bowl and sat back against his seat, he was right back where he never wanted to leave. Watching you. Analyzing you. Taking you in while your mind was elsewhere.
He clamped down on the crunchy sweetness as he watched you down there—knees bruising, ass high. Your back was arched so gracefully, pressed into itself and displaying your ass proudly.
Your shorts were too small for your own good. Loose cotton drifting up your cheeks and closer to your hips as you bend down further. The cotton slit in between your thighs was barely covering anything, instead just exposing the pretty pink panties you had on underneath. Covering your core softly, showing the puffy swelling that rounded it out for him to see. To admire.
Then you sighed. Soft and drawn out, like you’d forgotten he was there entirely. But you didn’t. You knew he was looking too. Why else would you be swaying your ass back and forth and pressing your body lower and lower to the ground?
Part of you hoped he would just do it already. Come over to you and touch you and maybe even stretch you out with his thick c—
No.
You were insane.
Sick.
But so was he…so it was half acceptable. At least you’d make it half acceptable.
The sigh got to him more than you expected it to. The grip on his metal spoon tightened, pressing a sharp indent into his skin that he wasn’t currently aware of, but would definitely notice when he was back to his keyboard.
His cock was dripping into his boxers. So painful and swollen and begging for the open legs in front of him. Working for him. Pleasing him. Doing just what he asked and doing it perfectly.
It continued like this for a while. You on the floor, him pretending to eat something at the counter while he gawks at you helplessly. But you could only clean the same floor for so long.
“Ok,” you stood, straightening your clothes down with your palms. “All set in here. Gonna probably move onto the dining room. Please, let me take care of that for you.”
You gestured towards his now-empty bowl, walking towards the counter and standing in front of him in patience.
His cheek bit into itself as you stood there, so close and so pretty. You smelled so feminine, a young energy that he’d missed in his life for some time now. And your skin was even smoother from all the way up here. Tanned and soft and not a hair there. He figured you had to have just moisturized before you arrived.
“Did I ever show you how to use the dishwasher?” He asks, standing from his stool to wrap around towards you.
You tilt your head with a cheeky smile. “No?”
“Oh, y/n, well I have to show you how to use the dishwasher. How rude of me to forget?” The grin that was smacked on his face almost had you thinking he was flirting. But you wouldn’t make those kinds of accusations just yet.
“Mm. So rude. Truly,” you shook your head in retaliated sarcasm, watching for his next move as he came to stand next to you at the sink.
“Here,” he did a quick rinse of the bowl before placing the dish into the machine, “you put the dish in.”
“I see,” you nod, biting down on your smile at the silly behavior.
You were an adult. With a brain. You knew how to use a dishwasher. You also knew that he knew that too. So you decided to see what his goal was here.
“Now open that cabinet,” he cocked his head towards the lower handle that sat next to the dishwasher.
You nodded, bending over to pull the cabinet open, inches away from his crotch behind you.
The breath he released was telling enough.
“Grab that pod,” his voice fell lower as he continued instruction. “And you’re gonna put it into that open space on the inside of the door.”
Your breath carries heavier as you bend further over in front of him, dropping the pod into the hole and shutting it softly.
You were dizzy. Spinning inside of yourself as your back arched downwards and your fingers brushed against the metal of the machine. It’s not like anything you were doing was really wrong, you were just listening to instruction.
But the second your core ran back into the hard cock behind you in accidental passing, you shot up straighter than you ever had in your life.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was—”
But he didn’t look shocked. He looked…satisfied. Like that was the goal. The entire time. So he stood there and stared at you in your flustered state, a smug smirk on his face and his eyes dropped low onto your own.
Studying you.
Remembering you.
Harder than he’d ever been in his life. Embarassingly so.
And suddenly, his appetite was back again. But this one couldn’t be fixed from a quick grab in the fridge.
im so excited for this series. hope u guys enjoyed this quick little intro !!
Cold to most, except to the girl that had him burning up. That bit of warmth that had his icy exterior melting the closer he gets, no matter how far he tried to stand.
Or, harry’s a grumpy CEO and his sunshiney assistant has him a bit wrecked.
An older series I’m bringing back and editing, started out as just one blurb and spiraled into many. I’m working on editing them and updating the series so bear with me for any mistakes!
Check out our Patreon
Warnings: slight age gap, power imbalance (boss x assistant), Harry’s a dick to most people, shows of wealth, bullying in the workplace, etc (will add more as it continues)
Look In The Mirror (Like Damn, I Don’t Brag Enough) - CEO!H
prompt: YN’s bachelorette party may have not gone as planned.
word count: 9k+
author's note :
I have a consistent schedule with pieces posted on mon & friday that are typically around 8-10k words as well as a fan interactive wednesday blurb night!
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++++
YN knows Harry’s dating history.
Well, that’s not even fair to say because it was more like hook-up history.
Harry had been in one relationship since he was starting out, his company still in a five-hundred pound a month rental business office in the bad part of town.
When success started to hit, the relationship failed, and Harry had never looked back.
He had feelings for his first girlfriend at some point, in high school but then he pushed her to the side for work and she allowed it until it became too much for her to handle.
When Harry missed her birthday party, when he didn’t show up to at least three planned dates - leaving her alone at a booth at a restaurant, and when she would cry, scream at him over all this, he would not react.
-
“It’s fucking absurd, Harry!” Andrea had screamed as she stood in his brand new skyscraper he’d signed a lease on.
It was eleven at night and Harry was on the top floor, in his sprawling office as he went through contracts that needed his attention.
She was in a beautiful silk dress with mascara running down her cheeks, “This is the fifth fucking date you’ve stood me up. I’m done with your bullshit. You’re throwing away our years-long relationship over work!”
Harry had already become so cold and unempathic by this point, he had blinked up to her with disinterest for a brief moment before looking back down and flipping a page.
“I…I don’t even know you are anymore, this isn’t the Harry I agreed to be with,” Andrea sniffles as she smears her makeup even more, “Do you even love me?”
This was the opportunity to keep their relationship flowing, for him to remind her of his love for her, and say they’ll work on it.
That’s what she was expecting.
However, his next sentence solidified the end of their relationship.
“I don’t love anybody anymore,” Harry tells her without an ounce of any emotion in his eyes.
++
He was cold towards her, distant, and it wasn’t fair.
The girl hadn’t deserved it, she wasn’t a bad person, and she truly had tried to support Harry through his struggles of building a business.
However, the main issue out of all of it was that Harry wasn’t in love with her.
After the exciting first few months of dating, it faded into dullness much like he viewed everything in his life before YN.
Harry didn’t try to date again after that, he didn’t have the interest nor the energy to try to put the effort into something that he didn’t want.
He did go through a very awful depression though.
Where he came to the realization that he probably was never going to get married or have children.
Because despite how jaded and pessimistic he was about relationships, he always dreamed of having a wife and babies to come home to every night but instead it was just a massive mansion with no one but himself.
He would find himself desiring those things.
For example, the one day when he was looking for a box of books from his college years, he was interested in reading again.
He knew it was stowed away in one of the extra rooms.
When he walked into one of the rooms that he had never spent a minute of time in, he couldn't help but think to himself, ‘this would make the perfect nursery.’
That was a bad night.
After having that thought and realizing that it most likely would never be a nursery, he wasn’t proud to admit that he may have left a hole in the wall before closing the door and never going back in there again.
Harry turned into someone he didn’t like.
He was unfriendly, unapproachable, and cold to everyone.
No one was the exception, not even his mum and sister anymore.
He had no one which was his own doing, everything morphed into work and nothing else for him.
Occasionally, after one of the event dinners or out-of-town work trips, he would find someone for the night.
It was strictly sexual which he would always make very clear in the beginning of the encounter.
At some point, it became less and less frequent that he would hook-up with anyone because the more well-known, richer he became, the harder it was to find someone for just the night.
Even when they agreed to have a casual one-time thing by the time they had finished, they were typically begging Harry to at least stay the night or get his number.
It normally ended with them screaming that he’s a heartless asshole before kicking him out of their hotel room.
Well…not really kicking him out because the second they were done, he was already getting redressed and headed out the door anyway without a second look back.
Not once did he ever get the urge to ask for a number or for it to happen again.
Sex was sex to him.
It was never anything emotional, special, or mind-blowing.
It was mediocre at nearly all times and he would do it just to fill the physical need to get off.
He wasn’t a complete and utter asshole (yes, he was) but he always made sure that the woman that he was with was getting off too.
Harry never felt excitement in doing so, more of an obligation because it was only fair.
YN had insecurity in the beginning.
Unfortunately, a lot of the time Harry had hook-ups, it was caught by sneaky paparazzi whether it was him and the girl leaving the club together or him exiting the hotel after the deed was done.
And of course, all those pictures ended up not only on the internet but most of the time splayed across the cover of tabloids.
“Harry Styles Seen Leaving Hotel of American Model in Early Hours!”
“Harry Styles: Tech Billionaire and Womanizer?”
It took Harry quite a while to convince YN that none of that was relevant to their relationship and that she needed to not compare herself to the people that Harry had hooked up with in the past.
When he told YN that nobody has ever or would ever compare to her, god, he meant it with all his fucking being.
Harry understands the insecurity, he would have it too if he googled YN’s name, and articles, pictures of her with other men popped up in his search - he couldn’t even think about it without his blood boiling.
The issue was, in the beginning, YN didn’t see how fucking amazing she was.
She didn’t realize that she didn’t need to compare herself to those models and influencers because she was literally his dream woman from her intelligence, her wit, and her fucking looks.
It blew his mind that she didn’t see how gorgeous she was, that she even thought for a moment she wasn’t as pretty as the models, she was so much more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen.
It had taken months of Harry showing that he meant his words for her to believe it.
He never even looked at another woman while they were out, even if they were trying to get with him, and in fact, he was exceptionally rude at all times (even though YN obviously never asked him to act like that).
Harry was as loyal as they fucking come, at least to YN, his loyalty was unwavering as well as his dedication to taking care of her and making her happy - it was impossible for YN not to see how stupidly in love he was with her.
And she started to believe in herself over time, in their relationship, and how much she meant to Harry.
It was incredible to watch her confidence grow in their relationship.
It made Harry proud to watch YN never hesitate anymore in what she wants.
She lets Harry spoil her now (within reason), doesn’t show any shyness in public situations, and has no issue holding conversations with Harry’s colleagues at business dinners.
He had tattooed her name on his chest, refused to negotiate a prenuptial agreement despite how much Harry’s lawyers had begged and pleaded with him to have one in case of divorce, and began to organize his accounts and businesses to take on YN’s name in half-ownership.
Everyone thought he was fucking insane.
One of the richest men in the world, with billions to lose, and he refused to sign a prenuptial agreement.
The thing was, YN was more than willing to sign one, she wasn’t after his money now nor would she be at any point so if he had wanted one signed, she wouldn’t have thought twice.
However, even she was shocked that he shut her down the moment she offered to sign one.
“I really don’t mind, I won’t be offended, H,” YN had told him softly after he’d gotten another nagging call from his lawyers about it.
“If we get divorced then my life’s already over, you might as well take everything I have because nothing’s more important than you,” Harry had told her firmly, unwavering and sure of his decision.
There was no room to even doubt that YN was it for Harry.
+
It was three weeks until their wedding.
About two until they left for Italy.
Everything had been planned and now there was nothing else to do but wait until the day came.
Wedding planning was easy.
Harry was involved in most steps but always had let YN have lead on what she wanted for their day.
He was agreeable and the only thing he had shut-down the idea of was a brunch the next day after the wedding.
“You can host a brunch for everyone who flew out. However, we will not be there,” Harry had told the wedding planner as they sat at their dining room table, “I promise you that I will not be sharing my bride during our honeymoon.”
The wedding planner had laughed and their cheeks had twinged pink at the insinuation before babbling about planning it for the family visiting as YN rolled her eyes and pinched his thigh.
Later that night Harry had called him out for being so blunt.
“What?” Harry shrugs, unbothered and cocky, “You’re insane if you think that m’going to even let you get dressed the day after our wedding. You’re going to be my wife, m’going to be too busy fulfilling my husbandly duties to have a formal brunch with our families.”
YN couldn’t lie about the fact that his words built a warm pit of arousal in her stomach at the thought of their honeymoon and being able to call Harry her husband in a few weeks.
The bachelorette party was tonight which YN had been looking forward to for a while now.
Her college, high school friends, and sister who were going to be in the wedding were coming into town for the night.
Harry had booked all of them all rooms at a luxury hotel in the heart of London for the night before they all headed back home to avoid any drinking and driving or just driving after a long day.
Harry had booked YN the presidential suite (which YN didn’t even want to think about the price of) and set up a day of pampering with a personal masseuse coming to the room as well as someone to do a facial, manicure, and pedicure.
She truly had the most thoughtful husband-to-be.
When Bethany was planning the night, YN’s only rule was no strip-clubs.
Harry hadn’t set a boundary there, she knew that if she wanted to go to one that he wouldn’t stop her because he wasn’t like that.
However, YN knows he wouldn’t have been happy about her wanting to do that as YN’s stomach churned at the thought of Harry wanting to go to a strip club either - YN had no desire to see any other man nude but her own.
Bethany was easily agreeable, settling for a night of cowgirl themed fun.
YN was dressed in a cute white fringe dress with a cowgirl hat and bedazzled cowgirl boots to match.
All the other girls were dressed similarly with cowgirl hats, boots, and dresses, just not in white.
“You lookin’ for somethin’ to ride?” Harry murmurs as he slides up behind her as she organizes her purse at the kitchen island, hands coming to her hips to pull her bum back into the cradle of his hips.
“Ew, please for the love of god,” Gemma fake gags as she walks into the room, obviously overhearing his comment, and putting a finger in her mouth to mimic making herself sick, “I would have been fine never hearing that.”
YN can’t help but laugh at Harry’s put-out frown because he had been totally looking for a reaction from YN and didn’t get one because his sister had cockblocked him even though she didn’t even have time for a quickie before leaving.
Harry uses the grip on her hips to turn her around, fixing her hat where it had been off-centered, “You’re going to be safe, right? Don’t drink too much and do not put your drink down anywhere, always have an eye on it. I’ll be home all night, if you need me, you’ll call me.”
YN leans up to kiss him, thumbing at his frown lines, “I’ll be fine. I won’t drink too much and I won’t put my drink down anywhere. Please relax tonight, we won’t be needing to call you. We’re just having some fun.”
She knows Harry wants her to have fun with her bridesmaids but she also knows what a protective worry wart he will be all night until he gets a call confirming that she’s safe in her hotel room.
“Let me know the room number you’re staying in, just…I don’t want to be overbearing but please check in with me a few times?” Harry asks softly, he didn’t want to come off as controlling but he just wants to make sure she’s safe, that was it.
“You’re not overbearing,” YN shakes her head, eyes fond, “I will check in with you. Please don’t spend the whole night anxious.”
“M’not anxious,” Harry denies mulishly as he glares at his sister who’s snickering, “Fuck off, Gems.”
Gemma puts her hands up, “I didn’t even say anything!”
“You were thinking somethin’,” Harry mumbles as he pulls YN more into his chest for a bear hug.
“Just thinking how disgustingly soft you’ve gone,” Gemma laughs, not meanly though, “You used to not even answer your phone for weeks, now you’re like this…”
Harry doesn’t like the jab.
It was passive-aggressive.
+
There were times before YN where he wouldn’t answer their calls for weeks.
And when he would answer, it wouldn’t be with pleasantries.
He remembers one of the last times that happened before YN.
Harry had answered after three calls in a row, “What the fuck do you want? I’m busy.”
“Harry,” Gemma sighs, sadness and irritation in her tone, “We haven’t heard from you in nearly a month. We worry about you. The only way we know you’re even alive is through seeing your picture plastered on the front of Daily Mail.”
Harry grits his teeth as he resists the urge to hang up, he had turned into someone who was uncaring, lacking empathy for himself and others, he was a shell of the person he could be.
“I’m fine,” Harry replies tightly, still typing on a report that needed to be sent in within the next fifteen minutes.
“It’s just…We know you’re fine but you don’t even check in on us. You know? Mum cries over it. You don’t even care about u-“ Gemma’s voice is shaky like she’s about to cry and Harry can’t handle it.
“God, I don’t have time for a fuckin’ guilt trip,” Harry snaps, cutting her off and feeling a hot anger beginning to simmer in his veins, “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I…I just don’t know if you even want a relationship with us sometimes, Harry,” Gemma sniffles as she speaks, “Do you even want that?”
“I don’t know what the fuck I want,” Harry replies coldly before he does pull the phone away from his ear, hitting the end call button before turning his phone off entirely.
The next time his mum and Gemma had seen Harry was when they met YN, even though it hadn’t gone as planned, it was like seeing a new man.
After starting to see YN, Harry started answering text messages more, started inviting them over for dinner, and started calling them to see how they were doing nearly once a week.
Anne and Gemma both had an idea that YN encouraged him to do so, to rebuild the relationship with his mum and sister, for that ... .they couldn’t be more grateful for her coming into his life.
Gemma remembers the first time she’d really seen past her initial doubt of YN and realized that she was genuinely in love with Harry for who he was but also how much he respected her.
+
It was a family dinner at Anne’s.
Harry had a late day in the office, they had been nearly twenty minutes late, and had arrived right when Anne was putting everything on the table.
Where YN was in good spirits as always, Harry was subdued as he normally always is but Gemma was surprised that despite his barely-there greeting to his mum and sister, Harry had still helped YN out of her jacket and got her something to drink before pulling out her chair for her.
Harry ate silently for the most part as Gemma, Anne, and YN engaged in conversation as they were still getting to know each other.
Harry was sipping his wine, without much expression on his face but his arm was around the back of YN’s chair, his hand gently cupping the back of her neck in a simple but intimate gesture as she spoke.
At some point, a passive aggressive jab here and there starts to get thrown towards Harry by Gemma.
Just because Harry was doing better at coming around didn’t mean that it still didn’t hurt that he treated his family so poorly for so many years and now just because he has a girlfriend he’s a new person.
It didn’t make her forget the past.
And maybe that’s why she gave YN such a hard time in the beginning too because she felt a little resentment because nothing Gemma did could get Harry to want a relationship with them but YN just said the word and he obeyed.
“I wouldn’t know about that. Harry hasn’t come to Christmas in three years,” Gemma shrugs, not hiding the bite in her tone because it was true.
Three fucking Christmases where Harry never came home.
“Enough,” Harry replies shortly as he makes eye contact with Gemma, putting his fork down and taking another swig of his wine.
YN bites her lip at the interaction, sighing as she nibbles on her buttered roll.
“What? Just calling it like it is. You haven’t shown up for one single holiday for years, Harry. What did you do those days anyways? Spend it with a girl? With friends? Do you know how that made mum-“ Gemma begins to get angrier as she puts down her silverware.
“Gemma,” Anne scolds, not wanting a fight to erupt over dinner.
“You don’t know anything,” Harry hissed as his fist clenched on the table, sitting straighter, “I wasn’t spending it with a girl or a boy or anyone. I was alone, alone in my fucking house, Gemma. Don’t act like you ever really made a fucking effort to check-in on me-“
“Harry,” YN's voice is firmer than Gemma’s ever heard it, “They’re just hurt. They love you and they missed you. If you don’t have anything constructive to say back, just listen.”
Anne and Gemma both tense, expecting Harry to turn his anger towards YN and lose it on her for trying to tell him what to do which he’d never ever responded well to in the past.
Anne is about to try to break the tension, to avoid Harry flipping out on YN.
Harry reacts differently than either Anne or Gemma could have anticipated.
His shoulders slump noticeably, his jaw unclenching as he exhales out of his nose, and he looks at YN with something of an apology in his eyes before he nods and quietly says, “I would appreciate it if we could change topics now.”
YN smiles widely, proud of him, and leans in to kiss his cheek before quickly changing the subject back to something more light-hearted.
After dinner, while Anne begins doing the washing up, Gemma goes to use the restroom but stops short when she realizes that Harry and YN are in the hallway talking softly.
“M’sorry, I hate when you see me like that. I just…They don’t know that it wasn’t anything to do with them but how fucking depressed I was and I get defensive,” Harry says lowly, frustrated.
Gemma’s heart hurts at that.
She knew he wasn’t in the best mindset but she didn’t know how bad his mental health was which does make her feel a bit guilty of not making more of an effort.
She had taken his distance as him wanting no relationship with his family - not that he was struggling too much to be around them.
Gemma peeks around the corner, to get a view of them.
Harry has his back against the wall, YN pressed into his space as his hands are wrapped around her waist, looking down at her with an expression that Gemma doesn’t recognize on his face.
“Stop apologizing, H,” YN murmurs to him, her hand running along his jawline as she speaks, “I’m just so proud of how far you’ve come to work through those struggles. That’s all that matters now.”
Harry nods in agreement as he leans down to rest his forehead against hers.
“I don’t deserve you,” Harry murmurs as she nudges her nose against his, “I love you more than anything else on this earth. You’re…you’re just everything to me.”
“I love you more,” YN hums back, a quirk at the corner of her lips like she knows it will get a reaction out of him.
It works.
Harry quickly flips them so that she’s pressed into the wall.
However, that’s Gemma’s cue because when she hears him start to talk about how later he’ll ‘show her how much he loves her’ than she wants to physically get ill.
+
However, Harry has come a long way in his attitude (at least with his family).
As they stand in the kitchen, Harry decides to ignore the passive-aggressive jab that Gemma throws about being ‘too soft’ because he wants to snap at her but just moves on.
“The car is here,” Gemma reports when her phone dings, “We should get going.”
YN leans up on her tiptoes to give Harry another kiss, “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you more,” Harry replies as he bites at the corner of his lip, “Please be safe. Just one call and I’ll be there.”
“I know, H. We won’t need that though. Just relax tonight,” YN reminds him even though she knows it is fruitless at this point because he’s a little worry wart when it comes to her.
+
Everything was going good until they got to their third club of the night.
It was getting close to midnight by the time they arrived, having reserved a booth, and ordered drinks as they sat down at their table.
YN had a nice buzz going on, her goal was to stay tipsy for most of the night, getting drunk before pulling back and drinking water for a little bit to settle it all down.
Everyone was having so much fun, at the first bar which was more dive than anything else, had a mechanical bull that they all had taken turns, and some of the bridesmaids getting thrown off comically fast.
This third club was relatively busy with bumping music and cocktail waitresses walking around with bottles of grey goose on ice in big buckets, it wasn’t YN’s normal scene but she was enjoying it tonight.
Until another group of girls arrive that sit at the booth across from them.
From the very beginning, YN doesn’t like the vibe they give off.
They’re constantly staring over at their booth, whispering amongst themselves even in the loud room, and giggling like they’re making fun of them which YN doesn’t understand because she doesn’t even know these girls.
She looks over at them and definitely has never met any of them which means there should obviously be no issues between them.
The other bridesmaids notice the behavior too, which is when they decide to start winding down for a while, moving towards a second bar in the club that was further away from the music and craziness.
It wasn’t necessarily quiet but it was much more calm, relaxed in this area where they could all sit at a high-top table and talk without screaming over each other which was a nice change from the other places they’d been at so far.
Once again, everything is going fine until that same group of girls trail in only a few minutes after YN’s group to find a table very close to theirs, eyes flickering over at them like earlier.
YN and her friends discuss the weird behavior but decide to just ignore it because they’re not going to let it ruin their night and she doesn’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill.
As it gets deeper into the early mornings, the bar has nearly cleared out completely, most of the patrons going back towards the dance floor or stumbling home drunk by now.
YN and her bridesmaids were still having fun, gossiping and playing drinking games, and enjoying the night - having completely forgotten about the other table of girls until it was only them left in the bar with YN’s group.
YN’s buzz had faded however and realized that she was sober by now from her lack of alcohol in the past two hours which inspired her to go over to the bar to order something to get the edge back.
As she sits at the bar, someone slides onto the barstool beside her, and YN turns - expecting it to be one of her friends but it isn’t.
It’s a girl from the other group.
She was tall, blonde, and pretty but YN felt put-off by the smile on her face.
“Congratulations,” The girl smiles as she nods towards YN’s outfit, it didn’t seem genuine though but more condescending.
“Thank you,” YN replies not to be rude but looks back towards the bartender after that.
“I’m glad to see that Harry has finally settled for someone after losing me,” She shrugs nonchalantly, acting like her comment wasn’t absurd.
YN’s eyes widen in surprise, taken aback for a second as she turns towards her again, “Excuse me?”
The blonde has an innocent look on her face, “Oh, you don’t know me? I’m sure he’s talked about me. Or maybe it hurt him too much. After how much he begged for me to stay with him, I’d be embarrassed too.”
In the beginning of the relationship, this would have absolutely rocked YN, and destroyed her for a while because it played into all of her insecurities.
These beautiful women who’ve had a relationship with Harry would make her jealous and lower her self-esteem.
Now she’s able to smell bullshit from ten miles away.
YN knows for a fact that the girl is lying because of how extensively YN and Harry have discussed their dating histories.
Harry was extremely upfront about his past.
His one relationship through high school and the start of his career and then after that, no relationships, a few dates, and multiple partners that were nothing more than one-night stands.
Harry had admitted to her his patterns, finding a random hook-up and leaving right after they’d finished, no matter how much the girl asked that he stayed - he told her that with a bit of shame of not being more empathetic towards the girls.
YN knew without a shadow of a doubt that this girl was lying.
“I bet,” YN snorts out a laugh, showing exactly how unbothered she is.
The girl doesn’t appreciate that, her face drops when she realizes that she doesn’t have the upper hand in the situation, and that her words didn’t affect YN the way that she wanted them to.
It was more obvious that this girl had most likely been burned by Harry and was angry about it still if YN was to guess - she wanted more with Harry and he didn’t give into it.
“You don’t believe me?” The blonde asks in disbelief, ignoring the drink the bartender slides to her.
“Not for a moment, babe,” YN smiles, matching that condescending tone.
Because not only has YN grown into being more self-confident and empowered, Harry has also shown her a lot about how important it is that she stands up for herself, she doesn’t always have to be nice, and use manners.
It’s okay to be rude to people who aren’t being nice to you.
Before Harry, YN was more of a people pleaser who didn’t want to rock the boat and would sometimes let herself be walked over because of it but now, well now she wasn’t going to let this happen with this girl sitting beside her.
The woman hesitates for a moment, not prepared for this but then she says something to prove her knowledge of Harry, “You don’t believe me? Then how would I know that Harry has a small pink scar, you know where I’m talking about, don’t you?”
YN does know exactly what she’s talking about.
She’s well acquainted with the small scar that she often will land a kiss on when she’s kissing down his belly.
A small scar to the right, just above the base of him from where he’d cut himself shaving as a teenager, the first time he’d tried to do some manscaping and failed miserably.
YN still teased him about it sometimes.
The comment didn’t trigger anything other than annoyance.
She was confident, sure of her relationship with Harry.
She acknowledges that Harry has slept with other people before they met, just as she had slept with a few before him who could name a defining feature on her body too - it wasn’t a big deal.
At the end of the day, YN was the one in Harry’s bed at night, with a rock on her finger, her name on his chest, and a wedding in Italy planned in less than a month where Harry had given her everything she wanted.
Before YN can respond, a few of her friends trail over, concerned once they realize that she was sitting at the bar with a girl from the other group.
“Is there an issue here?” Bethany steps in, putting her hands on the back of YN’s barstool.
“My new friend here, wait sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” YN plasters the fakest smile back on her face.
“Carmen,” She replies tersely, shoulders tight and an unhappy tilt to her lips.
“Carmen here thought that it was necessary to come over to her and inform me that she has slept with Harry,” YN lays out, hoping she realizes how absurd what she had done was.
The other girls in YN’s group visibly tense, completely unaware how YN felt about it because if they were in her shoes - it would be difficult for them to hear.
“That’s quite literally the most bizarre thing I have ever heard,” Bethany shakes her head as she looks at the girl, “Why did you find that important to do? Are you trying to ruin her bachelorette party? What the fuck did she ever do to you?”
Carmen straightens her shoulder, more defensive, “You guys have been walking around this club like you own it and I decided to knock you down a few notches. You think you’re hot shit because you’re marrying some douchebag billionaire but I just wanted to remind you that you’re not the only person who’s fucked him.”
The bridesmaids audibly gasp at the words that leave the girls mouth, a few of them about to kick off their heels to start throwing punches but are all really waiting for YN’s reaction because they’ll go based off of her.
And if YN was being honest, she would love to slap this girl right across the face but she’s better than that, she won’t give into this girl’s shitty behavior because at the end of the day, it doesn’t bother her.
“I may not be the only one who’s fucked him,” YN agrees, still keeping her tone casual and calm, even taking a sip of her cocktail, “However, I’m the only one who gets to fuck him for the rest of our lives. I’m sorry you didn’t make a big enough impression on him to get this.”
YN doesn’t care that it’s cocky and arrogant when she sticks out her left hand, the massive diamond on her finger sparkled beautifully in the dim lighting, and it was a jaw-dropping piece of jewelry.
“The difference between you and I, Carmen, is that Harry wouldn’t even remember who you are whereas I could go home right now and get the thing that you obviously want from him,” YN chuckles as she slips off the barstool, “Have a great night.”
“Fucking bitch,” Carmen seethes, her drink was nearly empty but there was maybe a sip left at the bottom, and she takes her glass, throwing hte contents over YN’s white dress.
There’s not much, however the red dye from the grenadine in her mixed drink would undeniably stain the material, and chaos erupts for a minute as YN quite literally has to hold back one of her feistier friends from attacking.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” YN assures them, still calm and not going to let it escalate any further, she had her fun but she was pretty much sober by this point and really really wanted to go home.
Not to her hotel but to Harry.
What YN didn’t know is the moment that Gemma had gotten a whiff of what was going on and what was likely to transpire, she had texted Harry that it might be best for him to come down.
The two groups of girls separate, going back to their respective tables, and still glaring at each other while YN sighs, rubbing the corner of her eye for a moment because the night wasn’t nearly as fun anymore and this was the last club.
However, her friends were still in party mode and had just ordered another round of drinks - a bit too impaired still to sense that YN wasn’t as engaged anymore in the activities especially because she was sticky from the drink and those girls were still harassing them.
It’s maybe fifteen minutes later, of the other group of girls occasionally making a loud comment or bumping a chair ‘accidentally’ on the way to the bar, and YN is about to call it, even if it disappoints her friends.
Suddenly, the room gets suspiciously silent, the only sound is the dull music in the background.
YN’s confused as to why her friends stopped talking out of nowhere and now she didn’t hear the other group of girls either.
When she turns to look around, she’s realizes why everyone’s gone silent because Harry was standing in the doorway with a eerirely blank face but his jaw was ticked in a sure tell that he was fucking livid.
Harry doesn’t walk over to YN’s table first which surprises her, unsure of what is going on at the moment, and instead he strides right over to the group of other girls who are staring wide-eyed and gaped at him.
“Can someone at this table please tell me who the fuck is interfering with my fiancée’s bachelorette party?” Harry asks in a deadly serious, firm voice but still manages to be steady and monotone.
It’s comical, the girls looking over at Carmen but YN realizes (and so do other girls at that table) that Harry doesn’t even remember which one of them he slept with to call them out.
Another wound to Carmen’s ego.
The girls at the table are at least a little frightened which made sense because Harry was the most intimidating person that YN had ever met in her life.
They also don’t want to put their friend on the spot so they all stay silent.
“You better play it up,” Bethany murmurs to YN and all the girls agree with her, little giggles echoing through their group.
For a minute, she doesn’t realize what they mean until it clicks.
Oh, she definitely knows how to not only pull at Harry’s heartstrings but show these girls just how crazy he is about her (if him showing up wasn’t already sign enough).
“Since no one wants to talk,” Harry finally looks at the table, “YN, my love, can you come over here for a minute?”
“Time to shine,” Gemma laughs under her breath as they give her an encouraging shove.
YN has a napkin in her hand, beginning to dab at her eyes like she’s tearful, and even manages a convincing sniffle as she makes her way over to them, siding up next to Harry.
He automatically tugs her into his side, a little bit behind her, “Which one is claiming to be the one I begged to stay?”
The condescending tone made it ten times more embarrassing for Carmen.
“Her,” YN convincingly stutters her words, just enough like she’s so choked up with emotion that she can barely even speak.
Harry’s eyes narrow on Carmen, showing absolutely no recongition or familiarity as he checks her over with judgement clear on his face, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You really are that nasty of a person that you want the bride to be crying at her own bachelorette party?”
All the girls get ruffled at that, disagreeing because they all knew that YN was faking it, and Carmen is the one who calls it out, affronted, “She literally just started this bullshit act when you arrived! She wasn’t acting like this before!”
Harry broadens his shoulders, “You’re the one I fucked?”
Carmen’s face drops, eyes avoiding her friend’s stares because if YN was to guess, she made up a big story about how much Harry had loved her, wanted her, and then she turned him down.
They were realizing now that their friend was full of shit.
Carmen snarls, backed into a corner now, “Don’t act like you forget! You begged me to stay after I got up to leave.”
Harry lets out a startling loud bark of laughter that even makes YN jump, it slices through the thick air, and he’s smiling so much his dimples are popping as he sobers up enough to talk.
“The only person I’ve begged to stay in my bed is that one that has a ring on her finger,” Harry replies surely, squeezing YN’s hip, “I surely did not beg you to stay in bed. And though I wouldn’t be able to point you out in a crowd, I think I may remember you throwing an absolute fit when I got up to get dressed.”
Harry snaps his fingers like something has suddenly hit him, “You’re the girl who followed me all the way to the elevator, begging me to give you a chance. Am I right? I am right.”
YN’s group of friends have to cough to disguise their laughter.
“Fuck you,” Carmen hisses angrily, her hand clenching her drink.
“I highly doubt I’ll ever see you again. Especially in the next few weeks when I’ll be in Italy, celebrating the fact that I’m about to marry this woman next to me, and in a few weeks you’ll probably be just as miserable,” Harry tells her as his thumb rubs a soothing circle on YN’s hip.
“You’re a fucking dickhead,” The blonde retorts as tears start to well in her eyes.
“I hope you take this humiliation as a lesson to mind your own fucking business. When you think about ruining someone else’s night, remember this. I hope your friends realize how foul of a person you are,” Harry gives them all a glance before he’s stepping back and bringing YN along with him.
Harry, just off to the side, where that group of girls can still see them pulls her into a hug.
“I’m sorry your night was ruined,” Harry murmurs into her hair before he’s tucking a finger under her chin to bring their lips together, “I am so embarrassed on my end. This is my fucking fault from being stupid and just sleeping with whoever was available when I was-“
“You know I’m not really upset, right?” YN giggles in his hold when he frowns, “I was just doing it to get a reaction out of them. There’s nothing to apologize for or feel embarrassed about, H. I know you’ve slept with other people, so have I.”
Harry bares his teeth at that, eyes getting a bit more dilated, “Only one who’s given it to you good is me, right baby? Only one you’ll ever need now because I give you everything you want, hm?”
“S’the main reason I’m marrying you,” YN teases as she presses a bit closer to him which in turn makes his hand tighten on the small of her back, keeping her right where she is, “But I don’t know…I don’t know if I compare to all your many conquests….Beautiful woman who-“
Harry cuts her off with a harsh kiss, enough to sting when his teeth bump her lip for a moment but it doesn’t deter him from taking what he wanted until he pulls back just the slightest, “Don’t you fucking dare ever compared yourself to anyone else. S’you, you’re it for me. Never had anything better. I never begged for anything in my life before you. Now I beg on the daily, don’t I, pet? Beg for your kisses, your mouth on me. Beg for you to sit your pretty cun-“
“Okay, okay,” YN begins to feel the heat in her belly rise up, “We’re still in public, macho man.”
“I can’t fucking wait until your my wife,” Harry rumbles as he steals a few more kisses, uncaring of anyone who may be watching or in the room as he shows a little possessiveness over her.
“I can’t wait either, H,” YN replies with one more softer kiss, “Thank you for coming down here and standing up for me.”
“Anytime,” Harry says as he’s finally detaching his hand from her bum before he turns a bit sheepish, “I was scared, a bit. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
“It’s not-“ YN begins to argue but is cut off when someone wraps their arm around her shoulder.
“Shall we continue this party back at the hotel?” Her friend, Gabby, half-slurs as the others come to join them, all of them chirping and hollering in agreement at continuing the party from here on out.
“I think I’m just going to have a quiet rest of the night girls,” YN tells them, she was tired and a bit stressed for whatever reason, and she was stone cold sober.
The girls are amazing, they don’t try to argue or guilt-trip her but instead ask if she’d be upset if they continued the party without her which of course she didn’t, she encouraged them to be safe and to continue the fun.
They decide they wanted to stay at the club a bit longer and all gave YN long hugs (and a few kisses) which made Harry roll his eyes as he waited off to the side for her until she bounds over and he walks her out.
“Let’s get you to the hotel,” Harry hums as he opens her car door for her.
“No,” YN frowns, not getting into the car but instead glaring at him.
“No?” Harry replies dumbly.
“I want to go home, to our home with you,” YN clarifies as if she didn’t make it obvious before (maybe she didn’t).
It’s Harry’s turn to frown, “Are…are you sure? This is supposed to be your night and of course, because of me it was fuckin’ ruined, wasn’t it?”
“Harry,” YN tries but Harry has gone cold, motioning her once again to get into the car and this time she doesn’t argue as he walks quickly around, gets in the driver’s seat, and revs the engine before peeling out of the parking lot.
Harry’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset, H,” YN tells him honestly, hands anxiously twisting on her lap.
Harry scoffs loudly, “Like it isn’t obvious? I’m upset because I ruined your night. I’m upset because I fucked up so much by sleeping with those stupid fucking girls, girls that I didn’t even like. Now because I did that, you have to deal with the consequences of my actions. Do you know how embarrassing that is? For my fiancée to be out at her bachelorette party, only to be harassed by a girl I had sex with one time and I didn’t even remember her? I hate that I was like that.”
“The only thing ruining my night is this,” YN snaps back, letting the frustration roll over her, “I was so fucking proud of myself because I handled myself so well. I didn’t get jealous or insecure when she confronted me. She even knew about the scar you have and it didn’t bother me. I thought you’d be proud of me.”
Harry’s melts right then and there, she can almost physically feel the anger exiting his body as he reaches over to put his hand on her thigh, eyes apologetic as he glances over at her, “M’heart, I am…I am so good damn proud of you. It’s just hard because these things happen because of mistakes I’ve made before I met you. I hated the person I was. I don’t like when I get confronted with my past. I am sorry I overlooked how well you handled the situation.”
“I just…I feel like I’ve come a long way from when we first started dating,” YN shrugs as she picks at a loose thread on her dress, moving to kick off her cowboy boots as they were starting to get uncomfortable on her aching feet, “I don’t hold anything you’ve done before we got together against you and you’re not that person anymore. It doesn’t feel great to have someone share an intimate detail about your soon-to-be-husband about their bits but I managed to stay level headed.”
Harry’s face twists at that, affronted, “What the fuck did she say about my cock?”
YN snorts at the typical response, “Don’t worry. She mentioned knowing about the little scar above it.”
Harry shakes his head in disgust, “S’a bit creepy how much she remembers from a one-time-hookup.”
“Shouldn’t be showing your bits to just anyone,” YN chirps back, now teasing because the tension has faded into something comfortable and just them again.
Harry scowls as he looks ahead at the road, “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re the only person who’ll ever be seeing ‘em again.”
“I just hope you don’t run into all of the three people I slept with before you,” YN hums, biting her lip as she looks out the window because she knows for a fact it will get a reaction out of him because he’s a jealous son of a bitch.
It works beautifully, his hand resting on her thigh inches further up under the hem of her dress, fingertips brushing the lace before he gives her a squeeze rough enough to make want to moan.
Then he may just do the sexiest thing YN’s ever witnessed.
Still looking forward, one hand on the wheel, and the other on her - he moves further between her thighs until he’s cupping her mound through her thin underwear possessively, “This is mine, isn’t it? She wasn’t even treated right before me so those other pricks don’t even count.”
“Harry,” YN whines out, trying to adjust her hips to get some friction going against his palm but he’s not budging.
“Answer me,” Harry prompts as he gives her nothing to work with.
YN can’t even remember the question for a second, her mind fuzzy from arousal.
“It’s yours,” YN agrees breathlessly, hoping to get rewarded, “Only one to make me feel good.”
“That’s fuckin’ right,” Harry rumbles proudly, thumb moving to brush against her swollen clit before stilling again, “And you know what else, my heart?”
“Hm?” YN manages but her brain-to-mouth filter was malfunctioning as her core pulses for more.
“You’ve said in the past that you haven’t been any of my firsts but do you know how untrue that is? I’ve never had sex with someone I’ve been in love with before you. You know how I love to lay you out and make you come so many times you can barely keep your legs open? I’ve never even had the desire to do that before you. I care one hundred times more about getting you off than if I do.”
“Touch me,” YN groaned because she was throbbing by this point.
Harry sighs, shaking his head, “I’ve just poured my heart out of you. Confessed my love, confessed that you’re the first person I’ve really enjoyed sex with and I’ll I get back is a ‘touch me’?”
He mimics her whiny tone when he repeats what she says which makes her grit her teeth.
“I’m sorry,” YN provides without any real feeling behind it.
Harry laughs now, more of a fond shake of his head, “Darling, you didn’t even try to sound sincere. You spoiled lil’ thing.”
“Yeah because I want you to make me come. You’re all fucking talk at this point,” YN snaps at him because the sexual frustration was real and she’d gone through too much bullshit and excitement to be teased like this.
Harry glances over at her with heat behind his eyes, “I’m all talk, am I?”
It always worked to challenge him, Harry was easy in that way, always wanting to prove he was this tough alpha man who could give his girl what she needed at all times.
“Seems to be,” YN rolls her eyes which she knows gets on his nerves.
“We’ll see ‘bout that,” Harry replies but his voice had gone even deeper, if that was possible, and his accent was getting thicker with each syllable.
Harry’s moves quickly now, still impressively focused on the road as he roughly tugs her underwear to the side, his thumb finding her clit right away and pressing with enough pressure that she tries to twitch away from the blunt sensitivity before settling into it.
On top of that, his index and middle finger curl up inside to pet at her walls, and nudging at the sensitive spot makes her want to clench her legs together from the stimulation.
YN’s hand unconsciously moves to wrap around the wrist of the hand that’s working her over, just grabbing it but not trying to move it.
And embarrassingly, the thought that occurs to her is that in a few weeks that same hand that’s getting her off will have a beautiful gold band on it signifying that he’s all hers in every way is enough to make her come.
Harry removes his hand, having no shame is putting the same fingers into his mouth - something that had absolutely shocked her to see when they first started dating but now only serves to make her wetter.
“I always thought that married life would be boring, you know? S’why I gave up on looking for so long,” Harry tells her with that same teasing lift in his tone, “I thought it’d be the same ole’ same ole’ everyday until I keel over. Never imagined I woudl have the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my passenger seat, letting me fuck her with my fingers on the way home. That’s some amazin’ married life, huh?”
YN knows there’s some truth behind his dirty talk but she has also heard him talk so many times about the real reason he’s so excited to make her his wife because of how much he loves her, how he could never imagine being with someone else, how he’d never want anyone else, how she’s the other only he’d ever want to be the mother of his children.
However, how fiery, passionate, and fierce their sex life was didn’t hurt either.
There were so many reasons why YN didn’t let insecurities get to her anymore because how could she?
Any thoughts of the events of that night faded once they got into the safe space of their home, where they didn’t even make it up stairs before Harry was whispering the softest, most loving things as she rode him on a random decorative chair in the foyer.
summary: after fighting with himself over a past encounter with you, harry decides he can’t forget about you like the rest (or take that elevator ever again). when he calls you into his office to discuss “reports”, things go exactly how he planned.
a/n: heyyyyyy. it’s been a while. a very long while. i had this in my docs for months and just now got around to finishing it. guess lawyer harry really inspired me. this is the part two of broken elevator that some people asked for, so, you’re welcome. enjoy you freaks ;)
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹
Things are…tense today, to put it mildly. It seems the whole office is feeling it. Perhaps it’s my problem? A tone I’m setting that everyone is forced to bask in. But is that really my fault? Yeah, probably.
Truth be told, I’ve been feeling quite odd for the last few weeks. An incessant stirring in my chest that’s main goal is to keep me on edge. Something I can’t put my finger on, but have a mild inkling of what it could be—what could be causing it. And it’s not something I’d like to admit to myself, let alone aloud. But it’s slowly becoming something I can’t ignore.
Maybe I can get out of the office early today? Drive down to the bar, alone—like the loser I’ve recently become—and find the first willing victim to help resolve my…problem. See if that will quiet the dull throbbing in my head and the restless jittering in my bones. A nice fuck to take my mind off of it all. Because that’s all it will do; take my mind off of it. I’m certain, come the next morning, the ache will return.
I stay awake at night fearing that you’re the only one that can completely silence it all. It was you who ignited these feelings after all.
One month. That’s how long it’s been since that fateful night in the elevator. The one I haven’t stepped foot in since. Luckily, my calves have stopped burning from the stairs now after exclusively using them for so long. One whole month and I still can’t shake the images—the sounds and feelings—from my brain. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten laid since.
I’ve taken notice of prospects, don’t get me wrong. Trying has become my new motto, and it’s all I seem to do these days. Even though none of those attempts to try lead anywhere. I get close sometimes. Buy a pretty girl a drink at the bar, make casual flirtatious comments, even extend an offer back at my place. But the second the word ‘yes’ leaves their lips, all I hear is your moans of the same word. The ones I made you scream over and over in that cramped space. The most unromantic setting in the world has quickly become the most erotic to me in my head.
Damn… Now I’m sitting at half-mast in the middle of the workday. Great.
What am I meant to do when distractions don’t work anymore? What am I meant to do when my number one distraction is sitting in a cubicle not 100 feet away?
One of the reasons my feelings toward this whole fucked up situation are so confusing is because of your lack of reaction.
You come into work everyday like nothing ever happened. Like I didn’t have you screaming beneath me, begging for more. You continue wearing those godforsaken pencil skirts like you have no clue what they do to me. I can still feel the fabric of it under my fingertips as I hiked it over your hips. You sit at your desk, do your work, and seem completely unbothered. You even have the audacity to continue using the elevator. It’s aggravatingly annoying.
Why aren’t you just as wrecked as I am? Riddled with the memories of skin on skin? Why aren’t you barging into my office and begging for more? Was it truly only so memorable for me? Will I ever be able to shake you from my system? Move on?
A thought strikes me.
What if the only reason I’m so stuck on this one encounter is because you’re not? Maybe if I got my answers, cleared the steamy air between us, it would all go away? I could finally be free of it all. The visuals, the sounds, the feelings. All of it; gone. Hopefully that’s the answer, because it’s my last resort.
I find myself leaping up out of my chair without a second thought, unable to spend another single second in the uncomfortable unknown. Words flurry around in my head as I head for my office door, planning out which to use to make my questions come off correctly. You could reject speaking to me all together. But that’d only be if you knew what I needed to speak with you about. I guess I’ll just have to lie.
Familiar sounds of typing and murmurs float through the air as I step out onto the office floor. Light conversations happening all around, work getting done, and yet I’m here on a mission. One no one knows about. One no one can know about.
“Can I see you in my office?” are the first words out of my mouth as soon as I round your cubicle, hushed and secretive, meant just for you. Your eyes flick to my face, surprise evident in your gaze. It’s like I can see the cogs turning in your head, mulling over every possible answer for this random visit from me. It occurs to me that you might think you’re getting fired for what transpired between us, so I add, “I’d like to go over some…reports with you.”
You clear your throat, nodding hesitantly as you push away from your desk to stand. I don’t move an inch as you do, leaving your hip to nearly brush my hand. I pray my shuttering breath wasn’t as loud as it felt, and I damn myself for even reacting like that over something so minuscule.
But it's monumental in relation to how my body has reacted in the past month. And it was only for you. Fuck.
The sound of our footsteps, mine heavy and determined, yours light and weary, are added to the atmospheric sounds around us. I have to hope that no one around can sense the same tension I’m feeling as we travel to my office. And I pray that you can’t feel the burning gaze of my eyes on your backside. It’s distracting—sue me!
When the door to my office closes behind us, you obediently take a seat in one of my guest chairs. As I waltz to my side, I watch as you cross your legs politely. My reaction to it is anything but. The feeling of my cock twitching inside of my pants as your skirt rides up your thighs gives away how I’m truly feeling about it. Luckily, my large desk covers me as I adjust myself when I sit down.
“So, these…reports?” you’re the first one to speak, making all of this too real.
I flounder for a second, realizing that you’re here for a meeting that doesn’t exist. I’m forced to come up with something fast. Something to bide my time until I can bring up the real reason you’re here. So, naturally, I reach into my filing cabinet and grab a random folder full of papers that don’t pertain to anything. But as soon as the papers smack onto my desk, a plan forms in my head.
“I need you to look these over for me.” My palm lays flat against the manila folder, not pushing it toward you an inch. Your eyes flick from my hand to my eyes, a hesitancy in your subtle movements that makes the hair stand up on my arms. My hand leaves the folder for just a second, and you immediately go to reach for it, to bring it closer to yourself. My hand slams down over it, keeping it right where it is. “You need to look these over for me…got it?”
I see it then. The way your lips part slightly, bringing in more air for your shallow breaths. You're getting the hint. Now I just have to hope that you take the bait.
It plays out like a choreographed dance. You lean forward as I lean back. One moment you’re sitting in the chair across from me, and the next, you’re bending at the hips, hovering over my desk. Your eyes haven’t left mine. My eyebrows lift in challenge, hands gripping my chairs arms like it’s a liferaft, and you don’t crack. But you do fold. Eyes casting downward to the nonsense documents below you. I take that as my chance.
I’m out of my chair in the matter of a second, striding around my desk like I’m a man on a mission. And I am. I don’t even check a look back at you to make sure you’re still where I left you. For some reason, deep down, I know you haven’t moved an inch. Not as I reach the front of my office and shut all the blinds. Not as I head for the door and click the lock. Not even as I come right up behind you, hips pressing against your ass—you still don’t move. But your breath hitches, and I know I’ve won.
“Tell me to stop…” I reach down to grab a handful of your hips, feeling like I could black out from the familiarity. You don’t respond, though. You don’t tell me to stop, you don’t push me away—but you don’t tell me to keep going.
I bend over your body, covering you like a sheet until my face is nestled in the crook of your neck. I breathe against your skin there, watching goosebumps rise in the wake. My body churns. But I repeat, “Tell me to stop.”
“D-Don’t stop…” you whisper, breathy and uncontrolled.
And that was all I needed to hear.
I straighten up behind you and give no warning before my hand cracks down on your ass. You yelp, jolting forward from the impact. A rumbling hum growls deep in my chest, my hand smoothing over the fabric of your skirt before gripping your hips with a vice hold in both my hands. I move you for my own viewing pleasure. Pulling you away and tugging you back, mimicking the act of you gliding on and off of my cock. It makes me feel insane.
“God… I’ve missed your body. This fucking ass of yours—shit.” I thrust my hips against said ass, groaning at the feel. “Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me you missed this too.”
My hips have a mind of their own as they continue grinding against your ass, making you squirm against my desk.
“You’re not crazy…” you whisper again, another confession straight to my gut.
“Fuck…” I sigh, watching my bulge glide between you crease of your ass cheeks in that godforsaken pencil skirt. “You know what you wearing these skirts does to me, baby?” I grip your hips tighter for emphasis. You just crane your neck back, peering at me over your shoulder with a small smirk on your lips. Telling me that you know exactly what you’re doing by wearing them. “Oh, you’re cruel…” I laugh lightly, spanking you again to prove my point. “You know I’m gonna have to punish you for that, baby.”
“I know…” Your words are just a breath, teasing me and pulling me deeper and deeper into your spell. I’m hooked. Have been since that first time I took you. Clearly.
I mirror your smirk, though mine is much more dangerous. A promise of my words hidden in the lines of my lips.
And there’s no warning when I slam my hips against yours from behind. The rough motion has your pelvis hitting the edge of my desk with a brutal force, making the whole thing shake. Pencils fall to the floor, papers floating down in their escape, but nothing's broken—yet.
“Have you fucked anyone since me, baby?” I hold my breath as I wait for your answer, selfishly hoping that you say no. Lord knows I couldn’t get it up for anyone else. It might actually wreck me if you say yes.
“N-no,” you finally reply, shaky, like you didn’t want to admit it.
I hum, pleased with your answer. “Good girl… Were you waiting for this? Waiting for my cock to fill you up again?” You nod, but I don’t push for your words this time. I’m too fucking antsy. I need to get my hands on you. Need to feel you beneath my fingertips. Feel your warmth wrapped around my cock.
My fingers reach for the zipper of your skirt, deciding I want it off this time. I want to see all of you. I drag it down slowly, the sound of it mixing with your labored breaths. Once it’s undone, I push the waistband of it down past your hips until it’s pooled on the floor around your heels. My gaze drags up from there, those black stilettos making your legs look like they go on for miles. Sheer black tights encase you, and my fingertip drags along the stitching on the back. Up, up, and up… Leading me right where you want me.
I cup your heat with my whole hand, gripping it like it’s mine—because it is.
“God, you’re warm. Can only imagine the mess you’ve made of yourself already.” I slap your pussy, watching you jolt. I smile to myself, fully taking in the scene of you spread out like this for me. But I need more.
Before you can protest, my hands fist into the sheer material of your tights and pull. Ripping them right down the middle and finally giving me access to your ass. Of course, I spank it. The bare flesh turning red right before my eyes. My fingers hook into the tiny scrap of fabric you call panties, groaning at the sight of it nestled between your cheeks, and tug it to the side. Finally, getting the view I’ve been quite literally dreaming about for a month. Can’t even count how many times I had to rub one out in the shower before coming into work just from the memory.
And there it is, in all of its glory.
Your perfect, beautifully pink pussy on display just for me. It glistens in the fluorescent lighting, giving away how turned on you are. My cock strains against my slacks, begging to bury itself deep inside. But I can’t just yet. I need this to last. Who knows when I’ll get you like this again.
I smooth my hand down from your ass cheek in between your legs, cupping your heat once again, only this time, you’re completely bare. My middle finger gets enveloped by your folds, nestled in your slit like a hug. I slowly rock my hand back and forth over your entire sex, feeling you shiver beneath my touch.
“Has your pussy missed me? Been aching for me?”
“Yes,” you reply quickly, breathless and needy. It makes something in me settle, knowing I can still get you like this. A mess in my hands.
“Bet this pretty, little cunt missed feeling full.” All you can do is whine in response, especially since my fingers are now dragging up and down between your folds. Your wetness coats my digits with every swipe. I lean down over you again until my breath hits your ear. “This pussy—“ I drag my fingers down to your entrance, “—is mine.”
The final word is emphasized with my two fingers ramming inside of you. I don’t wait for you to adjust. I don’t even wait for you to swallow your gasp back in. My fingers work skillfully and quick, fucking into you at a relentless pace. You scream out when the twist of them brushes against that spongy muscle deep inside, but you quickly slap a hand over your mouth.
“Don’t want anyone to hear you, baby? Don’t want them to know how good I make you feel?” I slow my fingers, letting the twist and curl of them do most of the work. You shake your head, whining against your palm. It shouldn’t anger me that you want to keep quiet, it’s you being sensible so we don’t both lose our jobs. But I want to hear you. Want to hear those pretty noises you make when I’m making you feel so good, making you lose your mind. It’s a battle in my head, but I don’t want to push your boundaries on this. So, I settle for hearing your muffled cries.
I drag my fingers out of your hole slowly, letting you feel every bit of pleasure before I take it all away. You whine and wriggle around, begging for my fingers again. I’ve got to be honest, the sight of your hips moving, seeking me out—your pussy dripping and clenching in a plea—almost makes me fold. But I stand my ground.
I reach forward and twist your hair around my hand, yanking your head up from the desk. “You wanna keep quiet, baby? Cause I know a good way of shutting you up…” Your dark gaze connects with mine, your panting breaths spurring me on. I lift one eyebrow in question, and all you can do is nod.
I yank on your hair again. “Up,” I demand, pulling you up to stand straight. I do a once over of you like this. Standing before me in a rustled blouse, ripped pantyhose and crooked panties. You look like the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. “On your knees, baby.”
You hesitate for a second, questioning the seriousness of my instructions. I make my request solid when I tug your head backward with my grip still on your head. “I said on your knees.”
Finally, you sink down, sitting back on your heels below me. I can’t help but moan at the sight of you like this. “Unbutton your top.”
This time, you follow without question, working the buttons of your top undone until it flows open, giving me a glimpse of your breasts. I can already see how hard your nipples are through the thin cups, pebbled and needy just for me. I can’t wait to make those titties bounce while you ride my dick again.
“Tell me, baby… Do you like sucking dick?” You look thrown off by question, momentarily stunned by the bluntness. “Don’t worry, baby… You’re gonna love sucking mine.”
I keep your head in place with my hand still tangled in your hair, but my other hand starts working at my belt and pants. I’m a little frenzied, already halfway gone just from the sight of your anticipation. So much so that I don’t even push my pants down all the way. Just enough to let my cock spill out, hard and aching for that pretty mouth of yours.
“See what you do to me? Been rock hard since the last time.” And that’s not an overexaggeration. “Now, open that mouth of yours and let me fuck it.”
I watch you swallow hard, imagining the feel of that exact action when my cock is deep in your throat. But then your lips are popping open, wide and ready to pleasure me however I want. Your tongue hangs out eagerly for a taste. I hold my length in my free hand, pumping it a few times while just staring at you. I step just a fraction closer, enough to let me place the tip of my cock on your tongue. I tap it against it, letting you get used to the weight and girth before slowly pushing in.
Your lips mold around me, stretched and tight. I groan—loudly—at the feel. The warmth and wetness of your mouth is almost as good as your pussy. “Fuck, baby… Suck me tighter.”
You hollow out your cheeks, suctioning me in with a grip I choke on a breath over. And then it’s game over for both of us.
I tighten my grip on your hair and force you forward, forcing my cock deeper down your throat. You gag and choke around me, eyes already watering, but I keep you there, relishing in the tightening muscle milking me. When your eyes go wide, I give you some grace, pulling you off completely so you can suck in a sharp breath. A string of saliva connects your lips to my tip, and it’s a mesmerizing sight. I wipe below your eyes with my free hand, catching the tears before they can spill.
“Ready, baby?” I ask, voice husky and low. “Cause that was just the warm up. Open.”
You take a deep breath before opening your mouth again, and I don’t even wait to slide my cock deep inside. The warmth of you surrounds me once again making me moan, head titling back in pleasure. Even more so when your tongue swirls around me. “Fuck…”
I keep your head still as my hips start to move. With every roll of my hips, the tip of my dick hits deep in the base of your throat. You almost take all of me down. Your eyes never stray from mine as I fuck your mouth, wide and glassy. I smirk down at you between groans, my final warning before letting loose.
I thrust into your mouth with more force, hearing you gurgle and gag around me every time I hit your reflex. Your throat tightens, clenching around me perfectly. Fuck, you’re a sight like this. Mouth full and stretched with my cock between your lips. Eyes watery and wide as you moan around me. Your hands land on my thighs, digging into my slacks to ground yourself. I growl, my hips moving faster and faster. The sounds you make are insane. The wet sounds of your saliva, the choking when I slip too deep, and your moans—god, your moans.
“Think you can take me deeper?” I question, stilling my hips so you can have a second to breathe. And when you nod, all bets are off.
I let you take the lead this time, sitting up a little higher on your knees. You grip onto my thighs tighter as you slowly take me deeper and deeper. I can’t help the shaky moans that leave me as I watch, eyes still connected with mine. I feel my tip go past the curve of your throat and down into your esophagus. You swallow and I nearly come right then and there. And with just a few more steadying, sharp breaths through your nose, you guide me down the rest of the way. Until the tip of your nose is buried in the hair at my navel.
“Holy f-fuck…” I gasp, shaking from the pleasure of just this. I slowly tilt your chin up, not enough to make you uncomfortable in this position, but just enough to see your throat. And there it is. The bulge of my cock deep down under your skin. I am completely ruined for anyone else. Tears slip out of your eyes as you repeatedly gag, and that’s when I pull you off.
You rest back on your heels, sucking in a sharp breath and coughing harshly. I’m still stuck in my daze, watching you try to compose yourself. I fist my cock, pumping myself at the sight of you. Wiping under your eyes, cleaning up the saliva from your chin, and taking in unsteady breaths. You have no idea the effect you have on me. Once you’ve finally composed yourself enough, you notice me stroking myself. You try to lean forward and take me back into your mouth, but I halt you.
“No… You’re just gonna watch.” My hand works a little bit faster, brushing over my tip to spread my pre-cum over myself. “Take your shirt off.” You listen without any question, shrugging your open blouse off and letting it fall to the floor behind you. Sitting there with your hands in your lap, just your bra and panties. So fucking sexy. “Take your bra off, too. Wanna see you, baby. Wanna see those tits.”
You smile shyly—odd, since you shamelessly had my dick down your throat not a minute ago—but comply. Reaching behind yourself, you unclasp your bra and let it fall. Your breasts pour out, a beautiful sight. I groan, tightening my grip on myself. You reposition the way you're sitting to get a little more comfortable, but the movement just makes your tits jiggle and bounce.
“Fuck,” I curse, pumping myself faster. My muscles grow tight as more moans spill from my lips. Your eyes are trained on my hand, watching me stroke myself, listening intently to my low sounds of pleasure.
You think I don’t notice, but I do. You think your hand slowly slipping between your clenched thighs can fly under the radar, but it can’t. I groan, low and deep in my throat as I watch you slowly start to touch yourself. “Let me watch…” I murmur.
And you obey.
You lean back onto your free hand and let your legs spread for me. I moan, watching you move your panties to the side and expose yourself to me again. Your pussy is still red and wet from when I pounded it with my fingers earlier, and that just goes straight to my dick. I squeeze the base of my dick to try and get a grip on myself, but as soon as your fingers slip in between your folds, I don’t even try to restrain myself anymore.
“Fuck, yeah, baby… Touch yourself.” I watch you slowly rub your clit, wishing it was my fingers playing with that bud instead. I can’t take my eyes off your pussy, it’s physically impossible. The way your folds spread as your fingers speed up, your clit swelling with sensitivity—it’s intoxicating. I slowly sink down onto my knees in front of you, getting a closer view of the show. You moan lowly, leaning back farther onto your elbows as your fingers grow frantic. I don’t even notice the speed in which I’m stroking myself until the sound of my strangled grunts hits my ears. I let myself fall forward, trapping you beneath me with one hand next to your head. “You’re close. I can tell… Does touching myself get you off, baby?”
“Yes— Yes!” you whine, back arching toward me. Your fingers keep swirling yourself, pressing down harder.
“Fuck, you’re so sexy… Spread your lips. Let me see that tight hole, baby.”
You stop rubbing yourself for just a second so I can get a glimpse of your entrance, leaking down toward your ass and clenching around nothing. My mouth waters at the sight, growing overly impatient to be inside of you. My hand works faster and faster over myself until I’m breathless and panting above you. The daze of pleasure creeps up on me slowly, hearing your moans filter through my ears as you rub yourself again.
“I’m gonna—fuck! I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum all over your pussy.” My balls tighten as my teeth dig into my bottom lip. You squirm beneath me, trying to catch up. My eyes can’t choose a place to look. Your face, twinged with pleasure, needy and wrecked. Your tits, bouncing with each jerk of your hips. Or your pussy, spread and wet, just for me. The moment you pull your lips apart to rub deeper, I bust.
“Oh— G-God, fuck,” I moan, hips jerking my length into my hand as I come undone. Ribbons of white shooting out, painting itself all over your pussy. Coated in it. Such a mess. You shriek a moan and I’m back in the moment.
My fingers move without any thought, pushing your hand out of the way and swiping through your folds to collect my cum.
And then I’m ramming it deep inside your cunt.
I watch my fingers dive deep into you, my mess squelching along your walls. You thrash against the floor, overstimulated by all the sensations. So what do I do? I kick it up a notch.
I lower myself until I’m practically laying on my stomach, the perfect vantage point. Leaning in, I flick my tongue over your sensitive clit, making you scream. I smile into your cunt as you toss your arm over your mouth and bite down like a gag. My fingers curl toward your g-spot, my lips suck your bud into my mouth, and my hand reaches up to palm your breast. Every place you could get pleasure from, I’m stimulating it.
One pinch of your nipple, one swirl of my tongue, and one more long press deep inside of you, and you’re coming undone. Your hips writhe against my face and I accept it, letting you coat me in our mixed juices. I slowly pull my fingers out and hear you whine, making up for it by placing a kiss to your throbbing clit. That makes you jolt. But then I’m kissing my way up your body. Your pelvis, your hips, your stomach, your ribs, your sternum, your breasts, your collarbones, your neck, your jaw, and finally your lips.
Your arms wrap around my neck as you deepen the kiss, seeking out the taste of yourself on my tongue. I groan into your mouth, scooping my arms underneath you and helping you sit up. I pull back from your mouth to instead place two softer kisses against each of your cheeks.
“You alright?”
“Yeah…” you breathe, soft and still a bit shaky.
I scoop you up in my arms and stand on my wobbly legs, carrying you over to my desk. Setting you down on the edge of it, I take a small step back just to admire you. Completely bare for me and absolutely beautiful. I can’t help but lean in for a firm kiss. You smile against my lips and it makes my heart lurch. It’s almost too soft, having to remind myself that that isn’t what this is.
No matter what my traitorous brain is telling me.
So, instead, I think with my dick.
I take both of your thighs from around my waist and lift them up and over my shoulders. It stretches your muscles tight, making you lean back onto your elbows on the desk, sending more shit onto the floor. I stare down at your body instead of your face, deeming that the easiest option to avoid that heavy feeling again. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the fullness of your thighs, and the pinkness of your cunt. It’s a sight I’d happily choose to stare at for the rest of my life.
Well, shit. That didn’t work.
“What’re you doing?” you speak, questioning my frozen gaze, laughter evident in your voice.
“Nothin’… You’re just absolutely gorgeous,” my voice is low, quiet, and I mean every fucking word.
“Shut up,” you laugh, a light in your eyes.
“Oh? Getting mouthy on me now, are you?” I tease. “You know what mouthy girls get?”
I grab the base of my cock and use my hold to drag my tip through your drenched folds. You gasp, but try to hide the reaction. It just makes me smirk.
“What do they get?” you egg me on, already needy and breathless again.
And my restraint snaps.
I spear myself into you, bottoming out in the first stroke. You choke on a moan, back already arching up into the air. Masterpiece.
“They get fucked.”
Your short laugh gets cut off by a whining noise when my hips start to move me inside of you. Rolling and thrusting, giving no chance for a breath. My hands move from your waist to your ass, lifting it off the desk and gripping both cheeks. I watch as your tits bounce with every thrust, transfixed. I already know I’m not gonna last. Especially when you’re reaching up to palm yourself.
I slam into you harder, making the desk shake in tandem with your legs. The sound of our skin slapping together is like music to my ears.
“God, you take me so well, baby…” I groan, watching the scene between us. The ease in which my cock slips in and out of your heat, like it was made to fit here. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”
“Fuck! Right there!” you yell, and I listen, always when it’s said in that tone.
I continue hitting you deep inside, not straying from the spot that made you scream. You start to squirm against the desk, desperate for more. So, I drag one of my hands back to your front and let it slip between your legs, rubbing slow strokes over your clit. Your pussy clenches around me and I know you’re close.
“Gonna come, baby? Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?” I taunt, hips picking up speed as my own pleasure chases me down.
“Y-yes…” Your back arches, hips grind, and eyes nearly roll back.
“Good. Cause I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby, I’ll be dripping from you for the next week.”
I start to grunt as it becomes a struggle not to lose my tempo, pleasure taking over. But I need to make sure you cum first. I rub your clit faster, watching as your hips lift and writhe against my thrusts.
“Come for me… Let me watch you.”
Your eyes slowly blink open and connect with mine, jaw slack with whimpers escaping you. And with one more thrust, you’re done for. Silent screams, convulsing muscles, and your cunt squeezing the hell out of me. I have to brace my hands on the desk beside your hips as my pleasure slaps me in the face. Strangled moans leave my lips as my hips stutter, my cock pulsing inside of you as I fill you to the brim. Your pussy continues to clench around me, beckoning me to stay forever and milking me dry.
Once I’ve come back to earth, I grab onto your shoulders and lift your back up off the desk. You’re like a ragdoll at this point. You look like you just got a good fucking—which you did. Slowly, your arms come to circle around my neck. I hum in contentment, a bad sign.
I lean in and brush my lips against your neck, feeling you shiver in my hold. My lips ghost a path up to your ear. “You’re mine now…”
“I already was,” you whisper back.
Fuck.
*BEEP*
“Mr. Styles, I have a Mr. Winters on line 3 for you.”
A/N: I've returned with yet another fic!!! Hope y’all are excited because this ones lowkey a little unhinged (can't help myself when it comes to Harry's biceps yum). Anyways! I'm so glad to see you guys are liking my work so far!!! As a new writer, it's doing much better than I anticipated and I really appreciate the rebloggs, likes, and comments <3. Hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as the others!
Pairings: CEO soft dom H x subby reader
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Daddy kink, licking and biting, fingering f recieving, RAW p in v (wrap it before you tap it guys), and dirty talk.
WC: 4,392
Summary: Harry has been a little neglectful of his angel. After not seeing much of each other for days, Harry misses a planned and promised dinner togther. He finds a good way to make it up to her though;).
You knew how stressful Harry’s job could get and you understood when he had rough days how he just wanted to relax. There was nothing wrong with it.
Running a company would be far more work than you could imagine so it made sense when he would be in a sour mood from a deal that had fallen through or partners not having his best interest.
You learned to be as comforting as possible as everything he did was mainly for you and your relationship.
But it’s also hard on you when it continuously happens day after day. Sure, every once in a while was normal, for anyone with a career, especially his.
It had been 2 weeks since you’ve noticed a drastic change in Harry. You’d fall asleep by yourself, no longer having the comfort of strong arms wrapped around you and steady breathing to be heard in your ear as you drifted into your dreams. Same thing in the morning, you’d wake up to his side of the bed cold. It was almost as if he was never there throughout the night. On top of that, dinner and breakfast - which used to consist of each of you asking about the others day and light kisses placed every now and then- now consisted of you sitting alone at the table in the quiet home.
If it wasn’t for the little things placed around the house or the short amount of time he’d be at home during the weekend, it would seem as though you didn’t live together. You’d notice the hand towel in the bathroom damp from his washing, or wrappers left on the counter as if he’d had a quick snack before he rushed out of the house.
Sure you’d text, but his normal cheekiness was replaced with dry responses and sometimes the texts wouldn’t even be answered until hours later.
If anything, the changes had made you scared and worried. You knew how time consuming his work could be and the effect it could take on him. But your relationship had never experienced this type of change for this long.
So of course the doubts overwhelmed your mind. Was he irritated with you? Was he not interested anymore? What if he found someone else, someone that wasn’t immature and needy like you were?
Of course there were never any signs that really made you think he thought these things of you. He always said how he adores how you want to be near him all the time. Despite that, you really can’t help it that this is what your mind turns to.
As you used to spend nearly every minute of free time with him, dinners, or simply laying in bed, the harsh withdrawal was making your head spin. You hadn’t been able to communicate with him as you’d like.
So you made the decision to stay up and wait for him. It was all in your head and simply talking to him in person for the first time in days would clear up everything… right?
Occupying yourself was difficult as the hours get later. You were restless trying to calm your nerves before you saw him. You shouldn’t be nervous though. It's Harry, the same Harry that would wake you up by pressing kisses all over your face and was able to make your toes curl when he hit all the right places.
You glazed at the clock again and the time glared back at you: 1:53 A.M. Why was he so late? He used to be home by 6, calling your name and smiling brightly when he would see you making your way towards him in the doorway.
You were soon pulled away from your thoughts as you heard the front door lightly close. He was home. You got up to walk towards the door of your bedroom and down the stairs. When you first saw him, you could see how disheveled he was.
His curls lay flat as it looked he ran his hand through them one too many times. His tie hung loosely from his neck as he untightened it. His eyes seemed to hardly stay open. In his hand, held a glass as he poured liquor into it before taking a sip.
Catching you out of the corner of your eye, his head whips to see your fragile frame standing at the end of the staircase.
“What’re you doing up sweetheart, it's nearly 2 in the morning?” his voice was soft and he had frown placed upon his lips
You shrugged and walked closer to stand in front of him. “I just haven’t seen you in a while H. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Your response was light as your wide eyes gazed up at him.
“I’m sorry honey. Works been shit, I know I haven’t been around as much as I would like but I promise when this shits over I’ll be around you so much you might get sick of me.” He gave a small smile, before taking the cup of liquor back up to his mouth.
“It’s okay H. I know how it gets and I’m sorry you have to deal with it,” Your arms moved to wrap around him, feeling him for the first time in what felt like ages. Your head rested against his chest, hearing his heart beating softly as his arms made their way around you too. “What if we have dinner tomorrow night? We can catch up and I’ll make a nice home cooked meal for you. Maybe watch a movie after?”
“I’d love nothing more angel, always so good to me aren’t you?” The double meaning made you blush but you hit yourself deeper in his chest, already feeling excited for the following night. “Promise I’ll be here at 6 on the dot, can’t wait to spend time with my favorite girl. Now go lay down, I’m going to get ready for bed and I’ll be with you in just a tick.” His arm around your waist slid down as he lightly patted your ass as a signal to move.
You giddily made your way back up the stairs and jumped into bed, being excited to have the feeling of his arms around you again.
Harry soon made his way to the bed as he finished up in the bathroom. Sliding in between the sheets, his arms immediately went around you and pulled your body as close as possible to his.
His hand rubbing your back, light kisses pressed to the top of your head made it easy for you to relax and drift off. After being deprived of his affection for days, you were the most comfortable you have ever been in your life.
~
When you woke up, you thought you had imagined last night. Opening your eyes, his side of the bed was once again empty and cold. It was hard to refrain from frowning, but remembering the promise of a night together for the first time in ages, you couldn’t be too upset.
Your excitement of dinner with your lover had you rushing to get out of bed and get ready for the day. You spent the day shopping for groceries, not being able to make up your mind on what to make him, your cart ending up being full with multiple ingredients. You decided to make a decision when you’d get home rather than right in the moment. Picking up snacks for the movie and grabbing his favorite sweets.
Once arriving home in the afternoon, you were too giddy not to start. Deciding on a pasta dish, one of his favorites, you thought it’d be perfect for the occasion.
Not having heard from him yet that day, you shrugged it off. After seeing him last night and feeling him, you were put at ease. He looked you in the eyes and promised to be home. You thought he was simply keeping busy at work to get ahead so he could finally be home at his normal time.
However, those thoughts soon started slipping after it neared 6.
The table had been set, food plated, you even dug out a fancy wine and poured it into both glasses. You sat sitting at the table with a frown on your face. He couldn’t possibly of forgotten?
You tried reassuring yourself. He's busy, he wants to be here, maybe he's just going to be held back a little past 6, no worries!
But when the clock neared 7 you felt less hopeful.
You pulled out your phone, maybe he was on his way and stuck in traffic?
To: H💗- Hi honey, just wanted to check in… are you almost home? I love you
You set your phone down on the table, watching it intensely as though that would make him respond faster.
However, the text went unanswered as the minutes passed and you began to accept he wasn’t going to be home.
Only a few bites were taken of your pasta before you decided you weren’t hungry anymore. You began cleaning up and putting the leftovers into containers.
You wrapped his plate and left it in the fridge so he could still easily warm it up when he came home.
As you moved to the bedroom you looked at the clock again to notice the time was past 11. Wanting to make one last attempt you reached for your phone and clicked his contact and pressed your phone to your ear.
The ringing continued until his voicemail was heard. Hanging up you tossed your phone before running your hands over your face.
Your chest felt achy. You couldn’t help as the disappointment was seeping through you. Having the built up frustration of no contact with him and Harry’s broken promise to be at home tonight, you felt tears slide down your face.
You knew how important his job was to him but that didn’t mean being put on the back burner hurt any less.
Tears flowed as you made your way to the spare bedroom. Was it petty? Sure, but you didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as him despite the fact that he’ll slip out in the morning without a trace, like he was never there.
Laying on your side the tears streaming down and soaked into the pillow case. All these emotions ran through your head, not really sure how exactly you should be feeling.
Should you be completely understanding? His career is important, he worked so hard for it and provided you with everything you could ever want and more.
Should you be angry? You planned this, got excited and put so much effort into a meal he couldn’t show up for after leaving you at home and deprived of his affection for 2 weeks.
Should you be sad? He made you have expectations of him being home tonight and enjoy the night in together. He promised you to be here after being absent all those other nights and you just miss his presence.
Your mind unsettled, tears never ending, and you weren’t sure how you managed to fall asleep.
However, you were sure of being woken up from the gentle stroking of fingers through your hair and light kisses being pressed to your hand that was intertwined with his and held up to his mouth.
Your eyes opened to find his on you already and a frown took over his face as he noticed the puffiness and redness that accommodated your eyes. Confirming his fears of you being upset with him, which you had every right to be in his mind.
“Hi sweetheart.” He spoke softly to you and pressed more kisses to your hand and wrist as he sat crouched on the side of the bed.
“Hi.” You whispered, eyes darting to the wall behind him, finding it difficult to look at him. Besides, that's really all he had to say for himself?
He sighed as he stood up and went to sit on the edge of the bed in front of your body. His hand that was stroking your hair moved to join his other, both now holding your hand and his lips consistently pressed kisses before he spoke up again.
“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, angel.”
You felt the tears crawl back up and your throat tighten at the reminder of last night and how excited you had been. You blinked continuously before just closing your eyes and responding “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” His grip tightened on your hand, “You were upset enough to sleep in here and I don’t blame you. I’ve been shit at being with you, I know that. Last night was my wake up call. I promise you-”
You cut him off, taking a dig at him, “Like you promised to be home last night? After I spent all day looking forward to you coming home and finally spending time with me? I don’t mean to be needy H, I know how important your job is to you and everything you’ve worked for. But I can’t shake how I felt last night and how you completely disregarded me yesterday. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed being around you and spending time with you. I don’t like being a second thought this consistently.” You felt the tears finally slip down your face as you pulled your hand away from his to wipe at them.
Harry just looked at you, seeming at a loss of words. You could tell by his demeanor that he was sorry but it’s hard to just move past.
“I don’t mean for it to come off as that love. I promise you are important to me, more than my career. I love spending time with you and I know how neglectful I’ve been. You have every right to be upset with me. I will spend everyday making it up to you and you have my word on this. I let it get out of control and I realize how upset you are and I don’t intend on making you feel like that ever again. You’re my girl, and my girl deserves nothing but the best.” His eyes looked urgently into yours, his hand resting on top of the sheets over your thighs.
You move your hand to rest on top of his, eyes meeting him again.
“I trust you H. I just don’t want this to happen again. I love being with you in our home and having time together. But if it’s just you leaving work late and going in early, it’s difficult for us to do that and makes everything harder. I love you and want this to work out more than anything.”
“It will, I promise angel. I need you and I promise I won’t let this happen again.”
You nodded your head, as he began to lean down and pressed his lips to yours, muttering, “I’m sorry honey”, “It won’t happen anymore”, and “I hate seeing you upset”.
At first the kiss was soft and slow, enjoying the feeling of both of you connected at the lips for the first time in forever. Then, slowly the urgency began to grow. Lips smacking could be heard as Harry moved to lay on top of you, holding himself up by his thick arms, lips never parting yours. Your mouth slightly opens as you go to lick as his bottom lip. He quickly followed, opening his mouth to you when your tongues licked the others. Feeling the excitement begin to pool in your panties you move your hands to grab his upper arms.
It became a mess, spit pooling in the corners of your lips, him licking into your mouth. You began to whine as he began to grind down onto you.
His hand slowly traced down your side, reading your shorts as he toyed with them. He parted from your lips, “May I, sweetheart?”
Without hesitation you eagerly nodded your head and his fingers slipped below the shorts, under your panties and soon reached your soaking folds. His lips were shortly back on yours, pressing eagerly as he brought the fingers soaked in your juices up to your clit and began circling it. Your breath hitched, pausing the kisses, but that didn’t stop him from continuing.
He pulled his fingers from you, but grabbed your shorts and shoving them down along with your panties before he returned them back to your wetness.
His middle finger eventually made its way to your hole, where he made sure to get it covered before slipping it in. A sharp gasp was heard slipping from your mouth. You spent so long without having him like this, making it all the more rewarding.
Harry’s kisses soon began to travel down your face as he reached your neck and lightly peppered them all over. His hand pulled back and was brought up to your face, where his ring and middle fingers were pressed against your lips.
“Go ahead and slobber them up for me, puppy.” You were compliant, opening your mouth and giving him what he wanted.
His fingers laid flat on your tongue as you sucked them, loving the taste. You had your tongue flick them up and down, swirled around them tasting your own excitement on them. He watched intensely as he pushed you by shoving them farther back, almost down your throat. You gagged but didn’t mind as saliva pooled in your mouth and got them slippery, just like he wanted. He groaned before he pulled them out and brought them back to your pussy before shoving them inside you without warning.
You moaned, clenching around his fingers, loving how they felt inside of you. He quickly thrust them in and out, and placed more kisses down your neck to your collarbones.
“Are you ready for my cock puppy, hm? Missed you so much it's aching to be inside this tight cunt of yours.”
Your hips grinded up into his hands as an immediate reflex to the words coming out of his mouth.
“Yes, yes, please d-daddy I missed your cock.” You whined at him, eyes glazing over.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat up, quickly undoing his pants and tugging them down along with his boxers before stroking himself. He quickly sat back on his knees and gazed at your leaking cunt as his hand slid up and down his member, letting out a hiss and a curse under his breath at the contact.
His cock was soon lined up with your hole as he pushed in and let out a groan, before he fell over top of you with one elbow holding him up on the side of your head, the other grasping your waist to keep you steady.
His cock was pushed further and further inside of you before he bottomed out and held it there for a moment.
The feeling of him inside of you was like no other. You felt so full and happy. Clenching around him, he moaned into your neck.
“Jesus Christ puppy. Don’t know how I left you all alone for this long when you feel this fucking good. So mean of me, can’t tell you I’m sorry enough,” He pulled back and thrust himself back in, keeping his pace consistent. “You’re so tight and wet, cunts just leaking around my cock isn’t it baby.” You moaned in response, nails digging into his back.
“Faster daddy p-please, feels so good, I missed you.” You felt tears leaking from how good it felt to have him back inside you filling you up and making the knot in your tummy grow.
“So sweet f’me, I missed you too baby, never happening again. Feels so good.” His thrusts began to pick up as the wet noises of your bodies connecting was heard.
Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of all the right places he was hitting. His cock felt so good in your pussy, like he was made just for you. You open your eyes to the feeling of his fingers on your clit, rubbing messy circles.
Your moans were borderline pornographic at how good everything felt. His head leaning down to capture your lips as the messy smacking returned. His kisses trailed down to your neck as he began to nip at the skin and sooth it with his tongue. His thrusts sending the headboard into the wall, creating a loud thumping noise. You turned your head, giving him better access to your neck, hands climbing into his hair to tug, his thrusts not letting up.
As your eyes focused on what was in your eyeline - his biceps. His sweaty, tatted, and muscular biceps looked too good to be true. It was flexing as he held himself up and how good you felt, you couldn’t restrain yourself from leaning closer and licking the sweat that was sliding down. He just looked too good, all sweaty and disheveled. You eagerly lapped at his biceps, moving your tongue all around before biting. Not enough to cause too much pain, but enough to leave a mark. You were such a needy slut for his body, especially the tattooed areas.
You grow wetter at the remembrance of the tiger he had on his thigh and how you've always dreamed of riding it. How good it would feel to rub your wet pussy on it as he encouraages you, tells you what a good girl you are. How he'd make you kneel on the floor and lick up your juices that were left on it after you cum.
The filled in heart and the inked nails on the inner side got the most of your attention. As your tounge licked a fat stripe acrossed both of them, you whined at how hot he was. The top of the anatomical heart was also eagerly lapped and nipped at. They just looked too good to ignore.
Harry didn’t seem to mind as he let out a breathy laugh, almost amused at your fixation of his biceps.
Once you started, you couldn’t stop from continuously biting, leaving little marks along his muscles. Although the tattoos made it hard to see a lot of them, that didn’t stop you. You licked over each mark that was left, collecting his sweat along the way.
The immense arousal you had was overwhelming. His thrusts not letting him, neither was his hand on your little clit. Your clenching became more frequent the more he thrust and the more you had your fun with his bicep.
“You gonna cum for me baby? Feel this cunt getting tighter and wetter by the second.” His words were whispered in your ear as he moved up from your neck to bite at your lobe.
“Ye-yes daddy, I’m so close, so close I need it so bad.” Your breath was cooling as you breathed out your words against his slobbered up bicep and eagerly began licking stripes up it again.
Your hands pulled his hair as the knot grew more intense, he groaned against you before pulling your face back to meet his.
“Wanna watch you cum for me. Go ahead and cum on my cock baby, cum like the good girl you are.” His sentence alone was enough to set you off, you felt it burst in your stomach as you cried out and clenched around him. Your mouth in an O shape as his lips met yours. “Thaaats it puppy, good fucking girl.”
He kept thrusting, rubbing your clit to ride you through your orgasm as his approached.
“Fuck you look so good. Can I come in this pretty pussy baby, hm? Is that okay?” His minty breath panted on you as you nodded with widened eyes.
“Yes yes, please come in my pussy daddy. Wanna feel your cum leak out of me.” You practically begged him. Curses slipped out of his mouth as he finally let go.
His sweaty hair stuck to his head, sweat dripping down his face, and down his neck as he tilted it back moaning as his cum spilled into you.
You once again couldn’t help yourself as you leaned up licking the sweat that dripped down him. There was something just so erotic about it that turned you on like nothing else.
He kept thrusting into you as his cum filled up your pussy. You kept tounging at his neck and nibbling to show your immense appreciation.
“Jesus fuck baby felt so fucking good. Did so good for me, I love you.” His thrusting stopped at his head tilted to look at you again. Harry’s lips connected with yours showing all the appreciation he could.
“I love you so much.” You murmured against his lips.
He pulled out of you sooner than you would’ve liked, as his cum slowly followed. He intensely watched it drip out of your cunt as he let out a “fuck” under his breath as his chest heaved.
You were completely spent. Laying down with your eyes closed but you could still feel the weight of him shifting off the mattress. You quickly opened your eyes and whined as you grabbed his hand to keep him from leaving.
“It’s okay baby, just gonna run to the bathroom to grab something to clean you up, I’ll be right back.” He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. You reluctantly let go of his hand as he moved to the bathroom.
Hearing a drawer close, he soon returned next to you and lightly wiped at the cum leaking from your pussy.
Accidently, he nudged your clit with the fabric, causing you to twitch and a grunt to leave your lips.
“I’m sorry baby, I’ll be more careful.” He leaned down, and his lips pressed a light kiss onto your clit.
“Don’t be mean H.” You glared at him as he let out a light laugh.
His body moved back up, where he leaned down pressing another kiss, this time to your lips.
“I love you angel. Wanna get up and we can go back to bed? Can spend all of tomorrow together if you’d like? Whatever you want.” he grinned at you as you brush your fingers through the loose curl against his forehead.
“I love you too Harry. Can we shower first?” Your voice light as he nodded and grabbed your hand to help you sit up.
“I’d love nothing more.”
You both walked to the bathroom before taking off the remaining clothes that lingered on your bodies and stepping into the warm water.
“No funny business, I’m spent and have a whole list of ideas we can do today.” You look up at him accusingly.
“That’s so weird, I also have a list of things we can do today.” His cheeky undertone led you to quirk and eyebrow at him for him to continue. “I meant I have a whole list of things I can do to you today.”
You blushed, feeling heat crawl up your face as you hid yourself in his chest while he just laughed and helped you clean yourself.
When Y/N first applied to be the assistant of Mister Style,who according to The Sunday Times, was the highest upcoming CEO , at only 31, had built an empire for himself and his business, Y/N didn’t fully understand the concept of the job. For example, when she showed up for the interview with purple glitter nail polish, coffee spilt at the side of her blouse sleeve and the converse that the sole was falling apart from, she didn’t quite get why the receptionist,Stella gave her such a hard stare.
Despite that whole process, Y/N was only ecstatic to find out she somehow managed to get the job, and when her interviewer Niall told her, ‘Mister Styles would be lucky to have you!’ She only felt like the universe finally gave her something good for once. For context, Y/N previously got fired from her job working as an editor (for an author who shall not be named because she was ruthless) due to the author's sudden disappearance. Y/N couldn’t care less that she was fired, but she also knew that this meant the possibility of moving back to Brighton, her hometown, and knowing the chances of her mother giving her disappointment every single day, Y/N knew she couldn't do that to herself, so she applied.
Y/N met Harry Styles only on her second day of training (he had previously been on a trip to Italy). She didn’t prepare for the worst thing possible, but when Niall sent her to his office and proceeded to say, ‘Good luck, and don’t worry if he’s rude; that's just his nature,' and flashed her a bright smile, she kind of knew she was going to be fucked.
‘You are Y/N,' he said while putting away some papers into his drawer and pointed to the seat in front of him. ‘Please sit.’
She already imagined the amount of rules that he was going to give her, precise times when he wanted his coffee, or how this specific font had to be used all the time, and if there was a single mistake, she would be fired; however, none of that came when Harry just said.
‘Your shoes are broken.' He then pointed to her feet.
'Oh,' she paused. 'Yeah, I had them for a long time. You know when you kind of get attached to things? I mean, I don’t get attached to this pair. I think it’s because I like the colour blue,' she continued, ‘though they don’t go with a lot of things, but I don’t mind; they are on my feet anyway, and it’s not like there is a dress code. I mean, there is, but it's not strict, I hope,' she rambled.
He didn’t react to her rambling and just proceeded to say, ’No dress code. I just wanted to tell you that I have sent you a file of all the things I like to be specific about in my work and life, that you must follow, but also I have sent you a shared calendar with me just to let you know when things will happen.' He then sat up and signalled to the door. ’I have to take a phone call now. It was nice to meet you.’
From that point onwards Y/N knew that this wasn’t going to be a very buddy-buddy relationship.
In the first week of working, she has found herself being interested in the rumours regarding Mr Styles. For example, how he was an absolute 'dickhead', named by many, and his constant need for firing people. However, Y/N could not figure out how she has not packed her bags and left already for how many mistakes she has made. When she accidentally printed all of the 3 files of information for an upcoming collection in black and white instead of colour, and when she apologised profoundly to Mr Styles, he only mumbled, 'It's all good; just don’t do it next time.'
Or when everyone in the meeting complained about the issue, and Mr Styles said in a firm tone, ‘It was a simple mistake; it’s readable, so shut up and read,' and looked straight at Y/N, who gave him her brightest smile and proceeded with the presentation.
8 weeks into the job, Y/N has gotten familiar with the talk among the office about Mr Styles; she would hear cruel words coming out of her coworkers' mouths and couldn't understand why. I mean, she knew Mr Styles was strict, but it’s also because he needed to be in his position, but also because he would do nice things for her that she couldn't bring herself to tell other people because she knew that, well, it was a silent statement not to.
For instance, that one time she was so sick with the winter flu, she came into the office dressed like she was still in bed and her pockets filled all with snotty tissues. Before she could even put her things on her desk, Mr Styles was already signalling for her to come into his office.
‘You are sick,' he stated.
'Yes, and I’m so sorry. I know how strict you are with days off, and I knew you had the meeting with the people from New York, and I didn’t want to miss it, and I just—'
He stepped forward towards her. ‘When you are sick, you need to tell me,' he said softly, and Y/N didn’t know if her eyes were lying to her, but she couldn’t see a hint of worry on his face, but it was quickly hidden.
‘I don’t want you running around with tissues everywhere and making me sick as well on top of it.'
'Yes, sir,’ she said firmly. ‘It won’t happen ever again, I promise.'
‘Good,’ he nodded. ‘Now leave, please, before you make me sick.'
An hour later when she came back from the bathroom, on her desk sat a pot of soup with a tea and a post-it note that read,
‘I don’t want my favourite assistant to eat junk, so eat this, it will make you feel better.' -H
With a smiley face at the bottom.
Further into the job, Y/N has come to the terms that she might have a slight crush on her boss. Can you blame her?. Yeah, he got her food one time, but he’s sweet to her. When he leaves notes on the calendar when she adds a new colour scheme to it, saying, ‘I like this one better.' Or when he would go on lunch to the nice bakery near the office and pick her up the blueberry muffin filled with chocolate chips and set it on her desk every single day, she knew from that moment on that she was fucked. Fucked beyond HR violations.
The moment that finally did it for her was exactly in April.
Y/N didn’t exactly have a lot of office friends (besides Niall) due to, well, many reasons. Being the assistant of Mr Styles, everyone would think she would snitch at any given moment and cost them their job, which Y/N would never do because she accepted others' opinions; however, she felt lonely sometimes, especially when Niall had different working hours from her.
So on Tuesday she has made the effort to at least go into the cafeteria and maybe sit at someone’s table and possibly become friends. Y/N felt like she was back in year 7, where the thought of having friends was like winning the lottery.
Here she was with her packed lunch in her polka dot bag, scanning the cafeteria like a lost cat until she came across Stella’s table. She wasn’t her biggest fan; however, she knew that maybe people had a hard shell beneath their facade.
'Hi,' she said softly to not disturb the conversation going on. 'Can I sit here?’ Y/N pointed to the seat at the edge.
The girl whose name she knew was Natalia nodded without much thought, and sure enough, Y/N sat down. She felt so pumped for finally just managing to sit at the table and began unwrapping her lunch to eat it.
'So it's Y/N, is it?’ Stella spoke up.
With a mouth full of a meal deal sandwich, Y/N nodded.
‘How is it working for the big boss?’ Stella asked, raising her eyebrows and looking eagerly at the others.
‘Oh well, you know, he’s nice, but he’s not mean!’ She quickly added, 'He's actually quite sweet if you, like, get to know him,' she said mindlessly.
The whole group started laughing like some scene out of some mean girl movie, and Y/N panicked, thinking she must have said something wrong, which cut her appetite and the sudden longing for Niall’s weird pub stories. Soon enough she made some excuse that she was needed somewhere and quickly went into the nearby toilets.
Furiously texting Niall about the whole experience and how Stella gave her absolutely horrible feelings, the door to the bathroom opened, and Y/N didn’t give much attention to it until.
‘Sweet my ass,' someone scoffed.
‘Bet she sucks him off or something. I mean, have you seen him lately? He's relaxed, like it’s a holiday in Spain.'
‘He would never let her near him; she’s a complete weirdo. No wonder Niall took her under his wing,' Stella said.
‘To spare us from her embarrassment', someone brought up, and all proceeded to giggle their way out of the bathroom.
Y/N was stunned. I mean, she knew that she dressed a bit differently, but that’s always been her, but most importantly, she felt so embarrassed. Harry has always been nice to her, not in front of other people, but he cared to some extent, and now she was wondering if she had imagined everything.
She grabbed her bag and soon headed for her desk, walking fast enough that maybe no one would notice the absolute waterfall she was crying out. However, as soon as she got to her desk, Harry shouted her name, and she might as well have sobbed right there and then.
‘What happened?’ He said and walked in front of her.
Y/N kept her head down and mumbled a quick ‘nothing’.
'Hey,' he said softly, ‘can you please tell me what happened so I can fix it?’ While grabbing her hands.
Y/N soon enough gave up. 'Just heard some mean stuff, okay?’
‘What mean stuff?' He grabbed her elbows. 'Angel, please tell me what happened.'
She was so embarrassed and filled with emotion that she just cried right there. Harry pulled her close trying to think of how to fix this.
the tension that currently lies between harry and yn is so thick you could cut a knife through it, and the enclosed space of his car isn’t helping their situation. having just left their dinner date for the evening where things had spiced up toward the end, the both of them were so desperate for one another that they’re willing to take whatever they can get.
peeling out of the restaurant parking lot at a near illegal speed, harry’s free hand finds its way to yn’s thigh, squeezing and rubbing along the warm, soft skin. as he navigates the way to their house, his hand inches higher and higher, a smirk forming on his face when he hears yn’s breathing start to pick up.
‘please,’ she nearly whines, her hips grinding down just a bit to try and get him closer to where she needs him, but he pulls away, causing her to groan in frustration. ‘need you so bad, please,’ she begs. he’s just as desperate as she is, but he’s always been the type to tease her so it can build up into something otherworldly for her when he finally gives her what she needs.
the sound of her whines and begs get the best of him, though, and he starts to think he won’t make it to the house. and he doesn’t; along the road toward their home, there’s a secluded area along the side of the road, covered by trees. quickly pulling his car into the area, he throws the car in park and unbuckles her seatbelt before doing the same to his own.
‘panties off, slowly’ he demands, and yn could nearly cry in relief at his words, doing as he says. harry can’t bite back the groan that bubbles in his chest as she lifts her dress above her hips and begins to pull her panties down, a string of arousal leading right into the damp spot she’s left on the pretty pink thong.
once they’re off, she hands them to him, and he drops them in his armrest before helping her climb onto his lap in the driver’s seat. their lips instantly attach, his hands finding her ass and gripping it before pulling her hips down to meet his, her bare cunt rubbing against the material of his pants. she moans into his mouth and her eyes flutter shut, the friction feeling amazing on her sensitive area.
he keeps moving her along his lap until she’s breathless and shaking, her moans picking up in both pitch and intensity, before she’s stilling and clenching around nothing, her orgasm quickly working its way through her body. she collapses against him as she tries to catch her breath, and he’s rubbing her thighs and back, whatever he could reach as he grounds her. ‘such a good girl, did so well f’me,’ he praises as he peppers kisses all over her face.
as soon as she’s fully grounded, she sits up and connects their lips again, reaching for the button of his pants, but he gently smacks her hands away. she whines in frustration but it quickly melts into a moan of relief as he reaches between them and slides two fingers into her, his thumb finding its way to her sensitive clit. her thighs try to close immediately but they’re blocked by his own, so she has no choice but to take the pleasure he’s giving her.
‘s’tight, angel. no matter how many times i work y’open with my cock, it’s still a process to get y’ready f’me,’ he breathes before craning his neck to press kisses along her neck. he curves his fingers just a bit inside her, his fingertips catching the sensitive area inside her that has her collapsing and burying her face into his neck.
her moans get much louder in his ear when he does this, and she picks her head up to press her lips to his once more, needing to feel more of him. the moment their lips meet, he speeds up his thumb on her clit, and she’s falling over the edge with a sob of pleasure.
‘that’s it,’ he encourages, feeling the warmth of her orgasm against his palm as he keeps up that same pace for her. ‘such a mess, baby. doin’ so well f’me,” he praises against her lips. with each pump of his fingers from then on, harry can feel yn’s body becoming more and more lax against his chest, her body eventually feeling boneless as he works her through the intense high.
he can feel the remnants of her orgasm on his pants but he doesn’t care, slowly removing his fingers from her still clenching hole before bringing them to his lips and cleaning them off, his other hand running along her back to keep her steady. he can’t help himself when that same hand trails down her back and rubs along her swollen pussy from the back, causing him to grown when he immediately feels wetness on his hand.
grabbing some hand sanitizer and napkins from the door of his car, he cleans his hands before helping yn back into her seat, ignoring her confused whines when she realizes she’s not getting his cock right now. grabbing the baby wipes from his armrest, he reaches over and gently cleans her up soothing her when her thigh twitches from overstimulation once he grazes her clit. ‘sorry, angel. gotta clean you up, my love,’ he coos softly.
she ignores his words and whines once more. ‘please, can i get your cock? need it, i’ve been so good too,’ she’s a little upset that he doesn’t want to fuck her.
he chuckles at her eagerness and closes her legs before buckling her seatbelt once more. truthfully, just having her on top of him feeling so good caused him to orgasm in his pants, untouched, but he won’t tell her that just yet. ‘when we get home, baby,’ he reassures her. ‘gonna take good care of you, don’t worry.’
~
well ummm long time no see ??😅
don’t hate me for this smut, it’s been a while but i tried.
There were nights when Y/n sat in the bathtub long after the water had gone cold, knees pulled up to her chest, eyes on the ceiling. She’d count the cracks in the paint and pretend they meant something. Every line had a story, a direction, a place it was leading. It helped, somehow—imagining that even broken things had a path.
She was twenty-one and exhausted. Not in the theatrical, college-student way where tiredness came from parties or procrastination, but in a quieter, more insidious sense. The kind of fatigue that came from watching your bank account sit at three digits while your inbox overflowed with late notices and final warnings. The kind of fatigue that came from choosing between paying for groceries or your mother’s heart medication. Every day she felt like she was standing at the edge of a deep pool, staring down, wondering how long she could keep pretending she wasn’t already underwater.
She worked two jobs—one at a used bookstore that smelled like mildew and loneliness, and another as a library assistant on campus, where she mostly shelved books no one read anymore. Her fingers were always stained with ink and dust, her shoes always a little damp from the cracked ceiling in her apartment stairwell. Nothing she did was glamorous. She was tired of calling it character-building. Tired of pretending it was enough.
It was late on a Thursday when the email arrived. She had been sitting on the floor, knees raw against the tile, flipping through the notes for a class she could barely afford to attend. The subject line on the screen stopped her mid-sentence.
“OFFER.”
There was no greeting. No introduction. The message was short. Clean. It read like something written in a single breath and sent without a second thought.
You don’t know me. That’s intentional. Your name was passed to me through someone I trust. I am not searching for love, and I’m not interested in unnecessary attachment. I am, quite frankly, bored. I spend money easily. And recently, I’ve been wondering what it might feel like to spend it on a person, instead of things. I’m offering something simple. Clean. Private. No strings. No false promises. Just a transaction with soft edges. If this is something you understand, reply. If not—delete this, and pretend you never saw it.
There was no name, only a single initial. H.
Y/n didn’t move. She sat there with her knees still folded, the hum of the fridge loud in the silence. Her first instinct was suspicion. Her second was something closer to shame. But beneath both, thick and dark and dangerous, was interest. The kind she didn’t want to name out loud.
She told herself she wouldn’t answer. She let the message sit for a full day. She went to class. Worked. Ate one dry granola bar over twelve hours. And then, at 2:37 a.m., with no makeup, no dignity, and her laptop balanced on her thighs, she typed two words into the reply box.
I understand.
No name. No questions.
She didn’t sleep that night.
The next day, a reply came. An address. A time. A car would be sent. She wasn’t told who he was. There were no attachments. No contracts. Just a message that felt like it had teeth, and silence behind it that pulled like a current.
She almost backed out. But the next night, when the car came—sleek and black and soundless—she stepped inside.
The driver didn’t speak. The seats were too soft. The world outside the window grew more surreal with every mile—graffiti fading into marble, neon signs replaced by warm yellow lights that looked like candle flames behind floor-to-ceiling glass. They were going up, not down. Higher into something. Somewhere money lived.
She hadn’t brought anything. He’d told her not to.
She had showered in the dark. Worn her cleanest dress, the one that clung a little too tightly now, but made her look like she belonged to something expensive. Her heartbeat didn’t settle once. Not even when the elevator doors opened and she stepped into a space that was so quiet, it made her feel like she was being watched by the furniture.
The penthouse wasn’t warm. It was beautiful, but it was a cold kind of beauty. Stone and glass. Dark woods and soft rugs under bare feet. There were no personal touches. No clutter. The space didn’t look lived in. It looked arranged.
He was standing by the window with a drink in his hand, but it took her a moment to see him. He didn’t move when she entered. Just watched. Calm. Unblinking. The kind of stillness that wasn’t about hesitation—it was control.
She knew who he was before he turned fully toward her.
Harry Styles.
Not the man on the stage, the one in glitter and smiles. This version was stripped down to the bone—barefoot, in a black silk shirt, top buttons undone, hair a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it and then stopped halfway. He looked bored, not in the impatient way of a man waiting too long, but in the way of someone who had everything and didn’t know what to do with it anymore.
He didn’t offer a smile. Or a drink. Or his name.
She didn’t speak either.
There was something eerie about the way he looked at her, like he was memorizing her in slow motion. His gaze wasn’t hungry. It was observant. Detached. But there was something else under it, too—like he was looking for proof that she was real, not just another acquisition that would lose its shine after a few weeks.
He gestured toward a chair without words. She sat.
He leaned against the edge of the low table, glass still in hand, and studied her for what felt like hours.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Quiet. The kind of tone that settled behind your ribs and stayed there.
“I’m not here to play games, Y/n.”
And she knew, instantly, that he meant it.
Not just this arrangement. Not just tonight.
But everything.
He wasn’t offering affection. Or comfort. Or care. He wasn’t looking for someone to love or be loved by. He was a man who had spent too long inside rooms that echoed. A man who had gone numb from excess. And now he wanted to spend his money on something human.
He had chosen her.
And for the first time in months, maybe years, Y/n let herself want to be chosen.
The quiet stretched, long and heavy, filling the corners of the room like smoke. Y/n kept her spine straight in the chair, her hands resting in her lap the way she’d been taught in some etiquette class years ago that she’d barely passed, more out of luck than skill. It was the only armor she had now. Stillness. Stillness and silence.
Harry hadn’t moved much. He was a study in restraint—one hand on his glass, the other casually tucked into the pocket of his black trousers. His shirt clung to his frame just enough to remind her he was real. The top of his chest, faintly visible beneath the undone buttons, rose and fell like clockwork. Controlled. Everything about him seemed designed to reveal nothing and make you want everything.
She wondered if that was the point.
His voice came again, smooth as a poured drink and just as dangerous.
“You don’t have to talk,” he said, not as a suggestion, but a fact. “In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t. At least not yet.”
She didn’t flinch. She only blinked once and nodded. She was good at not speaking. Good at not taking up space. Good at swallowing whole the ache of being unseen, then pretending it never tasted like anything at all.
The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly. Not a smile—something quieter. Pleased.
He pushed off from the table slowly, the kind of slow that people used when they weren’t rushed by time because they owned it. His feet were silent on the floor as he moved toward her. Not predatory, not looming. Just deliberate.
When he reached her, he didn’t touch her. He didn’t sit. He simply stood in front of her, his eyes scanning her face, then drifting lower. Not hungry. Just… curious. Like she was a question he hadn’t decided how to answer yet.
“I don’t want to own you,” he said, more softly now. “I’m not interested in pretending this is something it’s not. But if we’re going to do this, I expect you to keep your word. To stay quiet. To be clean. To be on time.”
There was no contract, no paper. But the weight of his words was heavier than any ink.
“And in return,” he continued, “you won’t worry about rent. You won’t walk to work in the rain. You won’t think about bills or debt or whatever it is that’s been pulling your shoulders down since you walked in here.”
Her throat felt tight. He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne—earthy, expensive, spiced like something meant for darker hours of the night. Everything about him was designed for the night, she realized. His voice. His silence. His rules.
He reached into his pocket and held out a slim black card. It wasn’t flashy—no bright logos, no embossed name. Just a sleek, matte finish and a thin strip of gold along the side. The kind of card that didn’t have a limit. The kind that didn’t need explanation.
“This is yours,” he said, watching her. “For as long as I want it to be.”
Her fingers didn’t move at first. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else—something older and deeper than fear, maybe. That feeling you get standing on the edge of something high, knowing you might fall, but more afraid of what it might mean if you jumped on purpose.
But she reached out.
Her skin brushed his.
And the second she closed her fingers around the card, everything changed.
The card was warm from his pocket. Y/n hadn’t expected that. She thought it would feel colder—like metal, like warning. But it pulsed slightly in her palm, quiet and expensive, a promise dressed up like permission.
Harry didn’t say anything else. He simply turned away, walking back toward the window like nothing had changed, like she hadn’t just handed over a part of herself without speaking a word. His bare feet made no sound across the stone floor. He moved like someone who was always moving away from something, even when he was standing still.
Y/n sat there for a moment longer, unsure if she was meant to follow or remain, but too proud to ask. The silence in the room was thick with intention. It wasn’t awkward. It was purposeful. Designed. Like everything in here.
When she finally rose to her feet, the card still clutched lightly between her fingers, she felt it again—that shift in her spine, the one that came from being looked at like a sculpture instead of a girl. His gaze slid over her as she walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She stopped at a polite distance. There was no reflection of herself in the glass, only the city far below, lights like scattered bones in the dark.
Harry’s voice, when it came again, was softer. Not gentle, but quieter, like he was speaking to a memory, or maybe to himself.
“I chose you because you looked like you wouldn’t beg.”
Y/n didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on the skyline. Her chest felt strange—tight, then hollow, then tight again.
“I won’t,” she said. Not because she was proud, but because she didn’t know how to anymore.
He took a sip from his glass. The ice had melted.
The moment stretched again. She wondered how many women had stood where she was now. How many had spoken less and meant more. How many had taken his money, his rules, his silence—and still been haunted by the sound of his voice.
She felt like a body being studied, not a person being touched. He hadn’t laid a single finger on her. And yet, she felt marked.
“Do you live alone?” he asked suddenly, eyes still on the glass.
“Yes.”
“Anyone who’ll come looking for you if you don’t go home tonight?”
“No.”
He nodded, slowly, as if that was a relief—not because he planned to keep her, but because it meant fewer questions. Fewer strings.
“I want you to stay,” he said after a moment. “Not for me. For you.”
That surprised her.
“For me?” she asked, turning to look at him. Really look.
He was still beautiful in that clean, unreal way—sharp jawline, half-lidded eyes, hair that fell in disobedient waves. But there was something behind it, too. Something hollowed-out and old. Like he’d lost the ability to be surprised by beauty. Like he was tired of it.
“You don’t rest,” he said simply. “Not the real kind. I can see it in your hands. Your mouth. The way you never let your shoulders drop.”
She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That she didn’t have time to rest. That she didn’t have space. That her rest was never restful, only an ache delayed.
But he was already walking toward a hallway off the main room. He didn’t wait to see if she’d follow.
She did.
The bedroom was large, quiet, shadowed. Nothing too ornate—no gold, no glitter. Just dark walls, smooth floors, and soft bedding that looked untouched. A window open just slightly, letting in the hum of the city below.
He motioned toward the bed without looking at her. Not sexual. Not possessive. Just… direct.
“Lie down.”
Y/n stood there a beat too long, unsure if this was a command or something more complicated. But she obeyed. Carefully. Slowly. She laid down on the side closest to the window, the card still between her fingers, resting it on the bedside table like a talisman she wasn’t ready to let go of completely.
Harry didn’t follow her into the bed. He stayed near the door, watching, silent again. Then, almost absently, he reached out and turned off the light.
Darkness bloomed around her. Not suffocating, but deep.
She waited for his touch. For his breath on her neck. For the weight of a body beside her.
But nothing came.
The door closed with the softest click.
She was alone.
For a long time, Y/n lay there, blinking into the dark, unsure whether what had happened tonight was the beginning of something… or the end of her.
She didn’t expect to sleep. She thought the sheets would be too smooth, the pillows too soft, the room too quiet. That her body would stay alert, eyes wide open in the dark like they always were in unfamiliar places. But something about the way the room held her—dim and still and untouched—let her sink.
Maybe it was the first time in too long she didn’t feel watched by the world.
She drifted in and out. No dreams. Just a thick kind of unconsciousness. Heavy. Deep. She woke once in the middle of the night, unsure what time it was. The room hadn’t changed. But something in it had.
There was a sound.
Soft. Barely there. The creak of a door, the shift of weight on the floorboards. She turned her head, slow and quiet, eyes adjusting.
Harry.
He stood just inside the room. The door was open behind him now, the hallway casting a faint glow against his frame. He wasn’t dressed for sleep—still in the same black silk shirt, though it looked looser now, like he’d unbuttoned another few without noticing. His hair had been pushed back, but it was already falling forward again, curling slightly at the ends.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t move.
She thought maybe he’d just come to look. To remind himself she was real. That he’d actually done this—that she was here, in his bed, under his roof, breathing in the same silence.
Y/n didn’t speak either.
She could feel her own breath now. Slow and full. Her limbs were warm under the sheets, her fingers curled lightly where they rested near her collarbone. She wondered what she looked like to him in that moment—if she seemed fragile, or false, or dangerously calm.
He took a few steps in. Barefoot again, like always. The quiet made it feel like she was watching a dream instead of a man. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare blink too fast. She thought if she did, the spell might break.
He stopped at the edge of the bed.
Still, he didn’t touch her.
His voice came then, low and quiet and rougher now—like it had been scraped raw by sleep or thought.
“I thought I wouldn’t care.”
He said it like a confession. Like he wasn’t used to saying things out loud unless they were orders.
Y/n didn’t ask what he meant. She didn’t need to.
He looked down at her for a long time, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. Then—finally—he sat down. Not beside her, but in the chair near the window. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. His eyes didn’t leave her face.
“I thought you’d be like the others,” he said, still quiet. “Polished. Practiced. Hungry.”
Y/n swallowed, the sound too loud in her own ears.
“But you looked tired,” he continued. “Not the kind of tired you fake. The kind that never leaves.”
She didn’t speak. She let him fill the silence, unsure what it meant that he was giving her pieces of himself when he hadn’t even asked her favorite color.
“I think I wanted that,” he said. “Someone who wouldn’t try to impress me. Someone who’d take what I gave and leave the rest.”
A pause.
“You’re not what I expected.”
Neither are you, she thought.
Harry leaned back in the chair slowly, one hand raised to brush the back of his neck. The shirt slid farther open, exposing the lines of his collarbone, the soft skin just beneath his throat. He looked… human. Not cold. Not untouchable.
“I don’t sleep much,” he said, almost as an afterthought.
“Why?” Her voice was a whisper. It felt wrong to speak louder, like she might wake the room.
His eyes flicked to hers.
“I don’t like the things I dream about.”
Y/n stared at him. The confession came with no elaboration. No apology. And he didn’t explain. He didn’t need to.
Because she understood.
There was a kind of closeness that didn’t require touch. And right now, in the hush of the night, something passed between them that was quieter than desire. Deeper than hunger. Lonelier, too.
“I’ll stay quiet,” she said softly, echoing his words from earlier.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then, without saying another word, he stood. He crossed the room slowly, stepping to the side of the bed where she lay. He didn’t climb under the covers. He didn’t brush her skin.
Instead, he sat down on the edge of the mattress, eyes lowered. One hand reached for hers. Not to hold it—just to rest his fingers gently over her knuckles.
The weight was barely there. But it was real.
And for the rest of the night, they didn’t speak again.
She fell asleep with his hand on hers, the card still lying like a shadow on the bedside table.
The morning came in shades of pale gold.
Sunlight slipped past the curtains in thin ribbons, casting faint lines across the bedsheets and pooling softly on the floor. It was the kind of light that didn’t demand to be noticed—it simply was. Gentle. Patient. The kind that took its time waking a room.
Y/n stirred first.
Her body woke before her mind did, blinking away the fog of sleep like dust shaken from a coat. Her eyes opened to the unfamiliar ceiling—smooth, pale grey, with a barely visible seam that ran through the plaster. There was a hush in the room, one so quiet it made her heart beat louder in her ears.
Then she remembered.
The bed wasn’t hers.
The room wasn’t hers.
But the air was still warm. And the silence wasn’t empty.
She turned her head, slowly, the sheet whispering against her bare shoulder.
Harry was sitting in the same chair as before.
He hadn’t moved much. Just shifted—one leg crossed over the other now, his arms resting loose on the armrests. His head tilted toward her, chin slightly down, mouth soft in a way she hadn’t seen last night.
He was watching her.
Not like a man watching something he owned.
More like a man who had surprised himself. Who didn’t know what came next.
Their eyes met. And something about the stillness held.
He looked different in the light. Less shadowed. Less sculpted. The edges of his face were no longer carved in contrast—they were softer now, almost delicate in places. He had faint creases under his eyes, the kind that only showed up in the morning, when someone had thought too much during the night.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
For a long time, they just watched each other—two strangers sharing the kind of quiet that usually took years to earn.
Then, gently, Harry stood.
He moved like the silence had weight, like sound would break something fragile between them. As he crossed the room toward the bed, she sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to her lap. Her hair fell over her shoulder, unbrushed, undone. She didn’t reach to fix it.
He stopped just in front of her, his eyes flicking across her face like he was trying to read something written there.
“Do you drink coffee?” he asked.
The question startled her.
It wasn’t what she expected. Not from him. Not after last night. Not after the card and the stillness and the invisible lines she’d just started learning how to walk.
But it was the most human thing he could have said.
She nodded once. “Black.”
His mouth curled at one corner. The smallest smile. Barely visible, but real.
“Come downstairs.”
He turned without waiting for her reply.
This time, she followed immediately.
The hallway was longer than she’d noticed before, the walls a deep blue-grey that caught the morning light like stone after rain. There were no paintings. No decorations. Just quiet.
When they reached the kitchen—if it could be called that—Y/n had to stop for a second.
It was unlike anything she’d seen. Sleek and modern, almost surgical. A long marble island stretched across the center, its surface spotless. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline in perfect stillness. The world looked far away. Too far to matter.
Harry moved with precision. He reached for a small silver kettle, filled it without asking, and began to prepare the coffee the way a pianist might prepare their hands before playing—deliberately, patiently. She watched him grind the beans himself. Watched the way his fingers moved. He didn’t speak while he worked. He didn’t offer her a seat, and she didn’t ask for one. She stood across from him at the island, like this was some sort of ritual neither of them wanted to disturb.
When he finally placed the cup in front of her, she was surprised to see he’d remembered. No sugar. No cream.
“Thank you,” she said, quietly.
Harry didn’t answer. He poured a cup for himself and leaned against the counter, watching her over the rim as he took a sip.
They drank in silence.
And somehow, it wasn’t awkward. It was easy. Strange. Like the hush between them had grown roots overnight.
After a few minutes, he set his cup down and spoke without looking at her.
“There’s an account in your name now. Linked to the card. You’ll find it has more than you need.”
Her chest tightened.
He didn’t say how much. Didn’t list rules again. Didn’t remind her of what this arrangement was.
He didn’t have to.
But before she could respond, he added, voice lower now, eyes still on the city beyond the glass:
“I don’t expect you to pretend this is love.”
The words landed hard. But not cruelly.
It was a warning. Maybe even protection.
She stared at him for a long time, then said the only thing that made sense in that moment.
“I know.”
Another silence.
Then, almost too soft to hear:
“But I also don’t think I know what love would look like… if it ever walked in.”
Harry finally looked at her.
And something in his eyes—something older than either of them—shifted.
He didn’t touch her.
But this time, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to.
She finished her coffee slowly.
It was stronger than what she usually drank. More bitter. But smooth. Expensive in a way she couldn’t describe. Not in taste, but in the way it lingered on her tongue like something meant to be remembered.
Harry didn’t push the conversation further. He didn’t explain more about the account, or how this was going to work, or what she owed. He simply drank his own in quiet, watching the skyline like he was looking for something he’d long stopped expecting to find.
Y/n didn’t ask questions.
She didn’t know which ones she was allowed to ask yet.
He finally glanced at the time—an old Cartier on his wrist, sleek and quiet, not flashy—and murmured, more to himself than to her, “I have a meeting at ten.”
She nodded.
He didn’t say you can stay.
He didn’t say you should go.
He just walked toward the hall, then paused near the threshold. His back to her.
“There’s a driver downstairs. He’ll take you wherever you need to go. His name is Emil.”
That was all. No offer to see her out. No smile. But no dismissal either.
She didn’t know why it felt like… a kind of intimacy. The sort that didn’t ask for anything in return.
She waited until he disappeared down the hallway before moving.
The apartment felt even larger now in the daylight. The quiet wasn’t eerie—it was curated. Like every inch of space had been carved to serve its own silence. As she walked back through the main room, she passed the chair he’d sat in the night before. The impression of his body still lived in the cushion.
She hesitated at the side table.
The card was still there.
Black. Heavy. Her name engraved so faintly in gold it almost disappeared in the light. She ran her fingers across the surface once, just to feel it.
Then she picked it up and slipped it into her coat pocket.
She didn’t know what it meant yet—what carrying this would cost her.
But she also knew she couldn’t leave it behind.
The elevator was empty, encased in mirrors. As it slid downward, she caught glimpses of herself from every angle. Her hair slightly messy. Her lips bare. Her eyes… different.
She looked like someone in the middle of something she hadn’t decided was right or wrong yet.
The doors opened to the quiet hum of the building’s private lobby. Emil was already waiting by the car. A black Bentley, sleek and polished like it had never known dirt. He opened the door without a word.
She slid in.
The leather seats felt cool against her legs.
“Where to, miss?” he asked, voice low, respectful.
She blinked. It was the first moment she’d had to think of the outside world since stepping into Harry’s last night.
Her apartment?
School?
Work?
Each option felt suddenly… small. Distant. Like they belonged to someone else.
She cleared her throat. “Home. Please.”
He nodded and pulled away from the curb.
The city blurred past the windows, but she didn’t watch it. She stared down at her hands instead, folded gently in her lap.
Her fingers still remembered the weight of his, from when he’d sat beside her in the dark. Just a touch. A ghost of one.
She wasn’t sure what she was now.
Not a girlfriend. Not a secret. Not a possession, exactly.
But not free, either.
When she reached her apartment, Emil handed her a small envelope along with the keys. No words. Just a look.
Inside, there was a note. Typed. Plain white paper. No letterhead.
“You’ll find the first payment deposited. Use what you need. No calls. No begging. No lies. Keep quiet. — H”
She stood in the doorway of her tiny kitchen, reading it three times before folding it neatly and tucking it into the drawer next to the matches and loose change.
Y/n sat down at her table.
It still smelled faintly of instant noodles and last night’s rain.
The card was warm in her hand again.
And this time…
it didn’t feel strange.
It felt inevitable.
Three days passed.
They didn’t speak.
No messages. No late-night calls. No little check-ins, no emojis, no “thinking of you.”
Harry Styles didn’t do that kind of presence.
Instead, the silence hung like an expensive coat — weighty, deliberate, and somehow still flattering. Y/n didn’t question it. Or maybe she did, once, while brushing her teeth, her eyes catching her reflection mid-thought. But she didn’t say it aloud. She wasn’t owed his attention, and she didn’t pretend to be.
Still, the money was real.
Rent was paid for six months ahead. She opened her fridge and found it full. Her phone—upgraded, quietly. Her tuition? A notice came: “Balance cleared. Pending zero.” No message. No sender.
Just done.
It didn’t feel like sugar.
It felt like… power. Unspoken. Watching.
She went about her days mostly the same: lectures, part-time shifts at the library, nights in bed with her laptop open and unanswered texts from friends blinking like reminders that she hadn’t been herself.
And then, on a Thursday, everything shifted.
She was working at the front desk of the university’s library. It was late—almost closing. The rain outside had turned the windows into mirrors, and most students had already gone. She was restocking returns in the drop bin, earbuds in, half-listening to something soft and instrumental, when the bell above the door chimed.
She didn’t look up right away.
It was probably some last-minute student begging for one more hour of study space or a forgotten charger. She tapped the return key lazily, eyes still on the screen.
“Hi,” said a voice.
Low. Familiar. Real.
She froze.
Not dramatically—but something in her body pulled tight, like a string suddenly caught.
She turned.
He was standing just inside the door.
Harry.
He wasn’t wearing anything like that night—no silk, no black-on-black elegance. He had on a dark wool coat, damp from rain. His curls looked heavier. He wasn’t clean-shaven. And yet he looked more expensive now than he did that first night—like he hadn’t tried at all, and still the air bent around him.
Y/n pulled out one earbud, blinking as if unsure he was real.
“What are you—” her voice cracked. She swallowed. “Why are you here?”
Harry took a step forward.
“I had a meeting near campus. Walked past. Saw the lights.”
She just stared.
“You don’t believe in coincidences,” she said, voice quieter now.
He gave the smallest shrug. “Not usually.”
He walked to the desk, slow and deliberate. Every step felt heavier than it should’ve.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she said softly, her hands tightening around the edge of the desk.
“Didn’t think I’d want to.”
That made her blink.
His eyes didn’t move from her face. Even in the bright, unflattering overhead lights of a university library, he looked at her like she was art hung wrong. Something too rare to belong here.
“Are you—” she started, but stopped.
“Am I what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
They stood like that for a moment. Him on one side of the desk. Her on the other. No soft sheets. No low lights. Just reality.
And still, it felt like something was bending between them.
He glanced toward the window, the glass streaked with rain.
“You haven’t used the car,” he said.
She hesitated.
“No.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer at first.
Then: “Because I like walking.”
He gave her a look, something unreadable but knowing.
Then his voice dropped lower. “You could’ve come back.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than any word.
She looked down. Her hands. Her name badge. Her chipped nail polish.
“I didn’t know if I should,” she admitted.
He didn’t speak right away.
Then, voice like velvet drawn over a blade:
“Next time… don’t wait for permission.”
That hung in the air between them. Soft. Sharp. Inviting. Dangerous.
A beat passed.
Then two.
“Are you going to check out a book?” she asked, almost smiling.
He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Should I?”
She shrugged. “It’s a library.”
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter like he was about to tell her a secret.
“I don’t read fiction.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because I spend enough time pretending,” he said, gaze unmoving.
Her breath caught.
And then—just like that—he stepped back.
Didn’t touch her. Didn’t linger.
But he left something behind.
A folded square of paper on the counter. Blank on the outside.
She waited until he left to open it.
Inside, written in clean, elegant script:
“Come over tomorrow. Midnight. I’ll be awake. — H.”
She read it once.
Then again.
And felt the weight of her own heartbeat in her mouth.
part 2 >>>
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